by Pam Jenoff
Before we left, I sent Emma a letter, too, telling her what had happened and giving her Paul’s address in America. I wrote that if she wanted to come to America, I would try to arrange papers for her and the children. I wonder if I will get a response.
“Happy?” Paul asks now, jarring me from my thoughts. Still staring out at the sea, I hesitate. I am still getting used to all that has happened, trying to convince myself that it will not fall apart. I am too scared to be happy. But I nod, anyway. “I have something for you,” Paul says.
I turn around to face him, the wind whipping my hair across my face. “What is it?” Paul reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box, then starts to lower himself to one knee. My breath catches. “You’re asking me to marry you?”
He nods. “Again.” Then he opens the box to reveal a white-gold band with a solitaire diamond on top.
“It’s beautiful.” I lift the dog tags that hang around my neck. “But I kind of like these.”
He smiles. “You should have had a ring then, too. I was such a dumb kid.”
“We were both kids.”
“So is that a yes?”
I laugh. “I feel like we’re already married.”
“Me, too. But I think we should make it official as soon as we get settled. I want everyone to know that I’m your husband and Rachel’s father.”
I do not answer. That is how the whole mess started in the first place. If I had not been worried about appearances, I wouldn’t have married Simon just because I was pregnant with Rachel. Enough, I think. That is all in the past now. Everything that happened, for better or worse, contributed to where we are right now. Happy. Together.
I look down at Paul, who is staring up at me, the ring box still held in his palm. “I’d love to,” I say. “Yes.”
He takes the ring from the box and slips it on my finger. Then he stands up, drawing me into an embrace. Suddenly, I laugh aloud. “What is it?” he demands. “Don’t you like the ring?”
“The ring is perfect,” I reply quickly. “It’s just that this all seems so ordinary. So wonderfully, perfectly ordinary.”
Paul shakes his head. “That,” he replies, brushing my hair back and kissing my forehead, “is the one thing I doubt we’ll ever be.”
“True,” I say, suddenly exhausted. “I think I’ll go upstairs to the cabin for a nap.”
He looks down at me, his expression worried. “Are you all right?”
“Fine, just a bit tired. Want to come with me?”
“I don’t think you’ll get much rest if I do.”
“Agreed. Want to come with me?” He hesitates, looking over at the nursery. “Rachel is fine with the other children,” I add.
“Let’s go.” As he takes my arm and leads me across the deck, it finally seems as though our journey together has just begun.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1612-3
THE DIPLOMAT’S WIFE
Copyright © 2008 by Pam Jenoff.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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