“Okay, Kurt,” Johann said, recovering from his tantrum. “You win this round. But now, it’s time for round two!”
“And what does round two entail?” Kurt asked, brow lifting.
“If you really love Sophie, name one hundred things you love about her! Your time starts…now! Tick, tock, tick, tock!”
“Father?!” Sophie yelped, aghast.
Johann swayed side to side with the smuggest grin imaginable, looming over Kurt as if he’d already won. Kurt merely stroked his chin in thought.
“Tick, tock, tick, tock… Hm? Aha! Just as I thought! You can’t name a single thing, can you? Know why? Because you’ve only just met her! You don’t know the first thing about her! Now, go ahead and admit it! Admit your defeat!”
Admit defeat to what, everyone’s face seemed to ask, amused—except Kurt’s, of course. He looked deadly serious.
“All right,” he said. “I’m ready to begin.”
He took a deep breath.
“Her quick thinking in a pinch. Her courage. The gentle, thoughtful way she chooses her words. Her soft, mellow voice. The way her fingertips move—always in smooth, deliberate unison. Her upright posture, the grace in her bow, clearly honed through training. Her sharp mind. Her hunger for knowledge. Her diligence. Her little streak of stubbornness. The way she teases people—lightly, never unkind. Her smile when she laughs, that sweetness in it. And the way she looks at people—so warm, so kind.”
Ah, Sophie thought. That pause earlier… He was remembering. Everything—from the moment we met until now.
“The way she speaks without ever hurting another. The way she treasures the lessons her teachers have given her. The compassion she shows her patients. The humility to recognize her faults, to feel frustration, but also the strength to never be defined by them. Her sense of responsibility. Her dignity. Her resilience. Her—”
“All right, all right! That’s enough—that’s enough!!!” Johann flailed his arms, cutting Kurt off.
“That’s only twenty-three,” Kurt said, unfazed.
“Yeah, well, the way you were rattling them off, it might as well have been two hundred and three! Can’t you be more succinct?!”
You’re the one who told him not to be succinct, everyone’s expression silently pointed out.
“Succinct…” Kurt stroked his chin again. “Then I suppose: everything.”
“Everything?” Johann squinted.
“I love everything about Sophie. She is perfect in my eyes.”
Johann opened his mouth—then promptly lost his words.
“I love the things she was born with and the things she poured hundreds of hours into to attain. I love her strengths and her flaws. When I look at her, I see…the perfect woman. She’s so radiant, I can barely believe I have the right to even look at her. So yes—I love her. Everything about her.”
Martha quietly sobbed into her hands. Lily and Isadora were holding each other, tear-streaked and sniffling.
To the impossibly serious, painfully earnest young man who said all that without the faintest trace of embarrassment—and in that outfit, no less—Johann had only one thing left to say. And one thing left to do.
“Fine!”
Admit defeat.
“He passes. With flying colors. The rest…is up to you, Sophie.”
“Thanks…” Sophie gave her father a sidelong glance as he stepped aside. Then she moved forward, closing the space between her and Kurt.
With reverence, she reached out and took hold of the heavy bouquet of roses.
Now that she saw it up close, she noticed something: there must’ve been exactly a hundred roses here. And while every rose was red, they were clearly different varietals. Which meant he must have gone to more than one florist—dressed like that.
He’d asked them for every red rose they had—dressed like that.
Again and again until he had exactly one hundred, dressed like that.
Who would do that? Who could do that? No one except this strange, utterly sincere man—so serious, so absurdly earnest, it almost hurt to look at him.
Sophie wondered, for just a second, if she told him to take a little more time to think things through, to come back in something more…conventional—would he?
Of course he would. He’d take the super-bouquet back home with him. He’d take “a little more time” as a precise, self-imposed deadline. Then he’d return—wearing something more normal—and propose again. Just like he had today.
No matter how many people laughed, no matter how many sneered, he would keep doing it. If she asked, he’d try again. And again. And again.
Suddenly, a voice stirred in her chest: I just couldn’t leave him alone.
Sophie smiled. Now she understood.
Out from the bouquet, she plucked a single rose that had been crushed beneath his thumb for who knows how long, its stem bent and broken. Carefully, she drew it free and leaned in, slipping it into the pocket over the chest she hoped to fall against someday.
“Yes, of course, I’ll marry you. I adore you, Kurt Ozhorn.”
Silence. Then, a sharp whistle from who knows where. A guttural roar engulfed the room.
Sophie looked around, warmly acknowledging the celebratory mood when she was swept off her feet. She blinked, looked around, and found herself squarely in Kurt’s arms. In what was colloquially known as a “princess carry.”
Kurt tightened his grip, brought her close, and whispered in her ear: “Got you.”
“Yes, you have,” she replied sweetly.
“Ms. Sophie.” Kurt stared deeply into her eyes. “Do you have a fiancé?”
Sophie laughed. “I do. And he’s right in front of me.”
With a bare fingertip, she gently traced the outer corners of his eyes, softer than she’d ever seen them. Then:
“I never thought I’d live to hear you say that.”
His eyes crinkled further, folding into lines even softer, even kinder.
“Now, which way to the bedroom, honey?”
“Let’s save that for after the wedding, shall we, dear?”
Sophie said it as she nuzzled into his chest, settling there with a quiet contentment. In return, the arms around her tightened, reassuring, certain.
She looked up. And what she saw was something she’d never seen before:
Exposed white teeth. A smile—broad and unguarded—on that face, usually carved from stone.
“I’m glad I asked my superior about the way to propose,” he said.
“That confirms it. He really does want to see you crash and burn,” Sophie replied.
“It’s fine. It worked, didn’t it?”
Such a tender voice.
Such a careful, reverent hold—like she was the most delicate treasure in the world.
The tears came again.
“I did something so stupid. Said such stupid things to you. I’m so glad you didn’t come to hate me for it.”
“Nothing you could ever do would make me hate you. I love you, Sophie.”
One crystal-clear tear.
After the other.
They slipped their way down Sophie’s soft, cherubic cheeks.