After clearing my throat, I said the only thing that possibly made sense. “Marry me.”
Her head popped up in surprise. “What?”
Cupping each side of her jaw, I repeated, “Marry me.”
“Wha… Why?”
“Because I love you. Because you love me. Because every second that you aren’t my wife, from this moment on, will be agonizing. Because I’m ready to start our lives together. Because I have absolutely no concept of romance and just blurt shit like this out, but I swear to God I’ve never, in my entire life, meant something more. Levee, marry me.”
Her bright eyes filled with tears. A single one spilled from the corner, giving me the answer I knew I would receive, easing my entire world.
Her voice was thick with emotion as she attempted to tease, “But where’s the other half of my photo album?”
Smiling, I wiped the tear away from her cheek. “I’ll finish it this weekend. I’ll sell my liver to buy you a proper ring too. I’m sorry I did this a little out of order, but I couldn’t wait. The Fall Up, Levee? It’s fucking brilliant. Of course I support you.” Placing my tear-soaked thumb over her lips, I whispered, “Say yes.”
She held my gaze and, in a very serious tone, spoke around my thumb, “I’ve made worse life decisions, I suppose.”
I gave her an unimpressed glare then replied, “I can attest to that. I listened to your performance with Lionel the other night with my mom.”
She returned my glare, but a smile crept from under my thumb.
“Say it,” I implored.
Taking my wrist, she guided my hand away from her lips. While wrapping her arms around my neck, she took my mouth in a slow kiss that said even more than the tear, but it still wasn’t the one word I needed to hear.
“Say it,” I urged as she forced me on to the couch.
She didn’t follow me down. Instead, she made her way to the door, twisting the lock on the handle before very sensually removing her jeans.
“Fuck. We should go home,” I growled when she mounted my lap and immediately went for the button on my jeans.
Nipping at my neck, she murmured, “Can’t wait that long.”
“Jesus.” My eyes flashed to the door as she stripped her shirt and her bra over her head in one swift movement.
“I love you,” she breathed, finding my cock and dragging it through her folds before aligning us.
“Does this mean you’ll marry me?” I asked, leaning forward to suck her peaked nipple into my mouth. Then I raked my teeth over the sensitive flesh before releasing it.
Slowly sinking down onto my cock, she stared deep into my eyes and hissed, “Yessss.”
Close enough.
IT WAS RAINING. Isn’t that the way all great love stories start? And also usually end? The cool breeze whipped through my curls as I stared off the side of that bridge.
Sam’s hand folded over mine, taking the umbrella from my grasp. “How you feeling?” he asked, brushing his hand against my swollen, but still hidden, stomach before gripping my hip.
“Like shit,” I answered through a smile as dozens of cameras flashed around us.
“I would like to use this moment to once again remind you that it wasn’t a blow job that got you in this situation. Swallowing is, and always will be, safe.”
I exaggerated a laugh for the crowd then wrapped him in a tight hug, sneaking a hand between us to secretly pinch his nipple. “I’m not sucking your dick. I almost puked just brushing my teeth this morning,” I whispered into his ear.
He leaned away and lovingly held my gaze. “That explains your breath. You want some gum?” He winked, and a genuine laugh bubbled from my throat as he pulled a pack of mango-flavored gum from his pocket.
One year after Sam had proposed, we said, “I do,” in front of three hundred guests in an over-the-top ceremony in San Francisco. News helicopters flew overhead making it virtually impossible to hear a single word Sam said, but I couldn’t have cared less. I knew those vows by heart—it was, after all, the second time I’d heard them.
The truth was Sam and I had been secretly married on our bridge not even five hours after I’d said yes. We were both in jeans, and our ceremony was officiated by an ordained minister Henry had once slept with, but all we cared about were the promises we were making each other, even if they were sealed with plain, silver bands we’d picked up at a department store ten minutes before they’d closed.
An expensive, world-renowned photographer made us an extravagant wedding album after our public ceremony, but I didn’t cherish it nearly as much as I did the one Sam had surprised me with on our real one-month anniversary. It consisted of a few selfies we’d taken to show off our new rings on the top of the bridge and funny composite images Sam had made, complete with beer and chickens strewn across the bar floor of our hillbilly wedding. Sam claimed that he wasn’t good at romance, but as I sobbed while flipping each page of that album, I begged to differ.
He was good at everything.
And, together, we were unstoppable.
The Fall Up was released the month after our lavish wedding. The project had gotten away from me more than once, and it wasn’t nearly as low stress as I’d hoped. But, each and every time I hit a snag, Sam bluntly became my voice of reason. Especially when my record label attempted to pick off a few of the tracks on the album. But, with my husband at my side and my head and heart finally aligned, I stood my ground. I threatened to hold the album and leave when my contract expired only a few months later. They were none too happy about the stand I was taking against them, but we both knew they needed me more than I needed them.
They backed down.
I held the album anyway.
Then I left them.
Then Henry and I started a record label of our own.
Then Sam’s head exploded when I told him that I’d taken on a new project.
Eventually, he got over it. I had more than proven I wasn’t the same girl he’d met on the top of that bridge. I wasn’t drowning anymore. To be honest, I was truly living, maybe for the first time ever.
Upon release of The Fall Up, I hadn’t been sure what to expect, seeing as no one had even known I’d been working on a new project. However, it shattered every single album I’d ever released, soaring to the top of the charts and selling millions the first week alone. Between the record sales and donations from other musicians wanting to help after hearing my story, we raised over one hundred and eight million dollars.
Being famous is a funny thing. For some reason, people think you’re the special one. But, in reality, I wouldn’t even be a blip on the radar without them. Yet, somehow, hundreds of people reached out to me to say that The Fall Up had changed their life.
And that changed mine.
I still visited children’s hospitals when time permitted, and it still felt incredible to bring a smile to those tiny faces, but suicide prevention quickly became my personal calling. Sam and I even filmed a series of PSAs that would be aired during the Super Bowl.
The world took to Sam much the same way I did—in utter awe.
He was a natural in front of the camera, and I swear to God he signed just as many autographs as I did when we went out in public. We were both amazed at the amount of offers he had rolling in. Calvin Klein actually offered him a hefty sum to be the new face of their rugged wear line. Sam declined every offer except for one: Popular Wood.
rePURPOSEd took off with all of the new exposure, and Sam opened storefronts in Miami, Seattle, and New York within two years. He also decided to take a step back and hire a CEO to run things.
His business was booming.
So was my career.
We were crazy in love.
It seemed like the perfect time to flip our lives upside down.
Three years after we were married, I went off birth control. Five months later, I was hanging my head in the toilet, cursing the pregnancy gods for having lied to me that morning sickness went away after the fifteenth week.