by Monica James
We break apart, and I can’t shake the feeling that whatever he’s up to could shake things up even more than they already are.
I watch as he slips on his sunglasses and exits the building, a man on a mission.
Four hours later, I’m sitting cross-legged on Mitch’s office floor, surrounded by scraps of paper that have helped us brainstorm and visually grasp what we’re up against.
Mitch stands by his desk, pen poised against his lips as he looks down at our madness. “I think this is everything.”
Peering from left to right, I agree with a nod.
I detailed everything—from beginning to end. Mitch has been a good friend since we went to Stanford together. He never liked Lincoln, so he didn’t find my tale too hard to believe. “As you know, generally, for London to adopt Emily, we would require the consent of both parents. The first step is for Lincoln and London to take paternity tests to establish who is the birth father. I know you said Belle is certain, but we need to be one hundred percent sure.”
I add to my scribble on the notepad in my lap.
“Who is listed as the father on Emily’s birth certificate?”
“I’m not sure. I will ask.”
“Good. Once we prove that Lincoln is the biological father, we can aim to show the courts just who he really is. The fact he hasn’t provided financial support over the years or acknowledged Emily is his child is good. We can argue he hasn’t been there for her, neither emotionally nor financially. But if Lincoln wants to and can provide proper care for Emily, the courts will ensure she has a relationship with him. They will decide what they think is best for Emily. And on paper, Lincoln will fool them. He has a good job. A home. A clean record. They will want to believe he’s turned over a new leaf.”
I know all this. But to hear it stinks because his leaf can go to hell.
“If London were married to Belle, or even in a stable relationship with her, things would be easier. But Lincoln has as much a right to Emily as Belle does.”
Groaning, I press my fingers into my temple, feeling an impending headache. “I really wish I could believe Lincoln wouldn’t go to these extremes, that he wouldn’t bother with all the paperwork and just sign over his rights, but that’s wishful thinking. He will do anything to make sure we’re miserable.”
Mitch looks on with sympathy. We’ve seen it hundreds of times before, but it’s always different when it happens close to home. “Get that paternity test. Talk to Belle. Maybe she can convince Lincoln to sign over his rights.”
I scoff, gathering all the paperwork. “I highly doubt that. I don’t even know where Belle stands in all this.”
“You know you’ll have to change that, right?”
“Fucking great,” I mumble, sorting through my mountain of notes. “She’s the reason we’re in this mess in the first place. If she hadn’t lied, this would be so different. Our lives would be so different. But it is what it is.”
Standing, I stretch my stiff neck from side to side.
“Until you hear from Lincoln, do the paternity test. Talk to Belle. Let’s regroup in a week.”
“Okay. Thanks, Mitch. I owe you.”
He shakes his head. “This is payback for allowing me to use your study notes.”
I laugh and hug him goodbye.
As I’m waiting for the elevator, I check my cell and am surprised to see London hasn’t been in touch. I thought he’d reply to the text I sent him earlier. I wonder what he’s been up to all day.
As the elevator arrives, I dial his number, deciding to put the conspiracy thoughts to rest. However, when I get his voicemail, my mind begins to spin.
Maybe he needed some time to himself. Lord knows, I would give anything to switch off for a day. But this doesn’t seem like him, especially since I had the sneaking suspicion something was up when we said goodbye today.
With no other choice, I walk the ten blocks to my office and wait for him to call.
It’s now seven thirty p.m., and I still haven’t heard from London. I’ve tried my hardest not to worry, but this isn’t like him. Something is up.
I managed to cram a ton of work in, as we’re still a man down, but my mind was elsewhere. Yvonne confirmed for the tenth time that London hadn’t called. I was grasping at straws, but this radio silence is new.
As minutes turned into hours, I was left with the possibility that London went back to LA. I didn’t want to believe this as truth, but that would be the easier option than dealing with what we’re facing here.
Being together has never been easy, but what we’re up against is disheartening to say the least. I wouldn’t blame him if he packed up and left. It would hurt like hell, but I would understand. He has Emily to think of.
Sighing, I rest my forehead against the stack of papers on my desk, needing a moment to collect my thoughts. If he’s left, will I follow?
It hurts to think he wouldn’t ask me to come.
Refusing to cry, I decide to drown my sorrows in Chinese takeout, but when my cell chirps, indicating I have a text, all thoughts of food are long forgotten. My phone is buried beneath paperwork, and I toss it off the desk frantically to check who is texting my phone.
I don’t know whether to be relieved or not because even though the text is from London, the ambiguous message leaves me scratching my head.
It’s an address in Brooklyn. That’s all. I assume I’m supposed to meet him there.
With no further instruction, I grab my bag and leave my office how it is. As I rush out the door, I lock up, informing Alexandro I’m leaving. When he asks if I want him to accompany me outside, I thank him but decline. I don’t have time to explain.
A woman holding a yoga mat and gym bag ambles toward a cab idling by the curb. God save my soul, but I run in front of her and steal her ride. “Hey!” she shouts as I slam the door shut.
“I’m sorry,” I mouth to her through the window. “Namaste.” She flips me off in response.
This is just a normal night in NYC for the driver who asks me where to. I could have caught the subway, but I can’t wait. I just hope this is faster. “Brooklyn.” I rattle off the address as I google what exactly is so special about this place.
It comes up as a vacant building for sale.
My stomach drops. What does this mean?
“Step on it,” I command. “Please.” He thankfully doesn’t care for road laws and breaks about ten before we even make it two blocks.
Throughout the drive, I attempt to obtain more information on this empty building, but I get nada. Why would London be here? And what was with the suspicion surrounding his text? Not even a hello, come meet me. Just an address.
In light of what’s currently going on, I can’t rule out the possibility that something sinister lurks, but the question is, what or who?
A weight settles in the pit of my stomach. If something has happened to London… “Please hurry,” I beg the driver as getting out of Manhattan in heavy traffic is proving impossible.
I follow the GPS on my phone, unsettled in my seat when the time to my destination continues to push out. When we’re ten minutes away and stuck in a gridlock, I reach into my bag and pull out a fifty. “Thank you. I’ll walk the rest of the way.”
I don’t wait for him to get a word in edgewise as I yank open the door, rip off my heels, and make a mad dash for the sidewalk. The blaring of horns doesn’t deter me, and I continue to run, intent on stopping only when I reach the address.
Thankfully, it’s not too busy out, and I can maneuver the streets without taking anyone down. I’m covered in sweat and seconds away from passing out, but I make it in record time. The black building in front of me has no signage, just a gold number on the door to indicate this is the right place.
I don’t waste a second and turn the brass handle, sighing in relief when it opens.
“London!” I call out, searching the dusty room frantically.
There are lights on, which make me feel somewhat better, but until I see Lon
don, nothing will calm my racing heart.
The building turns out to be what looks like an old bar. But I don’t think it’s been operational for a while. There is a door around the side. I’m moments away from tearing it from its hinges when it swings open.
“Princess?”
I pause, almost tripping over my feet when I see London, appearing alive and well. My heels drop to the floor with a thud. “London?”
“What’s the matter?” he asks, rushing forward and looking over my shoulder. “Is someone following you?”
I don’t believe it’s him, so I press my hands to his cheeks, my violent breaths echoing around. “Are you okay?”
“Okay? Yes, I’m fine. Did you run here?” He sweeps the matted, sweaty hair from my forehead. “What’s going on?”
Now that I have seen him with my own two eyes, and he doesn’t appear to be missing any appendages, I take a deep breath, bending at the waist. Adrenaline still pumps through my body. “I thought you were dead.”
“Dead?” One eyebrow rises higher than the other.
Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration, but holy shit, I didn’t know what to think.
Once I can breathe without a wheeze, I stand upright and attempt to figure out what’s going on. “Why the mysterious text to meet you here? Why the radio silence all day?”
“Mysterious?” he questions, totally lost in translation. “I sent directions. And I didn’t want to disturb you, seeing as you’re doing me a huge favor. I thought you’d be busy.”
“I was,” I argue, planting my hands on my hips. Now that I know he’s okay, my anger steps in. “But you could have added a smiley face or a heart. Fuck, I’d even be happy with the emoji that is either a gust of wind or the result of someone having too many burritos. But just an address is so…shady.”
He does a poor job at hiding his amused smirk. “My bad. Note to self: next time, add an emoji.”
“This isn’t funny,” I say, his grin evoking violence as I slap him playfully on the arm.
“I never said it was,” he counters, bursting into husky laughter and contradicting his claims.
“Stop laughing.” I hit him again, smacking his hard chest this time. “I thought you were hurt.”
“I will be if you don’t stop hitting me,” he replies, rubbing his chest.
His lightheartedness calms my nerves. “Oh my god.” I exhale, thankful everything is okay. “I was worried something awful had happened.”
“Princess…” His voice drops an octave as he reaches for my hand. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I worried you.”
“It’s okay.” Now that I can put conspiracies aside, I look around the room, wondering why we’re here. “So are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
He takes a deep breath, arousing my nerves once again. “What do you think of this place?”
“It’s in desperate need of a deep clean,” I reply, and he chuckles.
“Come, take a look around.”
“London…”
He ignores me and instead leads me toward the long bar. It’s coated with a thick layer of grime and dust, and behind the counter doesn’t look much better. The walls were once red, I think. The disco ball hanging limply from the ceiling suddenly throws off a stripper vibe.
“Was this a strip club?” I ask in all seriousness as I run my finger along the grubby bar.
London’s lips twitch. “No, it wasn’t. About five years ago, it was a cocktail bar.”
I nod, attempting to envision this place as something other than the derelict place it’s become. “Why are we here?”
“Do you like it?”
“What does it matter if I like it or not?”
He groans, amused that I won’t give him a straight answer, but he reveals why a second later. “Because I bought it.”
Surely, the dust in this air has made its way into my ear canal and affected my hearing because there is no way I just heard him say he bought this place. But when he stands still, gauging my response, I know I didn’t have a lapse in hearing at all.
My mouth hinges open. “What?”
“I’m sorry I didn’t discuss this with you first, but a friend of mine back home told me his brother worked in real estate here. He hooked us up, and we’ve been talking. I told him I was interested in some property, and he told me about this place. The moment I stepped through that door, I just knew. I wanted to tell you, but I wanted it to be a surprise. After all the shit we’ve been through, I thought this would give us something positive to look forward to. Something we can call ours.”
He speaks so quickly, like if he doesn’t get it all out, he’ll chicken out.
I need to backtrack. “You bought this place? You own it?”
He shakes his head slowly. “No…we own it.”
He mentioned he was thinking of buying a bar here, but it was a passing comment. Nothing was set in concrete—until now it appears.
Gradually, I scan my surroundings, and once I envision this place scrubbed of the thick deposits of dust and with a fresh coat of paint, a giddiness swims within.
London stands still, watching me closely. He runs a hand through the back of his hair. The angle highlights his tattoo of the word defy. I can’t help but smile. “Are you mad?”
“No,” I reply, but I don’t elaborate.
“So you’re okay with this?” He waits with bated breath.
This is the beginning of something remarkable, something that will mark our future together. How can I not be okay? “Yes, London. This is incredible.”
Before I have a chance to express just how happy I am, he rushes forward and picks me up, twirling me in the air. “This is going to be fucking amazing.”
The room spins, and I yelp in excitement, unable to contain my happiness. He slams my ass onto the bar, grinning broadly. “I’m so happy,” he says, searching my eyes as something glorious transforms in his. “Can you reach behind the bar? There’s a magazine with some décor I want to show you.”
“Of course,” I reply, not thinking twice as I spin and reach over my shoulder. I feel around but can’t find anything. I continue hunting but come up with nothing. “Are you sure…?” My words die in my throat, however, because when I turn back around, what I see robs any coherent words from forming.
I blink once, unsure if what I’m seeing is really true. When I scrub at my eyes and the vision of London on one knee is still before me, I know that this is really happening.
“Marry me.” Who knew that two simple words could change someone’s life forever.
Seeing London on bended knee, I stare open-mouthed and on the cusp of passing out. He reaches into his back pocket and produces a ring, a ring which steals my breath away. The blue diamond reminds me so very much of the first time I looked into London’s eyes and fell in love.
“Princess, I love you. I always have. Truth be told, if I could have married you when we were kids, I would have. You’re it for me, and if you don’t say yes, I think I’ll fucking die.”
Tears cascade down my cheeks, blurring my vision of London on one knee.
“Marry me, Holland Brooks-Ferris. You’re that part of me I’ll always need. Always crave. Being without you is defying my heart. It always has been. I want to be with you. Forever.”
I begin sobbing because I feel the same way too. I always have. “But, but…it’s so soon.” I’m trying to be reasonable and not get swept up in the moment.
“Soon? I have known you since I was five years old.” God, the memory of us as kids just cements my decision.
“I know, but I don’t even know your friends. We’re still working out where we fit.”
“We fit together.”
He’s right. I’m only delaying the inevitable because that’s what most would do. But we’re not most. We never have been. The past has led us to this moment, and there is only one answer.
“Yes, I’ll marry you,” I whisper, my chest heaving with ugly tears.
“Yes?” he echoes, the rin
g trembling in his hand.
“A thousand yeses,” I cry, jumping down from the bar and running to where he kneels. I drop to my knees and clutch his hands in mine. Even though I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t want him surrendering. Our relationship has always been a partnership, and I’ll ensure we enter our marriage the same way.
The electricity thrums between us, and when my answer finally sinks in, London smashes his lips to mine. “Princess,” he says around my mouth. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” All I can taste is salty happiness—I’ll never forget the way it feels on my tongue.
He brushes my tears away with his thumbs, then breaks our kiss. He takes my left hand, his heavy breaths revealing his nerves. When he slips the beautiful blue diamond onto my finger, the noise settles, and everything calms.
It’s a perfect fit.
“Do you like it? I know it’s not traditional…but neither are we. I wanted a rarity, something to reflect my love for you because our love isn’t ordinary…It never will be.”
“I love it,” I reply, placing my hand out in front of me to admire the beauty. It’s a deep blue princess-cut diamond encrusted with a border of sparkling diamonds. The band is thin and white gold. It looks to be made especially for me.
He seems transfixed on the sight, brushing his finger over the ring. And what he says brings me back to the first time we made love. “You belong to me. You always have.”
“And you belong to me,” I reply just as I did all those years ago.
“Always.” Our conversation may have been spoken once before, but so much has changed since then.
“I don’t want to wait,” I say, sounding impatient because I am. “We’ve waited long enough.”
“Me either.”
Unsure why this feels so right, I announce in a small voice, “Let’s go back to where this all started.”
London doesn’t hide his surprise. “You want to get married in LA?”
I nod as I couldn’t see myself marrying him anywhere but there.
Wrapping his arms around me, he draws me in close. “Okay, then. Marry me…marry me tomorrow, Princess. Let’s jump on the first plane and do this.”