“I want you to find the most expensive jewelry store in all of Hong Kong,” she ordered him.

“Of course.”

They drove for a while. Tate stewed in the back seat, glaring out the window. Fucking Sanders. Fucking Jameson. She just couldn't get over it. When she'd been a little girl and had imagined getting married, had imagined a man proposing to her, it certainly hadn't been like how Jameson had done it. She pictured someone proposing with a ring, not a with a prenup. Proposing down on one knee, not by dropping a contract on her. Proposing with poetic prose, not legal jargon. Proposing with …,

Jameson proposed to me. It was fucked up and all kinds of wrong. But he proposed. Jameson Kane just proposed to me. Jameson Kane wants to marry me. Jameson Kane wants to spend the rest of his life with me. Jameson Kane just proposed to me.

“Sanders, pull over,” she breathed.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Pull over,” she said it louder.

“Tatum, we are on a freeway, I can't just -,”

“Pull over, or I'm gonna puke in this back seat.”

Sanders pulled over, putting on the hazard lights as he sidled the car into an emergency lane. Tate scooted across the seat to the passenger side and rolled down the window, stuck her head outside. She kept her mouth wide open and took deep breaths, her eyes squeezed tightly closed.

“Are you alright?” Sanders called out. She waved a hand at him and slowly sat back down.

“I will be,” she panted, rolling up the window.

“Are you car sick?”

“No,” she answered.

“May I ask what the problem is?”

Tate opened her eyes. Stared at the roof of the car. Blinked back tears.

“Did he really propose to me?” she whispered.

“Yes. Yes, he did,” Sanders assured her.

“Is it real? Are we really supposed to get married today?” she kept on with the questions.

“Yes. In three hours, actually,” he told her, glancing at his watch.

Tate started to cry.

“I'm sorry,” she sobbed. Sanders sighed and started to crawl over the front seat. She actually started laughing – she'd never seen him do something so awkward. But by the time he was sitting next to her, the laughter had died away.

“Do you not want to get married?” he asked, taking her hand when she held it out to him.

“No. I mean, I do, I do want to get married. I just didn't know it was happening today. I had no idea he wanted to get married,” she sniffled, turning in her seat and swinging her legs up, covering his lap with them.

“You've been together for quite a long time, surely it had to be somewhere in the back of your mind that this might happen,” he pointed out, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and scooting her closer

“Well, yeah, in my mind. Jameson's mind is a little different. I thought I would have to propose,” she explained, chuckling a little.

“He would never allow that,” Sanders told her. She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.

“I just …, can't believe it. All these years, Sandy, and I still can't believe he'd want to be with someone like me,” she said, pressing her forehead against his neck.

“That's silly, if you'll pardon me saying. Most people would ask how you are able to stay with him,” he pointed out. She shook her head.

“I don't know if I can handle this. It's too much, Sanders. He's just so much,” she whispered.

They were silent for a while. She clenched and unclenched her fingers around his, praying for him to say the right thing. To say something that would calm her down. To say something she needed to hear.

He didn't disappoint.

“You know what I think?” Sanders finally spoke.

“What?”

“Maybe … maybe being in love is like staring at the sun. Exactly where you want to be and too much, all at once,” he said in a soft voice.

Like staring at the sun. Jameson Kane, just the center of my universe, that's all.

“You're always right, Sanders,” she breathed. He chuckled.

“Time doesn't change some things.”

Tate laughed as well, then lifted her head and kissed him.

She and Sanders had a very different kind of relationship. They had never been romantically involved, had never been in love, yet they had been very intimate and were close in ways she had never been with anyone else. She never knew how to explain it. Sanders said they were soulmates, and it made sense to her.

So when she kissed him, it wasn't a sexual act. At least not to them. It was very natural. And he kissed her back, his hand squeezing her own. She smiled against his lips and pulled away a little.

“Do you think he'll still let us do that, after he marries me?” she asked, rubbing her nose.

“Well, what Jameson doesn't know, won't hurt him,” Sanders suggested. Tate burst out laughing.

“Why, Mr. Dashkevich, you have become very naughty in your old age,” she teased.

“Forgive me, Ms. O'Shea, but if I am 'naughty', then it is because you made me this way.”

“Flirt.”

Sanders eventually crawled back into the front seat. Tate took some more deep breaths, wiping at her eyes. Okay. Jameson had proposed. A lot of things made sense now – that must be the reason for bringing in Ang. He would be her maid of honor, so-to-speak. That's why the night before, Ang had kissed her like it would be the last chance he got to do so. That's why Jameson had arranged dinner with her parents. That's why Nick had wanted to talk to her. Everyone but Tate had known what Jameson was planning. He had organized everything very carefully, very secretively.