by Sarah Kuhn
I hopped up onstage, allowing Kevin to place the cheap plastic tiara he’d bought as this year’s prize atop my head.
“You might need to disqualify yourself next year, Valdez,” he muttered. “This is getting boring.”
“Funny how it wasn’t boring when I totally saved your little hole-in-the-wall four years ago,” I said, arching an eyebrow.
He gave me a look of grudging respect. This was our version of an inside joke, I suppose. It was also true: my last-minute brainstorm had proved to be correct. The Otherworld snag had closed after we flooded it with true, unvarnished emotion. All that emotion was apparently enhanced just enough by the supernatural energy from the Pussy Queen Portal—and possibly Bea’s projection power, though we did not know for certain. What we did know was that Kevin hadn’t had any problems with rogue microphones or demonic note-swarms since. My dear new friend Celine, meanwhile, had decided to embark upon a backpacking trip around the world to finally find herself. That sounded much too rustic for my taste, but I understood it was something she needed to do, and she’d sent me delightful postcards of her journey throughout the years—particularly all the wonderful places she’d found to sing karaoke. To sing as she truly wanted to.
Celine’s decision to take control of her life and her maternal issues had inspired me to try to deal with mine. So I’d finally been honest with Mama, telling her about my ill-fated meeting with my father and how I’d held back so much of what I was feeling because I didn’t want to upset her. We’d spent the last few years trying to build a more honest relationship—it was messy and hard and incredibly frustrating at times. But I still loved her fiercely, and we still made time to eat sheet-cake petit fours and sing Ana Gabriel together.
Mama was, in fact, in the crowd tonight. I adjusted the tiara on my head and found her. She was with my cluster of friends and chattering animatedly to Evie and Nate about something. I finally caught her eye and smiled, and she gave me an enthusiastic nod. I’d really wanted her to be here tonight. And she’d been extremely excited for the reason.
“Thank you,” I said, waving to the crowd. “I’m so honored and grateful. I love this place. I love all of you.”
“You actually don’t have to make a speech,” Kevin muttered.
“But there’s something else I want to celebrate tonight,” I continued, ignoring him. “Someone else.”
I found Rose in the crowd, my heartbeat speeding up as soon as I met her beautiful eyes. She looked back at me quizzically.
“One of the reasons I love singing is sometimes it allows you to convey your innermost emotions, the real truth of your feelings,” I began. “So I tried to think of a song I could sing for this moment. Something that would really get the message across. And ultimately, I realized . . . there isn’t one.”
I smiled at Rose. Now my heart was beating so loud, I wondered if everyone could hear it. The Gutter had gone very quiet, the crowd hanging on my every word.
“Because, Rose Rorick,” I said, “there’s no song in the whole universe that conveys just how . . . how much I feel for you. I love how much I want to just . . . take care of you. I love how much you want to take care of me. I love that we’ve got each other, always. I love you deeply and desperately and I simply cannot spend another second not married to you. That’s the problem we needed to discuss. Sooo . . .” I reached down and plucked the ring from my weapons garter. It was smooth, polished platinum with a ribbon of pebbly texture running down the middle.
“Lucy . . .” Suddenly she was up onstage next to me, rummaging around in her pocket, her eyes wide with wonder.
“What is it, darling?” I said, a thread of alarm worming its way through my gut. Was she going to say no?! “Did I embarrass you?”
“No, it’s just . . .” She pulled something from her pocket, flipped it open, and held it out to me. It was a velvet box with an absolutely divine ring perched on top—a medley of sapphires and diamonds in a sweet 1920s-style cut. “I was going to . . . but then you . . . but I still . . .” She flushed, giving me a sheepish look.
Pure joy surged through me and I flung myself at her, pulling her into a deep kiss. I heard the ring box clatter to the stage, Aveda yelling “Not the ring!” from the crowd.
I pulled back and smiled at my beautiful Rose Rorick, my heart bursting.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered.
She smiled one of those secret smiles that was just for me. “I’ve got you back.”
About the Author
Sarah Kuhn is the author of the Heroine Complex series. The first two books were 2016 and 2017 RT Reviewers’ Choice Award nominees for Best Urban Fantasy. Additionally, the first book is a Locus bestseller and one of the Barnes & Noble Sci-Fi & Fantasy Blog’s Best Books of 2016. Other projects include the Japan-set YA romantic comedy I Love You So Mochi and a Batgirl graphic novel for DC Comics. In 2018, she was a finalist for the John W. Campbell Award.
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