Chapter 14 - THE SECOND PROPOSAL
Owen proposed four years after my first wedding.
He did it terribly.
We were in the kitchen.
I was wearing sweatpants.
The dishwasher was leaking.
He held a wrench in one hand and a ring in the other.
“I have been trying to find a non-triggering romantic location for six months.”
I laughed.
“So you chose plumbing failure?”
“Yes.”
“Bold.”
Then his expression became serious.
“If you never want another wedding, we don’t have one.”
My eyes filled.
“If you want ten people at a courthouse, good.”
He continued.
“If you want two hundred people and a ridiculous cake, good.”
I laughed through tears.
“If you want to say no, also good.”
There it was.
The word Luca treated like betrayal.
No.
Owen made room for it.
“Yes,” I said.
Then:
“But no cake smash.”
“Deal.”
We planned slowly.
No secrecy.
No financial merging until lawyers reviewed everything.
Owen had his own prenup lawyer.
I had Rachel.
“Romantic,” Phoebe said.
“Incredibly.”
We kept separate premarital assets.
Created a fair joint household structure.
No spousal voting proxy.
No automatic Hartwell authority.
Owen read every line.
Then asked questions.
At one point he said:
“This provision protects you more than me.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I nearly cried over contract language.
The wedding was small.
Seventy people.
Ocean venue.
Phoebe beside me.
Grandfather in the front row.
Rachel too.
No Morettis.
No media.
No corporate guests unless they were friends.
The cake was three tiers.
Simple.
White.
When it came time to cut it, my hands started shaking.
Owen noticed.
“Skip it?”
I almost said yes.
Then looked at the cake.
At the room.
At Phoebe.
At myself.
“No.”
We cut one slice.
Owen took a tiny bit of frosting on his finger.
Paused.
“Permission?”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
He touched it to the tip of my nose.
Softly.
Then immediately handed me the entire slice.
The room laughed.
Real laughter.
Not at me.
With me.
I cried.
Owen panicked.
“Was that wrong?”
“No.”
I kissed him.
Then whispered:
“That was perfect.”
Later that evening, Grandfather approached me.
“You know, your mother would approve.”
“Of Owen?”
“No.”
I stared.
“Of the employee trust.”
I hit his arm.
He laughed.
Then:
“She’d approve of him too.”
Before leaving, he handed Owen an envelope.
I narrowed my eyes.
“What’s that?”
Owen opened it.
Inside:
A copy of Mom’s letter.
On the bottom, Grandfather had added:
READ THE PART ABOUT OWNERSHIP TWICE.
Owen looked terrified.
“Your family is intense.”
“You’re married now.”
“Can I reconsider?”
“No.”
He smiled.
May you like
“Then apparently I finally understand marriage.”
And for the first time, the word made me feel safe.
