Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 91: Chapter 91
You are reading Dahlia and the Garden of Light, Chapter 91: Chapter 91. Read more chapters of Dahlia and the Garden of Light.
The bloom room forest shimmered with early evening light—warm golden rays threading through the canopy of wisteria and flowering jacaranda. Dahlia sat barefoot on a mossy stone, a letter from Theo resting gently in her lap. A breeze carried the faint sound of finches and distant water, while petals fluttered quietly around her shoulders.
She heard him before she saw him—his quiet, grounded footsteps on the soft garden floor. Markus emerged between the jasmine vines, a basket of seedlings tucked under one arm, his shirt sleeves rolled up and streaked with soil.
“Hey,” he said, his voice always calmer here.
Dahlia looked up and smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You smell like rosemary and hard work.”
“And you,” he grinned, sitting beside her, “smell like a miracle wrapped in hibiscus.”
She laughed softly and leaned her head against his shoulder. For a moment, they just listened—to the birds, to the rustle of the forest, to the gentle pulse of peace.
“She’s pregnant,” Dahlia said quietly.
Markus’s eyes widened. “Yes she is.”
“She’s glowing,” Dahlia whispered. She hesitated, fingers curling around his. “I think I’m ready too.”
He blinked. “Ready?”
She turned to him fully. “To say yes. To settle. To you.”
Markus froze—then exhaled all at once, like he’d been holding that breath since New York.
“Dahlia,” he murmured, almost reverently, “I’ve been waiting for that moment since the day you fixed my broken ribs and rolled your eyes when I apologized.”
She chuckled. “You kept saying sorry like a soldier.”
“And I knew,” he smiled. “I knew you’d ruin me for anyone else.”
She blushed, eyes lowering to their interlocked hands.
He gently tilted her chin up. “So… does this mean I should bring up the ring again?”
She laughed and nodded. “Only if it’s hidden in a flower.”
“I figured as much.” He reached behind his back and, like a magician, produced a closed lily bud. With a flick of her thumb and a whisper of breath, the petals unfurled—revealing a simple ring carved from rose-gold wood and stone.
Dahlia gasped.
Markus grinned. “Hand-grown by Eliot, coded by Christian to never wither. Theo blessed it with a prayer, and your grandfather snuck a vial of tears into the resin.”
She took it with trembling fingers. “This whole family,” she whispered.
“You’re the seed, Dahlia,” he said. “We’re just the forest that grew around you.”
And beneath the flowering ceiling of her bloom room, surrounded by vines she had once coaxed from bare soil, Dahlia Anderson said yes.
She heard him before she saw him—his quiet, grounded footsteps on the soft garden floor. Markus emerged between the jasmine vines, a basket of seedlings tucked under one arm, his shirt sleeves rolled up and streaked with soil.
“Hey,” he said, his voice always calmer here.
Dahlia looked up and smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You smell like rosemary and hard work.”
“And you,” he grinned, sitting beside her, “smell like a miracle wrapped in hibiscus.”
She laughed softly and leaned her head against his shoulder. For a moment, they just listened—to the birds, to the rustle of the forest, to the gentle pulse of peace.
“She’s pregnant,” Dahlia said quietly.
Markus’s eyes widened. “Yes she is.”
“She’s glowing,” Dahlia whispered. She hesitated, fingers curling around his. “I think I’m ready too.”
He blinked. “Ready?”
She turned to him fully. “To say yes. To settle. To you.”
Markus froze—then exhaled all at once, like he’d been holding that breath since New York.
“Dahlia,” he murmured, almost reverently, “I’ve been waiting for that moment since the day you fixed my broken ribs and rolled your eyes when I apologized.”
She chuckled. “You kept saying sorry like a soldier.”
“And I knew,” he smiled. “I knew you’d ruin me for anyone else.”
She blushed, eyes lowering to their interlocked hands.
He gently tilted her chin up. “So… does this mean I should bring up the ring again?”
She laughed and nodded. “Only if it’s hidden in a flower.”
“I figured as much.” He reached behind his back and, like a magician, produced a closed lily bud. With a flick of her thumb and a whisper of breath, the petals unfurled—revealing a simple ring carved from rose-gold wood and stone.
Dahlia gasped.
Markus grinned. “Hand-grown by Eliot, coded by Christian to never wither. Theo blessed it with a prayer, and your grandfather snuck a vial of tears into the resin.”
She took it with trembling fingers. “This whole family,” she whispered.
“You’re the seed, Dahlia,” he said. “We’re just the forest that grew around you.”
And beneath the flowering ceiling of her bloom room, surrounded by vines she had once coaxed from bare soil, Dahlia Anderson said yes.
End of Dahlia and the Garden of Light Chapter 91. Continue reading Chapter 92 or return to Dahlia and the Garden of Light book page.