Chapter 6 The Ultimate Clause, A Cycle of Proposals

# Chapter 6: The Ultimate Clause, A Cycle of Proposals

One year. Twelve months since I'd signed away my life to a cold-eyed CEO with a hidden romantic streak. Three hundred and sixty-five days of discovering new clauses, pushing boundaries, and falling hopelessly in love with my contract husband.

Our first anniversary wasn't just a milestone—it was a triumph neither of us had fully anticipated on that fateful night when I'd scrawled a pig doodle on a legal document.

Gilbert had been mysteriously absent most of the day, his only communication a text directing me to be ready at seven, wearing the blue dress he'd bought me last month. It was the kind of subtle command that would have infuriated me a year ago but now just made me smile. He'd learned that I liked being surprised, and I'd learned that his controlling tendencies were often preludes to something thoughtful.

The dress was stunning—midnight blue silk that seemed to flow like water. As I finished applying my lipstick, I heard the elevator announce Gilbert's arrival.

"Kate?" His voice carried through our penthouse.

"In the bedroom," I called back, slipping on my heels.

When Gilbert appeared in the doorway, I nearly dropped my earring. He looked devastatingly handsome in a black suit I'd never seen before, his usually perfect hair slightly tousled as if he'd been running his hands through it—a nervous habit I'd discovered months ago.

And he was nervous. I could tell from the way he stood, the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes moved over me with more intensity than usual.

"You look beautiful," he said simply.

"You look worried," I countered, approaching him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." He captured my hands in his. "But tonight is important."

"Because it's our anniversary?"

"Because it's the end of our contract."

My heart skipped. I'd almost forgotten that our original agreement had been for one year, with an option to extend annually for up to three years total. The business aspects had become so secondary to our actual relationship that the technical expiration hadn't even crossed my mind.

"So," I said carefully, "are you planning to renew our agreement, Mr. Blackwood?"

Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, nervousness, determination. "I have... an alternative proposal. But first, dinner."

---

Gilbert had reserved the entire rooftop restaurant of the city's most exclusive hotel. As we stepped out of the elevator, I gasped. The entire space had been transformed into a winter wonderland, with thousands of tiny lights twinkling among white flowers and crystal decorations. A single table sat in the center, overlooking the city skyline.

"Gilbert, this is..." I trailed off, overwhelmed.

"Too much?" For a moment, he looked uncertain—a rare expression for a man who calculated every move with precision.

I squeezed his hand. "Perfect. It's perfect."

Dinner was a masterpiece of culinary art—courses I couldn't pronounce served with wines that probably cost more than my first car. We talked about everything and nothing: the company's latest acquisition, my plans to revitalize my family's business now that I had controlling interest, the ridiculous TikTok trend our contract had inspired.

It felt normal and extraordinary all at once—just like our entire relationship.

As dessert arrived, Gilbert grew quieter, that tension returning to his shoulders. Finally, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a document—bound in the same leather as our original contract, but thinner.

"What's this?" I asked as he placed it on the table between us.

"Our new agreement." He slid it toward me. "If you're interested."

With curious fingers, I opened the cover. The first page was simple, none of the dense legalese of our original contract:

"Agreement of Perpetual Partnership between Gilbert James Blackwood and Katherine Elizabeth Parkinson-Blackwood."

I looked up, one eyebrow raised. "Perpetual?"

"Keep reading."

I turned the page:

"WHEREAS the previous contractual arrangement between the parties has proven satisfactory beyond all metrics and expectations;

WHEREAS both parties have developed emotional attachments exceeding the parameters of the original agreement;

WHEREAS the first party (hereinafter referred to as 'Gilbert') has determined that life without the second party (hereinafter referred to as 'Kate') would be intolerably diminished in all aspects;

NOW, THEREFORE, the following terms are proposed:"

I bit my lip to keep from smiling as I continued reading:

"1. Term: This agreement shall remain in effect for the natural lifetime of both parties, with no option for early termination except by mutual consent following no less than seven (7) days of intensive dialogue and no fewer than twenty-one (21) sincere attempts at reconciliation.

2. All clauses from the previous agreement remain in effect, with special emphasis on Clauses 12, 45, and 100.

3. Additional provisions as outlined in Schedule A are hereby incorporated."

I flipped to Schedule A, where a single line awaited:

"The penalty for breach of this perpetual agreement shall be the heart and complete devotion of the first party."

Tears pricked my eyes as I looked up at Gilbert, who was watching me with an intensity that took my breath away.

"You're proposing... forever?" I managed.

"With appropriate legal documentation," he confirmed, the corner of his mouth lifting in that almost-smile I'd come to adore. "I find that putting things in writing helps clarify intentions."

I laughed softly. "Only you would propose with a contract."

"Is that a problem?"

I shook my head, happiness bubbling up inside me. "No. It's perfectly you."

Gilbert reached across the table to take my hand. "There's one more thing." He pulled a small box from his pocket and placed it beside the contract. "A physical representation of our agreement. Optional, but... traditional."

Inside was a stunning emerald-cut diamond set in platinum, elegant and timeless. I recognized it immediately from the photos I'd seen—his grandmother's ring, the one that had supposedly been sized for me long before we met.

"Yes," I said, before he could even ask the question.

Gilbert's smile—his real smile, the one that transformed his entire face—broke through. "You haven't reviewed all the terms yet. That's uncharacteristically hasty."

"I trust you." I extended my hand, watching as he slid the ring onto my finger. "But I reserve the right to add clauses later."

"I would expect nothing less." He brought my hand to his lips. "Happy anniversary, Kate."

"Happy anniversary, Gilbert." I leaned across the table to kiss him properly, contract and dinner forgotten.

---

Later that night, curled against Gilbert in our bed, I traced lazy patterns on his chest while he ran his fingers through my hair.

"I have something for you too," I said softly. "Though I didn't put it in contract form."

"Oh?" His hand stilled in my hair.

I sat up, suddenly nervous. We'd never explicitly discussed this, though hints had been dropped in recent months. I reached into my nightstand and pulled out a small envelope, handing it to him without explanation.

Gilbert sat up, his expression curious as he opened it. Inside was a single sheet of paper—a medical report with my name at the top.

I watched his face carefully as he read, saw the exact moment he processed what he was seeing. His eyes widened, darting from the paper to my face and back again.

"Kate," he whispered, voice uncharacteristically unsteady. "Are you—"

"Eight weeks," I confirmed. "I found out three days ago."

Gilbert stared at me in stunned silence for so long that anxiety began to bubble in my chest. Then, without warning, he fell back against the pillows, eyes closed, completely still.

"Gilbert?" I leaned over him, alarmed. "Gilbert!"

His eyes fluttered open. "I'm fine," he mumbled, though his face was notably paler than usual. "Just... processing."

"You fainted," I accused, relief and amusement warring within me.

"Blackwoods don't faint," he protested weakly. "It was a momentary recalibration."

I couldn't help but laugh. "The great Gilbert Blackwood, brought down by a positive pregnancy test."

He pulled me down beside him, wrapping me in his arms with surprising strength for someone who'd just "recalibrated" himself into unconsciousness. "We're having a baby," he murmured against my hair, wonder in his voice.

"We are," I confirmed. "I thought about waiting to tell you, making it some elaborate surprise, but—"

"No," he interrupted. "This was perfect." His hand moved to rest protectively over my still-flat stomach. "Though this does require an addendum to our new contract."

I smiled against his chest. "Of course it does."

Gilbert reached for his phone on the nightstand and began typing rapidly with one hand, the other still holding me close.

"What are you doing?" I asked, peering at his screen.

"Drafting the amendment," he replied seriously. "If the first party loses consciousness upon receiving news of impending parenthood, the second party automatically receives all assets and financial holdings, plus custody of one (1) offspring."

I burst out laughing. "That seems fair."

"I'll have legal review it tomorrow," he said, setting his phone aside and turning his full attention back to me. His expression softened as he traced my cheekbone with gentle fingers. "Kate Blackwood, you continue to exceed all projections and expectations."

"Is that CEO-speak for 'I love you'?"

His smile was tender as he leaned in to kiss me. "That's Gilbert-speak for 'You've made me happier than I ever calculated was possible.'"

---

Ten years passed in a blur of joy, challenges, and more contract amendments than I could count. Our daughter, Lily, arrived precisely on her due date—punctual like her father. She had my stubbornness and Gilbert's analytical mind, a combination that both delighted and terrified us.

Gilbert proved to be an exceptional father, approaching parenthood with the same thorough dedication he applied to everything else. By Lily's first birthday, he had created a comprehensive parenting manual that made our marriage contract look simplistic by comparison.

"Clause 37.B," he would cite calmly while changing a diaper with surgical precision. "All biological waste management must be followed by appropriate sanitation procedures and positive verbal reinforcement."

I'd roll my eyes, but secretly loved how he'd transformed his natural tendencies toward order and documentation into tools for engaged parenting.

Our daughter grew into a precocious, confident child who understood early on the power of written agreements. When she was five, she presented us with her first "contract"—crayon on construction paper, demanding two bedtime stories instead of one, with a clause specifying that refusal would result in "extra hugs as punishments."

Gilbert had it framed.

On Lily's tenth birthday, I found Gilbert in the nursery we'd prepared for our second child, due in just two months. He was placing something in the crib—a small leather-bound document that looked suspiciously familiar.

"Please tell me that's not another contract," I said, leaning against the doorframe.

Gilbert didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed. "It's a parenting agreement. For Lily."

"She's ten, Gilbert."

"Exactly." He adjusted the document to sit perfectly centered in the crib. "It's time she understood her responsibilities as a big sister."

Curious despite myself, I waddled over (eight months pregnant did not lend itself to graceful movement) and picked up the document.

"Sibling Contract," I read aloud, opening to the first page. "This agreement, entered into by Lily Grace Blackwood (hereinafter 'Big Sister') and Baby Blackwood (hereinafter 'Little Brother')..."

I skimmed through the clauses, each more adorable than the last, until I reached the first one:

"Clause 1: Big Sister must love Mommy the most, as Little Brother will require significant maternal attention during his early development."

I looked up at Gilbert, my heart melting. "You're worried she'll feel neglected when the baby comes."

He shrugged, a gesture he'd picked up from me over the years. "I just want to ensure all parties understand expectations."

I wrapped my arms around him as best I could with my enormous belly between us. "You're a good father, Gilbert Blackwood."

He kissed the top of my head. "I have excellent contractual guidance."

---

That evening, as we watched Lily carefully explaining her new "Sibling Contract" to my very pregnant belly, Gilbert leaned close to whisper in my ear.

"I was thinking we might need to update our own agreement soon."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Mmm." His fingers traced patterns on my arm. "Perhaps a retirement clause. Property in the south of France. Provisions for university funds. Grandchild visitation rights."

"Planning a bit far ahead, aren't we? Lily's only ten."

Gilbert's eyes followed our daughter, who was now solemnly having my belly "sign" her contract by pressing a pen against it.

"I like to be prepared," he said simply. "And I've found that the best clauses anticipate future happiness."

I rested my head on his shoulder, thinking of that first contract I'd signed in desperation, the strange clauses I'd discovered, and all the amendments we'd added over the years—each one a chapter in our unlikely love story.

"Clause infinity," I murmured. "The wife reserves the right to keep falling in love with her husband, indefinitely."

Gilbert's arm tightened around me. "I accept those terms," he whispered, and sealed our agreement with a kiss.

Ten years later, when Lily came home from school with stars in her eyes and a story about the new boy in her class, I wasn't entirely surprised to find her at Gilbert's desk that evening, drafting what looked suspiciously like a contract.

"What are you working on, sweetheart?" I asked, peering over her shoulder.

Lily quickly covered the paper. "Nothing!"

But I'd caught enough of a glimpse to see "Clause 12: Must compliment me daily" written in her neat handwriting.

I backed away, hiding my smile. Some traditions, it seemed, were meant to be passed down—right along with our unconventional approach to love and the contracts that helped us express it.

After all, as Gilbert always said, the best relationships came with clearly defined terms and conditions. And the sweetest moments happened when those conditions were happily, willingly fulfilled—not because they were obligated, but because they were desired.

That was the ultimate clause—the one that transformed a business arrangement into a lifetime of love: the freedom to choose each other, every day, contract or no contract.