The Proposal
1225 Words
The sun’s barely up, but it’s already nosing around the Smith estate, splashing everything with that golden morning glow. Dew on the roses, dew on the damn hedges—everywhere.
Selene’s out on her balcony, robe half-untied, wind playing with the silk. She’s clutching a mug of chamomile like it’s an anchor, but honestly, she’s somewhere else. Her face—she’s got that look.
The “I’m thinking about too much” look. How have the past few weeks been? Total chaos. Grief, betrayal, and one hell of a plot twist with Raymond being, weirdly, the person she could lean on. And now? She feels... steady. It’s so unfamiliar, it almost makes her laugh.
She hears footsteps—ah, here comes Raymond, just leaning in the doorway, looking way too relaxed for a Monday. Gray sweater, black pants, none of his usual Wall Street armor.
“Morning,” he says, half-grinning.
“Morning,” she tosses out, not really smiling, but hey—not giving the ice queen routine either.
They just hang there, not saying a word. But it’s that chill silence, you know? Like the world finally took a breath after yelling for hours. No one’s itching to fill the space.
Raymond cracks first. “So, hear me out. We should just vanish for a while. Just us. Zero lawyers, zero estate headaches, zero ghosts. Like, pure escape mode.”
She actually lets out this laugh—fast, a little jagged. “Disappear? What, is this some sketchy business trip in disguise?”
He flashes that grin. “Swear on the ugliest tie I own. No work. Pinky promise.”
She could shut it down. Honestly, that’s her usual move: turtle shell, walls up, bye. But the way he’s looking at her? Like she’s not some walking disaster zone. So, you know what? Screw it. Why not for once?
“Yeah, alright,” she says, hoping she’s playing it chill (spoiler: she’s definitely not). “So… Where are we headed?”
He just shrugs, all mysterious, like he invented the concept. “You’ll see.”
Fast-forward: two days later, they pull up to this lakeside spot that looks like someone cranked Pinterest up to eleven—towering pine trees, air so crisp it kind of hurts your lungs in the best way. The villa? The whole thing’s flexing. Huge timber beams, windows for days, the kind of place that seems to know it’s beautiful and isn’t shy about it. Ridiculous, honestly.
Raymond’s thought of everything—fireside dinners, canoe rides, even a private chef (who, by the way, makes a mean steak). No grand gestures. No awkward hugs. Just him, showing up, paying attention. It’s... weirdly nice.
On the second morning, they’re hiking. Selene’s actually talking—like, really talking—for the first time in ages. Childhood stories, art school dreams, her obsession with Russian novels. Raymond just listens, doesn’t try to fix anything, and just asks questions that make her feel seen. At some point, she stops to watch a deer. He takes her hand—gentle, not pushy. She lets him. It feels real.
Later, they’re bundled up on the deck, stargazing. She leans her head on his shoulder. No one says a damn thing, and it’s perfect.
On the third night, after a hike that basically killed her legs, Raymond leads her out to the deck. Sun’s setting, the lake's all gold and glass. There’s a little table, candles, and dinner for two. Selene’s heart does this embarrassing flutter.
“This is beautiful,” she whispers.
Raymond looks at her like she’s the only person on Earth. “Not as beautiful as you.” Corny, right? But it lands. Feels honest.
She blushes, looks away, and smiles anyway. They eat and talk about Paris mishaps and garden disasters. Laughter bubbles up, unexpected and easy. For the first time in a long time, Selene lets herself just be.
Man, Selene caught herself grinning way more than she meant to. Every time Raymond launched into another story, it was like peeling back another layer—like, oh, so he’s actually a human dude and not just a walking trust fund or his dad’s shadow. Turns out he’d been knocked around by life too, lost stuff, and wanted to be seen for, well, himself.
Dinner wraps up, and suddenly Raymond’s up, fishing around in his jacket. She’s staring, trying not to look nosy, but—come on. You’d be curious too.
“Look, I know this is not what either of us signed up for,” he starts, all awkward but sincere. “This marriage—duty, old promises, all that ancient family drama. But these past few weeks? It kind of shook me up. Us, actually.”
Selene sits up, heart banging in her chest. Probably loud enough for both of them to hear.
“I used to think love had to be fireworks, you know? But now I think it’s trust, respect, and stupid little kindnesses. Showing up when it’s easier to bail. And you—you’ve done that. More than I could’ve hoped for.”
And then—yep, he’s on one knee. Classic move, but somehow it doesn’t feel cheesy. He’s got this velvet box; inside is a diamond ring that’s actually nice, not gaudy or over-the-top. Just…right.
She’s barely breathing. “Raymond,” she gets out, barely a whisper.
He keeps going, like he’s got to get it all out before he chickens out. “Yeah, we’re married. On paper. But I want the real deal. Not some deal our families made—something we pick. So…will you? Will you marry me again? This time, for love?”
Selene just stares. Her chest’s a mess of feelings—fear, hope, relief, the works. Eddy and Frida drift in her mind for a second, but they’re just echoes now. Not chains.
This guy kneeling in front of her? He’s been gentle. Steady. Never tried to own her, just walk next to her. She flashes through the tiny stuff—how he actually listens, gives her space, and never tries to “fix” her like she’s a project.
She drops down too, hands on his face. “Yes,” she says, her voice all wobbly. “Yeah, Raymond. I choose you.”
He pulls her in, and the kiss—yeah, it’s gentle, almost like they’re both scared to mess up the magic. Outside, the lake’s dead still, the sun doing that slow dip, and stars just starting to blink on, nosy as ever.
Like the cosmos, I can’t help but peek at this little moment. And honestly? For the first time in ages, Selene feels it—right down in her marrow—she’s exactly where she’s meant to be. Later on, the two of them are curled up by the fire, and Raymond sneaks his hand into hers. “We get a do-over,” he says. “No more games, No masks, Just us.” She gives him a nod. “And patience.”
Raymond flashes that lopsided grin. “Deal.” The wind’s doing its thing outside, rustling the trees. But inside? It’s just them, picking each other. No strings, no pretending. Just real. It feels like a reset button, honestly—not just for their marriage, but for their beautifully chaotic, stubbornly hopeful hearts.
- Writer
