Chapter 9 - THE PROPOSAL NERO STOLE
Jared attempted to propose at the Brooklyn house.
Attempted.
He had apparently planned dinner.
Candles.
A ring.
Nothing excessive.
By his standards.
I arrived late because an emergency dachshund had swallowed half a sock.
Jared was pretending not to be irritated.
“Sorry.”
“Dog?”
“Sock.”
“Survived?”
“Dog, yes.”
“Sock, uncertain.”
We ate.
Then he stood.
Nero also stood.
Jared reached into his jacket.
Nero saw the movement.
Walked over.
Then shoved his massive head against Jared’s hand.
The ring box fell.
Nero picked it up.
“Nero.”
The Mastiff turned.
“Nero.”
He trotted away.
I started laughing.
Jared did not.
“Give it.”
Nero looked delighted.
“Home.”
I said.
Nero stopped.
Jared stared at me.
“You weaponized Lucia’s protocol against my proposal.”
“Technically, I saved your ring.”
Nero dropped the box into my palm.
Covered in saliva.
I looked at it.
Then Jared.
He sighed.
“This was more elegant in planning.”
“Reality usually is not.”
He took the box.
Then hesitated.
“Before I ask…”
His expression changed.
Serious now.
“I need you to know there is no house attached to this.”
“No trust.”
“No job.”
“No expectation that you stop working.”
“No expectation that you use my name.”
“No adoption into my family mythology.”
I smiled slightly.
“Strong sales pitch.”
“I’m trying.”
He continued.
“If you say no, we go to bed annoyed and discuss it tomorrow.”
Not:
If you say no, I am destroyed.
Not:
After everything I did for you.
Not:
You owe me.
Just tomorrow.
That was the proposal before the proposal.
He knelt.
“Willa Thornton.”
“Yes?”
“Will you marry me?”
Nero sneezed.
I laughed.
Then cried.
“Yes.”
Jared closed his eyes.
Relief.
Nero barked.
Miles, who had apparently been waiting in a car because Jared could not plan anything without logistics, later claimed the dog approved.
Our prenup took three months.
I insisted.
Jared agreed immediately.
Separate premarital property.
My clinic career mine.
His businesses his.
Clear shared assets.
No financial penalty if the marriage ended.
Independent counsel for both of us.
I read every page.
Twice.
Brendan had taught me what control felt like.
Jared had taught me something more useful:
A powerful person can say they respect your freedom.
Paperwork shows whether they are willing to structure life around it.
We married at Lucia’s old Harbor House property, which had been renovated into an animal-welfare training center.
Small wedding.
Eighty guests.
Nero carried the rings.
This was a mistake.
He behaved until halfway down the aisle, saw a child holding a dinner roll, and changed direction.
Everyone laughed.
Jared closed his eyes.
I whispered:
“Home.”
Nero turned.
Returned.
The entire room went quiet for a second.
That word again.
The first word I had said to him.
The word Lucia had given him.
The word that meant:
You are safe enough to return.
Jared looked at me.
I looked at him.
May you like
Then we married.
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