A proposal of truths

The days following Lorenzo's press conference passed in a strange mix of chaos and calm. Outside, the storm of media attention swirled relentlessly. Reporters still lingered near the shop, their cameras ready to capture any sign of a scandal. But inside, the atmosphere felt different. The walls that had once separated us seemed thinner, easier to climb over.

He had fought for me, for us, in a way I hadn't expected. And while the media circus still loomed, I couldn't deny the warmth in my chest whenever I thought about the words he had spoken so publicly.

*****

I was restocking a display of roses when the door opened, the soft chime of the bell sending a ripple of tension through me. I glanced up, half expecting to see another reporter trying to sneak a quote or a candid shot. But instead, there he was—Lorenzo Hayes, dressed in a sharp navy suit that seemed at odds with the cozy chaos of my little flower shop.

"You're here," I said, my surprise evident.

"Did you think I wouldn't be?" he replied, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I thought you'd be busy cleaning up the mess Claudia made," I admitted, stepping out from behind the counter.

"Elaine's handling most of it," he said. "Besides, I figured it was time to take a break from the chaos."

"To come here?"

"To see you," he corrected, his voice soft but firm.

I didn't know what to say to that, so I busied myself by rearranging a nearby vase of lilies. He stepped closer, the scent of his cologne mingling with the fragrance of the flowers.

"Lila," he said, his voice low. "I need to ask you something."

The way he said it—serious, almost hesitant—made my heart skip a beat. I turned to face him, my hands nervously twisting the hem of my apron.

"What is it?"

He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. Then he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a small, rectangular envelope.

"What's this?" I asked, taking the envelope with a puzzled frown.

"An invitation," he said simply.

I opened the envelope, pulling out a sleek, embossed card. It was an invitation to some kind of gala—an annual event hosted by one of the city's most prestigious charities.

"A gala?" I asked, looking up at him.

"It's tomorrow night," he said. "I want you to come with me."

I blinked, caught off guard by the request. "You want me to go... as your date?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation.

"Lorenzo," I began, "do you think that's a good idea? With everything going on right now, the media will—"

"The media will do what the media does," he interrupted. "But I'm done letting them dictate how I live my life. And I want you there with me."

His words were earnest, but I couldn't ignore the doubt gnawing at the back of my mind.

"What if it just makes things worse?" I asked.

He stepped closer, his hand brushing against mine. "Or what if it proves that we're stronger than whatever they throw at us?"

I looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of uncertainty, but all I saw was determination. And maybe something more.

"Okay," I said finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "I'll go."

*****

The next twenty-four hours were a whirlwind of preparations. I wasn't exactly the kind of woman who attended galas, and the closest thing I had to formalwear was a sundress I'd bought on clearance three summers ago. Thankfully, Lorenzo insisted on helping me find something suitable, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of a full-length mirror in a boutique dressing room, staring at a version of myself I barely recognized.

The dress Lorenzo had chosen was stunning—a deep emerald green that hugged my curves in all the right places and shimmered softly under the light. The neckline was elegant, the fabric flowing like water around my legs.

"Do you like it?" Lorenzo's voice came from behind me, and I turned to find him leaning against the doorframe, his gaze warm and appreciative.

"I feel like a different person," I admitted, smoothing my hands over the fabric.

"You look like yourself," he said, stepping closer. "Just... elevated."

His compliment sent a flush of warmth through me, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Thank you," I said softly.

"For what?"

"For all of this," I gestured to the dress, the boutique, and by extension, everything he'd done to include me in his world.

"You don't have to thank me," he said, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You deserve this. You deserve everything."

*****

The gala was held in one of the city's most luxurious hotels, the grand ballroom glittering with crystal chandeliers and golden accents. As we stepped inside, the hum of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses filled the air.

Lorenzo kept a steady hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd with an ease that spoke to his familiarity with this kind of event. I, on the other hand, felt like a fish out of water, my nerves threatening to get the better of me.

"Relax," Lorenzo murmured, leaning close enough that his breath brushed against my ear. "You're doing great."

"Easy for you to say," I replied, forcing a smile as yet another impeccably dressed socialite gave me a curious once-over.

"They're just jealous," he said with a smirk.

"Of what?"

"Of the fact that I'm here with the most beautiful woman in the room," he said, his tone so casual it took me a moment to realize he wasn't joking.

My cheeks flushed, and I looked away, focusing on the nearest centerpiece to avoid his gaze.

*****

As the night went on, I began to relax, thanks in no small part to Lorenzo's unwavering presence. He introduced me to a few of his colleagues and business associates, each interaction carefully orchestrated to make me feel included rather than out of place.

But the moment that stood out most came near the end of the evening.

We were standing on the edge of the ballroom, away from the main crowd, when Lorenzo turned to me with a thoughtful expression.

"What is it?" I asked, sensing the shift in his mood.

"I've been thinking," he said, his voice serious. "About everything that's happened over the past few weeks. About us."

"Okay..." I prompted, unsure where he was going with this.

He took a deep breath, his gaze locking onto mine. "I don't want to waste any more time. Life is too short, and I've spent too much of it letting fear and doubt hold me back."

"Lorenzo, what are you saying?"

He reached into his pocket, and my heart stopped as he pulled out a small, velvet box.

"I'm saying that I want this," he said, opening the box to reveal a delicate diamond ring. "I want you. Forever."

I stared at the ring, my mind racing. "Lorenzo..."

"I know it's sudden," he said quickly, as if sensing my hesitation. "And I know we've been through a lot, but I've never been more certain of anything in my life. You're it for me, Lila."

Tears filled my eyes as I looked at him, the sincerity in his expression leaving no room for doubt.

"Yes," I said, my voice trembling. "Yes, I'll marry you."

His smile was blinding as he slipped the ring onto my finger, and in that moment, the chaos of the outside world faded away.

It was just us.

Forever.