I pull the box out, looking once more at the glittering two carat solitaire diamond set in white gold. It’s time for me to make Skye, my woman, my world, mine for good. She’s going to be my wife.
My heart is going to beat out of my chest. I can feel it.
The last few candles are lit, and I stand stock still on the center of the terrace, the glow of the dozens of candles make it seem otherworldly.
I wait for her, thinking about everything I’ve felt in the last forty-eight hours. Cold terror when I got the alert that her car had crashed, fury when I found out who caused the accident, worry for my little treasure and how out of it she seemed after the accident. I thought that in the morning, after I returned from…taking care of Paul, she would be more herself. But instead, the villa was in turmoil as they searched for her. I had put a trace in her phone and her bag, so it wasn’t hard to find her, but as I drove the miles to her apartment I felt my heart become stone, thinking about how sure I was Skye wanted to leave me. She wouldn't, she couldn't, but the fact she wanted to still hurt like hell.
I had killed for her…driven to that bastard Paul’s house, waited like the ever patient man I am, and then garroted him as he came out for an evening swim. He struggled, and I loved every minute of it. Right before he took his final breath, I made sure to tell him, “This is for Skye.”
Even if she had wanted to be done with me, I wouldn’t have regretted ending Paul, but the fact that she still wanted me, and surrendered to me in such a beautiful, absolute way was the last thing I needed to leave any regret of killing him behind. Not that his life concerned me, but knowing I was still capable of it did. But it was done.
Now, on to joyous things.
Skye comes out, stars in her eyes, following the trail of candles. Her sweet smile grows as she sees me, one hand clutching something and the other wiping a single tear from her eyes. She’s a vision in a dark green dress that hugs her tightly, leaving little to the imagination, my bracelet glimmering on her wrist and blond curls loose. I’ve taken good care of her, I know, from the way she has filled out so gorgeously, and I plan to do so for many years more.
A smart girl, she must know what is going on by the time she reaches me. There is a knot in my throat I have to swallow past, and I stall by kissing her soft mouth, just once.
“I love you, Skye Whitney.”
“I love you too, Raoul Damiano.”
I sink to one knee, opening the box for her and holding it out. The diamond catches the firelight in its depths. “Marry me,Tesorina. I’ll take care of you, cherish you, forever. Have me children, Skye. Be my wife.”
“Yes,”she breathes.
I slide the ring onto her finger, surging to my feet and moving to grab her in my arms, but she lays a small hand on my chest to stop me. “Wait, I have something for you, too. Hold your hands out.”
I do, and she lays something long and white in them. I bring the plastic sticker closer to read the small gray screen, and my world flips on its axis.
It readspositive.
“You’re pregnant.” I blurt out.
She nods, tears streaming down her face. I snatch her up and crush her to me, spinning us around the terrace while avoiding the lit candles, kissing her until she’s breathless. Skye is pregnant with my child, and she’s going to be my wife.
Every awful thing I’ve ever done was worth it for this. I would do it a million times over for this woman and the family we are going to build together. She laughs as I spin her, her voice like the tinkling of bells.
Skye. My treasure. My wife.
Epilogue
Skye
1year later
My parents arrived for their bi-yearly visit yesterday, loaded up with sunscreen and gifts for the baby.
Raoul and I had gotten married in a small, beautiful ceremony only weeks after getting engaged, my parents meeting Raoul and then watching as we married all within the same day. It was clear they were thrown for the biggest loop of their lives, but they took it all in stride.
The wedding was held on the Tenerife beach, and it was the best day of my life, my dress all lace and beadwork and Raoul in the only non-black suit I’ve ever seen him in, a gray-blue that looked scrumptious on his bronze skin.
Then, months later, I gave birth to little Evelina, and that became the new best day of my life. Raoul’s too, if the way he spoils his daughter is any indication.
Halfway through my pregnancy, Raoul had surprised me with a townhouse in Washington, so I could be near my parents and give birth in the States. I missed Tenerife, but Raoul made the right call, because having my family there was invaluable. A girl needs her mom at a time like that.
It’s been a year now since the proposal, and our little girl is only three months old. My parents couldn’t stay away long, and it was made even easier when Raoul promised to pay for their tickets anytime they wanted to come. Maybe we could make beach lovers of them yet.
I left napping Evelina with Mom and Dad, going to find my husband to ask him if he wanted to talk a walk down the ocean side with me. Maybe even sneak off and get dinner while we were alone. When I crack the door to our bedroom, though, there is no Raoul, just a piece of paper next to a bathing suit on the bed.