Meg Cabot - Queen Of Babble - In The Big City

“Right,” Luke says. “That’s why I realize how lucky I am, Lizzie, to have you.” He reaches out and takes my hand in his icy cold, leather-gloved fingers. “Because even if maybe you do have a reputation for talking too much, there is one thing about you: you do always tell the truth.”

Nice. Also, true. Well, mostly.

“Did you come all this way to insult me?” I ask, trying to sound haughty—though of course the truth is that I just feel like crying. “Or is there a purpose to all of this? Because I’m standing here freezing—”

“Oh!” he cries, dropping my hand, and hastily whipping off his coat, which he then drapes gently around my shoulders. “I’m sorry. This would be a lot easier if we could just go in—”

“No,”I say firmly, grateful for the coat. Although now my stocking feet are like ice.

“Fine,” Luke says with a little smile. “If that’s the way you want it. I’ll just say what I came here to say and then let you go.”

Yes. Because of course that’s the kind of thing princes do. Fly thousands of miles just to say good-bye.

Because whatever else they might be, princes are unfailingly polite.

Good-bye, Luke.

“Lizzie,” Luke says. “I’ve never met a girl like you before. You always seem to know what you want and exactly how to go after it. You aren’t afraid to do or say anything. You take risks. I can’t tell you how much I admire that.”

Wow, this is a very nice good-bye speech.

“You came into my life like a… well, a tsunami or something. A good one, I mean. Totally unexpected, and totally irresistible. I honestly don’t know where I’d be now if it weren’t for you.”

Back in Houston with your ex, I want to say.

Only I don’t. Because I’m sort of curious to hear what he’s going to say next. Although mostly I just want to run back upstairs to bed.

Except I can’t, I remember belatedly. Because there’s a snoring man in my bed.

“I’m not the kind of person who’s good at going after what I want,” he goes on. “I guess I’m more cautious. I have to weigh all the possibilities, calculate each and every risk involved—”

Yes. I know.

Good-bye, Luke. Good-bye forever. You’ll never know how much I loved—

“That’s why it took me so long to realize that what I really want to say to you—” He’s fumbling in the front pocket of his charcoal wool trousers now. And I can’t help thinking, Why is he doing this… what’s he doing? Is he just trying to torture me? Does he have no idea how hard I’m trying not to throw myself at him? Why can’t he just go away? “What I think I’ve always wanted to say to you, since the day I met you, on that crazy train, is—”

— get out of my life, and never contact me again.

Only that’s not what he says. That isn’t what he says at all.

Instead, for some reason, he’s sunk down onto one knee, in front of the closed bridal shop, and the lady across the street walking her dog, and the guy in the minivan looking for a parking space, and the entire population of East Seventy-eighth Street.

And though I can’t believe what I’m seeing, and I’m positive my tired, hungover eyes are playing tricks on me, he’s pulled from his pocket a black velvet box, which he opens to reveal a diamond solitaire that glistens in the morning light.

No. No, that’s really what he’s doing. And there are words coming out of his mouth. And those words are:

“Lizzie Nichols, will you marry me?”

Exception: If a guest gave you a gift of money, it is not necessary or polite to mention the amount in your thank-you note. Call any amount “a generous gift.”