Chapter 26: The Ring Tab

Milo was not supposed to look at Lucien's laptop.

Lucien's laptop was Beaumont Corp confidential, Tokyo deals, numbers that could buy Milo's old building ten times. Milo never looked. He had his own laptop now, new one Lucien bought for editing, with stickers of freckled cats that Milo put on.

But Lucien's laptop was open on kitchen table on Thursday morning, screen glowing, and Milo was looking for his camera cable that Lucien borrowed and lost again, and he saw it.

Browser history open. Lucien always closed browser history, because billionaire paranoia, but this time he forgot.

Top searches:

small silver rings for freckled boys

how to propose to photographer who throws wine

do men like promise rings or engagement rings

best place to propose in New York not cheesy

how to ask someone to marry you when you already live together and share fridge

Milo stopped breathing.

His heart started beating so loud that he could hear it in his ears, louder than rain, louder than Central Park traffic, louder than his first gallery applause.

Ring. Propose. Marry.

Lucien Beaumont, CEO of Beaumont Corp, who canceled board meetings for salty soup, who got mold on Kiton suit for him, who let him sit on his lap during $10 million Zoom, was looking at rings.

Milo closed laptop fast, like it was hot, like it would burn his freckled fingers.

He sat on kitchen floor, back against fridge, camera in lap even though he wasn't shooting, just holding it because camera was safe.

Lucien came out of shower at 8 AM, towel around waist, hair wet, no glasses, looking soft and not CEO, looking like Milo's boyfriend, not billionaire.

He saw Milo on floor.

"My love? Why are you on floor? It's cold," Lucien said, picking him up like he was baby that Sarah had, carrying him to couch.

Milo stared at his face — messy wet hair, freckles that Milo loved to count when he couldn't sleep, 47 freckles on nose, 12 on cheek, Milo counted once at 3 AM and Lucien let him.

"Did you sleep?" Lucien asked, touching Milo's forehead. "You look like you saw ghost."

Milo wanted to say "I saw your browser history and you want to marry me and I want to marry you too but I'm scared because Daniel gave me cheap ring and I threw it in trash and what if I ruin your ring too?"

But he didn't. He said "I... I lost camera cable."

Lucien kissed his forehead. "I have it in my office. I used it to charge my phone because your cable is better than mine. Sorry, my love."

Milo nodded, holding Lucien's towel hand tight.

For three days, Milo pretended he didn't see.

But he started noticing things.

Lucien's phone calls in French with his mother Eleanor, whispering, saying "non, pas grand, petit, comme lui, small like him, freckles."

Lena coming over with small velvet boxes, saying "no, Lucien, that one is too big, Milo has tiny hands, like child," and Lucien saying "don't call him child, he hates childish," and Lena saying "tiny hands like artist, not child, calm down."

Milo hiding behind kitchen door listening, heart beating, black nails digging into palm.

On Saturday, Lucien said "Let's go to Central Park, just walk, like first time."

Milo wore blue good luck shirt, because if proposal was coming, he wanted to be in blue good luck shirt, not mismatched socks, matching socks this time, clean black nails, lip piercing shining.

They walked. Same bench where cute boy once talked to Milo, same bench where Milo waited after fight.

Lucien was nervous. CEO who never nervous in boardroom was nervous, hands in pockets, playing with something small in pocket, clicking.

Milo was nervous too, holding camera but not taking photos, because he wanted to remember this without lens, just eyes.

They sat on bench. Cold November wind, leaves yellow, same rain smell even though not raining.

Lucien took Milo's hand. Milo's tiny hand with black nails.

"Milo," Lucien said, voice shaking a little, CEO voice gone, just Lucien voice, 27-year-old boy who made salty soup.

Milo looked at him, freckles bright in cold, eyes watery already.

"I was going to do this not cheesy, in Provence, with lavender," Lucien said, fast, like he memorized speech. "But then I saw you on kitchen floor Thursday morning holding camera and looking at me like I was home, and I thought, why wait for lavender when home is here, on bench, with you in blue shirt?"

Milo's tears started. Big ones.

Lucien took small box from pocket. Not big velvet, small blue box, like Milo's shirt.

Opened it.

Inside, not big diamond. Small silver ring, thin, simple, with tiny freckle-like dots engraved inside band, because Lucien remembered Milo said "my freckles are like stars, you said."

"Milo Chen," Lucien said, on one knee now, in Central Park, people staring, same park where Milo once was nobody. "You threw wine on my ex. You sat on my lap during $10 million meeting. You made me get mold on my suit. You made my father laugh and give you family key. You made me human. You made my fridge have photos and my house have home."

Milo sobbed, loud, not cute sob, real sob, snotty.

"Will you marry me?" Lucien whispered, holding ring with shaking CEO hands. "Not because I own you. Because you own me. My tie, my house, my Tokyo, my everything. Will you own me forever?"

Milo couldn't speak. He nodded so hard his lip piercing shook.

"Yes," he whispered, then shouted "YES! YES! YES! Like you said our table! Our table forever! Yes!"

Lucien slipped ring on his finger. Tiny hand, perfect fit, silver with freckle dots inside, made for freckled boy who threw wine.

Milo looked at ring, then at Lucien on knee, then at people clapping in Central Park — strangers clapping for boy who once slept cold and now got proposed in blue good luck shirt.

He jumped into Lucien's arms, bench creaking, both falling onto yellow leaves, kissing, Milo's tears on Lucien's face, Lucien's tears on Milo's freckles.

"I saw your browser history Thursday," Milo confessed, laughing and crying at same time, on leaves. "Small silver rings for freckled boys! I saw!"

Lucien gasped, on leaves, suit ruined again with leaves now, not mold, leaves. "You saw? And you didn't say?"

"I wanted to pretend surprised!" Milo said, hitting his chest. "You ruined surprise by leaving laptop open! CEO can't even close browser!"

"I was nervous! I was looking at rings for three weeks! I forgot to close!" Lucien said, laughing, holding Milo tight on cold ground.

People in park took photos. Milo, photographer, being photographed for once, on ground, in blue shirt, with CEO in suit covered in leaves, ring shining.

They walked home, hand in hand, Milo's left hand out in front of him staring at ring every five seconds, saying "my ring, my ring, my ring has freckles inside, like me!"

At home, Milo taped proposal photo — a stranger in park sent it to them, Lucien on knee, Milo crying with mouth open — on fridge.

He wrote, handwriting shaking so much it was messy, with new ring hand:

HE PROPOSED ON BENCH WHERE I WAS ONCE NOBODY AND NOW I AM SOMEBODY WITH RING THAT HAS FRECKLES INSIDE. HE SAID I OWN HIM FOREVER. I SAID YES YES YES. - M & MY RING

Lucien added, underneath, suit still leafy:

She saw my browser history and pretended to be surprised. She is terrible at pretending. I love her terrible pretending. Also she said yes. - L

Eleanor called five minutes after they posted photo on I*******m. She screamed so loud Milo had to hold phone away.

"MY SON PROPOSED! MY SON WITH RING WITH FRECKLES! I KNEW IT! I TOLD HENRI HE WOULD! COME TO PROVENCE NOW! WE HAVE LAVENDER EVEN IN NOVEMBER!"

Milo wore ring to sleep that night, didn't take it off to develop photos, even though chemicals could tarnish silver, because he wanted to develop with ring.

Lucien watched him in red darkroom, yellow gloves too big, ring shining under safelight, and thought "my fiancé, my photographer, my freckled boy who throws wine and now owns me forever, on bench where he was once nobody."

And Milo, looking at ring while photos dripped, thought "my home, my safe place, my CEO who makes salty soup and gets mold and leaves on his suit for me, now my fiancé, forever our table, our fridge, our bench, our ring with freckles."

Outside, it started raining again, soft rain like night they met, click click click on windows, developing their forever.