Page 126 of Gabriel

“Santo Cristo,” I muttered.

“I know.”

I laughed, although it wasn’t exactly full of joy. Too much shit had happened. “This must be the most romantic proposal the world has ever seen.”

“It wasn’t exactly something I practiced or ever dreamed of doing. And I know how badly I fucked up by kidnapping you. If I hadn’t… This is all my fault.”

“If I’m honest, Amara, this sounds like a proposal out of guilt.”

She let out an exasperated sigh—part frustration, part surrender.

“No, Gabriel, I’m not proposing because of the guilt. And I know the timing is horrible, don’t you think I know that? I’m proposing because I like you.”

I snorted. “Before everything blew up, and even mere minutes ago, I could’ve sworn you said you loved me.”

She let out a strangled, almost embarrassed laugh that was caught somewhere between a breath and a confession.

“I do love you,” she murmured. “Although it doesn’t seem you could reciprocate those feelings, so despite the fact that I deserve it, I’m trying to preserve some of my self-respect by not shouting it from the bottom of my lungs.”

That shut me up.

The room was still, and I could feel her gaze on me even though I couldn’t see her. Something unspoken passed in the silence—something heavier than the words themselves.

“This…us…” she started, softer now, but steadier. “We’ve felt inevitable for years. I remember every conversation. Every glance. Every near-miss. Every time you looked at me like you wanted to say something but didn’t. And every time I did the same.”

She paused, and I sensed her leaning over me, like she needed to be closer to say what came next.

“I don’t even remember the name of the first man I slept with,” she continued, voice edged with quiet amusement. “But I remember everything about you.” She hesitated, then added, “So, yeah. I love you, and I hope… I don’t know… I hope that maybe you at least like me, that this ridiculous game we’ve been playing wasn’tjusta game.”

I leaned back, the bandages over my eyes suddenly too tight, like they were strangling me. “You have no idea how I’ve longed to hear you say those words.”

She stiffened. “But?—”

“I can’t tie you to me now, but I’ll ensure you’re safe.”

“Why can’t you marry me?” she protested.

“Preciosa, I might never see again,” I reminded her, my voice rough. “When we have a family, how the fuck am I supposed to help raise one if I’m blind as a bat?”

She let out a long, weary sigh, the kind that carried too much emotion for her to pack into words.

“Youwillget your sight back, Gabriel,” she said firmly, and when I didn’t respond, she added, softer now, “But even if you don’t, I wouldn’t care. Not one damn bit. You could be blind, deaf, in a wheelchair. It doesn’t matter. I already told you, I lied to your family about being pregnant to buy us time, but I meant what I said to you.”

She squeezed my hand, grounding me again in the warmth of her presence.

“All I care about is you—the man you are. And you’re a good man, Gabriel. You really are. Patient, protective, maddeningly kind, even when I don’t deserve it. And all that wrapped up in a stubborn, impossibly loyal Colombian package. Honestly, I never stood a chance against your charm. Not really.”

I swallowed hard. She was saying all the right things—too right. And Dios, I wanted to marry her. This whole situation was insane, barely stitched together by lies and adrenaline, but then again… so was she. So was her family. I’d stopped expecting normal the second I fell for Amara.

My throat tightened.

“I have a condition,” I said, trying to steady my voice even though my heart was anything but. “You told my family you’re pregnant. So if we’re getting married… we start trying. Right after the vows. No games, no delays. We make that lie real.”

She didn’t answer at first—and that hesitation, though it was exactly what I’d expected, still made something in my chest seize up like a fist. I’d loved her for years, watching her from a distance, memorizing every line of her face like scripture. Iwanted what was best for her. I still did. And maybe that wasn’tmeanymore.

ButDios mío, I wanted her to choose me anyway.

Blind. Broken. I wanted her to choose me. Babies or not, I wanted her to always choose me.