Page 97 of The Captive
“I’ll work it out,” he replied enigmatically.
He was quiet for a moment, then reached into the picnic basket, movements careful not to disturb our cozy nest. The blanket shifted around us, letting in a whisper of cool air that made me burrow closer to his warmth. When he retrieved a perfectly ripe strawberry, holding it up between us, my mouth watered at its deep red colour.
"Hungry?" he asked, mischief dancing in his eyes.
I grinned, suddenly aware of how empty my stomach was. We'd been so caught up in each other that we'd barely touched the beautiful spread he'd prepared. "Famished."
"Open your mouth," he instructed, bringing the fruit to my lips with deliberate slowness. "Bite slowly."
Something in his tone made me pay attention to how his breathing had changed. I obeyed, sinking my teeth into the sweet, plump flesh. But then I stopped, eyes widening as I encountered something hard hidden within the berry. My heart began to race.
"What—" I began, then gasped as Alexander helped me extract the object with gentle fingers.
It was a ring. A perfect emerald with diamonds on each side. “You found it…” he said with a smile. The breath left my lungs in a rush, and my hands began to shake.
"Aoife O'Malley," he continued, his voice rough with emotion as he lifted himself on one elbow and looked down at me. Myhands flew to my mouth as tears began to gather, blurring my vision. "Will you marry me?"
I stared at him. His hair was mussed from my fingers, his chest bare, and he'd never looked more beautiful or vulnerable. The weight of the moment settled over me like a weighted blanket.
"You want to marry me? Truly?" My voice came out as barely more than a whisper, disbelief and joy warring in my chest.
"I can't imagine living without you. I don't want to try." His words were steady, certain, even as his hands trembled slightly. "Since I first saw you and touched you … it’s always been you. I want to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life. I want to build something beautiful with you, something that's ours alone."
Joy exploded through my chest like champagne bubbles, effervescent and overwhelming. Tears spilled down my cheeks. After all we’d been through, I couldn’t disagree with what he said. "Yes," I whispered, then louder, my voice breaking with emotion, "Yes, of course yes!"
He slipped the ring onto my finger with reverent care, his own hands shaking now. I marvelled at how perfectly it fit, as if it had been waiting for my hand. The emerald glimmered against my pale skin.
"There's something else." He reached into the picnic basket to retrieve a small, wrapped box he'd hidden beneath everything else.
I accepted it with trembling hands. The wrapping paper was elegant midnight blue with a silver ribbon, and I could barely make my fingers work to open it. When I finally managed to lift the lid, my gasp echoed through the room.
Inside lay two knives, nestled in black velvet that made them gleam like precious jewels. The first was my father's prized heirloom—the handle inlaid with obsidian and ivory, studdedwith emeralds, the exquisitely crafted blade inscribed with the O'Malley family motto:Dílseacht agus Neart.Loyalty and Strength.
My throat closed with emotion as I took in every detail—this knife had been part of our family for generations.
Beside it lay its twin—identical in every way except for the inscription on the blade, which read in elegant Gaelic script:In aghaidh na n-ábhar uile.
"My father's knife," I whispered. "How did you?—"
"I took it from your belongings when you were first captured," he said softly, watching my face carefully. "I contacted Barrett afterward—he confirmed its significance and helped me understand what it meant to your family. He thought you should have it back."
I shook my head, snorting. I turned to the second knife, running my finger along the inscription, my Irish rolling off my tongue as I translated. "Against all odds."
"That's us," he said simply. "Isn’t it?"
My breath hitched as I realised he was right. He’d told our story in three words—without frills, and that’s how it always seemed. Impossible.
I set the knives aside carefully, then threw my arms around his neck.
"It's perfect. You're perfect. This is all perfect." The words came out muffled against his skin, and I felt his arms tighten around me, holding me close.
Alexander rose, pulling me up with him, his hands gentle on my waist. Then, he retrieved our crystal champagne flutes and refilled them with the last of the Dom Pérignon. The bubbles rose like tiny stars, and I watched them with wonder, feeling as effervescent as the wine itself.
“But first…” He reached into the basket once more, producing a small silver flask that glinted in the dying light."This deserves a toast," he said, unscrewing the cap with a grin that made my heart skip, "the Alexander Moore way."
The familiar scent of Macallan 18 filled the air as he poured the amber liquid into the flask's small cup.
"To my fiancée," he said, raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip before offering it to me. His eyes never left mine, and I could see forever in their depths.
