Page 148 of Fangirl
But not to us.
“This is a prop,” I say quietly. “It’s fake. Temporary.Just like I used to think love was.”
She’s crying now.
“But I’ve got a real one coming, Fangirl. One that took months to find and even longer to become worthy of giving it to you.”
I take a steady breath.
“You don’t have to marry me. Not now. Maybe not ever. This isn’t about a ring. It’s a promise that I’ll keep showing up. As me. Not the movie star. Not the guy from the fan site. Just me—a blend of both. I know there’ll be hard days. Days when your body doesn’t cooperate. Days when everything feels too loud, too bright, too much. But I’ll be there with cozy blankets, naan bread, and murder mysteries. Every time. No questions. No judgment. I’m the man who loves you exactly as you are. In every timeline, every universe, every story.”
She lets out a breathless laugh, falls to her knees in front of me, and wraps her hands around mine like she’s grounding us both.
“The ring doesn’t matter,” she whispers. “You do.”
I nod, my forehead pressed to hers, and for a moment, neither of us moves.
“I was never ashamed of being a fangirl,” she says quietly. “It’s how I love—with my whole heart. Including you. And that’s what made this hurt so much.”
“I’m leaving LA,” I say softly.
She blinks, stunned. “Not running,” I add quickly. “Choosing. For the first time in my life, I’m building something real. Something that’s mine. And wherever it is… I want you there. If you’ll have me.”
She smiles, her tears spilling freely now. “You really are a drama queen, Hollander.”
I laugh, wrapping my arms around her. “Only for you, Sinclair.”
A ripple of applause breaks the silence. Gentle at first, like the crew is afraid to interrupt. Then it builds. Maggie’s clapping with tears in her eyes, someone whistles, and another voice shouts, “It’s about damn time!”
But I don’t hear any of it. Not really.
All I see is her.
Kneeling in front of me. Windblown hair from the fan, cheeks flushed, tears glimmering in her eyes. Looking at me like I hung the stars.
My girl. My muse. My fucking miracle.
And I don’t wait.
I cup her face, slide my fingers into her hair, and I kiss her, hard and unapologetic.
I’ve been starving for this. Like I’m branding her with my mouth, my tongue, and my soul.
She gasps, then melts completely, her hands fisting in my tunic like she needs me to breathe just like I need her.
I tilt her head and kiss her deeper, pouring everything into it—every ounce of love, desperation, and relief. Letting her taste everything I haven’t said. Everything I’m too wrecked to put into words.
She moans, and the sound goes straight to my chest. Maybe a little lower.
God, I missed this. Missed her. Missed us.
I kiss her until the world disappears. Until there’s no applause, no crew, no cameras. Just us.
And when I finally pull back, her lips are swollen, her lashes wet, and her smile…
Her smile could stop time.
“You’re mine,” I say, low and certain, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving it… if you let me.”
