A Secret Proposal Part 1

By: Alexia Praks


He found himself in the angry sea once again, fighting to get to her, fighting to save her. The sea, however, refused him and crashed him off course, smashing him against the edge of a cliff.

* * * * *

“Sakura!” he yelled her name, his voice hoarse with agony. Suddenly, he found himself sitting up, sweating and panting, his heart thumping hard and furious within his chest.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Darcy shut his eyes. Please calm down, you tormented beast. Please calm down, he told his heart. It was only a nightmare. Just a nightmare and nothing more.

Oh, how he ached to see that beautiful face again. How he ached to once again see those sparkling dark eyes, that long black hair, the petal-white skin, and those sensuous ruby-red lips. Those lips he’d kissed and sucked and licked.

Darcy threw himself back on the bed, his hand on top of his chest. Still, he could feel his heart thumping furiously beneath his breastbone where his hand rested, as if it were tormented, crying out for its long-lost love.

“Snow,” he whispered under his breath. “My snow, where could you be?”

It had been almost one year since she’d decided to leave them, since she’d disappeared from their lives—from his life—and left him only a note that simply said:

I will always be your Snow.

I love you.


Darcy turned to look at the alarm clock. It said 5:05 a.m. He sighed and turned his attention to the wall across from his bed. He gazed at the full-size poster of Snow White and the Seven Knights he’d designed two years ago. Back then, he hadn’t a clue as to why he’d conjured up that beautiful character of Snow White. He’d always thought the idea of having an interactive game similar to Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs would be a new and exciting project and had presented it to Hayden with enthusiasm and energy. It hadn’t been until much later, when he’d met Sakura again at Mary and Peter’s wedding, that he realized that was never the case.

Snow White had been ingrained in his mind long ago, since he’d first met seven-year-old Sakura.

Sakura had always been Snow to Darcy.

Since they’d released Snow White and the Seven Knights for the world to enjoy, it had gone viral, and Darcy found himself and Hayden had gone from an amateur to one of the top gaming entrepreneurs in the world. The game alone had brought them fame and success beyond belief. Since this last financial year, they’d made at least three billion each in dividends. Darcy, however, wasn’t interested in the money. It had always been the creation and the energy and the hard work he’d put in that kept him in the business.

He got up and headed to the adjoining bathroom. Standing over the sink, he took off his shirt, exposing his fitted, toned, lean muscles that were taut with anxiety and tension. He splashed cold water on his face a couple times to clear his head. That felt much better, he thought and lifted his head to look at himself in the mirror.

The man staring back at him wasn’t the same Darcy who had existed one year ago. This Darcy had matured both physically and mentally. His raven-black hair was stylishly cut, the thick locks nestling lovingly about his neck. The handsome face was now marked with the maturity of strong jawline, high cheekbones, aquiline nose, and firm lips that rarely smiled. Those mauve-grey eyes of his were now clearer, sharper, and more determined than ever, showing the world this was a man on top of the game, on top of the world. However, if one were to look closer, one would see those eyes were marked with darkness and torment, loneliness and loss.

Darcy was no longer the pretty boy of the Princetons. He was now the dark knight, utterly dangerous and utterly mysterious. That was why so many women flocked to him, flirted with him, and even dared to ask him out. That was why so many women dreamed of becoming his girlfriend, his wife, and dared to stalk him.

Darcy, however, paid them no heed and went about his days working hard on his creations. By night, he’d feel his heart ache as he stared at the hundreds of photos lining the walls of his room. Photos of him and his beloved Snow kissing in the woods, the photo he’d secretly taken that day when they’d kissed under the cherry blossom tree.

He moved his hand to touch his breastbone beneath the muscular chest, caressing the exotic tattoo of the Sakura flowers that intertwined and wrapped themselves around the word “Snow” that only he could read and understand.

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