Page 32 of Snowbirds
“Behave,” Chris growled. “Lots of people were invited, and you probably won’t like all of them. And no, Paulter has unfortunately not been banished.”
“Ooh. Bossy again. You know that just makes me want to be bad. Let’s go back upstairs.”
“Come on.” Chris tugged at him. “I’ll buy you a drink. Would you like a glass of champagne?”
The bar looked like what Ivan imagined a speakeasy might have. In fact, he’d read that there had been a speakeasy on the premises in the thirties, but surely it hadn’t been just off the lobby?
The walls were covered with red and gold-striped wallpaper and elaborate art nouveau-style sconces with bulbs that looked like candles, hung every few feet. The mahogany bar took up most of a wall, with liquor of all kinds displayed behind it and glassware hanging from racks set into the ceiling.
“Wow.”
“I thought you might think this was cool. VeryCasablanca. Two glasses of champagne, please,” Chris said to the bartender.
“My favorite movie,” Ivan said.
Chris was fumbling around in his pocket, maybe looking for his wallet.
“We can just put this on our room.”
“Duh,” Chris responded. Instead of his wallet, he set a small velvet box on the dark bar top and pushed it toward Ivan with his index finger.
“What’s this?” Ivan asked, his heart pounding against his ribs. Where had all the oxygen gotten to? He needed some about now.
The pocket-sized bar suddenly seemed too small. And too quiet—as if he had cotton in his ears.
Chris half smiled at him. “You’re a smart guy, Ivan. What do you think it is?”
The bartender set two glasses of champagne down in front of them. Ivan resisted the urge to toss the bubbly back immediately and order another one.
“Ivan,” Chris said so quietly he almost couldn’t hear him.
“Um, yes?”
He raised his eyes from the tiny box to Chris’s face. Holding his gaze, Chris flipped the box open. Nestled inside was a simple silver band—surely it wasn’t platinum? Jesus Christ, what if he lost it?
“Ivan Morrison.” Chris drew his name out just how Ivan liked it. “Would you do the honor of marrying me?”
“Me?” Ivan squeaked.
Chris smiled and very much invaded Ivan’s personal space so they were only a few inches apart.
“Yes, Ivan. You.”
For once in his life, Ivan didn’t know what to say. No, not true. He knew what to say, and he very much wanted to say it, but the lump in his throat became a boulder and he had to force out the word.
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
The world came rushing back and so did Ivan’s words. “Yes, boss, I will join you in an unholy union.” Surely, it wouldn’t be holy, that would be ridiculous.
“Hold your hand out.” Carefully, Chris removed the ring from the box and slid it onto Ivan’s ring finger.
“It fits,” he said, mildly surprised.
“Of course it fits,” Chris scoffed. “I can actually do secret stuff too, you know.”
“Oh, you can, can you?” Ivan looked down at the ring glittering on his finger. “I never thought I’d want to get married.”
