Page 45 of His Vow

Declan reached into his jacket pocket. He lowered himself to one knee. The chair scraped behind him. A small velvet box appeared in his hand, and when he opened it, the candlelight caught the diamond and threw a single point of light across the ceiling.

Thea's hand rose to her mouth. Her dark eyes were enormous, bright, filling fast. Her other hand — the one Declan still held — was shaking.

"Marry me," he said. "Not because I have the words. Because I have the years."

The room held its breath. The candles flickered. Thea's tears spilled over her fingers where they pressed against her lips. She pulled her hand from her mouth.

"Yes." Her voice cracked clean down the middle. "Yes, you idiot. Yes."

Julian's chair flew backward. He slapped the table with both hands, the glasses rattling, the wine sloshing, and the sound that came out of him was half-whoop, half-roar. "Let's GO, Hale!"

Declan slid the ring on. His hands weren't steady. Thea grabbed his face with both hands and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the chair. They stood there in the candlelight holding each other while Julian pounded Declan's back, and I pressed both hands to my face and sobbed.

I was crying. Full and open. I pushed back from the table, crossed the room, and threw my arms around Thea. She grabbed me and held on, her shoulders shaking under my hands, her tears hot against my neck.

"I'm so happy for you," I whispered. "You deserve this. You deserve everything."

She pulled back. Her mascara was ruined. Her smile was the most beautiful thing in the room. "I can't believe he kept it together that long. He's been fidgeting all night."

"I was not fidgeting," Declan said behind her, his voice thick.

"You rearranged the salt and pepper four times," Julian said. "I counted."

Thea laughed, the sound wet and broken and perfect, and turned back toward Declan. He was standing by the table with his hands at his sides, the grin gone, replaced by something I'd never seen on his face. Raw. Unguarded. Thea crossed the room to him, and he caught her, pulling her into his chest, his chin resting on the top of her head, his eyes closing.

Julian was hugging both of them now, his arms long enough to wrap around the pair. His voice cracking as he said something about deserving this, about it being damn time, about the wine not being expensive enough for this occasion. Declan laughed into Thea's hair. Thea's hand found Julian's arm and squeezed.

I stood a few feet away, watching them. The three of them tangled together in the candlelight, the ring catching the flame every time Thea's hand moved. The house smelled like wine and lamb and the slow accumulation of people who had chosen each other on purpose.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand and walked back to the table. Nolan was still in his chair. His hands were in his lap. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid.

I sat beside him. My hand found his under the table. His fingers were stiff for a moment, then they laced through mine, his grip firm. I looked at him. His eyes moved from the scene across the room to my face, and whatever lived behind them retreated a step.

Across the room, Thea pulled back from Declan's chest. She looked at the ring on her hand, turning it in the candlelight, and then she looked up at him. The expression on her face — trust and certainty — made my chest ache.

Declan leaned down and kissed her forehead. She rose on her toes and kissed his mouth, soft, brief, and when she pulled back, she was smiling with her whole face.

I squeezed Nolan's hand. My eyes were still wet. The warmth of the evening pressed against my skin — the wine, the candles, the laughter building again as Declan tried to help Thea wipe her mascara and made it worse.

I looked at the man beside me. His profile in the candlelight.

"Isn't love just the most wonderful thing?" I said it simply.

He didn't answer.

His thumb moved across my knuckle. Once. Slow. He lifted our joined hands and pressed his mouth to my fingers. His eyes closed when his lips touched my skin, and he held them there for a long time.

I took that as a yes.

It wasn't.

It was a man holding something wonderful and waiting for it to shatter.

FOURTEEN

NOLAN

The curl had fallen across her forehead again.