He Proposed to Me With Her Name

Dominic De Luca's face went blank for a moment.

He was kneeling on the terrace of the Long Island estate. Above him was the deep blue August sky, and across the Hudson, the lights of Manhattan stretched like a crack of light in the distance. He looked up at me, his lips parted, and it took him two full seconds to speak. "Clara… I…"

The irony settled in. Even at a moment like this, he still had to think before he could say my name. I knew what he was about to say. He was nervous. It was a habit. After three years together, I had heard every version of that excuse.

I stepped back and pulled my hand away from his reach. "There is nothing left to say. We are done."

"No—" Dominic started, but behind him, the French doors opened. Guests from the dinner party drifted onto the terrace, drawn by the commotion. When they saw the scene, short gasps and hushed voices spread like a ripple across the lawn.

"Oh my God, the De Luca heir is proposing at the family dinner."

"Bianca? You and Dominic—why did you never tell us?"

I turned my head. Bianca Russo stood a few feet away, backlit by the tall windows of the Long Island estate. Her cream silk dress caught the light. I was standing behind a trimmed yew bush, half-hidden. From where the guests stood, Dominic's kneeling figure was aimed directly at her.

Bianca pressed her hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise. Guests crowded around her, someone laughed and pushed her forward, someone called her name. An elderly woman in a navy suit brushed past me, her champagne glass tapping my elbow. Her voice dropped low: "Dear, you are blocking the photo."

I stepped aside. My hem caught under someone's heel, my hair snagged on a strand of pearls. By the time I straightened up, Bianca had been swept to the center of the crowd. She stood beneath the crystal chandelier like a bride waiting for her moment. I stood at the edge like any passerby.

Across the room, Dominic’s eyes found mine.

For one second, I thought he would stand. I thought he would tell them they had misunderstood.

His father was watching from the doorway. Three board members had already raised their glasses. Phones were pointed at him from every direction.

Dominic’s jaw tightened.

Then he turned back to Bianca and pushed the ring onto her finger.

It slid into place.It fit perfectly.

I turned and walked down the steps of the terrace garden, past the hedges and the gravel path. The lights of the estate grew distant behind me.

I remembered the day I had accidentally seen Dominic's proposal plans. On his desk, a hand-drawn layout of the terrace, marked with the date: August twenty-eighth. A navy ring box sat at the corner of the desk, the lid closed. I thought it was for me. I thought he had spent three months planning this for me.

I had imagined the scene. He would kneel in front of me, and a boat would pass on the Hudson. The Manhattan skyline would be lighting up behind him. He might be nervous, he might stumble over his words, his hands might shake when he put the ring on my finger.

But I would say yes anyway. I would fall into his arms, press my face against his coat, and listen to his heartbeat.

That picture was gone now.

I stood at the gate of the Long Island estate and flagged down a taxi. The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror. "Where to?" I gave him my Manhattan address.

I checked my phone. No missed calls. No messages.

Dominic probably had not noticed I had left. Or maybe he had, and he assumed I was just upset, like before, that I would stay at a hotel for a day or two and come back on my own.

He was wrong.

I opened my email and scrolled to the message I had left unread for over a month. It was from a company in London. The position was two levels above my current one, and the salary was double. I had not replied because I was not sure I could really leave.

Now I was.

I typed my response, told them I had given it careful thought and accepted the offer, and that I could start in two days. Then I hit send.