Words would be an ill and unworthy method to express her amplified emotions, but they would have to do. They were staring at the water, watching as early twilight shimmied across the horizon, rippling like spilt milk over a countertop. Everything felt as though it were in its right place. There'd always been an ache in the hollow of her heart, something that established its presence with each inhale and exhale. But as soon as Frederick had kissed her, the hole filled up, an open grave filled with dirt.
She leaned into his embrace, placid though still a little restless, as though she'd taken up residence in the eye of a hurricane. Everything was quite peaceful, but she knew it'd be a bit naïve to automatically assume that it would remain that way. There were still things to figure out, apologies to repeat, memories to recall. However, this moment was worthy of its own praise and admiration. Bringing up the past felt too much like a long goodbye and Anne was tired of takeoffs and departures.
"People will start to wonder where we went. Especially Mrs. Russell. She'll have a field day," she speculated.
Frederick snorted, approaching the circumstances with waning amusement, like a joke that's been repeated too many times.
"I don't care. And Mrs. Russell always has something to say. Let her say whatever she wants. She enjoys the sound of her own voice."
Anne laughed, feeling a bit guilty for criticizing her own relatives, but happy to add cutting remarks to Frederick's assault.
"I won't disagree with you on that. She's always liked to hear the sound of her own chatter. With an audience, it's even better."
"Well, I blame that need to hear her own sermons for keeping us apart. I feel like we've wasted useless time trying to avoid each other. Before I kissed you, you can't imagine how nervous I was. Kind of pathetic, really," he chuckled.
Anne turned around, careful not to smash her nose or forehead into Frederick's face. She had no idea that Frederick had experienced jilted nerves; he'd always radiated this intimidating sense of self-assured confidence and competence. Here she was, believing that she'd looked like such a fool, fumbling over her own words and getting tangled up in her own emotions. Yet he'd been in the same boat, debating the pros and cons of his actions, second guessing his choices.
"Nervous? Frederick Wentworth? Are you feeling all right?"
He rolled his eyes, taking the jab as a playful sign of affection.
"I think I had every right to be nervous, considering our past interactions."
"Past interactions? Surely, I must have been embarrassingly transparent. I was angry with you, but most importantly, each time we met, I was reminded of the anger I harbored towards myself," she frankly confessed.
He gazed down at her for a second or so, analyzing the truth of her statement and the exposed vulnerability that followed. With satisfaction, he realized the significance of the deconstruction of her intentions and emotional motivations. He kissed her with surprising tenderness, his face hovering in front of her own, his feathery eyelashes brushing against the apples of her cheeks. He lingered a moment or so, running his mouth over her bottom lip, causing Anne to utter a barely audible sigh.
"Darling, if I had known, I would have kissed you much sooner."
"I'm sorry, you know," she brokenly whispered.
He pulled back a bit, searching for the answer, knowing the explanation before she continued.
"For what?"
"For everything. For breaking the engagement. For listening to my father and my sister and Mrs. Russell. For saying too little. For saying too much. For not saying I love you enough."
He gave a soft laugh, touched at the mixture of sentimental nostalgia and earnest shame.
"Well, that's all I really need to know, isn't it? I'm ready to make a fresh start. I've come to cherish the memories of the past, but I'm anticipating the future. A future with you. That is, if you're ready."
Anne nodded without a shred of hesitation, her hand reaching up to stroke the side of his face. Her fingers danced from the ridge of his brow to the profile of his strong jaw, delicately absorbing his skin as though it were fragile.
"When we were in college, I thought I was ready. Now I know I wasn't. But I've grown up and now I know what I want."
Frederick didn't bother to ask, but rose his eyebrow.
"You," she melodiously affirmed.
"I'm glad to hear that my feelings are reciprocated. It makes what I'm going to say much easier," he lightly replied.
Anne smiled, resting her head in the crook of his neck, like she was placing a sacred heirloom on a special shelf.
"Oh?"
"Marry me."
Anne's breath caught in her throat and she coughed, a forceful whirl of extreme nirvana sweeping through her body, gliding through each vein like the blade of a box cutter. Someone had opened the gates and her once clear head was now swollen with flashes of images, white dresses and wedding bands, bells ringing in her ears. Her surprise was not meant to be read as fear or doubt. It only made sense to skip the very long engagement and plunge into the short walk down the altar. They'd waited for too long to admit feelings that had ceased to change; why prolonge the ultimate step their feet were prepared to take?
With this shock came the realization that she'd learned to base this decision on her personal convictions, rather than the opinions of her family. Mrs. Russell's voice was not booming in the back of her head, citing Frederick's faults. Her sister's distinct chirp did not surface; her answer would be founded solely on the strength of her rationale. It was equally liberating and relieving.
"Yes, yes, and a thousand times yes," she declared, fighting the urge to cry.
He kissed her with all the joy his words would fail to express, his embrace protective and simultaneously yearning. He was not willing to compromise or settle. He could easily anticipate the dissent from the Elliot family, but he was prepared to combat the nonstop assault of their loaded guns. Anne was in his arms and had agreed to marry him. He didn't need much more.
The breeze would have caused considerable discomfort to the majority of patrons, but Frederick hardly noticed the chill licking at the back of his neck. This was here and this was now and he would give anything to stay in the moment forever.
"I think you may have to say it a thousand times, just so it'll sink in," he teased, his lips brushing against her ear.
She tugged on the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer, erasing the short personal space he'd returned.
"Yes, yes, and yes."
Her hands slipped underneath the fabric of his shirt and his forehead rested upon her own.
"I'm going to be Mrs. Anne Wentworth."
"Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Frederick mused, unable to resist the tug of his suave grin.
"More than nice. Should we tell everyone?"
Anne knew he'd pick up on the vague anxiety without a detailed list of particular names.
"If you really want to," he offered.
Her silence confirmed her need to share the news out of familial obligation, but the desire to reveal it at a later date.
"You know, I don't think I'll need that jacket anymore," Anne buoyantly noted.
Frederick's grin widened, if that were all possible. He nuzzled her cheek, tightening his lax grip. He delivered a chaste kiss on the tip of her nose, gazing at her with a combination of adoration and admiration. Frederick had finally regained what he'd initially lost.
Anne's cheeks flushed with color, her entire body burning with ecstasy and white hot self-autonomy. She sat on the beach, savoring the crash of the waves and the heat of Frederick's inhales and proceeding exhales, bathing in the afterglow of rightfully deserved liberation. It would be useless and redundant to expand upon the aftermath of their reunion.
It would appear beside the point to mention that Louisa finally was allowed to go home, awake though still in the painstakingly slow process of full recovery. Because she did. And it would be meaningless to say that the wedding continued as planned and Anne happily floated across the ballroom floor with Frederick, her relatives subtly staring- because she did and they did. And it would be most pointless to also inform the readers that Mr. and Mrs. Frederick Wentworth eloped and said their vows in Paris, because they did. On the whole, what matters most is the actual catalyst to these events, the kiss that sparked the fire and not the fire itself.
Nothing could shake Anne's amiable disposition, as she felt completely connected and united with Frederick, yet finally independent at the same time.
Fin.
A/N: Well, that's it! Thank you for reading and reviewing. I'm very glad that many people enjoyed this story and thought it was true to the original characters. Persuasion is one of my favorite Austen novels and I'd be truly disappointed if people thought my writing was a disgrace to her works. Once again, thanks for reading!