Agave Kiss (Corine Solomon #5)

Agave Kiss (Corine Solomon #5) Page 46

My heart twisted as I reached up to cup his cheek. “I made up my mind in Sheol. It’s you or nobody. Always. I don’t want anyone else.”

His lovely mouth quirked at one corner. “Yeah, well, that Nephilim demon, or whatever he was, sure made it clear you had options.”

“In dying, Kel brought you back to me. So I can’t blame him for wishing. And without his help, there’s no way I could’ve ever beaten Barachiel.”

He nodded at that indisputable fact. “From the glimpses I got from my father’s realm, you were steadfast. It was . . . heartening when I felt like giving up hope.”

“If I had to, I would’ve undone my work on the loom every night for twenty years, waiting for you.”

“Thank you, love.” He squeezed his arms about me, and then let go. “Would you go for a drive with me?”

I thought about that. My stomach was steady, and I wasn’t hungry. I had no immediate needs. But I feared surprises instead of longing for them, as in my life they’d often brought bad mojo. “Do I get to know where we’re going?”

Chance shook his head, smiling. “I’d prefer to show you.”

“Then c’mon.” I decided not to argue.

Thanks to gated parking and a warm climate, the Mustang started with a purr when Chance turned the key in the ignition, even after long absence. He ran his hands happily over the wheel, so human and here that my whole body panged with gratitude and longing. Some folks said people couldn’t change, but both of us had, just enough. He was still the man I’d always loved, even after I left him, but without the icy control and endless distance. He’d learned to share himself and I’d learned to trust us both.

The gate attendant waved as we eased out into traffic and down the mountain. Chance took the road that led toward Atizapan and the cuota—toll road—which could take you either to Queretaro or Toluca, depending. He went west, toward Toluca, which would also take us past Interlomas, an upscale development, and eventually Santa Fe, another fashionable suburb popular with American expats. But he surprised me by exiting at Huixquilucan; though I wracked my brain for anything at this stop, I couldn’t imagine where we were headed. The mystery deepened, but Chance didn’t volunteer any info. In fact, when I tried to ask, he deliberately turned the volume up on the radio. I shot him a look, but he ignored that too.

Which clearly meant he had something up his sleeve.

I sat back and watched the darkness. He chose roads seemingly at random, worrying me further. We weren’t headed toward town at all; Chance was driving us out into the wilderness. I hoped his phone had reliable GPS in case he got turned around. The way became precarious, littered with stones, and an unpleasant recollection flared—last time we’d gone somewhere like this together—and the loss it presaged. Mostly, I tried to keep a lid on the horror of Sheol and Greydusk’s sacrifice, but sometimes the memories couldn’t be quelled. I regulated my breathing, telling myself it would be all right. Chance wouldn’t bring me out here to torment me.

He stopped the car at the edge of a jutting promontory, overlooking a valley below. It was bathed in moonlight, heavily forested. All around us, cacti bloomed in the rocky soil, agave blossoms so fiercely yellow even in the dark. It was a remote and wild place, but in some ways it perfectly represented my kinship with this country. Like Mexico, I was not easy to love.

“Do you know why I brought you here?”

I shook my head, gazing up at the massive twinkle of the stars. Within the city proper, you lost sight of these. Instead you saw planes and other lights; the sky never seemed to darken entirely. Here, the stars acquired a religious significance, as if we were standing in a holy place, lifted toward heaven. This was a mountaintop where monks might feel at home.

Then he went to one knee, drawing my attention down. My breath caught, and I just . . . I couldn’t believe it. Intellectually, I knew what came next, but my brain was frozen, looping incredulity that overlaid my delight. He flipped open a small box, but instead of a ring, it contained his silver coin, the one he used to roll along his knuckles. Chance presented it to me with a flourish.

“I don’t understand,” I said.

“You’re my luck now, love. I want you to have the formal keeping of it.”

Tears welled up in my eyes because this felt like he was handing me his soul. With trembling fingers, I plucked the coin out and curled my fingers around the smooth, cool metal. “I’ll keep it safe,” I promised.

Yet he still didn’t rise, which meant he wasn’t finished. A second box, this one blue velvet, came out of his pocket. When he snapped it open, I already knew what it contained, but the beauty of the ring astonished me. It shouldn’t have, I supposed, because Chance always had exquisite taste. He’d judged my preferences perfectly from the platinum shine to the princess-cut diamond, surrounded by sapphires.

“Corine, you were my love first . . . and then my lifeline. You didn’t abandon hope that we could be together—that we should be—even when it must’ve seemed impossible. For those reasons . . . and many others, I’m begging you to be my wife. Become Corine Yi and start a new adventure with me.”

“Yes, please,” I whispered, afraid to reach for him, because it seemed likely I might wake alone and in tears.

As if he sensed my trepidation, he took my hand and slid the engagement ring onto the fourth finger of my left hand. To my delight, it fit perfectly. Chance folded to his feet then and pressed a kiss against my knuckles.

Oh, gods, he loves me so much. He does. And there was no question how I felt about him. I didn’t feel unworthy. Yes, I’d done terrible things, and the stains would never wash off my soul, but I had done them for the best of reasons. Maybe friendship and affection didn’t excuse bad deeds, but for Shannon Cheney and Ian Booke, I’d do them again. My chief regret was that I hadn’t been able to save Kel, but he made his choice to die a free man. After such a long life, maybe it had been time.

I’d tell myself that anyway.

“How?” I demanded.

He understood what I was asking. “I measured your finger while you were asleep, before we left Texas.”

I was a little amazed I hadn’t woken up. But then, if it had been after rousing reunion sex, maybe it wasn’t so shocking after all. Holding my finger up to the moon, I admired the gleam of the stones . . . but also what it meant. Home. Belonging. A future. These were the things I’d wanted when I ran away from Kilmer’s cursed ground. People might never understand how a Southern girl like me ended up living in Mexico, but that didn’t matter. It was far enough away to be a fresh start.

“Why here?” I asked.

It was a lovely spot, but rather untraditional. Old Chance would’ve proposed over a romantic dinner in a trendy restaurant, maybe had the waiter deliver the ring on a silver platter. This was simple, heartfelt, and I preferred it, truth be told, but I wanted to understand his motivations. I needed to understand everything about him.

“Do you see the spot below us?” He pointed down the mountain, toward the lush valley below.

I nodded.

“You remember how I said I wanted to buy a house soon? That wasn’t exactly true.”

“You didn’t. Did you?” I craned my neck, wondering if there was a house I hadn’t seen. Surely Chance wouldn’t revert to his high-handed ways and purchase a home without letting me look the place over first. I bristled a little.

“Relax,” he said, smiling. “I did buy some land, outside the city. The property’s big enough to build whatever you’d like. There’s room for a pool and for Butch to roam. We can get more dogs. Maybe breed Chihuahuas.” He was kidding about the last thing. I hoped.

“Building is a huge undertaking. It just about drove me crazy putting the pawnshop back together.”

“That’s part of why I’m working so hard in my Spanish classes. I want to be able to help you deal with the workmen.” Help me, not control everything. “I figure we can find an architect, show him some styles we like, and choose from a couple different designs.”

This would end in my dream home, and this wasn’t so far from the pawnshop that it would make an awful commute. I could still do what I loved, then come home to a beautiful house and my handsome husband. “I can see if Armando is willing to take on the job as foreman.”

That was the same as saying yes. Chance brightened, as if he’d been a bit nervous about my reaction to the surprise. Then he kissed me. “I’ll bring you back during the day to walk the land with me. I know you’ll appreciate it as much as I do.”

“I’m sure. It will be nice to get out of the city. The noise is the only thing I don’t love.”

“I just want you to know . . . I can afford to look after you.” He held up a hand, forestalling my protest. “I realize you’re not looking for that, but if you ever decide you’ve had enough of the shop, we’ll do all right.”

“Well, I earned you a great deal of that seed money,” I reminded him.

“But the clever investments were all mine.”

“True.” Still, he was right; it felt good to know that I didn’t live on the ragged edge of disaster anymore. I had a safety net now—one I could trust—and Chance wanted me to marry him.

The wind swept over the agave blossoms, rippling the petals. Musky sweetness filled the air as Chance bent his head to kiss me. He tasted of sangria and summer, of past and future intertwined. I responded with all the love, all the passion in my soul. Maybe the future Twila had shown me would come to pass. Maybe not. Foretellings were mutable, written in water.

Life lay before us like the valley below—indistinct, wreathed in shadow, but dreamy with promise.