I knew Simone and I were destined to be each other's endgame from an early time in our relationship. She would talk about trips to museums and art galleries her grandmother took her to, and one painting would always come up: Claude Monet's Bridge over a Pond of Water Lilies. I knew, with the excitement with which she spoke about it, that one day, I would take her there. So I started saving money to put my plan into action. I knew I had to propose to her at this specific location in a rural town outside of Paris. There was nowhere else I felt would be as meaningful to her. I started plotting and coordinating how to keep this a secret, setting my plan in motion. Unfortunately for Simone, who doesn't like secrets, I had to keep this quiet for much longer than planned, about 3 years. Despite moving to a new city, trying not to conflict with her work during an election year, and her constant asking when I would propose, I finally had the trip set up and planned for April 2025, but I let her keep guessing and giving her hints until Christmas, when I finally told her we were going to Paris. With her grandmother's ring in tow, stashed deep in my carry-on, we set out on the long journey to Paris. A 14-hour flight from LA and a 45-minute Uber from the airport later, we had finally arrived in the city of love. I got the ball rolling quickly, and we immediately started our adventure with the first steps of my plan going into effect. I hadn't let her know exactly where I would propose, but I gave her an idea and dropped a few hints. The first hint was at the Musée d'Orsay, one of the largest art museums in Paris, where they just so happened to have the Bridge Over a Pond of Water Lilies on display. She was so excited to see the painting again, completely unaware that we would be there in person 24 hours later. The next day was the big day, and I was nervous from the start. I had to get us up early to catch the train to Giverny, with just enough time to grab a croissant on our way. I had never felt so lost as I was trying to maneuver through three floors of the train station to find the right place to be. Fortunately, we found it just in the nick of time; the first leg of our journey was secure. Upon arriving at the garden we met with our "tour guide" who was secretly our photographer. I became more and more nervous as we approached the bridge. Simone pressed the poor photographer with intricate questions about the plants and trees in the garden, to which our “tour guide” pretended not to hear. We continued walking the path until bridge was in sight. While I looked away, through the corner of my eye, I saw something collapse in front of me. I quickly look over to see Simone had tripped and fallen off the trail and into a bush. She laid motionless on the bush for just long enough for my panic to set in. I began to worry I was going to have to take her to the French hospital where I don’t speak the language and would miss the opportunity to propose that I had been planning for years. Suddenly she began to stand up, and I calmed down. All she had done was break a nail. Unfortunate for the engagement photos, but better than thinking she died. She brushed herself off and continued moving forward to the foot of the bridge. The “tour guide” asked if she could take our picture and began to pull out her camera. This was my cue. Now was the time for the big event. I’m shaking like a wet dog as I get down on one knee and begin my speech. I blacked out from nervousness and just hoped I said everything I was supposed to, but when I came to, she said, “Is there something you meant to ask?” I had confessed my love for her but had forgotten to ask her to marry me! I immediately yelped, “Oh yeah!” and asked her the question. Still trembling, I slid the ring onto her finger. Setting us in motion to where we are now to celebrate with all of you.