The Girl I Undressed Part 5 of 5

by IAmHerEmma

 

 

Author’s Note:

As this story draws to a close, I just want to say thank you to everyone who has stayed with it so far. Whether you've been here since the beginning or joined somewhere along the way, your support has meant more than I can say. The comments, messages, and even knowing some of you are just out there quietly reading along has meant a lot. Knowing that people have connected with these characters and followed their journey means more than I ever expected.

Looking back, this felt like the natural place to bring the story to a close. There were ideas I thought I might explore further, but somewhere along the way, I realised this was where it needed to land. Hopefully, it felt right to you too.

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Note: This story is told from the POV of the female lead, Ashley.

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Monday…

I stirred first, eyes opening to the faint light slipping through the blinds. The world was quiet, the kind of hush that clung to early hours before alarms or coffee. I lay still for a few seconds, watching the ceiling, feeling the warm weight of Emma draped around me. Her breath steady, her cheek resting lightly against my shoulder.

The weekend had passed like a dream. Not loud or dramatic. Just… warm. On Saturday, we'd braved the outside world hand in hand, heart in heart. Sunday had been the opposite. Slow. Still. We’d barely left bed. Read. Talked. Dozed off tangled in blankets and limbs, the sound of soft jazz in the background, and the scent of jasmine from the candle I’d forgotten I owned.

And now, Emma was tucked against me again, her nightdress tangled around her thighs, her natural and slightly longer hair a sleepy halo against the pillow.

I wanted to stay. God, I wanted to stay.

But Monday tugged at me.

I slid out from under her gently, careful not to disturb the peace still curled around her body. I moved through the morning on autopilot — shower, moisturiser, the careful tug of tights, the weight of my blazer on my shoulders. I’d barely zipped up my skirt when I heard her voice, rough with sleep.

“Mmm… stay,” she mumbled, face still buried in the pillow.

I smiled, brushing a hand through her hair. “I can’t, baby. I have to go in.”

Her eyes cracked open just enough to squint up at me. “I’ll make breakfast.”

“I know,” I said softly. “But I missed Saturday. I’ve got to show my face.”

It wasn’t a lie. Not really. But it wasn’t the truth, either.

The truth was, I needed space. Not from her. Just from the thoughts that had piled up.

She gave a soft, disappointed murmur and burrowed into the sheets again. I leaned down, kissed her bare shoulder, and grabbed my bag.

By the time I was in the car, traffic ahead and coffee in hand, I felt the thoughts start to crowd in.

Not bad ones. Just loud ones.

Emma at the café, eyes soft and faraway, talking about the world and her place in it.

Emma smiling at Wendy like she belonged out there all along.

Emma standing in front of the bridal boutique, eyes wide and soft, fingers tightening around mine.

It had stopped me cold.

It wasn’t because she'd said anything. Just that gentle, stunned kind of reverence in her gaze. The kind that made you feel like maybe she'd seen something she'd never considered before, and now couldn't unsee.

The satin and lace behind the glass. The glow. The stillness of it all. And Emma, standing there in the middle of it, lit by sunlight and possibility.

I hadn’t said anything. I didn’t want to break whatever moment she was in. And when I finally did speak, it had been the safest thing I could think of.

But the image had never left me.

She hadn’t said anything big. Hadn’t made a speech or hinted at anything she wasn’t ready for. But that look… that look had settled into me. The way her gaze had lingered, the tilt of her head, the softness in her lips as she’d said, “Aren’t they gorgeous?”

I could still feel her hand in mine.

And now, as I pulled into the office garage, I realised I’d spent the entire drive barely remembering to breathe.

I’d finished my coffee and half-rehearsed a meeting I wasn’t even attending.

I wasn’t avoiding anything, I told myself. Just… organising.

My thoughts, my plans, the faint curl of something bigger forming beneath all the sweet weekend haze. I needed the routine today, the files, the structure, the relentless rhythm of work to keep everything from spilling out at once.

The elevator opened to the twenty-second floor, and before I’d even rounded the corner to my office, I heard Melissa’s voice chirp from behind her desk.

“Well, look who’s alive.”

I gave her a flat look as I passed. “Good morning to you too.”

She popped up from her chair with a folder in hand and followed me inside. “You know, I’ve worked here for three years and I’ve never seen you call in sick. Not even once.”

I slid my bag off my shoulder, suppressing a grin. “It happens.”

“Sure,” she said with faux seriousness, placing the folder on my desk. “So what was it? Flu? Food poisoning? Mysterious twenty-four-hour relationship-induced illness?”

I paused halfway through, shrugging off my blazer. “Are you always this suspicious of sick people?”

“Only when they’re suddenly glowing on a Monday morning after calling in ‘sick’ on a Saturday.”

She smirked, heading toward the door again with that unmistakable bounce in her step.

“Don’t forget,” she added, turning back before exiting. “You’ve got the Shepherd call at eleven, and a meeting reschedule request from Benson. I flagged both.”

“Thanks,” I said, flipping open the folder. “Now go be nosy somewhere else.”

Melissa winked. “I live to serve.”

She disappeared, and for a moment, it was just me, my desk, and the silence of the office settling into its daily grind.

I opened my laptop and dove into the morning’s agenda, emails stacking up, briefs to review. The familiar pace welcomed me..

And yet…

Every now and then, between tasks, my eyes would drift toward the corner of my desk where my phone sat, black screen catching the light. I’d think of Emma, of her hair still tousled from sleep, of the way she’d smiled in front of the boutique like it had reached somewhere deep inside her.

I exhaled and sat up straighter.

Work. First, work.

Thoughts could wait until later.

Though I wasn’t entirely sure they’d let me.

Lunch came and went in the form of a sad desk salad and half a protein bar. I wasn’t really hungry. I felt more distracted than anything else. I’d gone through two calls, three contract reviews, and fielded an unexpected email thread that made me consider tossing my laptop out the window. I caught myself staring at the same line in a brief for the third time, shook my head, and leaned back in my chair. Melissa walked in just then with a stack of documents and caught my faraway expression with pinpoint timing.

“You okay?” she asked, not in that teasing tone from earlier but with genuine concern this time.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Just… a full inbox kind of day.”

She gave me a look that said she wasn’t buying it, but didn’t push. “Well, full inbox or not, here’s the Mendez file you asked for. I highlighted the sections you flagged.”

“Thank you,” I said, accepting the file with a tight smile.

“Need anything else?”

I hesitated. For a second, I thought about asking her something completely inappropriate, like if she’d ever been with someone who kept surprising her in the best possible ways, and it scared the hell out of her.

Melissa turned to leave, her heels clicking softly against the floor.

“Melissa?”

She paused, turned back toward me, brows lifting slightly.

I leaned back in my chair, playing it cool, or trying to. “Can I ask you something weird?”

Her head tilted. “From you? I’m bracing.”

I smirked, then took a breath. “Have you ever… been with someone who kept changing in ways that were unexpected? Not in a bad way, just… layers you didn’t see coming. And it made you feel things you didn’t know how to process?”

Melissa stared at me for a second, clearly caught off guard. Then, slowly, her lips curled into a knowing little smile.

“That’s oddly specific,” she said, leaning against the doorframe now, arms folding.

I shrugged. “Hypothetical. Obviously.”

She chuckled under her breath, eyes warm but amused. “I married her.”

I gave a quiet, crooked smile. “You married her.”

Melissa nodded, something soft flickering in her eyes. “Still the best curveball I’ve ever caught.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I’d been holding. “Did it ever feel like too much? Like… one shift after another, just when you thought you had a grip on who they were?”

“Constantly,” she said without missing a beat. “But also, it felt like finally being alive and seeing who she really was and realising how much I loved her. If that makes sense.”

“It does,” I said. Too much.

She gave me a smug look, a little knowing. “So, is James still surprising the hell out of you, or did something new happen over the weekend?”

I exhaled a laugh and leaned back in my chair. “I don’t even know how to explain it, Mel. He just… keeps unfolding. Every time I think I’ve figured out the… shape… of us, something shifts again.”

Melissa’s brow lifted slightly, but her smile softened. “That’s how you know it’s the real deal. Still evolving. Still surprising. That’s the good stuff.”

I smiled, but it didn’t quite reach my eyes. My fingers toyed with the cap of my pen. “It’s not just him,” I murmured, half to myself.

Melissa tilted her head. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” I said quickly, sitting up straighter. “Just… he’s been growing. We both have. It’s a lot, but in a good way.”

She nodded, satisfied with that answer. “Sounds like a pretty healthy kind of a lot. You two always seemed rock-solid to me.”

I gave her a grateful smile.

Melissa stepped toward the door, then turned with a mischievous grin. “Okay, now I really have to go. But I expect a much juicier update next time you fake a sick day.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, shaking my head.

She waved and disappeared, leaving me with the quiet again with the storm of thoughts that still hadn’t fully settled.

I turned back to my desk, but my eyes wandered. Out the window, past the skyline.

To James.

To Emma.

And the strange, incredible, tangled beauty of loving both.

My phone buzzed, slicing clean through the fog of my thoughts. I blinked, glanced at the screen, and smiled.

JAMES / EMMA.

I’d changed the contact weeks ago, almost without thinking. Just one evening, curled up on the couch, watching her laugh at something ridiculous, and it felt wrong to still see just James flashing across the screen.

But now, that smile faded as quickly as it came. I took a steadying breath and answered.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey,” she said, a little hesitant, a little hopeful. “I was just thinking… how does a late-night movie sound? Something dumb and loud at the theatre. Popcorn, overpriced soda. Just us… Ash and Emma.”

For a moment, I said nothing. My mind was still buzzing, overloaded. The dresses, the ring searches, the questions Melissa didn’t know she’d answered.

I cleared my throat and forced the words out, gentle but firm. “Actually… I was just about to call you. I’ve got to stay in late tonight. Things kind of piled up.”

Silence and then...

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” I added quickly, guilt creeping in.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I get it. Big-deal partner things. I’ll just… leave something in the microwave for you in case you’re hungry when you get back.”

"Yeah… that’d be really nice, actually."

There was a slight pause.

Not the kind that happens when you run out of things to say, but the kind that feels like someone is holding something back. I stayed quiet. On the other end, so did she. Or maybe it was just my imagination, but I could’ve sworn I felt something… tighten.

Worry?

“Okay, well…” she said, softer this time. “Don’t work too late.”

Before I could say anything, even just to tell her I wouldn’t, the line went dead.

I stared at the phone for a second. Then another. My reflection in the black screen looked just as frustrated as I felt.

“Brilliant, Ash,” I muttered under my breath, tossing the phone down on the desk. “Way to act weird and ruin a perfectly good thing.”

I shook my head and tried to dive back into work. Emails. Case notes. Anything to keep from thinking too much about the sound of her voice just then.

I’d managed to get most of my work done by six, which was when I usually packed up and left. But today, I just sat there, my laptop still open, emails technically cleared, briefs in order. There wasn’t anything left to do, and still, I couldn’t bring myself to leave.

I kept replaying that phone call.

The pause.

The softness in her voice when she said, “Don’t work too late.”

The way she ended the call was like she was trying not to say something else. Or maybe she was waiting for me to.

And now, I didn’t know how to walk into our apartment and face Emma — not the flirty, smug, radiant Emma I’d held hands with all weekend. But the Emma I didn't know how to face because I had lied.

Melissa’s voice snapped me out of the loop in my head. She was leaning against the doorframe, holding a takeout cup and looking suspiciously at me like I’d just sprouted a second head.

I blinked at her. “Working?”

“You finished working an hour ago,” she said, stepping in. “You’re just… brooding. In a chair. In the dark.”

“I’m fine,” I said, too quickly. Too flat.

Melissa just stared at me.

I tried to rally. “Just catching up on a few things.”

“Uh-huh.” She didn’t buy it for a second.

I exhaled slowly. “Really, it’s nothing.”

Melissa stepped further into the room, arms crossed now, gaze pointed and surgical. “This is not the same woman I left in this office the last time I was in here today. But now? You’re all… mopey. It’s weird.”

I gave her a look. “Mopey?”

“Extremely mopey. Like, rainy train station goodbye scene energy.”

I almost smiled at that, but it didn’t land all the way. I leaned back in my chair, staring at the half-shadowed ceiling.

Melissa softened then. “Ashley. Come on. I may not know exactly what’s going on, but I know when you’re not okay.”

I stayed quiet. The silence stretched, heavy in a way only honest silences can be.

Then finally, I looked at her. “I just need a minute.”

She nodded, no judgment in her eyes. “Take your minute. But then go home. Whatever it is, it won’t get fixed in this dim-ass office.”

She headed out, not waiting for a reply, but I caught the quiet support in her tone. And I appreciated it more than I could say.

I stayed there for a few more minutes after Melissa left, motionless. Just listening to the hum of the building, the occasional creak of the floor, the distant elevator bell, anything that gave me a reason not to move. But eventually, I picked up my bag, slung it over my shoulder, and headed out.

Only I didn’t go home.

Instead, I just walked. No direction, no destination. Just the soft click of my shoes against the sidewalk, the late-evening bustle around me barely registering. I passed storefronts I’d seen a thousand times but couldn’t name. Crossed streets without thinking. Let the blur of the city fill in for the mess inside my head.

And the mess, it was all Emma.

Sweet, careful Emma, with her eyes full of wonder at the world she was learning to walk through.

Funny, sharp-tongued Emma, teasing me into flustering without even trying.

And then… Emma in bed. The way her body moved under mine, how she moaned my name, how she gave herself over so completely, and looked beautiful doing it. How she made me feel powerful, wanted, like everything inside me that didn’t fit anywhere else finally made sense when it was just the two of us.

It hit me all at once, not as a feeling, but as a sound. A deafening, roaring kind of silence between my ears. My steps slowed, then came to a complete stop.

I dropped my bag on the sidewalk and pressed both hands to my head, fingers digging into my scalp like I could physically scrape out the noise. Or maybe the feelings. Or both.

After a few seconds, I let them fall away, exhaling hard. I bent down to pick up my bag, and that’s when I saw the store I’d stopped in front of.

I didn’t move. Just… stared at the display in the window, my breath catching somewhere in my throat.

There was no noise in my head anymore. Just silence.

Like something inside me had stopped spinning, stopped trying so hard. And suddenly, I was aware of the quiet in a different way. As if the universe had been whispering something all along, and I’d been too busy thinking to actually listen.

I took a slow, deep breath.

Then I stepped through the door.

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Tuesday…

I woke to an empty bed.

The other side was cold, undisturbed. My eyes adjusted slowly, head pounding with that kind of dull, full ache that made the whole world feel like it was underwater.

I’d gotten in at a decent hour. Not late. Not early. Just… late enough to find Emma already asleep, curled up on her side, lips slightly parted. She looked peaceful, and I didn’t want to wake her.

The night had been restless. Dreams that didn’t quite resolve. Thoughts I couldn’t quite shut off. But I’d slept.

Barely.

And now I was upright, dragging myself out of bed on legs that felt like lead, forehead aching like someone had poured molasses behind my eyes.

The scent of breakfast hit me halfway down the hall. Something warm, eggy, familiar. My bare feet padded across the floor, the morning light casting soft lines over the hardwood as I turned the corner and stopped at the threshold.

James, not Emma, stood at the stove, a spatula in hand, as the pan sizzled. He didn’t look up.

But he didn’t need to.

“Morning,” he said, not bright, not chipper. Just… a greeting. Quiet. Steady. Like he already knew I was there.

“Morning,” I said softly.

He didn’t respond with words. He just plated the scrambled eggs, a couple of sausages, and poured coffee into my favourite mug. Then he slid the plate across the table and gestured with a quiet nod.

“Sit. Eat.”

I obeyed without argument, the chair cool under my thighs as I lowered myself into it. The food smelled good. Familiar. He always cooked like this when he was worried or needed something to feel normal.

I took a bite, then another. The silence between us stretched out, filled only by the clink of fork on ceramic and the soft hiss of the coffee machine behind him. He sat across from me, sipping his own cup, not touching his food. Just… watching.

I could feel his eyes on me.

Then finally, he broke the silence.

“You okay?”

I didn’t look up. Just kept chewing. Swallowed.

“What do you mean?”

“You seem off,” he said. Not accusatory. Just… stating a truth he wasn’t sure how to handle.

I pushed a bit of egg around my plate. “I’m fine.”

He let out a slow breath, then set his mug down gently. “It’s just… since I called you yesterday…”

I looked up, finally meeting his eyes. He didn’t finish the sentence; he didn’t need to. I knew exactly what he meant.

The silence wrapped tighter around us.

I set my fork down with a quiet clink and brought both hands to my head, rubbing at my temples like I could massage the weight of everything out through my fingertips. This is it, I thought. This is the moment it all unravels.

But instead of truth, my mouth reached for something else.

“It’s just… work,” I said, not quite looking at him. “The promotion, the freedom to choose my own caseload, it all sounded amazing. Still is. But I think it’s hitting harder than I expected. That Mendez case is crawling under my skin and driving me halfway insane.”

It wasn’t entirely false. Just not the thing actually driving me halfway insane.

James didn’t say anything right away. He just studied me for a moment. With a quiet, observant pause that meant he was clocking every detail.

He didn’t respond right away, just kept looking at me with that steady, quiet gaze of his. And then, softly, he asked,

“Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

A lie.

But it was the one I could live with, for now.

James let out a slow exhale, like a pressure valve releasing. Then, without another word, he stood up from his chair and crossed the space between us. He lowered himself to his knees and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly.

I froze for a second, caught off guard by the sudden warmth of it, the vulnerability in his grip.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against my shoulder. “I don’t know… I’ve just felt like something was really wrong. Like, you suddenly felt so distant, and my mind started going to stupid places.”

And then, like he hadn’t just cracked something wide open between us, he got back up, padded over to his side, and picked up his coffee like it was any other morning.

But it wasn’t.

We finished breakfast in silence, but inside me, everything still felt wrong. James, meanwhile, seemed… lighter. Like he’d exhaled something that had been weighing him down. He smiled at me and took our plates to the sink.

“So,” I said, trying to sound normal, “what’s on your list today?”

“Just heading down for groceries,” he said, rinsing the dishes. “Then shower, and I’ve got a meeting this afternoon. Nothing major.”

He glanced back at me. “You?”

“Same old. Office.” I forced a small smile.

He gave me a quick kiss on the temple and grabbed his keys. “Text me if you think of anything you need from the store.”

And with that, he was out the door.

I stood there for a long second, the silence swelling again as soon as the lock clicked shut behind him.

Then I walked to the bedroom.

I laid out my outfit for the day — blazer, blouse, pants — neatly folded on the edge of the bed. I looked at it like it belonged to someone else. But the thoughts of having lied again kept ringing inside me, eating at me. I picked up my bag and slammed it on the bed.

I sat down hard on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands.

“Stupid,” I muttered, voice hoarse. “Stupid, stupid.”

I wasn’t sure if I meant the lies, the confusion, or just the sheer exhaustion of holding it all in. But then something caught my eye. A small, familiar shape nestled near the corner of the bed.

A box.

It must’ve fallen from my bag. The lid had popped open slightly, like it had been waiting.

My breath caught.

I reached for it, slowly, as though any sudden movement might undo me. The hinge creaked as I opened it fully, and there it was.

The ring.

I picked it up carefully, holding the band between two trembling fingers. My heart clenched as tears welled and finally fell. Not a storm this time, not wild or gasping. Just steady. Just real. And through the ache in my throat, through the heat behind my eyes, something else bloomed too. A smile as my eyes saw the engraving on the ring.

MY HEART. MY SOUL. MY EMMA.

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Later that day…

The ring sat on my desk like it belonged there. Like it had always been there.

The diamond caught the light every time I moved. It looked brilliant, feminine, unapologetically hers. I couldn’t stop staring. Couldn’t stop picturing it on her finger. How Emma would look at it. How she’d look at me.

My fingertips drifted across the band again, brushing over the inscription I already had memorised.

I didn’t hear the door open.

“Ashley…”

My head jerked up, and in one swift, reflexive motion, I scooped the ring off the desk and slipped it into the drawer like it was nothing more than a pen or paperclip. My heart thudded.

Melissa stopped mid-sentence, blinking at me.

“You okay?” she asked, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“Yeah,” I said, too quickly. Then forced a laugh. “Thought I left my pen in there. False alarm.”

She tilted her head, clearly not buying it, but choosing not to push. “Right… anyway, Bartlett just emailed about the deposition timeline on the Crestview case. Wants a draft ready by the end of the day tomorrow. I can forward you the chain.”

“Perfect,” I said, pretending I was totally fine and not concealing the most life-altering jewelry purchase of my existence.

Melissa gave me one last look, curious but polite, and then turned on her heel and left.

The door clicked shut behind her.

I exhaled.

Then I opened the drawer again, retrieved the ring, and gently placed it back in its box.

And then I just stared at it.

A slow, ridiculous smile pulled at my lips.

I was going to propose.

Oh my god. I was going to propose.

My heart thudded so hard I could hear it in my ears, wild, excited, stupidly giddy. But then…

Wait.

I was going to propose.

How?

The smile slipped.

Proposals were supposed to be special. Planned. Thoughtful. Memorable. And all I’d done so far was… buy a ring.

My stomach sank.

I hadn’t thought this far ahead.

“Stupid,” I muttered under my breath, dragging a hand down my face. “Why did I think that was the hard part?”

I tucked the box deep into my bag like it might help somehow. Out of sight, but nowhere near out of mind.

A new file lay waiting on my desk. I stared at it for a second longer before finally sitting up straighter and pulling it toward me.

A new case. A new deadline.

And now… a brand-new problem I suddenly had to solve.

The day blurred by. Files, meetings, emails, and none of it stuck. My brain had officially declared a coup, tossing all work-related thoughts into a dark corner while it hyper-fixated on one impossible thing.

The proposal.

By the time I was in the apartment elevator, my palms were sweaty. Not because I was nervous to see Emma, but because I was still drawing an absolute blank. Ideas came and went like static. Nothing landed. Nothing felt worthy.

So when I opened the front door, I was nowhere close to ready.

And then… smooth jazz.

I blinked.

A voice floated in from the kitchen, soft and low, singing along to the mellow horns as if it were born in some Parisian café. I dropped my keys into the bowl and followed the sound, only to freeze in the doorway.

Emma was barefoot, hips swaying slightly as she stirred something over the stove, wearing her loungewear, but somehow looking like a goddamn dream. She glanced over, spotted me, and lit up like a candle.

“You’re home!” she said, like it was the best part of her day.

I blinked. “Yeah. Um… What’s going on?”

She tilted her head, playful. “Do there need to be occasions now?”

“Not really,” I said, already smiling.

She wiped her hands on a towel and strode over, taking the bag off my shoulder without asking. Except I panicked.

“No… wait, I’ve got it,” I blurted, tugging it back with way too much force.

She blinked at me, confused. “You okay?”

“Yeah! Just… work stuff. I need to, um, go through it later.” I hugged the bag to my side like a child clutching a teddy bear.

Her eyes narrowed for a bit, but she didn’t push. Instead, she shrugged and walked back toward the stove. “Well, tonight, no work. I’m making you the best meal of your life,” she declared, stirring something that smelled borderline illegal in its richness, “and then I have a romantic movie queued up and ready to go.”

That stopped me.

I stood there like an idiot, clutching a bag with a ring inside it, while the woman I loved, the woman I was planning to propose to, had planned a night to take care of me.

My chest went tight. In a good way. The impossible, bewildering, how did I get so lucky way.

“Okay,” I said, finally letting myself breathe. “You’re… kind of perfect.”

Emma shot a look over her shoulder and winked. “Yeah, well. Took you long enough to notice.”

“I’m just gonna go change into something more comfortable,” I said, already backing down the hall with the bag still clenched in my hand like it might explode.

“Don’t be long,” Emma called after me, laughter in her voice. “I’m timing you.”

I shut the bedroom door behind me and exhaled so hard I nearly deflated. Then spun into motion.

Where the hell was I supposed to hide a ring?

I opened the sock drawer.

Closed it.

Opened the underwear drawer.

Nope. Absolutely not.

Pulled out a shoebox from the back of the closet and glared at it like it had personally insulted me and shoved it back. Nothing felt right. Nothing felt safe. What if she found it? What if I forgot where I put it?

“God, you’re so stupid,” I hissed at myself, pacing the room like a feral raccoon guarding treasure.

Then, finally, I dropped to my knees and reached behind the bottom row of books on the shelf. There was a slim gap between the backboard and the wall, half-hidden by hardcovers Emma never touched. I slid the ring box down the gap and wedged a book over the edge just enough to obscure it.

She’d never find it. Unless she suddenly developed an interest in outdated legal textbooks.

Only then did I finally let myself breathe.

I stripped out of my work clothes and pulled on a soft pair of navy blue pyjama pants, a plain white tee, and one of Emma’s oversized cardigans that still smelled faintly like her perfume. Not exactly seductive, but it was warm, soft, and very Ash.

When I walked back out, dinner was already plated. The lighting had gone warm and cosy, a few candles flickering lazily, jazz still playing low from the speaker.

And Emma was waiting at the table, that same goofy smile stretched across her face like she couldn’t contain it.

I raised an eyebrow as I sat down. “What?”

She blinked innocently. “What what?”

We started eating. She’d made a creamy chicken dish with roasted potatoes and green beans. The kind of meal that tasted like it had been cooked slowly, lovingly.

She told me about a weird bug in the game she’d found in the newest build she was testing and how the dev team spent most of the day arguing whether it was a feature or a disaster. I told her about the partner meeting I’d slept through half of with my eyes open and how Melissa caught me zoning out and dropped a binder just to startle me back to life.

We laughed. Ate. Talked.

We curled up on the couch, plates cleared, wine half-drunk, the glow of the TV casting a soft light over the room. Something mindless and romantic played, with montages and soft piano music and longing glances drawn out longer than anyone in real life would ever manage. But it was nice. Warm.

Every now and then, we’d glance at each other. Little smirks. Fingers grazing. I felt like I was buzzing just sitting there. Not because of the wine, but because I couldn’t stop looking at her.

A proposal scene.

My eyes widened like I’d never seen one before in my life. I leaned in slightly, brain kicking into full-blown analysis mode. Not because I wanted to copy it — god, no — but because I suddenly treated it like a how-to video. Like maybe it would hand me some secret I hadn’t figured out yet.

I watched as the character knelt and slid the ring on her finger, the music swelling like a soap commercial, and…

Emma laughed. Not a little laugh either. A full, sharp, amused burst that made me blink over at her.

“What?” I asked.

She grinned, shaking her head. “That was so lame.”

I blinked. “I thought it was kind of cute.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You did not.”

I didn’t respond.

Because actually… I sort of did.

Or at least, I’d wanted it to be cute. I’d wanted to believe in the simplicity of it, that a moment like that could still land. That maybe, even in its awkward predictability, there was something timeless. Something safe.

But apparently, the universe wasn’t done playing games. Not only had it decided to toss a proposal scene into my lap, it had also sent Emma’s rolling commentary to go with it like a reminder that nothing about this would be easy. That I was still flying blind.

I sighed internally and leaned back into the couch, eyes on the screen but barely watching.

If this was the universe nudging me in the right direction, it was doing it with a smirk. And maybe a middle finger.

=====================================================================

A month later…

A month had flown by. I wasn’t even sure how.

Every day blurred into the next. The morning commutes, firm meetings, client calls, late-night emails, and somewhere between all of that, trying to plan a proposal that felt worthy of her. Of us.

And I was failing. Or at least it felt like it.

There were flashes of joy. Beautiful ones. Evenings curled up on the couch with wine and warm feet under a shared blanket. Morning giggles tangled in sheets and sunlight. The way her hair fanned over my pillow and her body arched for me when I pressed the dildo into her and whispered all the dirty things she wanted to hear. Or the slow, teasing nights when I kept the plug in her while I made dinner, watched her squirm, watched her melt.

Emma had gotten even more confident in those weeks. I watched her bloom in real time. We took walks hand-in-hand through our neighbourhood, casual trips to boutique shops, and one coffee date that she suggested herself. She wore a blush wrap dress that day, and I couldn’t stop staring. I wanted to freeze time, to bottle up the moment.

And yet, as she grew bolder, I was the one unravelling.

I had the ring. But the how kept slipping through my fingers. Every idea felt either overdone or underwhelming. Too cliché or not enough. Too public, too private. Too... something. And she deserved more than something. Emma was perfect.

I found myself zoning out at work, rereading contracts without processing a word. Melissa had caught me more than once just staring out the window, lips parted, a dumb smile on my face that I quickly wiped off when she entered. She didn’t ask, thank God.

And Emma, she just kept being wonderful. She just kept showing up with love, softness, and fire. She’d kiss me at random, text me stupid memes, surprise me with takeout, incredible sex with the use of the toys, and me riding her. She was everything

I didn’t want to propose just for the sake of proposing. I wanted to feel it deep in my bones. I wanted the moment to hit like lightning. I wanted her to remember it for the rest of her life. I wanted us to remember.

I loved our "us" time. God, did I love it. But each time she leaned into me, whispered my name, or looked at me like I hung the moon, I felt it: the question I hadn’t asked.

Melissa stepped in without knocking and closed the door, standard practice for her at this point, and I instinctively straightened up in my chair.

She arched a brow, arms crossed, lips pursed like she was trying very hard not to say something snarky. “Okay, seriously. What is going on with you?”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

She pointed a finger at me like she was ticking off evidence. “You've been edgy for the past few weeks. Jumping like someone snuck a mouse into your blazer. Staring off into space like you're watching ghosts walk through the window. You’ve nearly spilt coffee on yourself three times. You flinched when I asked you if you wanted to join the firm retreat. You never flinch at free wine.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Tried again. “It’s just been a lot.”

Melissa gave me a look that suggested she was tired of half-sentences

I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair.

She waited, arms crossed tighter now.

“I’m…” I hesitated again. Damn it. “Okay, fine. It’s personal. I’m trying to plan something, and it’s… complicated.”

That got her attention.

“Complicated how?”

“I…” I exhaled through my nose. “In your relationship… who proposed to whom?”

Melissa raised a brow, caught off guard. Then a slow smile curved across her face. “Oh my God.”

I groaned. “Don’t. Just… answer the question.”

She walked in farther, shut the door behind her, and leaned against the desk. “I proposed. Anna’s a disaster with big moments, she would've passed out mid-speech. Why?”

I kept my eyes on the desk. “No reason.”

Melissa tilted her head. “Ashley.”

“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

A slow grin spread across her face. “It’s so not nothing.”

Melissa didn’t drop it. Of course, she didn’t. She perched on the edge of my desk, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“So,” she said, drawing the word out like it was a fine wine, “you want to know how I proposed to Anna.”

I gave her a look that probably resembled a tired cat. “Only if it means you stop staring at me like that.”

She grinned. “We were in the kitchen. I know, very romantic. She was making pancakes, and I was still hungover from my sister’s bachelorette party. I looked at her standing there in a giant hoodie, singing off-key to some terrible '90s playlist, and I just… blurted it out.”

I blinked. “Just like that?”

Melissa shrugged. “Just like that. No ring, no speech, no big moment. I asked her if she’d marry me while she was flipping a pancake. She dropped the spatula.”

I actually smiled at that. “And she said yes?”

“Eventually. After she made me repeat it three times because she thought I was still drunk.”

We both laughed. It felt nice, for a second, to be out of my own head.

But then Melissa tilted her head and narrowed her eyes like a hawk circling. “Wait. Are you planning to propose?”

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off. “Oh my God. You are?!”

That caught me completely off guard. I blinked once, then twice.

“Seriously?” I scoffed, half a laugh, half a defense mechanism. “Marriage?”

Melissa snorted. “What? You’ve been together forever. You live together. I figured it was only a matter of time before one of you caved.”

I shook my head, hiding the strange twist in my stomach. “It’s not that simple.”

She didn’t press, thankfully. Just shrugged and pushed herself off the desk. “Well, if you do propose, just don’t hide the ring in food. That’s lazy. And potentially a choking hazard.”

I smirked, grateful for the out. “Duly noted.”

As she walked out, she called over her shoulder, “And hey, if you ever want me to plan it, I throw a mean backyard engagement party.”

I waved her off, already turning back to my screen. But my heart hadn’t settled.

Because Melissa didn’t know the half of it.

And I wasn’t just planning a proposal.

I was planning a future she couldn’t even imagine.

I sat back in my chair after Melissa left, staring at the closed door, still half-laughing under my breath. A proposal over pancakes. God.

But then something strange happened. I kept thinking about it.

About how simple she’d made it sound. How easy. There wasn’t a grand, orchestrated plan or a fifteen-step surprise. Just… a moment. A feeling.

Simple.

Was simple good?

Well… maybe not that simple. Not spatula-in-hand, hoodie-wearing, hungover simple. But something real. Something soft. Something ours.

And then my eyes shifted to the morning's newspaper. And just like that, it hit me.

A full-body kind of realisation. Like a click behind the eyes. Like air rushing into lungs I didn’t know were holding.

I knew how I wanted to do it.

It bloomed up in me like a sunrise, warm and quiet and all-encompassing. Not a spectacle. Not a scene. Something intimate. Intentional. Something with words that only she would understand, in a space that felt like home even if it wasn’t.

God. I could see it. I could feel it.

And for the first time in weeks, the dread that had curled under my ribs began to lift.

A slight smile spread across my face. I closed my eyes, leaned back in my chair, and let it settle.

I was going to do it.

For her.

For us.

=====================================================================

Two weeks later…

I’d been pacing the living room. Checking my watch, adjusting my cuffs, wondering if the tie looked better tucked or a little loose. I’d gotten ready in the bedroom in a black suit, crisp white shirt, dark plum tie Emma had picked out weeks ago, the silver watch snug on my wrist. Cufflinks too. Simple. Intentional. She told me not to peek — yelled it through the bathroom door over whatever playlist she had going.

It had been twenty minutes. Maybe more. And for the first time in my life, I truly, viscerally understood the pain of waiting for a woman to get ready. No wonder men fidget in restaurant lobbies and car dashboards. My palms were sweaty. The ring in my pocket felt like it had tripled in weight.

I’d planned the entire evening. Everything. And still, this moment right now was the scariest.

And then I heard it.

The soft click of the door opening.

And then… her.

She stepped out from the bedroom and…

My brain short-circuited.

The dress.

The dress.

That red satin thing that James had once jokingly called the sex dress, and Jesus, he had not been wrong.

The fabric shimmered like wine in candlelight, clinging and gliding in all the right ways. The waist cinched gently, just enough to give her form a gentle definition without ever feeling tight. The neckline dipped, not in a plunging way, but in that soft, deliberate, dangerous way that felt more intimate than it had any right to. And the hem? God, it flirted with her thighs like it had a mind of its own. Bold. Brazen. Shameless.

She wore it like it was made for her. For this moment.

But it wasn’t just the dress.

It was the whole picture, the delicate jewellery, subtle and smart. Tiny silver hoops, a thin chain that kissed her collarbone, a dainty bracelet I couldn’t even see fully because my eyes just couldn’t leave her.

My jaw dropped. Actually dropped. Like something out of a cartoon.

She smirked, tilting her head, and gave me that look that was part knowing, part playful, all her.

“Pick your jaw up, babe,” she said, her voice low and amused. “You’ve got a whole evening to survive.”

And just like that, I remembered how to breathe.

Sort of.

Emma stepped into her strappy heels, impossibly unfair, and twirled once with a little exaggerated flair.

“So?” she asked. “Where are we headed, Miss Secretive?”

I slipped my hand into my pocket, fingers grazing the small velvet box again, my heart doing that maddening thing it had started doing around her more often than not.

“You’ll see,” I said, grabbing her coat from the hanger by the door and holding it out for her. “But we need to hurry. We’re gonna be late.”

“Ooh,” she purred, slipping her arms through the sleeves, “what a gentleman.”

I held the door open for her as we headed downstairs. Every step felt electric, my nerves humming just beneath my skin. I opened the car door for her, because of course I did, and she slid in with that subtle grace of hers, like she’d been born for grand entrances.

The city lights moved around us as I drove, Emma watching the road with a curious little smile, her head tilted as if trying to figure it all out.

“So,” she said, one eyebrow raised. “Are we going to a rooftop club? A jazz bar? Don’t tell me it’s karaoke night. Am I serenading you in this dress?”

I grinned but said nothing.

And then finally, I pulled up in front of the old theatre. Its grand marquee lights glittered above us, elegant and dramatic as always. The night’s feature in gold lettering:

ANDREW LLOYD WEBBER’S PHANTOM OF THE OPERA

Emma stared.

Her mouth opened. Closed. Then opened again.

I watched the moment it hit her — recognition, surprise, pure giddy wonder — and felt it ripple into me like sunlight through glass. We had always talked about going to the opera once, and this was all good timing.

I turned off the engine, leaned a little closer, and said:

“Told you I had a good evening planned.”

Emma turned to me as we stood on the sidewalk, eyes wide with disbelief. “How did you even get tickets for this?”

I just smirked. “I have my ways.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, playfully suspicious, but I didn’t give anything away. I handed the keys to the valet, took the little ticket in return, and then reached for her hand as we made our way toward the grand entrance.

Inside, the warm lights of the lobby sparkled off polished floors and gilded bannisters. We handed over our coats at the check-in, Emma casting another admiring glance at me, and God, I couldn’t stop returning the favour. She looked like a walking fantasy. That dress. That poise. That glow.

As I continued to bask in her radiating aura, the spell was broken once my phone started ringing. Emma gave me a look as I pulled it out.

Melissa.

“Just a sec,” I muttered, pressing the answer button. “Hey, Melissa…”

“Uh huh… Uh huh…” I tried to keep my voice neutral.”

“Did you start work on the Harrington files yet?” I asked, then paused to listen again. “Yeah. Okay. That’s fine, but tonight’s a busy night — I’m at the opera. Can we talk tomorrow?”

A final murmur from her, then I hung up and tucked my phone back away like it had committed a crime.

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “What was that about?”

“Just some stuff for tomorrow’s meeting,” I said casually.

Emma’s expression darkened just a little. “You’re making Melissa work late for a meeting while we’re out on a date?”

I lifted both hands in mock surrender. “It’s a big client, and I couldn’t reschedule the meeting. These tickets were for tonight, and Melissa offered to do the heavy lifting. She insisted, actually.”

Emma crossed her arms and pouted, just a little, which made her look entirely too adorable for someone being annoyed with me.

I took her hand. “Come on. Don’t let this ruin our night. It’s still just you and me. Phantom awaits.”

After almost a minute, Emma let out a soft huff, then nodded. “Fine. But you owe her a very expensive bottle of wine.”

“I’ll buy her a whole fucking vineyard,” I said, grinning, and tugged her gently toward the velvet-curtained entrance.

We found our seats in the orchestra section, close enough to see every expression on stage, every delicate gesture, every flicker of light as the overture began to rise from the pit. The lights dimmed, the murmurs hushed, and then the velvet curtain parted.

I don’t even know how to describe what happened next. It was… spellbinding.

The music crashed over both of us like waves, all strings and sorrow, echoing through the grand theatre. The Phantom appeared, cloaked in shadow and pain, his voice slicing through the silence. Christine’s voice, so pure, so tremulous, lifted into the rafters like something divine.

But what stole my breath more than any aria or crescendo… was Emma.

I turned to glance at her during the first duet, and my chest nearly cracked open. Her eyes were wide, glistening already, lashes fluttering like she was trying to hold something in. She had one hand over her mouth, fingers gently curled in awe. Her shoulders rose with every swelling note. She was in it, completely absorbed.

And I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

When the curtains came down for the interval, she turned to me immediately, gripping my hand like she’d just stepped out of a dream. “Oh my God,” she whispered, shaking her head. “The music. The Phantom. Ash, he’s in love with her, but it’s so twisted and beautiful and sad.”

Her voice wavered, her cheeks a little flushed. There were still tears glittering in her eyes. She leaned close, and I wrapped my fingers tighter around hers.

“I don’t know what this is doing to me,” she said with a breathless laugh. “It’s so much.”

I smiled and just squeezed her hand back. “You’re feeling it. That’s the point.”

She nodded, still overwhelmed, and sat back in her seat as the second half began. I stayed mostly focused on the stage, but a part of me kept flicking sideways, to her face, her breath, the way she leaned forward or clenched her hands during the final confrontation. The way she mouthed no when Christine kissed the Phantom. The way she wiped a tear away discreetly when the curtain finally fell.

By the time we stood, Emma was practically trembling.

“I’m okay,” she said, blinking rapidly. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” I asked, letting her hold my arm as we moved toward the aisle.

She nodded quickly. “Yeah. Just… my God.”

She looked at me then, eyes still shining. She threw her arms around me, right there in the aisle, and held me tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispered against my neck.

I kissed the top of her head and pulled back just enough to smile at her. “Ready for phase two?”

She blinked, pulling back. “There’s more?”

I nodded.

She looked both suspicious and delighted.

“Well,” I said as we stepped outside into the cool air, “you didn’t think I’d go all in on a date night and stop at just the opera, did you?”

We handed our valet ticket to the attendant, and a few minutes later, our car pulled up. I opened the door for her, which earned me a raised brow and a sarcastic, “Look at you, Mr. Chivalry.”

She peppered me with guesses on the drive, but I gave her nothing. Just a quiet smile, a fluttering heart, and one hand resting firmly on the steering wheel, while the other stayed in my pocket, fingers curled tightly around the ring box, like it might disappear.

Then I pulled up outside The Gilded Swan, an exclusive fine dining restaurant in the city. Golden lights twinkled above the entrance. A valet rushed to the curb.

Emma looked out the window, and her mouth fell open.

I turned to her and smiled. “Shall we?”

We stepped out, and I handed the keys to the valet before walking with her up the stairs. At the host stand, a sharply dressed woman greeted us.

"Reservation?" she asked.

"Hart-Whitman," I replied.

She smiled and checked the book. “Yes, of course. Right this way.” She snapped her fingers, and one of the attendants moved to take our coats.

The restaurant was stunning, warm and intimate, with soft golden lighting and rich burgundy fabrics. Each table had a small flickering candle, and quiet classical music filled the air beneath the soft murmur of conversation.

We were shown to a cozy table tucked just off the main aisle. Emma looked around in awe as we sat, still trying to drink it all in.

A waitress arrived with menus, smiling as she greeted us. "Good evening, ladies. Can I start you with some wine or cocktails tonight?"

“It’s real,” I said, smiling over my own menu. “And you deserve it.”

That made her go quiet just for a second, before she gave me a soft smile and turned back to the list of cocktails.

We ordered wine, of course, a bold red that Emma claimed made her feel "mysterious and expensive", and the food that followed was… divine. Every bite seemed curated by gods. Seared scallops with butter and lemon. Duck breast with pomegranate glaze. House-made pasta with truffle and wild mushrooms. Emma couldn’t stop reacting to each dish.

At one point, she caught me staring at her while she licked a smear of sauce from her fork and said, “What?”

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “Just wondering how I got this lucky.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was blushing.

Dessert was ordered, a shared crème brûlée that came with a caramel shard sticking dramatically out of the top and three candied violets that Emma immediately plucked off and ate like a mischievous child. And for a second, I forgot what was about to happen.

But then I remembered the weight in my pocket. The small, perfect box.

My fingers brushed against it under the table, and I swallowed hard.

The waitress came back with a polite smile. “Would either of you care for an after-dinner drink?”

Emma glanced at me and raised an eyebrow. “You?”

I shook my head. “No, I think we’re good. Just the check, thanks.”

She gave a nod and disappeared, and for a moment, it was just the two of us, surrounded by the gentle moment of laughter and clinking glassware.

Emma leaned forward on her elbows and gave me a sly look. “Phase Three?”

I grinned. “Almost.”

Her brow furrowed. “Seriously? There’s more?”

“Just a little.”

We got up and left the restaurant, walking slowly down the steps as the valet ran off to retrieve the car. The city was cooler now. A gentle breeze brushing past us. Emma linked her arm through mine and leaned into my side.

“I don’t want this night to end,” she said softly.

I kissed her temple and didn’t say a word.

The car arrived, and we drove in silence — not uncomfortable, just… suspended. Like something was coming. And Emma, sharp as ever, started to sense it.

“Okay, now I really want to know where we’re going,” she said, adjusting in her seat.

“You’ll see.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

The streetlights began to thin as we drove out of the city and into the quieter parts of town. Emma looked confused for a moment, then curious. And then I pulled up to the place.

A quiet, private botanical garden — closed to the public at this hour, but not to me. I’d called in every favour I could to get access to it for one night.

Emma stepped out of the car and looked around. Puzzled.

I gestured toward a stone pathway that led into the garden, gently lit by small lanterns placed along the trail. “Just follow that. I need to grab something from the trunk.”

She gave me a puzzled look, but then turned toward the path, heels tapping lightly against the stone. I’d deliberately mapped out the long route — a winding, scenic trail that would take her through the camellia groves and give me just enough time.

I waited until she was just out of view… then I moved.

I took the shortcut. It was a narrow, hidden path, cutting straight through the trees and rushed to the spot Melissa had set up earlier that evening for me. A small clearing surrounded by blooming white camellias. In the centre was a soft wool picnic blanket, a bottle of chilled champagne in a silver bucket, two glasses, and a small vintage record player already queued up with a record I'd chosen just for this moment.

I stood there, heart pounding in my throat, smoothing my jacket like it would somehow steady me. A few more seconds. Just breathe.

Then I heard a soft, startled gasp.

I turned.

Emma stood at the edge of the clearing, eyes wide, lips parted slightly as she took it all in.

"Ash… how… what is all this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, full of wonder.

I gave her a small smile, the kind that tried to hide everything it couldn’t, and walked over to the record player. My fingers trembled slightly as I pressed the needle down.

The crackle of vinyl filled the air.

The song began to play... "I Was Made For Loving You" by Tori Kelly and Ed Sheeran. Soft and warm, floating through the trees.

I turned back to Emma.

She was still staring, blinking, trying to piece together what was happening.

I slowly stepped toward her, measured, each breath tighter than the last. My shoes crunched softly on the path. She didn’t move.

When I finally reached her, I dropped to one knee.

I looked up at her, and in that moment, something shifted in her expression. Her breath caught as the realisation hit all at once, in a slow, beautiful unravelling that reached her eyes before it ever touched her lips.

My own throat tightened, but I pushed forward, voice shaky but sure.

“I knew,” I said softly, voice trembling, “from the moment I saw you, not just James, not just the you I first met. But you, fully, completely, out in the world and shining that this was it."

Her eyes were already glistening, a tear slipping free as she stared down at me.

"I love all of you," I whispered. "James and Emma. I want to love you both. To honour every part of who you are. I want to build a life with you. Walk with you. Wake up next to you. Grow old with you. Know every part of your soul… and give you every bit of me in return."

With trembling fingers, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the small velvet box. I opened it slowly and lifted the ring from its cushion. The diamond caught the starlight — a brilliant cut, full of fire, set in a delicate halo on a band of rose gold. Feminine. Radiant. Made for her.

“My heart. My soul. My Emma,” I whispered. “Will you marry me?”

She didn’t answer at first.

She just dropped to her knees and kissed me.

And kissed me again.

And again.

Tears were streaming down both our cheeks now. Mine fell onto her bare shoulder, hers onto the back of my hand, still trembling with the ring box. She laughed through the sobs, almost embarrassed sound of someone too full of feeling to hold it all in.

Then she nodded, eyes locked on mine, voice thick and full.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. Yes.”

I didn’t rush it.

I took her left hand in both of mine, holding it gently, reverently, like something fragile and sacred, and slid the ring onto her finger.

It fit perfectly.

Emma let out this tiny, shaky sound, something between a gasp and a laugh, and looked down at it with wide, glistening eyes. She held her hand up slightly, fingers spread, watching the diamond catch the soft lantern light all around us.

Then she looked back at me.

“You really did all this?” she asked, voice barely audible.

“I really did,” I said, leaning forward to rest my forehead against hers. “Well… Melissa helped... But... I did it... For you.”

She smiled, and then her hands cupped my face again.

“I love you,” she said, tears still falling. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too,” I breathed.

We stayed there, kneeling in the middle of the garden under a canopy of stars and camellias, hearts thudding against each other for what felt like forever.

And I didn’t care how long it lasted.

Because this? This was forever.

=====================================================================

To all the readers, thank you for picking up this story and giving it your time. If you have reached here, I hope you enjoyed reading it and found the conclusion fitting. Please do leave your reviews, comments and feedback. It only encourages me to keep at it and trying harder. You can also contact me via email at iamheremma [at] proton.me or on Discord iamheremma .