Zadie’s POV
He was ignoring me. And I was going insane. Not in the playful, teasing way he used to ignore me when he wanted to rile me up. This was different. Detached, distant, cold. He didn't kiss my cheek when I passed by this morning. Didn't pour me coffee. Didn't ask me about my dreams or slide a hand around my waist just to annoy me. No smirk. No sarcastic one-liner. Nothing.
And it hurts. God, it hurts. It made me question everything. Was he regretting it? Us? Did the guilt catch up with him now that the adrenaline of faking his death had passed? I sat curled up on the couch, watching him move around the kitchen like I wasn’t even there. My chest was tight, my throat aching, and I couldn’t tell if I wanted to scream or cry or both.
“If you’re mad at me, just say it,” I snapped, finally breaking. “Don’t shut me out like this. I’ve been through hell, Lazaro. I don’t deserve this silent treatment.” He didn’t answer. Just rinsed his mug in the sink, completely unfazed.
I stood, fists clenched. “I’m talking to you.”
“I’m not mad, Zadie,” he said calmly, turning toward me. “I’m trying not to ruin something.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
He walked over slowly and gently wiped under my eye. “You’ve been blinking too much. You always do that when you’re overwhelmed.”
I stepped back, voice cracking. “Don’t... don’t do that. Don’t act like you know me right now when you’ve been ignoring me all damn day.”
He smiled, a quiet sadness behind his eyes. “Dinner. Outside. Wear something soft.” He walked away before I could yell at him again. And somehow, that was worse than yelling.
By sunset, my nerves were shredded. I wore the softest thing I could find a sundress, wrinkled from being stuffed in my bag for weeks. My hair was a mess, and I didn’t bother with makeup. If he was going to reject me tonight, he’d do it with me completely raw. But when he took my hand and led me through the trees behind the house, something inside me shifted.
A deck. A small table. Candles flickering gently in the breeze. A blanket laid out beside it. Grilled shrimp and buttered rice, still warm. Wine chilling in a bucket. The kind of quiet that didn’t scream money, it whispered love.
“I didn’t want anything loud,” he said, pulling out my chair. “Just us.” I couldn’t speak.
He poured the wine. We ate in silence. Not cold. Just... present. Then, as the plates cleared and the sky went dark, he stood up.
“I thought about getting on one knee,” he began, voice low. “But nothing about us has ever been traditional.” I looked up at him, heart pounding.
“You walked into my world like a fire,” he said. “And I let you burn through every lie I was hiding behind. I’ve faked my name, my death, my future, but the one thing I never had to fake was how I felt about you.” He pulled something from his pocket. A small box. My breath caught.
“I’ve never been sure of anything in my life. Not deals, not alliances, not blood. But you...” His voice cracked.
“You, Zadie, are the only thing I’ve ever wanted with certainty.” He opened the box. A silver band. “I don’t have a fairytale to offer. But I’ll give you the truth. I’ll give you peace. I’ll spend every day trying to be the man you believed I could become.”
Tears streamed down my cheeks. “Will you marry me?”
My hands trembled. “I hate how much I love you,” I whispered. “But yes. God, yes.”
He let out a breath I didn’t realize he was holding and slipped the ring onto my finger. It wasn’t fancy. It was everything. I launched myself into his arms, laughing and crying at once, pressing my face into his neck.
“I thought I lost you,” I sobbed. “I buried you.”
“I never left,” he whispered. “I just had to become someone who could deserve you.”
I kissed him, messy, breathless, full of everything I couldn’t say. But just as I pulled back, the world spun. My legs gave out.
The last thing I heard was his voice, sharp and terrified, catching me in his arms.
“Zadie? Zadie!” Darkness swallowed me whole.