Chapter 271

Chapter 271
Lucas

My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

"Mr. Simmons, she'll be here in ten minutes." Noah's assistant Parker appeared at my elbow, his expression professionally neutral. "Are you ready?"

Was I ready? I'd been ready since our first real date when she took me to her rooftop garden and talked about green spaces with such passion that I forgot to be my usual composed self. I'd been ready since the morning I woke up and realized I couldn't imagine my life without her dirt-stained fingers, her infectious laugh, her brilliant mind.

But ready to actually ask her to marry me? To put my heart completely on the line? That was terrifying.

"Yeah," I managed, patting my pocket for the thousandth time to confirm the ring box was still there. "I'm ready."

Parker nodded and disappeared, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and the sound of waves. The sunset was beginning, painting the sky in those impossible shades of orange and pink that Tara loved. The string quartet Noah had arranged was positioned perfectly on the rock formation, their instruments gleaming in the golden light. Everything was exactly as Emma and I had planned.

So why did I feel like I was about to jump off a cliff?

Because you are, I told myself. You're about to ask the woman you love to spend forever with you. That's the scariest, most wonderful cliff there is.

I adjusted my collar for the third time, then forced my hands to my sides. Emma had helped me pick out this simple white shirt and dark slacks—"Clean, classic, let Tara be the star," she'd said. Now I worried it was too simple. Should I have worn a suit? No, Tara hated unnecessary formality. Should I have brought flowers to hand her? No, there were literally a thousand roses here already. Should I—

"Lucas?"

Her voice cut through my spiral of anxiety like sunshine through clouds. I turned, and there she was.

Oh God. There she was.

Tara stood at the edge of the rose heart, her blue sundress catching the breeze, dark hair loose around her shoulders the way I loved it. Her eyes—those incredible hazel eyes that shifted between green and gold depending on the light—were wide with wonder as she took in the scene. One hand covered her mouth, and even from here I could see she was trembling.

She'd never looked more beautiful.

"What is all this?" she breathed, taking a tentative step toward me.

This is everything I couldn't say until now. This is six months of falling deeper every single day. This is me, terrified and exhilarated and so completely in love with you that I can barely breathe.

But I couldn't say any of that yet. Not standing here frozen like an idiot.

The quartet began playing—Clair de Lune, the Debussy piece she'd mentioned loving during one of our late-night conversations. Her hand dropped from her mouth to her heart, and she looked at me with such surprise and joy that some of my nervousness melted away.

I walked toward her, each step feeling both like slow motion and too fast. When I reached her, I took her hands—soft and warm and slightly callused from her garden work—and felt some of my panic settle. This was Tara. My Tara. The woman who'd somehow seen past all my careful walls and decided I was worth loving anyway.

"Tara ," I began, and was relieved when my voice came out steady. "Six months ago, you spilled champagne on my favorite suit."

She laughed, that gorgeous sound that never failed to make me smile. "Oh my God, you're never letting me forget that, are you?"

"Never," I agreed, squeezing her hands gently. "Because that was the moment my life changed. You were so flustered, apologizing and dabbing at the stain, and then you looked up at me and said—"

"'At least it was white wine, not red,'" she finished, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "And you said—"

"'Actually, it was rosé,'" we said together, and both laughed.

"I fell in love with you that night," I said, my throat tight with emotion. "Right there in the middle of that overpriced charity gala, wearing a champagne-soaked suit, listening to you explain passive solar design with your whole face lit up. I didn't know it yet—took me another three weeks to figure that out—but that was the moment."

"Lucas," she whispered, and a tear spilled down her cheek.

"Let me finish," I said gently, brushing the tear away with my thumb. "Please. I've been rehearsing this for days, and if I don't say it now, I might never get it out."

She nodded, biting her lip.

I took a deep breath, looked into those eyes that had become my home, and let my heart speak.

"Before you, I thought I had everything figured out. My career was on track, my five-year plan was solid, my life was... organized. Controlled. Safe." I paused, emotion catching in my throat. "But it was also lonely. I just didn't realize how lonely until you showed up and filled all these spaces in my life I didn't know were empty."

The quartet transitioned into something softer, and the sunset deepened to rose gold.

"You make me laugh when I'm taking myself too seriously. You challenge my assumptions about success and happiness and what really matters. You've got dirt under your fingernails more often than not, and I love that about you because it means you're creating something, nurturing something, making the world a little more beautiful." My voice cracked. "You make me want to be more beautiful. Better. Kinder. Braver."

"You are brave," Tara said, her voice thick with tears. "You're the bravest person I know."

"I'm terrified right now," I admitted with a shaky laugh. "Absolutely terrified. Because what I'm about to ask you—it's the most important question I'll ever ask anyone, and if you say no, I don't know how I'll—"

"Lucas," she interrupted, squeezing my hands so hard it almost hurt. "Ask me. Please just ask me."

Right. The actual question. The reason we were standing in the middle of nine hundred and ninety-nine roses as the sun set over the Pacific.

I let go of one of her hands, reaching into my pocket. The ring box felt both impossibly small and impossibly heavy. When I opened it, the lab-created sapphire caught the dying light, throwing blue fire across Tara's stunned face.

"It's ethically sourced," I said quickly, nerves making me babble. "Lab-created sapphire because you care about that, and blue because you said once it reminded you of the ocean, and I wanted you to have something that—"

"It's perfect," she breathed, one hand flying back to her mouth. "Oh my God, Lucas, it's perfect."

This was it. The moment. The cliff.

I dropped to one knee in the sand, still holding the ring box in one hand and her trembling fingers in the other. From somewhere distant, I heard Mike's excited gasp, and it made me smile even through my terror.

"Tara ," I said, looking up at the woman who'd become my entire world, "I love you. I love your passion for making buildings that heal the earth. I love how you talk to your plants like they're your children. I love that you cry during pixar movies and pretend you're not. I love your terrible puns and your brilliant mind and the way you scrunch your nose when you're concentrating."

She was crying openly now, tears streaming down her face as the sunset painted her in shades of gold.

"I love how you make me want to be better, how you see potential in everything—broken buildings, empty lots, apparently even uptight British financial analysts." That got a watery laugh from her. "I want to spend the rest of my life earning the gift of your love. I want to build a home with you, a family, a future that's as beautiful and sustainable and full of hope as everything you create."

My own eyes were burning now, vision blurring, but I forced out the final words.

"Will you marry me, Tara? Will you let me love you for the rest of our lives? Will you—" My voice broke completely. "Will you please say yes?"

For one eternal, heart-stopping moment, she just stared at me. Her hands covered her face, shoulders shaking, and a spike of pure panic shot through me. Oh God, what if she wasn't ready? What if this was too much too soon? What if—

"Yes!" The word burst from her like she couldn't hold it in another second. "Yes, yes, yes, oh my God, yes!"

She was nodding frantically, pulling her hands away from her face to reach for me. I barely had time to slide the ring onto her finger before she was hauling me to my feet and kissing me like her life depended on it.

The world exploded into sensation—her lips on mine, her arms around my neck, the taste of salt from her tears, the sound of the quartet swelling into something celebratory, the feel of sand beneath my feet and her heart pounding against my chest. Somewhere in the distance, people were cheering, but all I could focus on was Tara. My Tara. My fiancée.

Holy shit. My fiancée.

"I love you," she gasped between kisses, laughing and crying at the same time. "I love you so much, you ridiculous, wonderful, perfect man."

"I'm far from perfect," I managed, but I was grinning so hard my face hurt.

"You're perfect for me," she insisted, pulling back just enough to look at the ring on her finger. She held it up to the last rays of sunset, and the sapphire blazed blue fire. "Lucas, this is—I can't believe you remembered. I mentioned the ocean thing once, months ago."