Page 120 of My Best Friend Is Broken

But all I feel is safe. Chosen. Loved in a way that makes everything else, the trauma, the fear, all the years of pain, feel almost worth it because they led me here.

“I can’t believe you proposed over house-buying paperwork,” I say eventually, pulling back to look at him properly.

“I had a whole thing planned,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “Was going to wait until we got the keys to the new house, propose in the garden with champagne and roses and probably a speech I’d practiced in the mirror.”

“What changed?”

“You said you’d be honored to be a Ricci.” His voice goes soft. “You chose my family, my name, my mother’s memory over your own father’s legacy. How could I not propose after that?”

“So it was spontaneous?”

“The timing was. But I’ve had the ring for weeks. Been carrying it around in case there was a perfect moment.” He laughs quietly. “Should have known with us there wouldn’t be a perfect moment, just a real one.”

“This was perfect,” I assure him. “Weird and unexpected and completely us, but perfect.”

We stand there in our small apartment, surrounded by the remains of dinner and flickering candles, and I think about how far we’ve come. From cocky teenagers under anoverpass to this. Engaged, buying a house, building a life that includes words like “husband” and “forever.”

“We should call people,” I say eventually. “Tell them the news.”

“In a minute.” Nicky tightens his arms around me. “Let me just hold my fiancé for a bit first.”

“Your fiancé,” I repeat, testing out the word. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“You’ll have time to practice before the wedding. Then you’ll have to get used to husband.”

The wedding. Our wedding. The concept feels surreal and wonderful and slightly overwhelming all at once.

“Molly is going to lose his mind,” I say with a laugh. “He’s going to want to plan the entire thing.”

“Let him. I don’t care about flowers or centerpieces or any of that. I just care about you.”

“Sap.”

“Your sap now. Legally, once we sign the papers.”

I kiss him again because I can, because he’s mine and I’m his and soon there will be documentation to prove it. The kiss deepens, becomes something heated and promising, full of all the ways we’ll celebrate this later when we’re not surrounded by dirty dishes and melting candles.

“I love you, Nicky Ricci,” I whisper against his lips.

“I love you too, Liam Ricci-to-be.”

And standing here in our apartment, engaged and happy and building toward a future that once seemed impossible, I think about how grateful I am for every terrible thing that happened to bring me here. Because without it, I might have remained too stubborn to see the truth of who Nicky is to me. Prison, trauma, pain… all of it led to this moment, to this man, to this life we’re creating together.

It was worth it. Every single awful second was worth it for this.

For us.

Chapter forty

Nicky

The Mayfair house is even more impressive at Christmas than it was at our last visit. Garlands wind around the iron railings, white lights twinkle in the windows, and there’s a wreath on the door that looks like it cost more than most people’s monthly rent. Everything about it screams tasteful, expensive holiday cheer.

Liam’s hand tightens in mine as we approach the front steps, and I give it a reassuring squeeze. He’s come so far since that first dinner here, but I can still feel the slight nervousness in his grip, like he’s not quite sure he belongs in places this grand.

But he does belong. He’s wearing the engagement ring that proves it, a visible symbol that he’s part of this world now, part of this family. My family.

The door swings open before we can knock, and Molly appears in what can only be described as a Christmas jumper that’s gone rogue. It’s bright red with actual working lights spelling out “Jingle My Bells” across the chest, complete with sequins and what appears to be tinsel trim.