"We believe you," Christian says, in a tone that implies the opposite.
"I mean it."
"Sure you do," they both say in unison.
Babushka sighs dramatically. "Vitenka, I must go. Rasputin needs his dinner. Is his Christmas elf feeding time, which means he gets extra treats shaped like candy canes." She pauses, her expression softening. "But remember—love is not plan. Love is choice. Every day, every moment. Sometimes big choice, sometimes small choice. But always choice."
"Thanks, Babushka."
"You're welcome. Now go. Stop hiding in smoking room like scared little boy."
She hangs up before I can respond, and I look at Roman and Christian, both of whom are still watching me.
"Not a word about this to anyone," I say, standing and pocketing the ring box.
"Oh, we're absolutely telling everyone," Roman says, moving toward the door.
"Definitely telling Calli and Lucia," Christian confirms, following. "Also probably posting about it in the group chat."
"How comforting."
"We try," Roman says, clapping me on the shoulder. "Now come on. Your wife is probably wondering where you disappeared to. Try not to accidentally propose in the next ten minutes."
"I'm not going to accidentally?—"
"Yeah, yeah. That's what you said about Vegas, and look how that turned out."
He's not wrong.
We make our way back through the estate—past the formal dining room where dessert is being served, past the ballroom where people are starting to gather for after-dinner drinks, until we reach the main salon.
Harper is standing near the fireplace with Calli and Lucia, laughing at something. She's wearing a deep burgundy dress that makes her skin glow in the firelight, her cinnamon-toned hair curled lightly and loose around her shoulders. When she sees me, her whole face lights up.
"There you are," she says, crossing to me. The scent of her perfume—lavender and vanilla—cuts through the smell of wood smoke and wine. "I was wondering where you disappeared to."
"Catching up with Babushka, is all."
"How is she?"
"Opinionated. Rasputin was wearing a Christmas elf costume."
"Of course he was. It's almost Christmas." She pauses, studying my face. "Wait, why were you talking to Babushka during dinner? Is everything okay?"
Behind her, I can see Roman and Christian trying very hard not to laugh.
"Everything's fine. Just checking in."
Harper's eyes narrow slightly. "Uh-huh. And it took you twenty minutes to check in?"
"She had a lot to say about Rasputin's elf costume. Apparently, Rasputin's little jingle balls couldn't fit all the way into it."
She laughs softly, lips the color of deep red wine spreading into an irresistible smile. "Then it's a good thing the dinner is winding down. I think my female 'jingle balls' could use a little stretching." She adjusts the top of her dress, and her full cleavage shifts temptingly. "Want to get some air?"
The ring box is a weight in my pocket.
I could do it now. Right now. Lead her outside, get down on one knee in the snow?—
"It's twenty degrees outside," I say.
