Well Met - Jen DeLuca Page 0,126
mean you don’t care?”
He didn’t answer me. Instead he held out his hand, and instinctively I took it. “Come here,” he said again. “I need to talk to Chris.”
“She’s in the back room.” But he tugged on my hand, and I had no choice but to follow him out from behind the counter and into the back room.
“Your Majesty?” Simon’s voice carried through the back room of the store, and I looked at him in startled confusion. It was a good ten months before Chris was Her Majesty again.
Chris poked her head from around a shelving unit, smiling when she saw the both of us. “Simon, hi! I didn’t know you were here.” She didn’t sound convincing, and I was immediately suspicious. “What can I do for you?”
He cleared his throat. “Your Majesty,” he said again, his voice formal but not his accented Faire voice, “it has been a year and a day since you bound me to this woman. We have come before you today so I may declare my intentions.”
“A year and a day? What are you . . . oh.” My eyes went round. The handfasting. It had been on the last day of Faire last year, which would have been a year ago yesterday. With the new Faire schedule I’d lost track, but Simon had remembered.
If Chris was surprised by this, she didn’t let it show. “By all means, then, continue. I daresay you don’t need me around for the actual declaring, though.” She bustled past us, her purse looped over her shoulder.
I turned and watched her leave the back room and head for the front of the shop. A few seconds later the door chimed, followed by the thunk of the key turning in the lock. “That was weird,” I said, turning back to Simon. “What was that all . . .”
But he wasn’t there. I blinked at the empty space where he’d been standing a moment before, then looked down to where he knelt in front of me. A small square box in his hand. My eyes went even bigger and all the breath left my body. “Simon, what . . .”
“Shush, I’m declaring my intentions.” He smiled up at me, but that smile trembled. He held out his hand again and I took it without hesitation, even though my hands were shaking. Everything was shaking.
“Okay,” I said, my voice faint and not terribly steady. “What are your intentions?”
“Well,” he said. “I have four.”
“Four? Seems like a lot.”
He narrowed his eyes but didn’t lose his smile. “Are you going to argue with me about my intentions?”
I hiccuped a nervous laugh. “Sorry. Please continue.”
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “My first intention is to sell the house. I told Mom and Dad they have until Halloween to decide what they want to keep before it goes on the market.”
“What? Simon, that’s fantastic!” All of my nervousness drained out of me at this news. I’d wanted to suggest this for months. I’d hated the way his parents had foisted it on him, but hadn’t wanted to overstep.
“Yeah.” He acknowledged my outburst with a smile. “It turns out they didn’t think I’d want to live in it forever. They gave it to me as a nest egg. So I could sell it and . . . well, that leads me to my second intention.”
“Okay. Second intention. Go.”
“My second intention is to choose a new house, which I hope you’ll help me with, since my third intention is for us to live there together.”
“Both very good intentions. I like these a lot.” I couldn’t believe how calm I sounded when my brain was zinging with energy. “What’s number four?”
“Number four is the best one. The most important one. My fourth intention . . .” He swallowed hard, and his smile faltered. I knew what was coming now, and wanted to reassure him even as everything inside me shook with emotion. “My fourth intention is to marry you, Emily. Let me show you every day that you are the most important person in my life.” He drew a slow, shaking breath. “Those are my intentions. Do you approve of them? Will you marry me?”
I couldn’t answer. I wasn’t sure if my voice even worked. So instead I dropped to my knees, and the ring box fell with a thud to the floor behind me as our arms came around each other. I pulled his mouth down to mine. “Yes,” I whispered. I tasted tears that could have been his