I groan again.
“I still don’t know why you’re set on doing it here, in front of all these people.”
“Because it’s supposed to be romantic. It’s Christmas!” I groan. “It’s what everyone expects.”
I can feel Charise’s dull look even though I can’t see her. When I turn my head and glance back at her, she doubles down on it.
“I don’t know Luke as well as you do,” she says softly. “But I don’t think he cares as much about when or where it happens as much as it’syouwho does it. The real you.”
“A hopeless romanticisthe real me.”
“Fair point, but you can achieve the extra romance without an audience.”
“How would you do it? If you were going to propose to Val?”
Charise grins, her eyes sparkling behind her octagonal glasses. “I already did.”
“What?” I demand, snapping upright on the couch. That’s when I notice the sparkling diamond ring on her finger. “When?”
“Last night.” She sighs dreamily, staring at the rock. “She and I walked through Central Park in the snow. We bought some hot chocolate and went through the Winter Light’s display. There was a section of the park where we were the only two people for a few minutes, so I just got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. She was so stunned, but then she dropped down and proposed to me, too. Great minds think alike.”
My heart melts. “That’s fucking adorable.”
“Yes, but it was also intimate—personal. I wouldn’t have liked having a million witnesses at a party of half friends and strangers. She knew that, too. My bet is that Luke is the same. Besides, romance is whatever works for you. It can just be you and him and still be a romantic gesture.”
I frown. “I suppose.”
“I wouldn’t overthink it,” Charise says, suddenly looking over my shoulder right as Luke calls out, “There you are!” from behind me.
I freeze slightly.Shit. Did he hear any of this?But when I turn to meet his eye, it’s clear he doesn’t suspect anything. He looks drained as he comes around the couch and drops beside me, lying down and putting his head on my lap. Groaning, he gently presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, careful not to mess with his makeup.
“What’s wrong with you?” I chuckle, my hand immediately snaking through the golden strands of his soft hair. He visibly shudders with relief at the touch as if he’s been starved of it.
“There are too many people here,” he grumbles softly. “Remind me never to do this again. Going to parties at someone else’s house is more fun. Hosting, not so much.”
Charise lets out a little chuckle and gives me a very pointed look, like, ‘See what I mean?’before she turns her attention back to her book, effectively ignoring us.
Luke lies with his head on my lap for a few minutes, eyes closed, and lets me continue playing with his hair in silence. Maybe I should have checked in on him more instead of running around panicking about the perfect proposal. I may have seen how stressed he was about this whole thing and realized sooner that it wasn’t the right time for it.
Charise is probably right. The one thing I’ve always known about Luke is that, despite his penchant for drama, his tastes are a little subtler than that when it comes to preferences. Maybe something more intimate would be better. Seeing how desperate Luke is to destress, an idea comes to mind.
“Come with me,” I request softly, gesturing for him to get up. He gives me a little pout and a whine like he’s afraid I’m about to force him to mingle again, but I just smile as I take his hand.
I glance back and catch a little wink from Charise as she lifts her tea in a silent toast, and I give a small wave of thanks.
Luke doesn’t protest as I lead him upstairs toward our bedroom, but I can tell he’s confused. When I pull him inside and lock the door behind me, he chuckles slightly.
“I can’t be gone for too long,” he says.
“Your guests won’t miss you for twenty minutes.” I grin, grabbing his hips and pulling him flush against me.
The feral look in his eye tells me how badly he wants this, even as his words push against it. “It took me an hour to get cute….”
“You’re always cute,” I breathe the words along his throat, relishing the way he tilts his head back, giving me better access.His hands rake through my hair, sending those little tingles down my spine.
“We shouldn’t… There are so many people downstairs.” He moans weakly, the protest dulled by the breathless way he utters it and how he pulls us back to the bed, his body ignoring all the tepid reasons he has to stop this from happening.
I follow him down against the pillows, my lips on his, and I pin his wrists above his head with a single hand. The other drifts down over his chest, tracing the boning of his corset and the shape of his body beneath the soft fabric. He arches with my touch, releasing a slight shiver that transfers through me like an electrical current. The feel of corduroy is soft beneath my fingers as I brush them up and down his legs, and it sends a pleasant tingle up my entire arm.
