Caprice — - Marry Me

“Not in my version,” Leo said.

Leo set down the champagne. His heart, usually a steady metronome, was now a timpani drum. He had rehearsed this. For weeks. He had a speech about stability, about building a foundation, about the logical next step. He had a backup speech about passion, about how she made his spreadsheets feel like poetry. He had a third speech that was just bullet points. caprice - marry me

“I’m not asking you to be my wife,” he said. “I’m asking you to be my next caprice. The big one. The one where we wake up one day and we’re old, and you’ve dyed your hair purple this time, and I’ve finally learned to stop planning every meal. I’m asking you to let me be your constant variable while you change everything else.” “Not in my version,” Leo said

And when the justice—such as he was—said, “You may kiss the bride,” Caprice grabbed Leo by the tie and kissed him like a sudden storm. He had rehearsed this

“You know,” she said quietly, “I’ve always hated the word ‘obey.’”