Page 170 of After All This Time

My hands ache from gripping the armrests, and I swear, the second this is over, I'm kissing the hell out of her until she feels every ounce of the pride that's threatening to tear me apart right now. Because that goddess on stage? That force of nature wrapped in pale blue. She's mine. And I want to spend forever proving I deserve to be hers.

The music swells, and she soars—literally fucking soars—across the stage, and I know, with the kind of certainty that reshapes universes, that I'm going to marry her. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next month. But tonight, I'm going tolook into those brown eyes and promise her everything. Because some people are meant for spotlights and standing ovations, and some people are meant to love them through it all—and I'm really fucking good at my job.

My fingers still, no longer twisting the loose ring buried deep in my jacket pocket.

My eyes lift just in time to see Amelia stepping shyly out from backstage, clutching a massive bouquet of flowers.

Her gaze sweeps over the crowd, searching until her eyes find mine. The way she pauses and the way her breath catches visibly, even from across the room, completely wrecks me.

I'm on my feet before I even realize I've moved, my heart pounding louder than the applause that rang through the theater. When I reach her, she doesn't hesitate, stepping into me like I'm the only thing keeping her grounded. My arms wrap around her tightly, lifting her off the ground as I bury my face in her neck, and her flowers tumble slightly to the side.

She melts into me, her fingers curling into my jacket like she’s afraid to let go. The second my lips touch hers, the rest of the world fades away.

"I'm so proud of you," I whisper, knowing that nothing I say could ever justify how I'm feeling right now.

"Ready to get out of here?" Amelia nods, and I slowly lower her back to the floor, keeping her close for a second longer than necessary.

She grabs my arm, her fingers curling around my bicep. "Can we go home?"

"Of course we can, Firefly. This is your night. We can do whatever you want." I brush a strand of hair from her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Our apartment is our sanctuary. No parents, no past bullshit, no one else's expectations creeping into the corners. Just us, building something real, something solid. It's the one place where nothing can touch us.

Aside from the occasional guilt-laden phone call or the legal paperwork my dad insists I sign to keep the family business running, we have nothing to do with our parents. And honestly? Neither of us feels like we're missing out. The restaurant was the last time we saw them—the night we laid it all bare. The fallout was swift and messy, but there hasn't been a single regret between us. We walked away together and never looked back.

My dad's still planning to leave the company to Amelia and me because, in his twisted mind, the family name on the building means more than his feelings about our relationship.

It's a bitter irony, considering neither of us wants the damn thing.

I've spent weeks, hell, probably months, imagining tonight.

I've been thinking about what it means to propose to the woman of my dreams on Christmas Eve in New York City. Every cliché popped into my mind. Ice skating at Rockefeller Center, or standing under the sparkling tree, ring box in my hand as I drop to one knee. Or maybe in some fancy restaurant, with champagne flutes clinking and a pianist playing something soft and romantic in the background.

But none of it feels right. None of it feels likeus.

So I wait. Not because I'm not ready—fuck, I think I've been ready since the first time I kissed her and knew I'd never want to kiss anyone else—but because the last thing Amelia needed was me dropping to one knee and asking her to split her focus when she was so close to everything she'd worked for.

The waiting has nearly killed me. I'd watch Mills dance every night, knowing the ring was right there. But I kept my mouth shut. Let her chase down her destiny without my neediness getting in the way.

But I'm done waiting.

Tonight she turned New York City into her bitch, and now I'm going to turn her into my fiancée.

We head back to the apartment—the one we've built together, not just with money, but with pieces of who we are. Amelia's part comes from her dancing, from hours spent perfecting her craft until her feet bled, from tours that took her across the country and exposed her to stages where people couldn't help but fall in love with her. Mine comes from the studio I built with nothing but ink, sweat, and sheer determination.

For a while, I traveled with her. Wherever her tours took her, I was there, borrowing space in other artists' shops, spreading my work across social media until the algorithms couldn't ignore me anymore. Long fucking days, but the nights were pure magic. Every city, every fleeting stay in a hotel room—it didn't matter where we were as long as she was next to me.

When we finally moved to New York, we knew we'd found our place. Amelia stepped into her dream with every rehearsal and every performance, and each one reminded her why she fought so hard to be here. Meanwhile, I built my studio from the ground up, turning it into the kind of place where people trust me to write their stories in permanent ink. Now I'm booked so far ahead it makes my head spin because when you pour your soul into something, the universe tends to notice.

But the real dream? It's not the standing ovations or the waitlist of clients. It's this. Coming home to her, falling asleep with her breath against my neck, and building a life together.

Some people chase fame, fortune, or whatever bullshit they think will fill the holes in their lives. But we found everything we needed in each other.

And tonight, I'm about to add another chapter to our story.

One that starts with a ring and ends with forever.

Amelia collapses onto the couch like her bones have turned to liquid, her legs sprawled out as though the weight of the world just left her body.

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