Damn, I hope she’s okay.
I keep her close to my side as we walk back to our place, and the whole way, I keep glancing down at her face, ensuring that she’s okay.
So far, so good. She doesn’t have to stop to puke or anything, and it’s not long before we’re inside our building and stepping onto the elevator.
Her phone pings with a text notification when we’re in the cart, and when she looks at the screen, the tension I noted in her shoulders earlier appears to dissipate.
“Everything okay?”
She nods.
“You still feel sick?”
“A little?” She just shrugs. “But I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
Just a little? After that mad dash out of Paesano’s?
I furrow my brow, examining her closer, but she turns her face away just enough that I can’t get a good read on her eyes.
What the fuck is happening?
The cart dings our arrival, and Sophie exclaims, “We’re here!” like she’s never been in an elevator before. And then she’s off the cart and scurrying toward our door, unlocking it, but at the same time not actually opening it, and turns to face me.
“I love you, Jude,” she says, and it’s all so odd that I feel my head cock to the side.
“Uh…I love you too?” I respond, but my confusion makes it sounds like more of a question than an answer. “Are you sure you’re okay, babe?”
“I’m perfect.” She smiles, stands up on her tippy-toes to press a kiss to my lips, and then she pushes the door open.
I shake my head and step inside, my eyes focused more on the ground than anything else, but when I notice a random rose petal on our entryway floor, I look up to find more rose petals, along with candles and flowers strategically placed all around our apartment.
And I’m not talking a small amount of flowers and candles; I’m talking a lot. So much so that if Thatch would’ve set this up, I’d already be calling the fire department.
It’s downright breathtaking, but it only makes me more fucking confused.
What the hell is this?
Unless I’ve suffered a stroke or all of a sudden gained superhuman powers that I’m not aware of, there’s no way I got my fifth proposal attempt together this fucking quickly…right?
“Jude.” Sophie grabs my attention and takes my hands into hers as she gets down on her knees before me. “I love you so much. I want forever with you. I want to be—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” I cut her off. “What are you doing? Are you proposing to me?”
“Well…I’m trying to.”
“Wait…” I pause and look around the room as my mind puts all the pieces of the puzzle together. “You were faking being sick at the restaurant, weren’t you?”
“Maybe?” She grimaces, and that’s when I know that she fucking knew I was about to propose to her back there.
“You knew!” I exclaim and pull her to her feet before she has a chance to ask me to marry her. Lord knows I wouldn’t be able to say no to her. No fucking way. “You knew I was going to propose, and you faked being sick so that you could propose?!”
“I’m sorry, but do you realize how long it took Julie to set this up?” she shouts back at me with that sexy sass I love so much. “Hours of work, Jude! I couldn’t ruin it!” She turns on her heel and heads over to our fireplace, grabbing an iPad—her iPad—that was discreetly hiding behind a potted plant.
“Okay. Okay,” she says and puts a hand to her hip. “Now, we both just need to chill out and relax for a hot second. And then, I’m going to hit record on my iPad because I promised Julie I would record the whole thing, and we’re going to start from the beginning. But this time, you’re actually going to let me propose, okay?”
She’s in event planner mode, rambling and gesturing with her hands, and it’s the cutest fucking thing in the world. So much so that it makes laughs spill from my lips.
Immediately, Sophie stops mid-step and looks at me.
“Are you laughing right now?”
“Fuck yes, I’m laughing right now.”
She crinkles her nose. “Why?”
“Because you’re crazy and I love you.”
Her brow furrows, but I don’t give her any time to toss any more sassy responses my way. I stride right for her, take the iPad from her hands, and hit record. Once the video is on, I look right into the camera.
“Julie, honey, you really outdid yourself,” I say. “Although, I hate to be the bearer of bad news here, but Sophie isn’t going to be proposing to me tonight.”
I peer up to look at Sophie and find her standing there in absolute shock.
But I don’t let it stop me.
“She’s not proposing because I’m proposing to her. Right now.”
And right then, I set down the iPad, pull the Tiffany’s box I’ve been carrying around for six long fucking months out of my back pocket, and get down on one knee.