Caprice - Marry Me -

“And I refuse to be anyone’s ‘ball and chain.’”

But looking at her—at the smudge of charcoal on her thumb, at the way the fairy lights caught the silver ring in her nose—he realized that a speech was a structure. And Caprice didn’t live in structures. She lived in the spaces between them. caprice - marry me

Caprice stared at him. Then at the box. Then back at him. For a terrifying second, she looked genuinely uncertain—a rare sight, like a solar eclipse. “And I refuse to be anyone’s ‘ball and chain

He laughed. Busted. “Because I was going to. I had a speech. It was very good. It used the word ‘synergy’ twice.” Caprice stared at him

The city hummed below, a distant symphony of taxis and late-night laughter, but up here on the rooftop garden, the world had shrunk to the size of a single candle flame. Nestled between terra cotta pots of overgrown rosemary and a sagging string of fairy lights, a small, velvet box sat unopened. Its owner, a man named Leo, was not kneeling. He was leaning against the parapet, swirling a glass of flat champagne, watching her.

Her name was Caprice.