Kristoffer’s brows came together at her question of a child – but he supposed he ought to be relieved she had not demanded her aunt or brother or another member of her family, because they would not let this have go ahead like this. (He vaguely recalled her mentioning some young friend she had made, in her letters – he only remembered this because he remembered that common flicker of jealousy when she talked of anyone else’s company; even, as it were, some younger French boy.)
He shrugged, in the end, because if Poppy’s friend passed muster with the church, he would take it. Why not lie about their witness’ age, if they were already doing this all wrong – on impulse, in secrecy?
Except. She wanted more than that, not just doing everything the wrong way. Kris felt like this was a test, that she was going to measure him up against this moment for the rest of their lives, and if he got this wrong there wouldn’t be a rest of their lives, because she would turn him down and turn on her heel and remembered him with a tarnished memory. And Poppy was the only person who seemed able to forgive him everything else until now, had always, somehow, been able to stomach him for him.
So he ought to give her something. Kristoffer ground his jaw for a moment, annoyed that I want to be with you hadn’t been enough for her. (She always wanted the whole world and a damn cherry on top, didn’t she?) Fine, he said silently with a defiant (or surrendering) gaze.
He pulled out of her hand’s grasp on his lapels, if only to snatch up her hand and put down a knee in the (grimy, to be honest) French street. They were all strangers, here, so he didn’t know what difference it made to her, but – if this was what she wanted of him to prove himself, so be it. “I love you, Poppy,” he said, the words feeling thick in his throat, as if any second now she would pull her hand away and laugh and he would regret saying so. “I’m in love with you, and I want you to be mine. So will you – marry me? Now? Please?” Lacking a ring for her, Kristoffer tugged off an old Lestrange signet ring from his little finger that he’d inherited from his father and proffered it to her. It was not ideal, but – surely it counted for something. (If she didn’t want it, he could always use it to bribe the priest.)
He shrugged, in the end, because if Poppy’s friend passed muster with the church, he would take it. Why not lie about their witness’ age, if they were already doing this all wrong – on impulse, in secrecy?
Except. She wanted more than that, not just doing everything the wrong way. Kris felt like this was a test, that she was going to measure him up against this moment for the rest of their lives, and if he got this wrong there wouldn’t be a rest of their lives, because she would turn him down and turn on her heel and remembered him with a tarnished memory. And Poppy was the only person who seemed able to forgive him everything else until now, had always, somehow, been able to stomach him for him.
So he ought to give her something. Kristoffer ground his jaw for a moment, annoyed that I want to be with you hadn’t been enough for her. (She always wanted the whole world and a damn cherry on top, didn’t she?) Fine, he said silently with a defiant (or surrendering) gaze.
He pulled out of her hand’s grasp on his lapels, if only to snatch up her hand and put down a knee in the (grimy, to be honest) French street. They were all strangers, here, so he didn’t know what difference it made to her, but – if this was what she wanted of him to prove himself, so be it. “I love you, Poppy,” he said, the words feeling thick in his throat, as if any second now she would pull her hand away and laugh and he would regret saying so. “I’m in love with you, and I want you to be mine. So will you – marry me? Now? Please?” Lacking a ring for her, Kristoffer tugged off an old Lestrange signet ring from his little finger that he’d inherited from his father and proffered it to her. It was not ideal, but – surely it counted for something. (If she didn’t want it, he could always use it to bribe the priest.)
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Ahn-Bo Jeong, Gus Lissington, Poppy Dashwood
Ahn-Bo Jeong, Gus Lissington, Poppy Dashwood
As she was still gazing away, embarrassed, Poppy missed the flicker of annoyance that crossed Kristoffer’s face. It was a good thing too because any sign of regret from him and her courage might have failed. But as it was, she only managed to look back just as he was moving her hand from his lapels and taking it into his own and then… dropped down to one knee. In the dirt. And 