The man’s lips twitched. “Does Marty know you plan to take care of her?”
“No, well, I mean I haven’t said so in so many words.”
Her father laughed. “Good. That’s probably for the best. You might not want to mention that. She’s very independent.”
“That I do know.” As nervous as he was, he couldn’t help a small smile at that fact.
“I do appreciate your honesty, Peter. Though it’s not necessary. Marty makes her own decisions. You don’t need my approval to date her.”
“Yes, sir. I just wanted you to know my intentions.”
Her father pinned him with his gaze. “And what exactly are your intentions, Peter? Besides taking care of her.
“Well, I’m, uh, saving for a ring.” He’d started his little savings account the day after she’d come to his office and told him she wanted them to be together.
Premature then, maybe, but he knew he wasn’t going to change his mind about his feelings toward her. And with the little amount he had left after his monthly expenses, he knew it would take forever to save enough for a decent diamond so he had to start early.
Peter continued, “It might take a while until I can afford one worthy of her, but I want to do it right. She deserves that.”
Her father smiled. “Lucky for you, I agree. She does deserve the best. And I just might have a solution for you.”
He went to the desk and took a key out of an ornate box on top. With it, he opened the center drawer and pulled out a small velvet box.
Opening the box, he said, “This belonged to my grandmother. Marty reminds me so much of her. I’ve been saving it for when, or if, Marty ever decided to settle down. When you’re ready to propose, you come to me. I’ll have it sized and ready for you.”
Peter felt the tightness in his chest at the knowledge that his dream, his future with Marty, could actually become reality.
Her father, against all odds, approved of him being with her. He even had a ring now.
Peter raised his gaze from the diamond nestled in the antique setting. “Thank you.”
“When were you thinking? Do you have a timeline in mind?”
He hadn’t had a specific date in mind before, because he figured it could take a couple of years for him to save up enough. But now . . .
He considered the question and then, an idea for the perfect day popped into his mind.
“Maybe her birthday in November,” Peter announced.
“This year?” Her father’s eyes widened.
Peter nodded with increased confidence. “Yes.”
The older man’s brows drew low. “How long have you been dating?”
“Since June.” He counted that weekend of the Greenpeace rally as the start of their relationship even if they didn’t officially put a name to what they were to each other until after the hijacking in July.
“You sure that’s enough time? That you’re both ready?”
Peter let out a short, sad laugh. “All I know is that the time she was in Uganda felt like years to me. So I’m sure. I’m more than ready.”
And after today in the car, for the first time, he had hope that by the time he asked her, Marty would be ready too. They could make it a long engagement if she wanted. He’d be happy with anything, as long as he was with her.
“I understand that. Believe me.” Her father drew in a breath and let it out. “All right. Well, Monday is Labor Day. So I’ll call the jeweler on Tuesday when he reopens.” He put the box back in the drawer and glanced up. “You know, her birthday is on Election Day this year.”
Peter sniffed at the serendipitous coincidence. “I know.”
Knowing her—and he did know her better than anyone else even after just two and a half months of being together—if Carter won, she’d want to celebrate. And if Ford won, she’d need the distraction.
Either way, it would be the perfect day to ask her, no matter how the election went.
“What are you two talking about in here?” Marty strode into the room, two icy lemonades in her hands.
“We were talking about this year’s election.” Peter told that half-truth and took the glass she handed him with a thanks.
She cut her gaze to her father with a scowl. “Did Peter tell you he’s a Republican? And a Reagan supporter, no less.”
Alfred Vanderbilt smiled. “No, but I knew I liked him for some reason.”
Marty rolled her eyes. “Great. Now I’m really outnumbered around here. But you’ll both see come Election Day. I can’t wait.”
Peter drew in a breath against the tightness in his chest at the thought of making it official with this amazing woman and said, “Neither can I.”
EPILOGUE
“. . . celebrating as the Berlin Wall comes down.”
The reporter on the television that was hung high on the wall of the hospital room relayed a steady stream of news at Marty’s insistence.
Even after giving birth, she wouldn’t take a day off from keeping abreast of current events. Peter should have known her resigning from the Post when she got pregnant wouldn’t change that about her. Of course, she’d have less time now that their little bundle of joy was out in the world.
He smiled down at his new daughter.
“What are you smiling about?” Marty asked.
“I’m happy. It's a pretty momentous day.”
She nodded. “It is. Amazing that the wall came down finally after all these years. I do have to give some credit to your Reagan for that one.”
Peter laughed. “Yes, the wall coming down is monumental. And so is the birth of our daughter.”
They’d stopped using birth control right after the wedding. But one heartbreaking and frightening miscarriage early on in their marriage had him begging Marty to go back on the pill rather than risk her health. She’d insisted they keep trying. So they had. For ten years.
Not that he didn’t enjoy that part. He did, as much as their first time together. Even more. Now that they knew each other so well, and loved each other more every day, sex was amazing.
But a baby—that was a miracle. After a decade of marriage, he’d all but given up.
They'd even started investigating adoption and foster care. That was still a possibility. Maybe an older child. A boy, so Missy could have a big brother.
He smiled down at the tiny red face. She was hairless, for now, her eyes squeezed tightly closed and her features pinched as she squirmed in her mother’s arms. She was still the most beautiful sight he’d ever laid eyes on.
“So, what are we going to name this little beauty?” he asked.
They hadn’t talked about names before. Superstition perhaps. Fear that making any plans would jinx the pregnancy. Fear also that naming a baby that might never be born would be more than they both could bear.
“I’ve been thinking about that actually. Through the Eyes of Love by Melissa Manchester was our wedding song.”
He nodded. “It was.”
“Well, I've always loved the name Melissa. I'd like to name her that, if it's okay with you.”
“Of course, it's okay. Although Melissa seems a bit too adult for this pretty little girl right now. I think I'm going to call her Missy until she grows into her name.”