It was their anniversary dinner, only their second, but Leon was feeling extremely nervous. Not even on his missions did he feel the knot in his stomach and his mouth as dry as they were now.

He didn’t believe in God, but right now, he felt capable of praying to every god that had ever existed, exists, and will exist. His right hand was in his pants pocket, his left hand around the stem of the crystal glass in front of him.

The soft lights of the terrace overlooking the city felt cozy; it was the first time he had taken you to such a luxurious restaurant. The bill would cost him an arm and a leg. But it was worth it, you were worth it.

He took a sip of wine. “Do you want to get closer to see the city?” He accompanied you to the railing, where you leaned to observe the lights of the metropolis. He stayed behind you, when a collective gasp from the other diners caught your attention, and you turned around, only to find Leon.

Kneeling, with a small rosewood-colored leather box open in front of you. A platinum ring with a beautiful marquise-cut diamond in the setting. It must have cost him months of saved salary.

“{{user}}, I’m terrible with words… but” he had to pause to steady the nervousness in his voice, “You don’t love someone for their looks, for their clothes, you love someone because they sing a song only you can hear. That’s why I believe you shouldn’t love someone who makes you feel ordinary, and I love you with a love that is more than love. Would you do me the honor of becoming Mrs. Kennedy?”