by Jess Bentley
She holds her champagne flute up, clinking the rim against mine and taking a slow sip. “This really is quite delicious,” she says slyly, rolling her eyes as though she understands just how ridiculous our guest is.
“I'm really glad you like it,” I answer truthfully. My heart is beating fast. Hers is too, I see, though she has that same calm exterior like always. Or maybe I'm mistaken, maybe it's just the vibrations of the boat motor. Maybe it's a slight chill from the breeze that is waving the shiny tendrils of her hair out behind her.
I slide an arm around her shoulders and draw her closer to me. “Are you cold?”
“I'm perfect,” she sighs.
“You really are, you know,” I answer.
“Well, I am a fairytale princess, after all,” she quips, a little sarcastically.
“No, I really mean it. And I don't mean the fake parts, or the showy parts. I mean, like… you,” I mutter, stumbling over my words and feeling stupid as they come out. “I mean, what I know of you anyway. I'm sure there's more.”
She shrugs shyly, glancing away, taking a sip of champagne. “No, I think that what you see of me is probably all there is.”
I want to laugh at that. “Bella, I think you may be the most complicated person I ever met,” I confess. “And I've met a lot of people people. A lot of really weird people.”
“Ha!” she laughs, the sound bouncing musically over the water. “I might be weird. I do spend a lot of time by myself, talking to myself. I think that's like the definition of weird or something.”
“I suppose it is.”
Suddenly it feels like a first date all over again. I'm awkward and unsure, wanting to ask her about herself, not knowing how to put the words together. I have that strange urge to tell her everything about me, to reveal something no matter how stupid it is, just to keep her talking. I just want to be close to her in even minute ways.
“What about you?” she asks me suddenly, squinting, looking up and then away.
“Me? Well I think we've already established I am pretty weird too.”
She laughs again, a sound I don't think I could ever get tired of hearing. “Okay, then… tell me something else about yourself.”
“Like what?”
“Like… something other people don't know. Like, what's your secret desire? If you could do anything?”
“My secret desire,” I repeat, obviously stalling for time. “I guess that would have to be… privacy.”
“Privacy?” she asks, glancing at me suspiciously. “That's sort of a surprising answer.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, you do seem to kind of seek out attention, you know, at least a little bit…” she scoffs. “Like with congresswomen and stuff like that.”
“Oh!” I chuckle. “Yeah, well what are you gonna do? But what I mean is… sometimes I want to escape. Do things like write a donkey down the side of a hill in the Grand Canyon. Take a train across Europe, not a jet. Go on a sightseeing tour bus, you know, like people do.”
“Like people do,” she smiles. “I would like these kinds of things too.”
I just grin at her. That's when I was hoping she would say. I start to ask her something else, but her attention is diverted away.
As we round a bend, the sun is just about set now. The pinkish hue of the river is being obscured by the darkening air, turning into a deep amethyst. But above us, Riordan Tower looms straight and tall into the sky. Clouds float behind it, accentuating its dark, angular shape. It's completely black, as though the power has gone out or something. None of the window lights are on at all. Then suddenly, it begins to change.
“What the?” she gasps, squinting up at the building. I do the same thing.
As we watch, a thousands office windows flicker between light and dark, as though there are thousands of strobe lights in every office. They flash randomly, seeming to sparkle like fireworks. Gradually, the sparkles begin to order themselves, then change colors to pink. When the rest of the window lights go out, a big heart remains lit in the center of the building, glowing out for everyone to see.
“Oh!” I hear the gasp behind me as Perez Hilton notices the display. “Isn’t that romantic?”
Glancing down at Bella, I can see her wide, delighted smile. She's rapt, watching the building expectantly. I want to watch her face, to see every changing expression. But I also want to see what she sees and I force myself to look away.
As soon as I look at the building, the heart begins to change. Some windows go dark, some go light. Some are blue. The pattern melts and then reforms, gradually ordering itself into words.
MARRY.
ME.
BELLA.
The thousands of onlookers gasp simultaneously. Bella gasps. I barely stop myself from gasping.
She turns to face me, pulling away slightly. Her face is shining, her smile wistful and delighted.
“Emmet… did you do that for me?”
I reach into my pocket, drawing out the black velvet box and opening it for her. Then, though I thought that I wouldn't, I drop to one knee in front of her, holding the ring and hoping she'll take it.
“Bella Cage, you’re the most magical thing that's ever happened to me. I want to spend my life making magic for you. Will you marry me?”
Perez Hilton yelps, clapping his hands over his mouth.
Bella just smiles. With slightly trembling hands, she reaches out and plucks the ring from its box, sliding it on her finger and holding it out to look at it. I take her hand in mine and drive it to my lips, kissing her smooth skin gently, then standing up so I can kiss her on the mouth. I feel the ring when her hand slides up the backs of my arm and she kisses me back, holding me tightly. I feel the slight coolness of that metal band and wonder at the magic of all this.
Suddenly, everyone begins to applaud. We pull apart and glance back up at the building to see that the message has changed. Now it reads, “SHE SAID YES!”
“Well, this is really just wonderful!” Perez announces. “We need more champagne!”
Applause rings out, echoing across the water back and forth. Thousands of people wish us well, waving, clapping, yelling for us. I look quickly at Dillon, who is beaming broadly. He really did outdo himself this time. It is the perfect amount of spectacle and magic, every bit she deserves.
Bella raises an arm overhead, displaying the ring which people probably can’t see, exactly, but they seem to appreciate anyway. While she did tell me that it should be able to be seen from space, it turns out that there actually is an upper limit for a “tastefully absurd” number of carats.
The captain slowly circles the boat back down the river, depositing us on our private dock, wishing us well along with the other two crewmembers. Bella clings tightly to my arm, smiling and nodding at everyone, looking dazzled and delighted and all the other things that she should look.
It really is like a fairytale, in a lot of ways. I didn't ever expect this sort of thing, but now here it is. It feels so good, I don’t want it to end.
Perez makes his way back to his waiting limousine, promising us that his photos are spectacular, and his commentary will be even better. He knows this story should get him a lot of advertisers as long as he can get it on his site before everybody on that bridge posts their own version.
Time is money, after all.
We wave at the taillights of his limo as he drives away, and each heave a sigh of relief. Cars speed by on Lower Wacker, just thirty feet away or so. They're all oblivious, but we won't have this kind of privacy for very long.
“That really was wonderful!” she sighs. “I don't see how anybody could ever have asked for a proposal more perfect than that one. Thank you so much!”
“And what about me? Are you thanking me?” Dillon asks, nudging closer.
She bites her lower lip, winking at him suggestively. “You know every camera on that bridge is pointed at us right now. But I would like to see with you clothes off, just as soon as we get back to the pentho
use. Fair enough?”
“I'll take what I can get,” he shrugs. But he's happy, I can tell. He's very proud of himself right now.
“And you!” she smiles, turning back to me. “You were so convincing! I totally believed that… well, almost. Good job!”
My mouth goes a little bit dry. “Well… you know me. Mr. Prepared.”
She picks up her left hand, sliding the ring from her finger. Making sure her hand is hidden behind her body and away from anybody who might see the gesture, she slides the engagement ring back off and holds it between her thumb and forefinger, staring into it for a few long seconds.
“It really is a beautiful ring,” she sighs wistfully. “Like… I almost wish I could keep it.”
“But you —” I start, then stop. She holds up the ring to me, tucking it against the palm of my hand and folding my fingers back over it before I get the words out.
“We did a good job, boys!” she declares. I stare into her face in the quickly fading light, trying to make out what she's thinking. Is she relieved? Glad to be done with the charade?
“Well I guess, um, oh wait,” she says, pulling her phone from her handbag. “It's Hannah calling… I have to take this.”
She walks away, drawing the phone to her ear. Dillon scowls at me, stepping forward confidentially. “What the hell just happened?” he asks quickly.
“I don't… I don't know, man, okay?”
“She gave you the ring back?”
“Well, yeah, she gave the ring back. Wasn’t that the plan? This is all just… fuck. I don't know. What was I thinking?”
“Were you thinking something different was going to —”
“Guys, I gotta go,” Bella interrupts. Dillon and I separate as though guilty.
“What do you mean?”
She holds the phone up, shaking it back and forth with a sour look on her face. “It's Hannah. Something about the merger. I gotta go talk to her, like, now. Could I… maybe use your car?”
“Sure, sure,” Dillon shrugs, shaking his head in confusion. “We’ve got two here. Pick the one you like best.”
“Okay, guys, sorry!” she says in a hurry, pressing her fingers to her lips and blowing kisses at us like nothing just happened.
Before I even really figure out what's going on, she gets in the car and the driver pulls away into traffic, leaving us both feeling like we just lost something very important.
Chapter 39
Bella
As I ride the elevator up to Hannah's office, I draw my shawl closer around my shoulders and try to stifle an involuntary shiver. The air-conditioning is blasting, but I don't think that's it. I haven't talked to Hannah in days, and I don't really feel like starting right now.
But, hell, I'm a goddamn professional. If I've learned anything about myself in the last few weeks, it's that I'm apparently as ambitious as all get out. I don't need Hannah's dragon lady stare trying to wither my straight-backed resolve. She's not going to get on my nerves today. She's just not.
But when I walk into her office, tentatively brushing my knuckles against her open door, I'm surprised at the look on her face. She is standing next to her desk with a glass of some brown alcohol in her hand, grinning from ear to ear.
“There's my star! There is my brilliant sidekick!”
She raises her glass in the air to toast me, then drops it back on her desk and refills it, plus the glass next to it. I try to stifle my reaction to the word sidekick and walk carefully across the floor to accept the glass.
“Did you already see the… event?” I ask her carefully.
“Who hasn't?” she giggles, rolling her eyes for dramatic effect. Her cheeks are pink and I can see she’s already heavily invested in celebration whiskey.
“Well… did you think it went off okay?” I ask her, squinting over the rim of the glass. The liquid is hot and pungent, nearly burning the tip of my tongue.
“Okay?” she repeats incredulously. “The whole thing was just live streamed from a dozen different people. You had celebrities on the bridge, did you know that? Somewhere out there, Amal Clooney was live streaming you! Amal fucking Clooney!”
“Well, she's no Gwyneth Paltrow, but…”
“Tell me about it!” Hannah exclaims, wobbling around the side of her desk and plopping extravagantly into her leather executive chair. It tips back dramatically and she kicks off her stiletto heels so she can cross her ankles on the corner of her desk.
It would probably be wrong of me to take a picture of her right now. Probably wrong. Tempting, but wrong.
“Okay, so I guess it was definitely good. The windows in the building were a nice touch, I thought.”
“Brilliant!” she yells at the ceiling, toasting the air once again. “That was Dillon, right? He's always had a thing for fireworks and stuff like that. Tell me that was Dillon’s idea!”
I sip at the whiskey again, feeling its hot tendrils soaking through my blood from my chest outward. The taste doesn't bother me as much anymore.
“Oh, that was totally Dillon. He's really creative, insightful too. I couldn’t believe it when I saw how many people gathered around to watch all that. I mean, he arranged it so that everything would fall into place that way.”
Hannah nods to herself, humming quietly through her nose. I don't think she really heard what I just said though. But it's true. Dillon’s real personality was reflected in the whole event, his intuition for what people want, how to make a splash.
And thinking about it, I realize that was a real gift for Emmet too. He wanted both of us to be delighted. I could see how much Dillon loved his brother in the way that Emmet's expression lit up over and over again. It was like we were both walking through the fairytale wonderland that Dillon had crafted for both of us.
The warmth in my chest spreads even further, and I'm not sure it's just the whiskey.
“So… okay,” I stammer, beginning to edge back toward the door. “Everything's okay, then? I am just going to go back and —”
“It's over!” she whispers suddenly.
Her eyes are wide, her smile so broad I think she just gave herself a new dimple.
“What's over?” I ask, confused. “I mean… that was the last thing we had planned, right? We all knew that, didn’t we? I just assumed that —”
“No, you don't understand,” she continues, her voice speeding up. “It's over. They signed. Look. Right here.”
She taps a stack of manila folders in the middle of her desk with her magenta lacquered fingernail. Then she taps it a few more times, even harder.
“It's over! The merger… it's done!”
It all starts to sink in and I take a deep, shuddering breath. “They signed!?”
“All right here in black and white and blood oaths!” she nods, toasting me so hard that the whiskey sloshes out of her glass. She takes a second to refill it, and gestures with her fingers for my glass too.
“Oh my God… already?”
I let her refill the glass and force myself to take a deep drink. I don't usually like to drink too much whiskey since it works on me so fast, but this is a special occasion. Relief washes through me, a cooling, prickling sensation.
“It worked. We did it!” she hoots.
“Well, yeah… I mean of course that’s awesome. But how?”
“You know what, I'm not entirely sure,” she shrugs, her blouse slipping over one shoulder. “I thought we still had a couple of days left, and was really waiting for Perez's story to get out. I thought we might even have to wait for yours to go live on TurnPost for a day or two. But they must have already had the docs ready to go by messenger! When I talked to Rick — you remember Rick at Google — he said it just felt right.”
“That's amazing!” I smile, feeling all the tension drifting away from me.
“No, you're amazing!” she grins. She leans forward, pushing her elbows on her desk and holding her hands out as though gesturing to me like I am something amazing on a game show. “It's you! Our plan… y
ou did it. We did it. You guys just kept pounding the media until everyone believed. To be honest, I didn't even think you had it in you!”
“Well, you know,” I pout, shifting uncomfortably, “I am familiar with men. They are just people.”
“Ha!” she barks, rather cruelly, I think. “You know they exist, but you don't know anything about men. You never have. You’re stuck between reality and fantasy and always get all… twisted around. Like you just got thrown from a horse!”
She laughs for a really long time, obviously amused by herself. I feel myself straighten in my chair and slide the glass back onto the end of her desk.
“Well I’m just glad it worked out,” I mumble.
“Turned out what you really needed was two men!”
“So, I'm really glad this all went so well,” I finish as a way of saying goodbye. I want to stay polite, and moreover, I really don't need to hear her critique of my love history. I think I should leave while I still have any love left for her.
“Me too,” she sighs, smiling obliviously. “So what's next for you?”
I stand halfway up, then stop. I wasn’t going to say anything, but that was a stupid question, wasn't it?
“Well, you know what's next for me, right?”
She shakes her head, shrugging. “Oh…. right. You wrote an article about this, right?” she asks, waving her hand in the air in front of her like she’s waving away a bad smell. “Yeah, we don’t need that anymore. You can just skip it.”
“Um, okay,” I reply slowly. I didn’t write an article, but I’m still a little miffed that she would just trash something I had been tasked to write, anyway.
“So what’s next?” she asks again.
I shake my head, sort of amazed she’s asking me this. Did the last three weeks just happen or what?
“My writing assignment?” I explain, feeling like I’m giving her Cliff Notes. “I get to go back to my personal journalism, like we talked about?”
“Oh, sure…” she says vaguely. “Well maybe not right away. But yeah. Sure.”