Chapter 144: Let the World Try to Keep Up
Enzo
The elevator doors slid shut on the sound of her laughter, and Enzo finally let himself breathe.
She’d scared the hell out of him.
One text—911 in the garage—and his heart had dropped clean out of his chest.
Now she was draped over his shoulder, complaining about being carried like a sack of potatoes, smelling like sweat, adrenaline, and the victory that nearly broke her.
He should have been irritated.
Instead, he felt wrecked. Relieved. So in love it hurt.
The air up here was cooler, scented with her vanilla body lotion and the faint tang of espresso that always seemed to linger. He carried her straight to the bathroom and set her on the counter and turned the tap. Steam began to fog the mirror by the time he came back with a towel, water hissing against porcelain like it was exhaling for her.
“Stay put,” he ordered.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, trying to peel off her hoodie and immediately wincing. “Okay, maybe a little help.”
He set her on the counter and reached for her hoodie.
“Arms up,” he said quietly.
She obeyed, slow and wincing, muttering something about hating gravity. He eased the fabric over her head, careful not to brush the tender spots he already knew by heart. The cotton rasped against her skin, warm from her body, and for a second he just looked at her — bruised, exhausted, still trying to grin through it.
Christ, you don’t know how to stop, do you?
She gave a shaky laugh when he freed her arms. “You’re staring.”
“Making sure you’re still in one piece.”
“Mostly.”
“Good enough,” he murmured, turning back to the tap.
“Thanks, hero.”
He tested the water, adjusted the temperature. “In.”
She eased herself down, hissing at first contact, then sank with a long, broken exhale that turned nearly indecent. “Oh my God, yes.”
Enzo rolled his sleeves to the elbow, crouching beside the tub. “You sound like I filled it with sin.”
Her eyes stayed closed, grin lazy. “Maybe you did. Wouldn’t be the first time.”
“Accusations,” he murmured, dipping a cup to pour warm water over her shoulders. Suds slid down her arms, the tension in her face dissolving as the heat seeped in.
Christ, look at her.
The sharp-edged firebrand he carried through the world became something quieter here unguarded, human, his.
He wrung a cloth, ran it along the curve of her shoulder, the hollow of her throat. Every sigh of hers landed heavy in his chest. When she opened her eyes, they were clear again.
“You really don’t have to do all this,” she said softly.
He dipped the cup again, poured another cascade of heat over her. “I know.” He brushed a damp strand from her forehead. “Guess I like taking care of you. Even when you scare the hell out of me first.”
Her lips curved, small but real. “I keep life interesting.”
He smiled. “That’s one word for it.”
Water lapped against porcelain. He felt the tension leave her body, one muscle at a time, until her whole frame went quiet under his hands. She tilted her head, watching him for a while.
Then: “Marry me.”
The words landed like a heartbeat misfire.
He froze. For half a breath he thought he’d imagined it; heat, exhaustion, the echo of the faucet. But she was watching him, dead serious.
His throat went dry. “Lola…”
“No jokes, no grand gestures.” She turned toward him, elbows braced on the edge of the tub, water sliding down her arms in silver ribbons. “I want you. I want this. Every version of it. Whatever comes next, we face it together.”
He reached out, thumb tracing the edge of her jaw. Say it again. Please. Say it again so I know I’m awake.
“Say it again,” he murmured. “Because if I’m dreaming, I’m not waking up.”
Her smile trembled. “Marry me.”
Everything inside him stopped. Breath. Thought. The careful rhythm that kept him sane. She sat there, eyes steady, waiting for him to breathe.
He finally did. “You mean that?”
“I do if you do. I don’t want to live another second of this life not having you in every way that matters.”
Oh, sweetheart. You could set the world on fire, and I would still build you a house in the ashes.
He laughed under his breath, rough and warm. “You think I’ve made it this far just to not marry you?”
Her brow arched, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “So that’s a, yes?”
He leaned in, voice low and steady, but his eyes gave him away; wildfire barely leashed.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”
Her laugh broke out bright, wet, full of relief. Eyes still on him, steady and unflinching.
“I’m serious, Enzo. I want something real. I want you as my legal person. I want the same last name stamped on every form and scribbled across our kids’ jerseys. I want you to be the one they call when I’m detained for throwing hands at a PTA meeting.”
Her voice softened, but her gaze didn’t waver.
“You. I. Want. You.”
He brushed his thumb along her bottom lip, reverent, his pulse a thunder he refused to let show.
“Then we stop pretending there’s anything left to wait for. We make it real, today.”
“Today?” she breathed.
He nodded once, slow and certain, his mouth curving like a vow.
“Today. You and me. Small, quiet, just us. I’ll handle the rest later. Because I’m done watching you walk around this world with a name that isn’t mine.”
Her eyes glistened.
“God, I love you.”
“I know,” he said, and kissed her.
It was the kind of kiss that promised and prayed all at once soap and steam and the taste of her, his every sense overloaded, every wall gone. When he finally pulled back, breath unsteady, he rested his forehead against hers.
“Turn around.”
She smiled against his mouth, dizzy from the heat of it.
“Why?”
His lips brushed her temple, his voice rough.
“Because I want to take care of you before I take the rest of you.”
That earned a shaky laugh.
“So romantic.”
“Always,” he murmured.
She turned. He took the handheld sprayer, checked the temperature on his wrist, and guided the water through her hair. Suds foamed, then streamed away in pale ribbons. His fingers worked slow circles at her scalp, each touch gentle, grounding.
She made a small sound, something between a hum and a sigh.
“Careful,” she murmured. “You keep this up and I’ll marry you twice.”
He smiled into her hair. Someday, she’d understand what she’d done to him. How she’d made forever sound easy.
When he finished rinsing, he wrapped a towel around her shoulders.
“Up.”
He helped her stand, steadying her when her legs wobbled, wrapping the towel tight. She leaned into his chest, and he kissed the crown of her head.
“Enzo?” she whispered.
“Mm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For the bath. And for the yes.”
He tipped her chin up, thumb resting beneath her lip.
“You think I could ever tell you no?”
“You could.” Her voice trembled. “You won’t.”
His laugh was low, but the sound carried reverence, not arrogance.
“No,” he said softly. “Not to you. Not ever.”
He scooped her up again, easy this time, and carried her out. He didn’t set her down right away, just stood there with her in his arms, the city burning gold behind them, her breath still rough against his throat.
When he finally lowered her to the bed, she caught his wrist, dragging him down with her.
“You keep looking at me like that, I’ll start thinking we already did it,” she said.
“Maybe we did.” His voice was smoke and hunger. “Maybe this is what forever looks like.”
She laughed wrecked, wild, his favorite sound in the world.
“Then you better prove it.”
He did. Slowly. Thoroughly.
Later, when the air cooled and her body softened under his hands, he reached for the nearest thing that smelled like him and slipped it over her head. The hem brushed her thighs, the collar hung low enough to see the marks he’d left.
“You staring?” she asked, voice rough velvet.
“Trying to remember the exact second I stopped pretending I could let you go.”
Something flickered across her face soft, startled. Then she smiled, the kind that hit him straight in the chest.
“Then don’t,” she whispered. “Just remember this one.”
The hours after blurred movement, warmth, the slow unraveling of everything that came before.
Now, in the hush that followed, she slept beside him, a half-smile still on her mouth.
He watched her for a long time before speaking to the dark.
“Like I could ever forget this night,” he said, voice low and certain.
Her breathing slowed; he felt her drifting deeper.
He sat there for a long time, watching her breathe, the city lights crawling over her skin like confession.
Mine. The word didn’t feel dangerous anymore; it felt inevitable.