Page 157 of Hell Bent

“I think we’ve established,” I said, “that I may be less educated than you in some ways.”

“This is it,” he said. And recited the words.

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments; love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.

O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wand'ring bark

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come.

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom:

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

He stopped, and I said, “Wow.” Not enough to say, you’ll agree, but it was all I had.

“Full of symbolism,” Sebastian said. “And true. As far as I can see … true.”

“OK.” My voice was shaky, and so was his hand.

Oh. That was my hand.

“I looked it up again when you mentioned it,” he said. “And I memorized it. I thought, ‘Just in case,’ and I figure it’s time now. It means that when you really love someone, you’re solid. It means being somebody someone can count on.” He paused. “And it means having a love you can count on, too. Like, for example, a woman who stands with you at your sister’s gravesite, the same way she held your hand all night long when she was exhausted, when she was hurting, because she knew how muchyouhurt, and that mattered more. A woman who loves you the same whether you win or lose. Who makes you want to be a better man.”

I was the one crying now. I couldn’t help it. There the tears were. Ben. Solange. And Sebastian. Sebastian, most of all. “You can’t … be a better man,” I managed to say. “You’re already that man.”

“Even though I can be bossy,” he said, and tried to smile. His whole face open. Naked.

“Yes,” I said. “Because you’re right. It’s better to fight it out. Besides, I always know you have my back. And you know I have yours.”

“Always,” he said, and the word hung there between us.

“Always,” I said.

“So,” he said. “Do you want to marry me?”

I stared at him. “This is …” I managed to say. “Not what I expected.”

“Me neither,” he said. “Or I’d have bought a ring. But here we are.”

“Well, good,” I said. “Because I’d rather choose it together. And I don’t want a diamond.”