"Babushka!" Roman says, his face lighting up. "Looking beautiful as always. Is that a new scarf?"
"Is Hermès," Babushka preens. "Viktor bought for me. Early Christmas present."
"And Rasputin!" Christian adds, still standing by the fire. He squints at the screen. "Is that—is the cat wearing an elf costume?"
Rasputin hisses at the screen, his bell jingling aggressively.
"He doesn't like you," Babushka informs Christian. "Says you have bad energy."
"The cat is dressed like a Christmas elf and he's judging my energy?" Christian looks at me.
"He's a cat," I mutter. "He doesn't talk."
"He talks more than you do, Vitenka," Babushka says. "At least he is honest about his feelings."
And while his feline temper tantrum drags on, Roman's attention strays.
Before I know it, the soon-to-be groom is picking up Harper's ring box from the side table where I'd set it down, examining it in the firelight.
His auburn eyebrows rise. "Wait. You brought the ring? Here? Tonight?"
He opens the box, and Christian immediately crosses over to look.
"Holy shit," Christian says. "That's the ring. The Quebec City ring. Why the hell do you have it at my wedding?"
"My wedding," Roman corrects automatically, then refocuses. "But seriously, Victor. Quebec City is in three days. Why is this ring currently in the Hamptons?"
I can feel both of them staring at me.
I exhale, tugging on my collar. "Maybe I wanted to make sure it was safe."
"Safe," Roman repeats flatly. "You thought the safest place for a ring was in your jacket pocket at a rehearsal dinner."
"Better than leaving it at the penthouse."
"You have a safe at the penthouse," Christian points out. "Multiple safes. Industrial-grade safes that could survive a nuclear apocalypse. I'm pretty sure one of them could withstand a direct meteor strike."
"Victor is proposing to Harper," Babushka announces from the phone screen, apparently tired of being ignored. "In Quebec City on Christmas Eve. Under the tree, like I told him."
Christian grabs one of the other leather chairs and drags it closer. "So I'll ask again—why is the Quebec City proposal ring currently at a wedding in the Hamptons? Did the ring get lonely? Does it need socialization with other jewelry?"
I roll my eyes. "Oh, for fuck's sake…"
"See, that's not an answer," Roman says. "That's deflection. We learned about deflection in B-school. This is textbook."
"Maybe I just wanted it with me."
"Why?" Christian leans forward. "Are you afraid someone's going to break into your nuclear-proof safe and steal it? Are we talking Ocean's Eleven scenario here? Should we be worried?"
The room goes quiet except for the crackle of the fire.
Christian and Roman exchange a look—the kind of look they've been exchanging since Harvard, the kind that means they're about to tag-team me.
"Oh shit," Christian says slowly. "You're going to propose tonight, aren't you?"
"What? No. I just said?—"
"You said you don't know why you brought it," Roman interrupts. "Which means you brought it without a plan. Which means your subconscious is planning something your conscious mind hasn't caught up to yet. This is Psychology 101. We all took that class year two."
