Poppy was studying Kristoffer’s face for any hint of withdrawal or emotion as the words bubbled between them. This did all feel like just another one of their teasing ‘what if’ scenarios, a big joke, that ached desperately— deep in her chest. They couldn’t be serious because if they were serious then he would have gotten on one knee and asked her properly. He would have— they would have— she would have— but they did, in their own way. Didn’t they? Poppy knew, buried beneath all her nonchalance and talk of friendship, she wanted this. Had wanted it for awhile, but refused to admit as much even though every man was measured against the same unyielding standard: Kristoffer Lestrange. In that moment she didn’t think of family or friends, hers or his. In that moment, all Poppy could think was—
“Would a child count for a witness?”
Jean, easily 16 or 17 at the very least, would be honoured, she knew, to stand in for them. And if the church would have them, then why not fancy a try? She’d never been married before after all, and what was marriage really besides a whole lifetime of companionship? Poppy could hardly believe she might be so lucky to as to marry someone she actually cared for, lineages and hellions be damned. Because… honestly, despite his things (and everyone had things) Kris Lestrange was the only man she wanted to have as a companion. They could weather whatever it was that might come. Together.
Still—
Poppy paused for only a moment, her hand re-settling on his sleeve. All sense of teasing had dropped from her countenance as well. “…If we are going to do this however,” she said, voice soft and gaze a little bit wistful. “Then… I’d like you to ask properly.” Hazel hues dropped in embarrassment as her cheeks coloured a bright pink but Poppy held fast, her hand curling into a small fist in his lapel. “Please.”
© Fox