Chapter 45

I fumble with the ribbon, pick daintily at the taped seam of the wrapping; the second time I drop the box, Ben picks it up and rips the paper from it. It’s hinged, and he eases it open to reveal two hammered bands of silver. He takes one from the box, sets the box on the floor, and takes my left hand. “Shannon, I love you so much I really don’t know what else to do about it,” he tells me. “Besides ask you, will you please marry me?”

Whether it’s from his burning love for me or—admittedly more likely—what’s left of the candles on the dinner table, his hook-nosed, sharp-cheeked face is radiant. His little chest is puffed like a bird’s, and his eyes are so swollen with hope I have to tear mine away from them. He has to do this right now? God, I hate Christmas.

“Oh honey.” I put my hand on his cheek, then I take his hand in mine. I close it around the ring. I can barely whisper “No.”

When I run for the door, no one makes a move to stop me. 3: Ben

December 25, 2010