This is it !

"And now my lovely skaters, please make way for a little event organised by the skating club. My favourite couple will need a little space, please kindly move aside as much as you can"

Frances craned her neck, pushing myself to the railing with the rest of the crowd. Where was Tristan? What event? Damn, he was going to miss it! She was so grateful he had offered to take her skating, and looked for him everywhere. The rink was near empty now. A man appeared on the ice, striding confidently to the centre. Tall, lean, beautiful … red shirt and black jeans. Frances' breath caught as she recognised him. Tristan! What the hell was he doing?

He stopped abruptly, and she could only marvel at his skill as his eyes roamed the assistance … to find her? Frances had remarked, for sure, that he seemed more confident with his steps on the ice. But this. This was something else. Her eyebrows rose, and his eyes found hers when a few music notes flew into the hall… A violin.

"Dragons". Romantic flight.

Oh! This was a homage to her first Gala. Frances' heart leapt, and Tristan extended his hand. The event … the even was them?

Frances didn't hesitate, striding to him with an incredulous look. Tristan welcomed her with a grin; he was so beautiful, right now. Then his hand enclosed hers and he led them across the rink. Slowly, at first, so that they fell in step easily. His movements were fluid, his equilibrium perfect. Moves of a dancer upon the ice. When had this happened? When had Tristan become a proficient figure skater ?

The tall man twisted around in a balanced inside turn, skating backwards, his croisés powerful. Damn, his long legs gave him much speed ! Incredulous, Frances followed the example. His hand held hers, so close, and yet their steps harmonised easily. The couple sped up, following the flow around the ice rink until Frances decided to get past him in a twirl and settled on his other side.

Tristan's lips barely quirked as he adapted. Just like that the school ball – and the fated Espresso Love song - his other hand retrieved hers easily. It was easier, even, than when dancing Rock'n'roll because she knew a plethora of steps on the ice that gave her confidence and flexibility. Tristan slowed down then, and twisted around to face her.

— "Arabesque, my beauty?"

Frances nodded, diving down as he held her hand, lifting his own leg backwards until they were both gliding across the rink, flying together in the wind. The young woman smiled; she felt so free… Free, with this incredible man by her side. To share this passionate moment with strength and skill. A few claps echoed in the background, but the only thing she could see were his eyes, smiling, and the beauty of the violins. Tristan suddenly spun, finding himself by her side once more, his hand snaking around her waist to guide her around the edge. His grip was firm, his steps assured, his hand as demanding as ever.

Frances' heart was bursting with love for that man as she realised he must have taken classes. And organised it all. The same man who now reached for her leg to sent them in a double spin, one of which she had never experienced. The balance was different in those, and Frances wondered, for a split of a second, whether they were going to crash down in front of so many spectators. But Tristan seemed to master it; he placed her in the right spot. All that was left was to gravitate around him, as if she was planet earth and he, the sun. It felt a little weird not to keep diving the ice on the same spot, but the momentum took them round and round together beautifully.

The music was coming to a close, the bass echoing in the skating rink and still she danced, bending to her man's will, eager to follow his whims. Frances wondered what he had in mind for the final, and wasn't surprised when he gathered her in his arms and lifted her up along a diagonal. Hoots and claps reached her ears, but she was too tightly woven around Tristan to pay them much heed. Frances' skirts flew around them as she lifted her arms. And when he gently set her on the ice, kissing her soundly, Frances grinned so widely that she could feel the stretch of her lips.

Then, just when she thought they were finished, Tristan suddenly dropped to one knee, gliding effortlessly at her feet. Frances smiled; she loved that figure but had so much trouble keeping a steady trajectory. Yet, Tristan didn't sway, his eyes set upon hers, smouldering ambers than kept her in his thrall. Frances wondered if she should follow, feeling self-conscious as she towered over him. He reached for her hand to stall her movement while he seemed to rummage in his pocket. His faint eyebrows knitted in anguish, then relaxed. The last notes of the violin echoed in the rink when his other hand returned to overlay both of theirs.

Frances gasped.

There, shining in his grasp, stood a ring of gold with three diamonds embedded in its thick frame.

Was he …?

Jaw agape, Frances watched him, detailing the lines of his face; high cheekbones, chiselled features, pointed chin and beautiful lips. His hair framed him like a work of art, silken strands of dark blond and brown. Beautiful… His features were slightly strained, his breath as short as hers, panting from the dance.

The last string of the violin died. Silence fell upon the rink, every single voice quelled in this moment of truth. Every breath catching.

— "Marry me," Tristan rasped.

And so came the moment for Frances to realise that she wasn't dreaming. Falling to her knees, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Finding his frame, feeling his chest heaving against hers brought her back to reality. Tristan wanted me to marry her. Wow!

— "Yes, yes…", she whispered, seeking his eyes.

Tristan looked stunned. Incredulous.

— "Yes?" he asked, as if she'd bashed him on the head with a tennis racket.

Frances laughed, then cried loudly.

— "Yes!"

A great, overwhelming cheer came from the crowd, deriving joy from an even that didn't concern them the least. Yet, Frances and Tristan's happiness echoed to them, a moment shared with strangers. Tears leaked from hers eyes and she laughed again, kissing Tristan's face, then his lips soundly. Her heart leapt with joy, warmth flooding her chest as Tristan's grip tightened. His arms squeezed her so hard. In relief, perhaps.

Then he pulled away, and asked for her left hand. He grabbed it in his thin black-glove, then coaxed her to stand. Gently, Tristan removed the garment from Frances' fingers, and slid the ring upon the fourth one. It fit so beautifully. Overwhelmed, Frances captured his warm, her eyes misting over.

— "Thank you, Tristan," she whispered.

And she hoped he understood that her gratitude wasn't only about the ring. Tristan kissed her temple gently, then murmured in her ear.

— "Anything for you, little fairy"

And Frances smiled, still stunned that the man of her life had gone to such length to make her happy. Tristan tugged at her hand, dragging them across the ice rink to give a brief salute to people who offered congratulations.

A small woman parted the skaters, her hair in a high ponytail. There was power in her steps, but her face was split in a wide grin. Tristan twisted on the ice to greet her, and she stopped a foot away with a mighty skid.

— "It's nice to meet you at last, Frances. This one keeps rambling about you."

The redhead's eyebrows climbed high, astonished. Who was that woman ?

— "Charlotte. I trained your fiancé for the dance."

Frances blinked, nonplussed by this little woman that barged in their life without warning. She turned to Tristan and patted him on the back.

— "Good job, Tristan. I'm sure it was even easier with her, she's taller than me."

Her fiancé – wow, what a great word ! – nodded solemnly, his hand still locked around her waist.

— "Yes, the spin was."

Charlotte grinned, exposing a row of pearly teeth.

— "Told you. But anyway…"

And she turned back to Frances, bouncing on her skates. As if keeping still was made for the sick and impaired.

— "I said I didn't give one-to-one training, but your man, he just made my heart melt when he told me he wanted to propose with a dance. I almost cried,"

Frances nodded, her own tears barely kept at bay. Charlotte gave them both a fond look, as if she contemplated a painting at the museum, then patted Tristan anew.

— "Ah, you're beautiful, you lovebirds. Enjoy your life."

The speaker was now rambling about the newly engaged couple, and the music returned – standard pop stuff.

— "Oh, the party is about to begin. Bye my favourite lovers!"

The little woman blew a kiss, and skated away like a squirrel chasing after an acorn. Frances watched her, chuckling at her weirdness as she disappeared in the crowd.

— "Tired, my little fairy?"

The young woman interrogated her legs, and found the statement to be closer to the truth than she liked. But her heart… her heart was so full that it threatened to burst.

— "Yes, let's go home."

Tristan nodded; he had had enough agitation for the evening, and both their muscles were sore from the hour spent on the ice. Especially after that last dance. Frances was so incredibly proud to be at Tristan's arm; he had handled it so well.

Returning to the dressing area proved a challenge; they were stopped a hundred times on their way out, people congratulating them, and telling them how beautiful a couple they made. Frances' cheeks were tired from smiling, but she agreed with them a hundred percent. No one looked more handsome than the man by her side, and she was about to become his wife. Wow.

At last, the couple managed to escape the building and Frances grabbed Tristan's arm, marvelling at the new ring upon her left finger. Head falling upon his shoulder, the young woman squeezed his leather jacket. What he had done … to reach out in her favourite discipline rather than his, made her so warm inside.

— "So you've been training with a professional."

Tristan gave her a wary look.

— "I have, I needed to keep up with you."

This is why she loved him; Tristan was so truthful. And she could measure how difficult it might have been, for him, to lead her astray in this particular case. Frances poked his arm playfully.

— "You sneaky man."

Tristan stopped walking as he turned to face her. His eyes were serious.

— "I'm sorry I lied. But I wanted this to be perfect."

Frances set a finger upon his lips, giving him her most heartfelt smile.

— "Tristan. It was the greatest, the craziest and most incredible thing anyone had ever done for me. I will remember it, 'til I die."

— "It was a tribute to your gala. I think I really fell in love with you the day I watched you dance. You looked free, you made me long for my freedom."

Frances' eyebrows knitted; so this is what had happened that day. She had no idea, but she remembered her joy when, gliding across the ice with her wings, she had shed all the burdens of her life. The good luck charm resided upon her breast that day; he probably didn't know how his gesture had touched her. What words could possibly convey how incredible she found him altogether? What other words than…

— "I love you", she murmured, her fingers gently trailing his cheekbone.

His forehead gently lowered to touch hers, and in this moment, they were alone in the world. The noises of vehicles and passersby disappeared, his breath upon her face her only preoccupation.

— "Seeing you happy is the best of presents, Frances. I'd do anything to see you smile."

— "Well, becoming your wife might just be the thing I need."

His lips captured hers hungrily, and in that moment, Frances knew she would never have enough of him. So the newly engaged couple walked home, and sealed their deal with champagne and a steamy night.