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“You’re always hungry.”
Sweat tickled the back of Alek’s neck. Ian knew him too well.
“The truth is… ” Alek began.
Which truth to give him? That he was too nervous to eat? That he was terrified Ian would reject his proposal?Fear is only proof you are alive—one of his uncle’s old adages. But Alek was a coward. He tore a piece of bread from the baguette, dipped it in the pool of sauce on his plate, and took a bite.
“Go on,” Ian coaxed, voice low and quiet, as he leaned across the table.
“Oh, alright then. I despise eggplant.” Alek exaggerated a shudder. “It’s like eating a slug, or an eel. Too slippery.”
“You should have said something. You don’t have to cook something you don’t like.”
Of all the things Alek was guilty of, one of his worst sins was making Ian a fool. The real truth was that helovedeggplant parmesan because Ian loved it. Not to mention, he was far too skilled a cook to ever serve eggplant slimy.
“Besides, I’m leaving room for dessert,” Alek added.
“Oh?”
Alek tutted. “I meant that literally. Though I might be persuaded if you ask nicely.”
“Like I have to ask,” Ian teased.
The velvet box was a telltale heart beating in his pocket.Ask him. Ask him. Ask.
He drained his glass, pulled the box out, and flipped it open with one hand to reveal the timeless titanium band he’d had custom-made to fit Ian’s sizable ring finger. He set the box on the table between them.
Ian paled and his smile slipped from his face. “What?”
“Marry me.” It was supposed to be a question, but came out more like a command. Alek had a whole speech prepared. Instead, he’d ripped his heart from his chest, still beating and bloody, and asked Ian to have it.
Ian’s eyes widened on the ring, then bounced up at Alek. Somewhere unseen, a clock ticked.
“Alek, I love you…” Ian grimaced. “But I can’t marry you until you trust me with the truth about your past.”
Alek’s ears began to ring. No. That wasn’t right. They’d been together three years. They shared a business. A home. It was the next natural step. It was what Alek needed.
Ian reached for Alek’s hand.
Alek jerked his hands to his lap and clenched his fists so tight he hoped his fingernails left crescent bruises on his palms. “You know all you need to know. You know me.”
Gently, Ian asked, “Where were you born? What was your mother’s name? Why do you sleep talk in other languages? What are you running from?”
Alek stiffened, stacking each vertebra one on top of the other as he lifted his chin. “None of that matters. What I’ve told you is enough. After three years, I should be enough.”
“You are enough, Alek. I promise. But after three years, I should know something about your life before we met. That’s all I’m asking for. You can trust me.”
Trust—the only thing Ian wanted and the one thing Alek would never give him.
“I told you, there’s nothing to tell.”
A flash of hurt crossed Ian’s stoic features. The faintest grimace. Downturned brows. Ian’s disappointment hurt worse than if he’d hit him.
The oven timer dinged. Alek started.
“Leave it,” Ian said.
Alek froze, the authority in Ian’s voice hard to resist.
