Rhysand wants to propose.

He's nervous.

*

Rhysand pushes the lollipop against his cheek and gives him a stare, tilting his head to the side.

Truthfully, Trey Sanford isn't that scary. He's just an old man with thinning white hair, wrinkly lines on his face, and a deep rumble to his breathy laughter.

He sings loudly off-tune when he's drunk, he takes a worm outside instead of killing it, and he dances like he has back and knee pains in the kitchen.

Rhysand's mouth twitches. Why did he ever think this man was scary when he first met him?

He can do this, no problem. He can ask Trey for his blessing and not get killed. Rhysand likes to believe they've gotten close enough for Trey to reconsider if he feels the urge to.

"Dad!" Sanford shouts, laughing, chasing her father around the kitchen. "I said no more soda!"

"Last one," Trey pleads, clutching the can to his chest. "I promise. I can't eat the fries without the soda, kiddo."

Sanford puts a hand on her hip and raises an eyebrow. "You promised me you would stop with the soda. It's bad for your health, don't you remember what the doctor said? He said less meat, no more soda, no more junk—"

"Last," Trey says firmly, turning his back on his daughter, a grin on his face as he scuttles back towards the living room. He sits beside Rhysand and says, "Distract her."

"No," Rhysand says.

Trey glares at him. "You better listen to the owner of this house."

Rhysand takes out the lollipop. "The owner of this house is making her worried. I thought we agreed we don't make her worried."

"Fine," Trey grumbles, forcefully setting the can down on the table and leaning back against the couch with a huff. An angry frown is on his face. To his daughter, he snaps, "Stop pouting."

"Thank you," Sanford chirps, skipping over to the living room and dropping a kiss on her father's cheek. "Please, Dad. You're getting older and you need to be healthier. You need to walk me down the aisle, meet your grandkids—you know. Life stuff."

Rhysand's hand on his jeans fists into a ball. His heart speeds up, and he looks at Trey once again.

His expression softens, and he looks at Sanford with a smile. "Okay, kiddo. Fine. You can stop guilt-tripping me."

Rhysand takes it back. He knows why he's scared—he's always been scared of Trey Sanford.

The old man loves—no, loves his daughter. He's not going to give Rhysand his blessing because he knows he's not good enough for her.

Sanford giggles, and Rhysand's chest clenches. He bites the lollipop with his teeth, and he hears it crack.

What is he thinking? It hasn't been a year since Sanford came back to him. It hasn't been a year since he started loving her right, the way he should have from the very start.

Rhysand knows he's not—he will never be good enough for Sanford. But isn't that the point of love? To try to be—every day, to the best of his ability?

Jesus. This is giving him a heart attack. He needs a smoke. No. No more smoking. He needs fresh air.

He stands up. "I'll take Biscuit for a walk."

"No, I'll do it!" Sanford says cheerfully, grinning at him. "You took him out yesterday, baby."

Rhysand blinks. "Oh, sunshine, it's okay—"

"I need time with him." Sanford tiptoes and kisses him quickly on the lips—gone before Rhysand can touch her. His stomach churns at the feeling and—and sometimes, he still can't believe Sanford came back to him. "I'll be right back, okay?"

Rhysand stands frozen in the same spot until Sanford walks out the door with their little toy puddle, talking to him in this little baby voice.

Trey looks at him and raises an eyebrow. "The fuck are you doing. Sit down and watch—"

"Sir." Rhysand turns to him. "Trey. I want to marry her."

He stares at Rhysand. "I—who?"

He needs a fucking smoke but no, goddamn it, he promised Sanford he's going to try and fucking quit. He keeps his voice level when he answers, "Your daughter, obviously."

"Andy?" Trey almost shouts, rising to his feet, knocking over the table. "Andrea? My baby girl?"

"You don't have any other daughters. And she's not really a baby anymore," Rhysand says before he can think twice. Shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up—"She's twenty-five."

"And still my daughter," Trey says, eyebrows drawing together.

"Which is why I'm asking for your blessing." Rhysand takes a deep breath and stands straight. "Trey, I—I know you think I'm never going to be good enough for her. I hurt her, I made her cry, and I'm fucking lucky she—she loves me enough to give me a second chance. Maybe I don't deserve it, but I'm making the most out of that fucking second chance." He laughs a little. "I'm loving her right this time, and I will love her right—for the rest of our lives. I will take care of her. I will give her the best of me. And I will be the family that she deserves."

Trey Sanford is quiet. He keeps his eyes locked with Rhysand's, regards him carefully, and heaves out a shaky breath. Then, he whispers, "She's my daughter, Rhys."

Rhysand nods. "I know."

"She loves you," Trey continues quietly, and his eyes water. "She loves you."

There's nothing but the truth when he answers, "And I only knew what that word meant when she showed me."

"Rhysand." Trey puts a heavy hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tightly. His wrinkly face is wet. "You are a good man. I'm happy Andy will have the family she deserves when she marries you." He takes a deep breath and smiles. "And I'm also happy you'll have the family that you deserve."

Because he's never had one before.

Rhysand looks at his feet. His throat is dry. "Thank you."

"Kalim."

Rhysand looks up again. "What?"

Trey smiles. He wipes away his tears with his free hand, and he pats him on the back. "Andy has been dreaming of getting married at Kalim ever since she was a little girl. Marry my daughter there."

*

"Okay!" Sanford carefully sets the cake on the table, in between Rhysand and her dad, and dusts off her hands with a proud smile. "My newest recipe." She puts a hand on Rhysand's shoulder and squeezes. "I didn't make it too sweet for Rhys."

Rhysand's mouth curls upwards, and he looks up at his girlfriend. "Thank you, baby."

Her answering grin makes his heart pound. The tattoo on her wrist shines in black, and Rhysand feels his chest ache.

He'll put a ring on her finger. He'll make that shine, too.

"Like he's the only one eating," Trey grumbles, sliding the cake over and grabbing a fork. Then his eyes widen. "What's this again, kiddo?"

"Tres leches," Sanford answers happily, skipping back into the kitchen to open the refrigerator. "They said milk is a good topping over it, so pour some in your slice."

Trey grabs his own share before Rhysand takes a small spoon, eyeing the white frosting and the strawberries on top of it. Sanford pours the sweetened milk over his cake and waits for his reaction with her chin on her hands.

Rhysand takes the spoon, blinking. Then he licks his lips and says, "That's fuckin' good, sunshine."

"Yay!" Sanford cheers, jumping. "You rarely ever like my cakes."

Rhysand stands up, brushing past her, and stabs his spoon into the dessert, filling his plate. He pours the milk over it, too.

"Hey, give me some," Trey demands, and Rhysand barely slides it over before eating some more.

Involuntarily, a strangled moan escapes his mouth at the taste. "Sunshine, this is really fucking good. It's perfect."

"He's right," Trey agrees, nodding. He has frosting on the side of his mouth. "Tastes amazing, kid."

"Thank you," Sanford says, bowing. Her face glows with a radiant smile as she watches Rhysand empty his plate.

"I used to be her only food taster," Trey comments, grabbing the milk.

"You're not anymore," Rhysand answers, taking the milk back.

"You don't even like sweets."

"I like this," Rhysand snaps, chewing quickly. The cake is almost finished.

"Pass me the milk, boy."

"No."

Trey snatches it before Rhysand can. He glares at him. "You're annoying."

Rhysand scoffs. He takes another piece. "You love me."

Trey grunts, and he steals another glance at the cake. He chews faster.

Rhysand's phone on the table lights up and buzzes. Thinking it might be from work, he leans over and unlocks the screen without putting his plate down, reading the text.

Big mistake. wanna suck you off want your cum on my face

Rhysand chokes.

Cake comes flying from his mouth and onto Trey and the table, and he pounds his fist to his chest.

Trey stands up, disgusted, brushing off his arm with his hands. "Kid, what the fuck—"

The moment he turns his head towards the phone, he's done for. No more marriage. Only a funeral. He'll be dead.

Rhysand's shaking hand seizes it, and he holds it to his chest. He's panting. "Uh, sorry. Yeah. Just—just got some news from work."

Trey blinks, confused. "Bad news?"

"Good, actually." Rhysand grabs a napkin, wipes his mouth, and turns around for the stairs. Even without looking at his girlfriend, he knows she's fucking laughing. That fucking menace. "Very good. Excuse me for a sec."

"More cake for me," Trey says happily, shrugging and sitting back down.

Rhysand shuts the door to Sanford's room closed and leans against it, closing his eyes. "Holy shit," he whispers, laughing breathlessly, head hitting the wood. "Fucking hell."

He opens his message window with Sanford and finds another text waiting. you good there? :)

jesus fucking christ. i could've died, sanford.

The three dancing bubbles appear. i'm sorry baby i couldn't help it :( it was the white, creamy stuff...

Rhysand pushes his tongue against his cheek, mouth curling upwards. Are you? sorry?

...no :)

so you meant it? you want it?

yes.

Come here.

Whatever excuse Sanford makes to her dad, Rhysand doesn't care anymore.

He pushes her against the wall near the bathroom and holds her down on the shoulder, dropping her to her knees. "Show me," he rasps, gathering her hair in one hand. "Show me how much you want it."

Sanford's fingers fumble with his belt. "God, Rhys," she breathes, pulling down his underwear, hands bruised on his hips.

He hangs his head back and mutters, "You do that shit again in front of Trey and I swear to God I won't let you cum next time I eat you out. Understand, sunshine?"

Sanford takes everything in her mouth with a moan. Rhysand tightens his hand on her hair. "God, fuck, that's it, doing so well, baby."

Rhysand gives her what she asked for.

It wasn't enough, so he makes love to her on the bed, too.

Kisses her wrist. Her finger.

"I love you," he whispers in her ear. Pours his heart and soul to those three little words. It's not enough, but it'll do for now.

Sanford answers back breathlessly, tears in her eyes.

It'll do for now.

*

Jenner is the first to know.

"Holy shit!" his best friend screams, mouth wide open, eyes nearly bulging out, hands in his hair. "Holy shit, Rhys. Are you fucking serious?"

Rhysand has never been more serious about anything in his fucking life. He smirks and pushes the lollipop against his cheek. "Yes."

"Oh my God." Jenner laughs loudly, bending over. "Oh my God. The day has come. I've witnessed it all. I can die now."

Rhysand grabs him by the collar and snaps, "Not yet, shithead. I need you to be my best man."

Jenner's answering grin is annoying. He wags his eyebrows. "You haven't even asked her yet."

"I will."

"And she hasn't even said yes yet."

"She will."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes—" Rhysand swallows, letting him go. He bites the lollipop. "Yes," he repeats quietly, pursing his lips. I think.

This is stupid. Why can't they just agree to it, have Jenner officiate or some shit, exchange the rings and stamp husband and wife. Done. Sealed. Mr. and Mrs. Harton.

"That's your uncertainty talking," Jenner reminds him, bumping shoulders with him as they look out the terrace. He always knows what Rhysand is thinking. "And I know you hate uncertainty, Rhys, but don't let it scare you. If you're sure you want to marry Andy, spend the rest of your life with her, then do it. Ask her. You know she loves all the romance and shit."

Rhysand freezes. He turns to his best friend. "Fucking—wait. Romance."

Jenner blinks. "Yes, Rhys, we've been over this. That's what you and her have."

"I mean." He gestures wildly with his hands, heart speeding up. "I mean, the proposal. I can't just ask her. I have to—I have to wow her, Sanford likes romantic shit. She'll hate me if I just—if I just ask."

Jenner blinks. "Uh, I don't think so—"

"No, I have to—" Rhysand inhales shakily. "It needs to be special. She would want it to be special."

"Well." He puts a hand on his shoulder and grins, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "Can't help you there, bud. See ya at the wedding."

Rhysand grabs his hood before he can leave. "You're not going anywhere."

Jenner yanks his hoodie away and glares at him. He whines, "I'm not going to be subject to your emotional torture while you think of ways to propose."

Rhysand shoves his hand inside his pocket. "I need help."

"That's not me. Bye."

"I'm going to call Sabina Kyle and I know you've been hooking up with her and she hates me. Help a brother out."

Jenner groans loudly. "I can't do anything if people hate you, Rhysand. It's just the way you are."

"I'll give you back the house as soon as Sanford and I find a new one."

"Done." Jenner snatches the phone. "Hey, darling!" he chirps, winking at Rhysand. "Yeah, so, Rhys is planning on proposing to Andy and we need help with ideas and maybe the ring, too. You busy?"

*

Rhysand has never held a ring in his entire goddamn life.

Now that he has one, tucked in a little velvet box...he doesn't know what the fuck to do with it.

"Hide it, dumbass," Sabina snaps on the other line. "I did not spend hours arguing with you over this ring for you to lose it—or, God forbid, for Andy to find it! And it's a million-dollar ring, Harton, Christ."

"Hide it where!" Rhysand almost shouts, clutching the box in his hand. "I hid it inside the closet drawer this morning and Sanford almost opened that looking for her skirt. I hid it in my studio and Sanford just walked in without a second thought. I hid it on the bookshelf and she just fucking grabbed a book!"

"Do I look like someone who has the time to help you out even with this shit?"

"If this proposal is ruined before it even starts, it's on you," Rhysand hisses, snapping the box open and closed.

"I'm not the one proposing to her, dumbass!" Sabina yells in defense. "You're such a fucking coward—"

"You're such a fucking bi—"

"Rhys?"

Rhysand tosses his phone on the desk and shoves his hand inside his pocket. "Yeah, sunshine?"

Sanford opens the door to his studio quietly, peeks her head in, and smiles at him. "Hi. I'm home."

Rhysand feels the little ring weigh heavier than it should in his pocket. Swallowing thickly, he says, "You didn't call me to pick you up."

"S'okay," she answers cheerily with a shrug, closing the door and walking over to him, hands sliding on his shoulders, and Rhysand takes a deep breath and spreads his legs, fingers finding her pretty little waist. She plops down on his lap and hugs him, and Rhysand closes his eyes. Breathes in. "Who were you talking to?" she asks quietly. "You sounded angry."

Unfortunately, that was his relationship with Sanford's older best friend. Rhysand purses his lips and squeezes her to him. "Just from work. We're chasing a deadline."

"Ah." Her fingers touch the strands of his hair near his nape, and Rhysand shivers.

"How was the job interview?" Rhysand asks softly, hand stroking her hair.

Sanford exhales, lips brushing his neck. "Fine. Good. I really hope they hire me."

"They will, baby." He pulls back a little to stroke her cheek. "They'd be insane not to."

She smiles at him, and Rhysand's chest expands in a breath. He's always—always so mesmerized whenever she smiles at him.

He knows now to cherish them—because he didn't before. He made her cry a lot more than she smiled back then.

Painfully, his heart does this little pinch whenever he thinks about those two years. Two miserable years of regret and drowning himself in the guilt of his fear, selfishness, jealousy. In the wrecking guilt of what Sanford had to go through, and what she has to go through right now because of him.

"I know what you're thinking and I'm telling you to stop it," Sanford mutters, hands coming to his face lovingly. "I'm okay, love. Stop blaming yourself."

Rhysand closes his eyes. He leans forward and buries it in her shoulder, because he can't bear to look at her face when he whispers, "Thank you for coming back to me."

Sanford is silent for a few moments. Then she says, "Is that what you pray for? Every night before we go to bed?"

"Yes," Rhysand says. That, and for her to stay. Say yes.

"Oh, baby." Sanford takes his face in her gentle hands again, but Rhysand refuses to open his eyes. Slowly, she touches her lips to his forehead, marking his skin with a sweet kiss. "I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

He believes her. For the first time in his life, he believes she won't leave him. Not again, anyway.

If her answer's a yes, then it's a yes. But if it's a no, Rhysand believes it's a not yet.

He tells his mother this.

"I'm asking the person who showed me what love is to marry me," he mutters quietly, staring at her stone. "And she loves me. She's not going to leave me like you did."

Jenner comes up behind him and puts a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly.

"You would've loved her," Rhysand says. "It's impossible not to."

"He's right," Jenner cuts in helpfully.

"I'll give her the family we both deserve." He swallows thickly and puts the flowers down. "I'll give myself that. She'll give me that, too."

There won't be any family members on the groom's side for the wedding if it happens, but that's just fine print.

His bride will be his sunshine, anyway. Nothing else matters.