Blake rises gratefully and picks the ring from its case. His hands shake as he slides it onto my finger. I flex my hand under its familiar weight. It looks so right and so wrong at the same time. He kisses me deeply, squeezing his hands around my hips and pulling me close to him. The boat rocks fiercely under our feet. The white-knuckled control I’ve managed to hang on to thus far evaporates. Nausea rolls through my stomach. I push Blake away just in time to vomit over the boat’s guardrail. I retch and sputter. My throat tastes sour and feels raw.

“Eliza!” Blake yelps. I feel his hands scrape my hair back from my neck, but he’s too late. He misses everything hanging by my face. I gag again at the sight of puke in my hair.

As if this isn’t horrifyingly shameful enough, I hear the photographer continuing to click away. I squeeze my eyes shut as I wipe my mouth and try to catch my breath. It’s not a stretch to imagine these images going viral.

“I should’ve told you I get seasick,” I say. My voice sounds ragged.

“I had no idea,” Blake says, looking slightly green himself. “I swear.”

“I guess it never came up,” I offer weakly.

A man in a white sailor’s uniform comes rushing forward with a bottle of water.

“Ma’am, ma’am, are you feeling all right?” he asks.

I drink as much as I can handle in one sip. “I will be. Can we head back to land?”

“Of course, I’ll tell the captain right away,” he says.

“God, I had no idea,” Blake says, shaking his head. His eyes are still wide with horror. “I just assumed, you know, growing up in a boat shop in Maine . . . this would be your thing.”

“If it were, wouldn’t I have said something?” I ask. There’s a sharp edge to my voice.

I feel myself tense again, and this time, it’s not from nausea. I don’t want this to be our first fight. I don’t want to ruin the moment any more than I already have. I exhale deeply. I can let this go.

“No, you know what? It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. I’m just so happy to be with you, and to be engaged to you.”

“For a second there, I freaked out that you were throwing up because you regretted saying yes,” Blake admits.

I’m mid-sip, so I can’t respond right away. He freezes.

“You don’t regret this, do you?” he asks.

My heart races. The way I play my next line will mean everything. Thankfully, my voice comes out steadier than I feel.

“Blake, I’m madly in love with you and I can’t wait to be your wife. I’d kiss you right now if I didn’t smell like vomit.”