They were everywhere: on the tables, on the floor, on the mantel, even on the arms of the furniture. It was beautiful and...weird.
“Are you trying to burn my house down?” was what Ilya finally said.
Shane’s lips curved up. “They’re electric. Fucking relax, Rozanov.”
Ilya’s heart started to race, but not because he was concerned about fire safety. He’d once told Shane, years ago, that one day he would cover the dock at his cottage in candles. That he’dbring Shane down there, then ask him to marry him. It had been a joke, sort of. But now he was really standing in a room full of candles and—
Shane sank to one knee in front of him.
Ilya had enjoyed watching Shane go to his knees in front of him many times over the years, but he knew immediately that this was different. He suddenly felt winded. And dizzy. And maybe a little queasy.
“What is this?” he whispered.
Shane gazed up at him, his expression steady and determined, and said, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”
Ilya swallowed. Why was it so hard to swallow? It was like he had no saliva at all.
“We’ve wasted so much time,” Shane continued. “Years of denial, then years of hiding what we are to each other.”
“Shane—”
“Could you not interrupt?” Shane said with a teasing smile. “For once in your life?”
Ilya pressed his lips together.
“I don’t have a plan for anything beyond this,” Shane confessed, “but I know what I want. There’s nothing in my life that matters to me more than you, Ilya.” He slid his hand into his pants pocket again. He had to lean awkwardly to one side to fit his fingers inside.
Then, Shane was holding a ring, pinched between two fingers, in the space between himself and Ilya.
“Shane,” Ilya said again, unable to stop himself.
“I choose you, Ilya. I promise I will always, always choose you.” Shane’s eyes began to shimmer. He took a deep breath and said, “Ilya Grigoryevich Rozanov, will you marry me?”
Ilya wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he realized he hadn’t said anything. He hoped it had only been a second or two, but judging from the fear in Shane’s eyes, it must have beenlonger. Finally, in a tight, trembling voice, he said, “You know my middle name.”
“It’s on Wikipedia. I kind of fell down a rabbit hole learning about the Russian tradition of using the father’s name to—”
“Yes,” Ilya interrupted.
“Sorry. I’m babbling. You know how Russian names work.”
“No,” Ilya clarified. “Yes.”
Shane stared at him with obvious confusion. Ilya nodded to the ring.
“Yes,” Ilya said again. “I am saying yes, Hollander.”
“Oh.” Then Shane’s lips spread into a wide grin. “Yeah?” He scrambled to his feet and into Ilya’s arms.
They kissed, and Ilya said, “Yes.” They kissed again, and Ilya said, “Of course.”
They kissed some more, and Shane said, “I love you.”
By the time they finished kissing they both had tears streaming down their cheeks. “Is this because I almost died?” Ilya teased.
“No. It’s becauseIalmost died.”
Ilya brushed the tears on Shane’s face with his thumb. What could he even say to that?
