She didn’t say “yes.” She didn’t say “no.”
“And I refuse to be anyone’s ‘ball and chain.’” caprice - marry me
The city hummed. A firework went off somewhere in the distance, a small, unauthorized celebration. She didn’t say “yes
The city hummed below, a distant symphony of taxis and late-night laughter, but up here on the rooftop garden, the world had shrunk to the size of a single candle flame. Nestled between terra cotta pots of overgrown rosemary and a sagging string of fairy lights, a small, velvet box sat unopened. Its owner, a man named Leo, was not kneeling. He was leaning against the parapet, swirling a glass of flat champagne, watching her. Nestled between terra cotta pots of overgrown rosemary
“I’m always thinking,” Leo replied.
They were married on a Tuesday, because Caprice decided Sundays were “too predictable.” She wore a vintage lavender dress, and Leo wore a suit with mismatched socks. The officiant was a retired drag queen from their neighborhood deli. The vows were one sentence each.
She was smiling now, a slow, dangerous smile. “So what are you asking?”