“Ladies and gentleman,” Aaron says into the microphone, his voice resounding through the theater. He talks to the crowd, but he never takes his eyes off me. “You’ll have to forgive the interruption, but I have to do something very important… it’s the most important thing I’ll ever do.”
I blink and tears slide down my cheeks. His smirk has become a smile, the sort I’ve never seen on his stern face before, as though he’s finally able to let go of the past, let go of his hopelessness.
“I’ve spent my whole career singing about a love I’ll never find,” Aaron goes on, talking only to me now, his eyes pinning me in place in that way I love so much. “But now I’ve found you. Billie, I love you. I love you more than I can ever explain. I love you so much it hurts.”
I gasp, and then my feet are carrying me across the stage, instinct pushing me toward him.
I stop just short, inhaling the manly scent of his sweat. I don’t even see the hundreds of people in the crowd, all of them gazing up at us. I don’t see his bandmates. I don’t think about the lights.
All I see is him.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
Dropping the mic, he takes my hand in his, lowers himself to one knee, and takes a ring box from his pocket with the other. Leaning down, he kisses my hand softly, and then he takes the ring box in both hands.
“I wanted to do this in front of the whole world,” he says. “I wanted every single person to know who you belong to… and who I belong to. I love you, Billie, and I need you to be my wife. Will you marry me?”
He opens the ring box. The diamond glistens with the stage lights, winking up at me. It’s a gorgeous piece, with an elegant rock set within a white and rose gold band.
I stare at it through tear-blurry eyes, knowing I’ll never forget this, every single detail etched into my mind.
“Yes,” I say, quiet at first. Then I raise my voice, almost screaming. “Yes, yes, yes.”
He slides the ring onto my finger and leaps to his feet, pulling me into a hug. Then he lifts me off my feet and carries me backstage. I hug him tightly as he takes me out of view, and then he puts me down, smoothing the hair from my face.
“I don’t want the whole world to see this.”
He leans down, kissing me passionately, and I know our song is just beginning.
EPILOGUE
THREE WEEKS LATER
Aaron
I stand at my parents’ graves, the flowers already laid out, my gaze moving over the well-maintained headstones. The second I became successful, I arranged for their cheap site to be revamped and cared for. But, shamefully, this is the first time I’ve visited since I was in my early twenties.
It's always been too painful. Or maybe that’s not exactly right.
It’s more like I needed to protect the wall with which I’ve shielded myself, the wall I built around myself after spending so long in that car with them.
But my angel, my fiancé has torn those walls down.
I kneel, laying a kiss on mom’s headstone and then dad’s, and then I climb to my feet, running a hand through my hair.
Maybe it’s strange that I’m smiling as I walk from the cemetery. But I don’t care.
The truth is I’m happy to feel something, even if it’s grief. And, as I drive away from the cemetery and head back toward my – our – apartment, my thoughts turn to the past few weeks.
After proposing to the woman of my dreams, I finished the concert, ending with a song I wrote especially for Billie. I serenaded her as she watched from backstage, her tears shining, her smile as wide and full as mine is now.
When we got home, we fell upon each other in a frenzy of passion, our hands all over each other. We tore at our clothes, leaving them in piles on the floor.
Once naked, when we came together, I finally understood what the phrase making love meant.
We took it slow, slowly moving together, building to a shared finish that had us both trembling. Our lips fused, as we opened our eyes and stared at each other, into each other.
“I love you,” I whispered, as my seed emptied into her perfect body.
“I love you too,” she moaned in reply.
As I drive, I think of her in the studio, recording her first single. She looked so adorably nervous when she told me she’d written a song, holding her notepad in her hands so tightly I thought she was going to tear it in half.
I placed my hands on hers, easing her grip.
“I want to sing it, Aaron,” she murmured. “For you. And then you can tell me if it’s any good.”