I'm bursting with sunshine; I'm completely miserable.
I love him--and yet we both know I can't have him. And I don't understand why he's playing such a cruel game, teasing us both with something that is so far out of reach.
He cups my cheek. "Say something, baby. If it's the ring, I promise I'll take you to Tiffany when we get back home."
Laughter escapes, conquering the building tears. "No way," I say. "I love this ring. It's just that I--I don't know why you're doing this. We can't--you know we can't. There's no state--no country, even--where we can get married, and if Daddy won't agree..."
"All the more reason for us to go ahead and do it."
"You're talking crazy, Dallas."
"I'm talking about you and me." He brushes the tears from my cheek with the side of his thumb. "Maybe we are a little crazy, but I want to do this."
"Do what?" I know my voice sounds exasperated but I feel like a child who's been shown the most delectable chocolate cake and yet it's forever just out of reach.
"I saw Cass and Siobhan on the beach this morning, and their engagement got me thinking about my friend Jared from St. Anthony's. Do you remember him?"
"The guy you and Quince used to study with? The one with the Dr. Who obsession?"
"That's him. He's gay, and about thirteen years ago, he and his partner, William, got married."
I frown. "Where were they living?"
"Chicago. He's an American like me. Just over there for the education."
"But--wait. Gay marriage hasn't been legal for that long. Not even close."
"They did it themselves. Had a ceremony with friends, and it was nice. Quince and I were both there. Had estate planning papers drawn up. Not a state-sanctioned marriage, a do-it-yourself one."
"Oh," I say, finally understanding where he's going with this.
"So we have a service. We revise our wills. We draft a partnership agreement. We hire a lawyer and make the estate part of this work. The rest of it is just you and me deciding to do it." He squeezes my hand. "And somewhere in all of that, I really will buy you a better ring."
I burst out laughing. "I love what you're suggesting. But, Dallas, it's not the same, and they still win, and--"
"No," he says, shaking his head. "That's the point. They don't win. We do. Because we're changing the rules. We're taking control from the people who deign to say what we can be to each other. And we'll be together. Say, yes, baby. Say yes, and be my wife."
"Yes," I say, then throw my arms around him as a joyous laughter bubbles out of me. "Yes, yes, a million times, yes."
And then he's kissing me, and we fall backward on the sand, and the surf splashes up over us so that I squeal and try to squirm away, but he holds me down tight, his hands pinning me at the wrists as he straddles my waist.
"And you know the best part?" he says with a playful grin.
"The sex?"
He grins, but otherwise ignores me. "If we ever sell our story, you can write it."
"That's not the best part," I counter. "The best part is that we have a happy ending."
"Yeah," he says, looking at me with such tenderness I almost melt. "We do."
I'm still trapped beneath him, but as another wave comes in, I gasp from the cold and then wiggle my hips. "And meanwhile, we still have the sex."
His mouth twitches. "Oh, yeah," he agrees. "We definitely do."
He stands, then scoops me up, surprising me by hoisting me over his shoulder and giving my ass a light slap. "Dallas!" I squeal, but the protest is only for show. Wherever he's taking me, I'm going willingly. I just don't want to go far.
Neither does he, and he puts me down carefully on the blanket after just a few steps. "Here?" I ask, a little breathless.