Page 130 of Tears of Glass

“Are you embarrassed about my tattoos, Elijah?”

His gaze burns on my face. “Never.”

I point to the sensitive space above my heart. “This is the last ink I’m ever going to put on my skin.”

His eyes fall to the ink I sat up and did myself in the night. The shard of glass Dan put there the fateful day of Al’s funeral has been replaced by a full glass heart. “Faith,” he utters my name and it resonates in my soul.

I can’t even look at his broken beautiful face, but I force myself.

“No, wait.” I hold my hand up and take a deep breath. Without bothering to pull my jumper back on, I drop to my knees. “I know I’ve wronged you, Elijah. And I know I have a really bad habit of running. But I want you to help me stop. I can put the past to bed if I know you are the future I’m waking up to every day. But I need you,” my words tangle in my tight throat and I have to stop.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t say a word.

“So I’m asking if you’ll marry me and heal my heart once and for all. I’ll play your family games. I’ll take it all, because I love you enough to be brave enough to fight.”

He steps to the side, just a few inches, just enough so I can see what his broad shoulders were blocking.

“What the hell?” I can’t rip my eyes away from the glass red heart, shimmering under a spotlight. It’s my heart. The one that broke at the Bowsley ball.

“I told you it was a nightmare picking it up.”

“Who did that?”

He shrugs but then winces. “I had a few helpers.”

“But?”

He smiles, but only as much as his split lips will allow. “You see, Faith, I know I can fix your heart, and I know you can heal mine, too.”

A tear rolls down my face. “I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.”

“Come on, get up, you can’t stay on the floor semi-naked.”

I shake my head firmly. “Not until you give me your answer. Will you marry me?”

“And you promise not to run, again?”

I nod. I’m past words.

He kneels down in front of me and from his pocket he pulls out the gold and silver ring with diamonds. He still has it in his pocket.

“I’m so sorry. So sorry,” I repeat. I need him to acknowledge my apology.

His hands slide around my face, his gaze falling on my painful black eye. “So am I. But I never want to have to share you. It’s you and me; no one else. No matter what happens, you have to promise me that.”

A hitched sob forces its way out of my throat. “I promise. If you can accept a do over, I promise to never let you down again.”

“Then I’d be honoured to be your husband.” He lifts my left hand and slides the band down my ring finger. “I’d kiss you, but honestly I don’t want to bleed over you.”

I lean forward and gently place my lips against his, as soft as I possibly can. Tears roll along my cheeks and he gently brushes them away. “No more crying, Faith.”

“I know. I was silly letting my past shape me for so long. If I hadn’t met you, I don’t think I would have survived it.”

“Of course you would. You’re a survivor.” He gets up from the floor wincing a little under his breath.

“Okay, husband of mine, you need to get some rest. We can come look at this again when you’re better.” I glance again at the red glass heart. It’s been well done, seamless almost. Next to it is a plaque with my name and picture giving a brief biography and stating the piece was designed for Bowsley Hall.

I can’t believe I have work in the Tate.