When it was over, they held hands and walked back to the rental car.
“I’m glad I don’t work for the FBI anymore.”
“Why’s that?” George asked, rubbing his thumb on the palm of her right hand.
“Because I think I’m high after that concert.” Stella laughed.
“I know, there was a marijuana cloud filling the entire place.”
Stella laid her head on his arm. “What was your favorite song?”
“Well, I loved all the regulars, but I think my favorite was ‘The Ballad of Love and Hate.’” He squeezed her hand. “What was yours?”
“All My Mistakes,” she said quietly.
That was Stella’s deepest fear, one that she hadn’t shared with anyone. She hoped she was more than just the mistakes she’d made, because it would be a very sad fate for her otherwise.
They sat on the back porch of the condo they were renting for the next three days, wrapped in each other and blankets. They’d gotten up really early and made the three hour drive to Aspen from Denver, had breakfast, and walked around a bit before heading back to the condo for an “afternoon delight.” Stella was awed by the mountains. The drive was one of those few moments in life that you slow down enough to acknowledge that there’s something out there bigger than you. Now she was completely relaxed, cupping her warm mug of coffee and looking at the serene, snow-covered mountain. She’d never seen anything close to the mountains that surrounded them.
George reached out and tucked a flyaway lock of her raven hair behind her ear. “What’re you thinking?”
“I’m thinking it’s about time I tell you a few things.” She sighed. Stella had been putting off this conversation, which was easy when they weren’t seeing each other that often, but she felt like she owed it to him on their weekend, especially when he’d been so honest with her about his feelings.
George took a sip of his own coffee and looked at the mountain too. “Okay.” His breath floated up and sailed off into the day.
“So, you know how you’re always pissed because you think I’m ready to walk away from you?” Stella started.
George blew out a long breath. “Yeah.”
“It’s not that I’m ready to walk away from you,” she paused, turning her intense gaze to the mountains, watching as her breath came out like smoke and then rose with the wind, “it’s that I don’t think I’ll be around for long.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” George sat up straighter and she could feel his eyes on her.
She didn’t turn to face him. “It means I’m pretty much living my life knowing I’ll die and thinking it’ll be sooner rather than later. I just don’t want this for you, George. You want forever with someone and I don’t know…” Her voice broke. “I don’t know if I can be your forever. God knows I’d love to, but I can’t even think about my future. When I try, all I see is black; a blank page that never gets written.”
“Shit, El.” George ran a hand through his dark, disheveled hair.
They were silent, both contemplating that reality. Then George got up and walked inside, leaving her with the reality that he may just agree with her. Stella took a sip of her coffee and wondered if this might be what finally drove him from her.
His thoughts scattered in a million directions and then, within seconds, things fit into place. Stella thinking that she would die soon explained why she acted the way she did. It wasn’t her leaving, it was her attempting to protect him in her own fucked up way. He walked into the room they were sharing and grabbed the grey box he’d had in his pocket for three weeks. He’d made such careful plans for tonight, but this felt right.
Now.
He walked back onto the porch. She hadn’t moved and a tear had seared down her cheek. He stood there, taking in her messy black waves and fresh face. This was the way he wanted her, just out of his bed, all the time. He couldn’t relate to the Stella Murphy that everyone saw on TV in press conferences. That woman was poised and perfect, wearing couture clothes perfectly planned and appropriate for every event. The El he loved was fucking flawed and she owned it. She didn’t need makeup or even underwear and was surly on a whim. She wore her pain like a badge. She was his Love and his heart. What he’d been seeing of her lately was something fake and foreign and nothing he could identify with.
He cleared his throat and stood directly in front of her. “So, that was pretty fucking heavy for two o’clock in the afternoon. So I’ll see your forever and raise you.” He got down on one knee and held out the 15 carat emerald he’d bought for her. It was surrounded by diamonds and he knew she’d love it the minute he saw it. “You are the most complicated, challenging, baffling person I’ve ever come into contact with, let alone love with all my heart. I’ve had this ring for about a year, because I knew we’d get married. I don’t want forever without you. I want your forever. I hear you and understand what you’re telling me. What I want you to know is that as long as you’re here, you’re mine and I’m yours. Stop being scared about you and me. You aren’t scared about anything else.”
A small sound escaped her throat and it made his heart hurt.
“I need you to marry me,” he said again, still holding the box out to her, his hand barely trembling.
“George,” she whispered, her voice full of longing.
“Stop thinking and let me love you. I don’t need you protecting me; I need to know you aren’t going anywhere and you want to be with me as long as you’re here.”
Stella nodded her head and a grin spread across her gorgeous lips. He slipped the ring on her finger, covering the tattoo he loved. He picked her up, which caused her mug to fall from her lap and break on the ground, but he didn’t care, the pieces and blankets abandoned as he carried her into the bedroom.
She took her clothes off and donned the St. Regis robe the spa had provided. Stella walked to the front of the spa and smiled.
The hostess smiled back. “Mrs. Finnegan, please follow me.”
Stella didn’t correct her and followed her into a lounge where everything was beige and plush. White flowers decorated the lounge, food and tea adorned the perimeter of the room. The hostess showed Stella through the lounge into another room that was lit solely by the fireplace.
“Mrs. Finnegan, please sit down and I’ll hook you up to our oxygen machines.”
Oxygen? Stella hadn’t had any real altitude issues while in Aspen, even though she’d been short of breath. An oxygen machine wasn’t on her radar as part of a spa day.
She plopped down on a chaise lounge chair and smiled to herself at the audacity of the situation; being engaged and getting oxygen before her massage at the St. Regis spa in Aspen. She didn’t belong here, but George made the reservation for her to get a massage and she wouldn’t turn that down. The hostess put the oxygen tube under her nose and offered her champagne. Fuck yeah. This is the life. Stella could get used to this. She closed her eyes and pretended she belonged here and let the joy of her engagement permeate her body.
Mrs. Finnegan. Stella Murphy Finnegan. Begin again. She always loved that song.
Stella and George’s trip was romantic and peaceful and exactly what she needed. They didn’t ski. To be honest, she was a little afraid of skiing. The altitude sort of kicked her ass and she had to be careful with how much she drank. She just wanted to stay in the bed, so that’s what they did, only venturing out on the porch or for food. They felt inconspicuous in Aspen, like no one knew who they were.