The Way Out He Never Saw Coming - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading The Way Out He Never Saw Coming, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of The Way Out He Never Saw Coming.
I couldn't help but laugh when Oliver insisted on getting the marriage license. The seriousness in his gaze was both endearing and amusing.
"Really? You want to get the license before even proposing?"
Oliver took my hand, his voice calm but firm. "It'll put my mind at ease, Emily." There was a quiet vulnerability in his words—a promise that after years of uncertainty, he'd make sure our future was set in stone.
By that afternoon, Oliver had handled everything—setting the date, booking the venue, even penciling in the proposal. I watched as he scrolled through his phone, making calls and arranging every detail with effortless confidence. The sheer focus on his face made my heart swell. An old saying came to mind:
"Those who love you will move mountains for you. Those who don't will always find excuses."
A month later, on my birthday, Oliver proposed exactly as he'd planned—candlelit dinner, soft music, rose petals trailing to where he stood, ring in hand. As he knelt, his eyes shimmered with excitement, his voice thick with sincerity. "Emily, will you marry me?"
Then my phone buzzed. An unknown number. Against my better judgment, I answered.
Leon's voice—not the usual brash confidence, but soft, almost pleading—came through. "Emily, why haven't we gotten married yet? Weren't we supposed to? I thought you'd be waiting…"
The irony was brutal. Oliver, hopeful, ring glinting in his hand. Leon, dripping with entitlement.
I exhaled, meeting Oliver's patient gaze. "I'm preparing for marriage, Leon. Just not with you." I hung up, letting the finality sink in before turning back to Oliver. "Yes. I do."
His face lit up like the sun, and in one motion, he swept me into his arms, spinning me until the world blurred. "Emily," he whispered, breath warm against my ear, "I've wanted this since we were kids. You have no idea how happy you've made me."
Later, tipsy and nostalgic, Oliver recounted childhood stories, his laughter mingling with mine. Then his gaze darkened, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that started tender and quickly deepened.
"Wow," I teased, pulling back, "who knew the little snot-nosed kid could kiss like that?"
Oliver smirked, scooping me up—until the doorbell rang.
Leon stood there, flushed and furious. "Emily," he demanded, "wasn't it agreed we'd get married? Seven years of you begging—why haven't we?"
Disgust coiled in my stomach. I grabbed the marriage license and shoved it into his hands.
"We did get married, Leon. Just not with you."
He scoffed, flipping it over. "You expect me to believe this? These things are sold on the street for five bucks. You'll only ever marry me, Emily. Stop this and come home."
I yanked it back, voice steady. "Once, I loved you. Now? You're just a bad memory."
His face twisted, but he stepped closer, whining, "Men make mistakes, Emily. We've been together too long to throw it away. I booked tickets—let's go see my mom, talk this out."
"Really? You want to get the license before even proposing?"
Oliver took my hand, his voice calm but firm. "It'll put my mind at ease, Emily." There was a quiet vulnerability in his words—a promise that after years of uncertainty, he'd make sure our future was set in stone.
By that afternoon, Oliver had handled everything—setting the date, booking the venue, even penciling in the proposal. I watched as he scrolled through his phone, making calls and arranging every detail with effortless confidence. The sheer focus on his face made my heart swell. An old saying came to mind:
"Those who love you will move mountains for you. Those who don't will always find excuses."
A month later, on my birthday, Oliver proposed exactly as he'd planned—candlelit dinner, soft music, rose petals trailing to where he stood, ring in hand. As he knelt, his eyes shimmered with excitement, his voice thick with sincerity. "Emily, will you marry me?"
Then my phone buzzed. An unknown number. Against my better judgment, I answered.
Leon's voice—not the usual brash confidence, but soft, almost pleading—came through. "Emily, why haven't we gotten married yet? Weren't we supposed to? I thought you'd be waiting…"
The irony was brutal. Oliver, hopeful, ring glinting in his hand. Leon, dripping with entitlement.
I exhaled, meeting Oliver's patient gaze. "I'm preparing for marriage, Leon. Just not with you." I hung up, letting the finality sink in before turning back to Oliver. "Yes. I do."
His face lit up like the sun, and in one motion, he swept me into his arms, spinning me until the world blurred. "Emily," he whispered, breath warm against my ear, "I've wanted this since we were kids. You have no idea how happy you've made me."
Later, tipsy and nostalgic, Oliver recounted childhood stories, his laughter mingling with mine. Then his gaze darkened, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that started tender and quickly deepened.
"Wow," I teased, pulling back, "who knew the little snot-nosed kid could kiss like that?"
Oliver smirked, scooping me up—until the doorbell rang.
Leon stood there, flushed and furious. "Emily," he demanded, "wasn't it agreed we'd get married? Seven years of you begging—why haven't we?"
Disgust coiled in my stomach. I grabbed the marriage license and shoved it into his hands.
"We did get married, Leon. Just not with you."
He scoffed, flipping it over. "You expect me to believe this? These things are sold on the street for five bucks. You'll only ever marry me, Emily. Stop this and come home."
I yanked it back, voice steady. "Once, I loved you. Now? You're just a bad memory."
His face twisted, but he stepped closer, whining, "Men make mistakes, Emily. We've been together too long to throw it away. I booked tickets—let's go see my mom, talk this out."
End of The Way Out He Never Saw Coming Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to The Way Out He Never Saw Coming book page.