“Squee! OMG! How? When? When did he ask, and how did he ask you?”

“Well, we’d already said we would, but he asked in an un-cheesy way, or I’d have flung the ring back at him,” I say, looking down at my ring, then up at my man, who’s lying with his arms crossed behind his head, the bedsheets barely reaching his waist.

“If you’re telling me Grey’s proposal was cheesy when he told me flat out we were getting married, you are deranged—it was the best, most un-cheesy proposal I’ve heard.”

“Kenna proposed in bed, while . . . you know . . . insert your most volcanic fantasies here . . .”

“Wow, that is un-cheesy. Not something to tell the kids, huh?”

“Just get over here!”

“Be there in a bit.”

Then I call Brooke and Remy.

“You’re getting married! Remington! Guess who’s getting married?”

He briefly grabs the phone. “Congratulations, you two.”

Soon Melanie appears, her intimidating boyfriend by her side. “Maleficent, getting married?!” She hugs me with her usual mix of glee and tenderness, and we rock in each other’s arms while our men have no other choice but to introduce themselves.

“Greyson,” I hear Melanie’s fiancé say. “Congratulations, man.”

“Mackenna,” Kenna offers, slapping and shaking hands.

“God! Look at this ring, it’s obscene! One seriously obscene ring, Kenna, you did good!” Melanie says in complete delight. “Greyson, have you seen anything so pretty?”

“Never,” Greyson murmurs, but I notice he’s looking at Melanie, not my ring.

Mackenna quickly pulls me over to one of the living room couches. Greyson and Melanie settle on the opposite one, and we have a great time swapping meeting stories and celebrating. Even Kyle stops by with his girlfriend to toast with us.

Later, the men start talking about their respective businesses and I find myself asking Melanie for good ideas for a wedding reception. She can’t even believe it’s actually me asking.

“Seriously, this is almost creepy, Pan!” she swears.

We laugh it off and so does Kyle’s girlfriend, Terry, and soon, my grin starts to hurt on my face. All this time, I feel Kenna’s hand moving on my bare arm and shoulder—a gentle reminder that he’s by my side even though he’s talking to the boys and I’m talking to the girls.

I keep stealing touches, squeezing his hand, rubbing his hard thigh—just so he knows I don’t forget for a second who I’m with from now on.

That night, I slide into bed with my guy and start kissing him with all the passion I feel. I nibble on his jaw and slide my hands over his sexy buzz cut and press as close as I can get. I nibble on his lone diamond earring and then on the ear where my ring-diamond used to be. There, I whisper what I used to be so afraid of saying. I didn’t say “I love you” for so many years, yet now I can’t say it enough. I can’t hear it enough. And Kenna shows no signs of asking me to shut up either. He rolls me beneath his body and takes control of the situation, with one sure, perfect move, getting up as close and deep as possible to me.

One day later, it’s Sunday morning and we’re listening to I Heart Radio, like we usually do when we wake up. Then it happens.

“So, now we get to hear the first single from Crack Bikini’s new album. This is ‘Lullaby.’ ” And suddenly we both grow quiet. And there, in his arms—where I feel loved and accepted, warm and safe, wanted and forgiven—I close my eyes and listen to his heartbeat with one ear, and his song with the other.

Young and in love

We thought we were invincible

If you’re lonely or sad

Need to feel someone’s there

Precious baby, let me sing you our lullaby

Let me sing you this lullaby

You may be five or six next year

You may be fifteen in a second

Growing up in a record

Lipstick, girlfriends, boyfriends, first times

It hurts we will never be a part of that

We couldn’t give you what you needed

Couldn’t keep you by our sides

But, baby girl, we can give you

All our love, right in this one lullaby

Your mom and I

Thought you’d have a better life

We were broken, young, and wild

Our sweet girl, you will never know why

But for this moment here’s a lullaby

We’d turn back the clock

I’d man up and stop

Make sure you knew who you were

You were hers and mine

But time, that’s something we never recover

Mistakes we make, promises we break

Things we can never get over

So here I stand

Hoping you can understand

It wasn’t you; it was us

Nothing wrong with you

Our little baby girl

You were perfect; you still are

So here’s your lullaby

“ ‘Lullaby,’ ” the voice on the radio crackles in. “Already topping the charts as the singer and his fiancée hold a worldwide search for all the girls born on January 22, five years ago . . .”

Tears trek silently down my cheeks while Mackenna quietly cups my face and lets them fall into his palms. “What will we do when we find her?” My voice breaking, I swallow. “We can’t take her away from her real parents now. But we can’t not try to be a part of her life in some way.”