Ramin knew Arya was happy for him, though, because Arya told him all the time.
And sometimes, when Noah had the day off, and Ramin had a day full of video conferences, Noah would stand out of view of the camera, in nothing but one of his singlets, teasing Ramin as his bulge grew, trying to draw him into a little afternoon delight…
Ramin shook himself. Was it blasphemous to get an erection on top of a cathedral? He wasn’t going to risk it.
They reached the western end of the nave, where a set of stairs led upward to another level of terraces. The steps were narrow and steep, some of them scooped hollow from millions of footsteps over the years.
Finally they reached the upper level, which ran directly over the center of the nave. A slight ridge down the middle formed two gentle opposing slopes.
Milan’s cathedral didn’t have a dome. Instead, the edifice climbed higher, with flying buttresses and statues everywhere, until it was capped by a gleaming gold statue of the Virgin Mary.
The terraces were crowded with people standing on the center ridge to take selfies or group photos, but along the sides, at the end of the sloping slabs of roof, walkways led to arched windows looking out over the city. Ramin followed Noah as he gazed at the skyline stretching out beyond them, pointing to landmarks they recognized or statues that were particularly beautiful.
Loudspeakers made an announcement in Italian. Ramin and Noah (and Jake) had been practicing all year, and he could pick up most of it now: No picnics (who was bringing picnic baskets up to the Duomo?), no smoking (why did so many Italians still smoke?), no lying down (weird), no professional photos (that one, at least, made sense).
Ramin swallowed away the sand in his throat. There was no prohibition against what he was planning. But thiswasa functioning cathedral. It wouldn’t hurt if they were a little farther away from the stairs, where a bored-looking guard gazed out from another tiny booth.
Once they reached the corner, Noah pulled Ramin in close for a few selfies. Ramin tried to make sure he didn’t brush the contents of his pocket against Noah’s hip.
Noah showed Ramin the photos. Milan lay golden and gleaming in the sunset behind them, but Noah’s eyes were brighter still.
“Perfect,” he muttered.
Itwasperfect. Ramin’s heart hammered.
This was it.
He was done waiting.
While Noah was distracted admiring the Museo Novecento across the way, its huge arched windows sparkling in the light, Ramin pulled out the box from his pocket.
“Noah?”
“Huh? Yeah?” Noah turned, looked at Ramin, saw what he was holding—and froze.
Ramin broke into a sweat, despite the pleasant breeze across the terraces.
“Noah Bartlett,” Ramin said. “This last year has been the best of my life. You’ve filled my days with love and laughter and joy, and I want to spend every single one with you, from now until the day I die.”
He got down on one knee.
Fuckety-fuck, please-please-please let Noah say yes.
“Will you marry me?”
Ramin held his breath. The murmur of thecrowd died away. Time slowed. Pigeons paused in their flight. All while Ramin waited.
He’d seen so many beautiful things in Italy.
The waters of the Ligurian Sea. Michelangelo’sDavid. The sun setting over fair Verona.
But the smile that dawned on Noah’s face put them all to shame.
“Yes.” Noah took Ramin’s hands with a joyful laugh and helped him back up. “Nothing would make me happier.”
He pulled Ramin into a kiss—a quick, chaste one, given they were not only in public but also on holy ground—then stood back as Ramin pulled the pair of rings out of their box. They were matching black tungsten bands, each set with a single pale green emerald.
Noah’s favorite color.
