Pain And Pleasure 18+✓

Seventy-seven

"No," I reply automatically. "No, I can't, Adrian," I add in a whisper, nervously.

The corners of Adrian's eyes crinkle, and like a passing shadow, displeasure ravages his composure.

My God! Where the hell did he come up with that idea?

Deep inside I'm shaken as well. I never expected it and I don't know if my answer is an honest or well-thought one but it can't be yes.

"No?" he asks, searching for clarity—as it so appears.

The violent beat of my heart echoes through my ears, blocking every other noise Gotham City can offer. It's almost midday, the sky in harmonious blue and silvery white, the sun gold and mild, and the plants have bloomed splendidly at the kiss of the rain.

One beautiful spring day. It should quell the unbidden anxiety, but it's nearly impossible by now. I can't hold Adrian's confused gaze and my state of mind cannot fathom what exactly is happening right now.

"Adrian..." I catch my inadequate breath.

I feel ignorant regarding the depth of my love for him that knows no bounds, yet it strives for precautions so that it doesn't crumble.

Is it fear or what?

"It's marriage, Adrian," I go on. "It's not a joke, okay? You can't just spit it out in the middle of the city as if you are asking me for a date. Come on, let's go." I laugh nervously while trying to shoo the whole matter off, but he's as serious as a pike.

"Does it look like I'm joking, Arabella?" Adrian demands quietly.

My breath shallows as I stare deeply into his big intelligent eyes. Brighter than the day, all I see is my dismayed reflection. Fear conflates with hesitancy, threatening to crush my confidence to nothingness.

Nothingness. I don't know what to take from his impromptu proposal.

He can't just ask me to marry him in the middle of the street. Or right now. But all matters aside, marriage is the subject that never pricked my mind. I've dreamed awake about being healthy, rich, and successful, but not married, and I don't know why.

Maybe—just maybe I've been afraid, the same way I'm afraid now. I need time. Everything is moving too fast and it's overwhelming. It's only yesterday he was against commitment, which had us live in purgatory for nearly a year upon his decision to leave.

And now he wants us to marry?

"Maybe yes, you are serious and I respect that," I say boldly. "But I want things to be done perfectly, Adrian. By perfect I mean... timing, place, and... traditionally. A much more serious proposal."

There! Blunder. But It can buy me time to think about this thoroughly.

Adrian's eyebrows knit together into a benign frown, but I know he's more intelligent than he lets on. For someone who can read me like a New York Times with coffee, I'm sure he can sense what lies between the lines.

He can smell my fear. My doubts.

Eventually, he exhorts, "Alright. We should go home now."

I bob my head, incredulity still running through my head even now.

Marry me. Why did this two-word sentence roil me this much? It's like a miracle from heaven, the kind I didn't even pray for.

It's supposed to exhilarate me, however, as it's every woman's unclaimed dream to marry the one they proclaim to love truly and deeply.

But why does it freak me out instead? Could it be because it's too sudden? Or because I'm going through too many transformations to take more big steps?