"We're not going Damon."
I groaned, burying my face on her neck as she tried putting a piece of thread on a needle. I've been convincing her to take a break from her mommy duty but she was still hesitating despite the fact that we would only be gone for a week.
She was just starting to sew a familiar pink sundress when I decided to try and talk her into coming with me. Again.
Resting my hands on her waist, I watched as her hand moved to mend the dress. The strands of her hair tickled my nose. After a serious conversation about her hair, she finally decided that she needed a trip to the salon. I liked it either way. It doesn't get in her face and it made it easier for me to kiss her in the morning.
She hummed the lullaby we both sang almost every night back when she woke me up and told me our trip to the Bahamas worked.
She was still worried about how we were going to tell a little someone that we would be gone for a while. That same someone who refused to wash up, and even asked for five minutes to play with her Lego blocks.
With Darien's ability to get into places unimaginable to the adult man, her clothes were reminders of her little misadventures. She managed to hide in a bush at the backyard a while ago. Strangely, I got her out, a giggling, leafy mess but without a single scratch.
Sadly, her clothes were made of cotton and one trip to the bushes had her mother worrying about her when she saw us entering from the back door.
Hoping to change Catherine's mind later, I walked to the other room and picked Darien up.
"Grandpa came over, papa!"
I was trying to clean her the best that I could without getting splashed on and smelling like flower petals when she blurted this out. I raised an eyebrow at her, wondering why Vincent didn't even bother saying hi.
To this day, I still couldn't look him in the eye. Especially during that one time when he walked straight to my office on The Garage and had a talk with me.
It was during those times when his wife was going crazy about what cake and which venue we were using to get the ceremony done. He made sure to let me know that I'd wish I was dead if I ever hurt his daughter. And that I was lucky he didn't press charges when I attacked him during that one night when I was a teenager.
It's been almost five years since I got down on one knee and asked her the big question while she was brushing her teeth.
And that was the third time.
The first two attempts didn't actually count because she thought I was joking. I tried proposing on a comedy bar, when a comedian was telling us a story about his uncle. Everybody was laughing and I took that time to ask her. Rather quickly. She didn't hear it, and I got too scared, I just made up some random sentence.
Then proceeded to banging my head on my apartment door when we got home.
We lived under the same roof but never in the same apartment. As much as I wanted to, I didn't trust myself enough when it came to Catherine Wright. Which brings us to my second attempt.
The night she confessed about being - how do I put it? Miss goody two shoes. I was scared that I might scare her off, and her thinking I was just in it for the ladybug panties and I backed out.
Then proceeded to banging my head on the wall some more.
So really, while she was talking about cavities, and her looking like she just drank poison was the perfect time to get down on one knee and ask her if she wanted to be Mrs. Grace because she was Wright for me. (I was aware on how cringy it was. She never let me forget.)
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Her, Saving GraceRomance
She wasn't that drunk. So the six-foot something creature rummaging through her fridge half-naked, at eight in the morning was real. Now here's the tinsy winsy problem; She lives alone. ------------------------------------------------ Let's just say...