The restaurant was quiet, wrapped in the kind of warmth that made the world outside feel distant. A candle flickered between them, its soft glow catching the smirk playing on Marcel’s lips as he watched her, fork in hand, eyes full of something that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for far too long.

Across from him, she was lost in her dessert, humming in satisfaction as she took another bite of apple pie. Marcel chuckled, shaking his head. “You good?” he teased, resting his forearm against the table. “Looks like that pie just changed your life.”

She grinned, pointing her fork at him. “It might have.”

Marcel’s smirk softened, his gaze settling on her like he was memorizing the moment. The way she laughed, the way she existed so effortlessly in his space—it was so damn easy. And it hit him, right there, somewhere between the warmth of the restaurant and the way she smiled at him.

“Marry me.”

He said it casually, between one breath and the next, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Her fork paused mid-air, her head tilting slightly as if she hadn’t heard him right. “What?”

His smirk widened. “You heard me.”

She blinked, eyes searching his face, looking for any trace of a joke. But Marcel wasn’t laughing. There was no grand speech, no nerves—just certainty. Just him, looking at her like he already knew the answer.