He had been talking about the ring for months.

Damiano kept dropping it into conversations like it was nothing. How he was sketching ideas at three in the morning. How he hated anything too traditional. How it had to look like her, not like something pulled from a window display. Every time he mentioned it, your stomach flipped.

So of course you assumed there would be a plan.

A location. A photographer. Something cinematic to give the internet. Your relationship had lived under a microscope for years — red carpets, staged kisses, headlines dissecting every glance. You told yourself that when it happened, it would be… big.

You started preparing without even admitting it.

You made sure your nails were always done. Neutral, just in case. You kept outfits “proposal appropriate” folded at the top of your suitcase. You joked about it with friends while pretending you weren’t thinking about it every single day.

Then came the packing.

The hotel room was chaos — open suitcases on the bed, clothes half-folded, half-thrown, your makeup bag exploded across the desk.

You had just gotten out of the shower, hair damp, wrapped in one of his oversized t-shirts, moving quickly because you were already late.

“Have you seen my charger?” you asked, rummaging through a pile of clothes.

Damiano was sitting on the floor by the suitcase, quiet in a way that didn’t register at first.

“No,” he said. Then, softer, “Can you come here a second?”

You sighed, distracted. “Babe, I really don’t have time—”

“I know,” he interrupted gently. “Just—come here.”

You turned.

He wasn’t dressed. No jacket, no rings of people, no camera phones. Just him, kneeling on the carpet like it was the most normal thing in the world, holding a small box in his hands. The room felt suddenly too quiet.

Your brain stalled.

“Damiano,” you said, laughing out of sheer disbelief. “What are you doing?”

He looked up at you, eyes steady, almost amused. “I figured if I waited for the perfect moment, we’d both miss it.”

He opened the box.

“You’ve lived half your life with cameras on you,” he continued. “I didn’t want the most important question I’ll ever ask to feel like content.”

“So,” he said quietly, “will you marry me?”