Page 166 of The Finish Line
“As I will follow you. And from this day on, I never want to take a single fucking step without you beside me. I love you, Cecelia, so much.” She cups my jaw, the evidence of my undoing dampening her hand.
“I love you, too. Tobias, but you’re still scaring me.”
“Don’t be. I’m not afraid of anything anymore. And you gave that to me. There’s no opponent strong enough for us, Cecelia. You have to believe that by now.”
“I do.”
“God, I’m—” I dip my chin to my chest. “I have so much to say, but I don’t think I can get through it all... will you forgive me that?”
I take a knee, and she recognizes my intent. It’s the most beautiful sight. I burn her expression and the love in her eyes into memory.
“I...” I hang my head. “Fuck...” I run my face along the sleeve of my shirt and see her visibly starting to come as undone as I am.
“No man on earth has ever loved a woman more than I love you. I’ll prove this every day for the rest of our lives. I love you more than any cause, any ambition. The sight of your face over any other on earth.” I choke on every other word, frustrated by my inability to carry out my plan but too emotional to give a fuck. I’d humiliate myself a million times over because she’s shown me, repeatedly, the beauty in a bare, stripped heart. “You own me. You make me so fucking happy. You are my purpose now, and forever.”
Her eyes shimmer and spill over as I pull the ring from my pinky, lifting the diamond into her line of sight. Her breath catches briefly, her eyes drifting from the ring and back to me as I gaze up at her and blink, clearing my vision.
I’m so fucking gone.
“I didn’t steal this,” I manage to say, with a slight lift of my lips.
Her lip quivers with her reply. “Non?”
“Non. I earned it.”
She slowly dips her chin.
“And I’ve earned your trust?”
“Yes.”
“Your loyalty?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve earned your faith?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve earned your heart?”
“Wholly.”
“Your body is mine?’
“Yours. Only yours,” she swears.
I push the ring onto her finger.
“Make me king?”
One month later
Cecelia
I hang my favorite photo of our wedding day and polish the white solid matte frame with my dust rag. It hangs just next to a floor-to-ceiling window, giving ample view of the sea. It’s a black and white candid of Tobias kissing my ring finger as I gazed on at him, a woman utterly in love.
We were standing just outside the arched doorway of the little church where we recited our vows. It was just the two of us, the priest and his designated witnesses, and it was perfect. We honeymooned at home and then informed our family and friends after, most of whom are due here tomorrow for a delayed reception. Tackling the last of the boxes that finally arrived from overseas, I set out to finish my task. For the last month or so I’ve been nesting in a dream-like state, pinching myself mentally, not only because of the palace we now reside in permanently but also because of the shimmer of the three-carat teardrop diamond on my finger and what it means—a cure for the sickness I’ve harbored for so long, a lasting end.