Chapter 172

Chapter 172
Lucas

I heard Katie's laptop close in the next room, followed by a long silence. Part of me wanted to go to her immediately—to make sure Emily hadn't said something that upset her, to offer comfort or distraction or whatever she needed—but I forced myself to stay where I was, giving her space to process.

That was the thing I'd learned over the past year, through countless therapy sessions and too many mistakes: sometimes loving someone meant staying still. Meant trusting them to handle their own emotions without swooping in to fix everything.

God, it was hard though.

I pulled out my phone, checking the time. Nine-fifteen. Andrew should be here soon with the rings. I'd ordered them weeks ago, before Chile, before the blood oath, back when I still thought I needed to orchestrate some perfect proposal to convince Katie to choose me.

A soft knock at my door. "Come in," I called.

Andrew entered, carrying a small velvet box. His expression was carefully neutral, but I caught the hint of concern in his eyes. He'd been with my family since before I was born, had seen me at my absolute worst, and he worried. Always worried.

"The jeweler delivered these this afternoon, sir," he said, placing the box on my desk. "I apologize for the delay in bringing them to you. There was some confusion with the engraving."

I opened the box. Two platinum bands, simple and elegant, exactly as I'd specified. I picked up one, tilting it to catch the light, and saw our initials on the inside—K&L, intertwined in a delicate script.

They were beautiful. Perfect, even.

And completely inadequate.

"You don't look pleased," Andrew observed quietly.

I set the ring down, rubbing my face. "It's not that. They're exactly what I ordered. It's just—" I stopped, searching for words. "They're not enough. Not after what she did."

"Sir?"

I looked up at him, this man who'd been more of a father to me than my own ever was. "She didn't need any of this, Andrew. The ring, the proposal, the whole Western wedding industrial complex. She went to her grandfather's altar and swore a blood oath. Do you understand what that means? In her tradition, in her culture, she pledged her soul. Not her hand or her future or some romantic ideal—her actual soul. She stood in front of the people who raised her and said 'I choose him' in the most permanent, irrevocable way possible."

Andrew's eyes widened slightly. "I see."

"I got proposed to," I said, and despite everything, I felt a smile tugging at my lips. "By a twenty-year-old woman who's more certain about what she wants than anyone I've ever met. She looked me in the eye and promised me forever in a language I barely speak, using traditions I don't fully understand, and she meant every word of it."

"She loves you very much," Andrew said softly.

"I know. God, I know. And I have no idea how to respond in a way that matches that level of commitment. These rings—" I gestured at the box. "They're what I was raised to think mattered. Expensive metal, proper engraving, something to show off at country club brunches. But that's not Katie. That's never been Katie."

I pulled out a piece of paper from my desk drawer, one I'd been sketching on for days now. The design was rough, but the intent was clear—a combination of protective symbols and personal meaning, something that honored where she came from.

"I need you to commission something for me," I said, showing Andrew the sketch. "Two amulets, made from black obsidian. Specifically, obsidian from Alaska—from the region where her mother was born. I've already contacted a mineralogist at UC Berkeley who can source the raw material. This design needs to be carved into both pieces."

Andrew studied the sketch carefully. "This is quite intricate, sir. It will take time."

"I know. That's fine. I want it done right, not fast." I pointed to different elements of the design. "The outer circle is Tlingit—a protection symbol from her mother's indigenous heritage. The inner design incorporates elements from both our families. Mountains for her, ocean for me. And in the center—" I tapped the small shape I'd drawn. "A baseball. Because that's where we found each other."

"It's beautiful," Andrew said, and he sounded like he meant it. "She'll treasure it."

"I hope so. I need to respond to her oath in a language she'll understand. Not with money or status or any of the shit that usually defines my world, but with something that acknowledges where she comes from. What she's sacrificed. Who she is at her core."

Andrew folded the paper carefully, tucking it into his jacket pocket. "I'll have this commissioned immediately. The finest craftsman I can find."

"Thank you." I hesitated, then added, "And Andrew? Don't mention this to anyone. Not my grandfather, not the staff. This is between Katie and me."

"Of course, sir." He moved toward the door, then paused. "If I may say something?"

"Always."

"I've known you since you were born, Master Lucas. I've seen you at your best and your worst, through the accident and the aftermath, through all the years of struggling with control and fear." His voice was gentle but firm. "I've never seen you as happy as you've been these past few weeks. That young woman has been remarkably good for you."

My throat tightened. "She saved my life, Andrew. Multiple times, in multiple ways. I just want to be worthy of that."

"You are, sir. You already are." He smiled, something rare and genuine. "Now go check on her. I suspect she could use your company."

After he left, I sat alone in my room, staring at the ring box. The rings were still beautiful, still perfect in their own way. They just weren't complete. Katie had given me a blood oath; I'd give her these rings and the amulets and every day of my life trying to deserve her.

I picked up one of the rings, feeling its weight. It was heavier than I expected, substantial. Real. I thought about sliding it onto her finger, about the moment when she'd look at me and understand what I was trying to say—that I saw her, all of her, and chose her anyway. That I'd keep choosing her, every day, for the rest of my life.

I stood, crossing to the shelf, and carefully took down the case. The ball was exactly as I remembered—worn leather, loose stitching, the faded inscription on its surface: You're stronger than you think. —Dr. C

"I'm trying," I whispered to the empty room, to the ghost of the woman who'd given me hope when I had none. "I'm trying to be the kind of man who deserves your daughter. The kind of man you believed I could be."

The ball offered no answers, but I held it anyway, drawing comfort from its familiar weight. Then I set it carefully back in its case and picked up the ring box.

Time to go see my fiancée.

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