You loved Catherine. You said you couldn't imagine building that kind of love again. I won't trap you in a loveless marriage just because some spiteful woman filed a complaint. Who said anything about loveless? Bo asked quietly.
The world seemed to tilt. Eliza stared at him, unable to process what he was suggesting. What? I loved Catherine, Bo said, his winter sky eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her forget anyone else was present. I'll always love Catherine.
She was my first love, the mother of my children, the woman who built this home. But Eliza, somewhere in the last 4 months, I've come to love you, too. Differently, maybe. Not the same passionate rush I felt at 20, but something steadier. Something that feels like coming home after a long day.
Like coffee on a cold morning. Like like a tomato that shouldn't grow but does anyway. Eliza whispered understanding flooding through her. Exactly like that. Bo agreed.
You took root in impossible soil. Eliza. In a house full of grief, in a family that was barely surviving, in a man who thought he'd never feel anything but loss again. And despite everything, you thrived. You made us thrive.
And I don't want to imagine a life without you in it. Ma, I love you, too, Eliza said, the words spilling out before she could second guessess them. I didn't mean to. I wasn't supposed to, but I do. I love you, and I love those children, and I love this life we've built together.
Then marry me, Bo said. Not because the law requires it, though that's convenient. Not because you need legal protection, though you do. Marry me because I'm asking you to. Because I want you as my partner in everything.
Because I choose you every single day and I want the world to know it. Yes. Eliza breathed. Yes, of course. Yes.