Page 114 of Host for the Holidays
Up ahead, Rémy steps out from a small alcove by the waterfall. He’s wearing a slim-fit gray suit and a blue tie.
I look at Siena, who just smiles like she’s part ofOcean’s Tenand has just pulled off an amazing heist. “Surprise,” she says.
“Rémy!” I run to him because I haven’t seen him on anything but video chats in a whole month. When you spent almost every second together from the get-go, that’s a lifetime.
He smiles and jogs over to meet me—is it just me, or has he become ten times more attractive since I last saw him?—and I barrel into him, burying my face in his shoulder and inhaling because unfortunately, the geniuses that run the tech world have not figured out how to let me smell my boyfriend through the phone. Truly a modern travesty.
It’s a tad dramatic to arrange a meeting here when I’d be seeing Rémy in three hours anyway, but I love it all the same.
He holds me close. “Gosh, I missed you,” he whispers into my ear.
“You have no idea.”
When we pull away, I turn to Siena. “You planned this together?”
She just grins and taps her fingertips together like Mr. Burns fromThe Simpsons. I laugh and turn back to Rémy. “I can’t believe she went behindmyback. She loves you way too much if she’s conspiring with you.”
Rémy looks at me kind of funny. “You think this is what we conspired together about? Tricking you into meeting me here earlier than planned?”
“I mean, youdidconspire to do that.”
He takes a step back, keeping his eyes on me. “Yeah, but we conspired about a lotmorethan just that.” He drops to one knee.
I stop breathing. He does this to me a lot—makes my body forget basic physiological processes—and I wonder if my first to-do list item as a resident of Paris should be to see my doctor about it. There’s gotta be a prescription for it. Or an essential oil.
Rémy takes my hand in his free one. “Madi, the first time we met, you threw a shampoo bottle at my head. And you missedpretty bad.”
I cover my mouth with a hand because the sounds coming out are in a very gray area between a laugh and a cry.
“But you knocked me down anyway, and I have been absolutely crazy about you ever since. I know you aren’t big on sales pitches, and I’m too impatient to give one. So”—he pulls out a gold band with a glimmering diamond in the middle—“will you marry me?”
Can’t breathe, can’t speak, can’t laugh, can’t even cry properly. So I just nod and pull him up from his knee and into a kiss to make up for the last month of missed ones. It actually can’t make up for those, but . . . we’ve got time.
When we pull away, he takes my left hand and slips the ring onto my finger. We both look at it for a few seconds, then Rémy puts his palm against my palm and threads our fingers together.
“I really do hate to interrupt this excruciatingly adorable moment,” Siena says, “but I just have to draw attention to the masterful way I madebothof you believe I was your secret keeper, while really, I had my own game the whole time.”
Rémy and I look at each other, but neither of us has any idea what she’s talking about.
“Gah! The two of you are so slow. Allow me to spell it out for you. Rémy, Madi isn’t here on a tourist visa.” She looks way too satisfied with herself. “They approved her long-stay visa application, which, if my research is correct— and it is, but please don’t be mad at me if it’s not—will be turned into a residency card after the wedding, making your path forward”—she does a showy gesture with her hands—“seamless.”
Rémy looks at me, eyes wide. “You got the visa?”
I smile and nod. “And I have four heavy suitcases—and the airport receipt for the excess fees—in the taxi to prove it.”
He pulls me in for another hug, pressing his mouth to the spot just behind my ear. We sit like that, holding each other (with a very willing and self-satisfied audience of one) until Rémy whispers, “Then let’s go home.”
Home. I smile, because with Rémy, I really am home.
THE END
