She hesitates. “What is wrong with you?”
“Step on my foot,Vedma.”
She does, driving her heel down hard into my foot.
“Fuck.” The word is raw, half groan and half moan, whispered right into her ear.
She steps on it again. “You like that?”
“Yes.”
Another stomp. “You like that?”
“God, yes.”
She’s stepping on my foot repeatedly now. “We’re two weird individuals,” she says.
“I know.” I can barely speak. “Keep going.”
“This is so weird.”
“I don’t care. Don’t stop.”
She finally pulls back and stares at me. “Okay. Let’s not do that here. That is so weird.”
I laugh. I spin her out and lift her high. When I bring her down, I drop to both knees in front of her.
“What’s going on?” She looks confused.
A microphone appears in a hand beside me. I grab and tap it, the sound cutting through the room until everyone goes silent. All eyes turn toward us. Just how I want it.
“Good evening, everyone. I hope you’re enjoying yourselves.” My voice fills the ballroom. “I have something I’d like to do…something I should have handled properly a long time ago. Except my fiancée here was elusive. Like an eel. I couldn’t quite grab hold of her.”
The crowd laughs, and I pass the mic back to pull the velvet box from my pocket. I flick it open. The diamond gleams, surrounded by emeralds. It’s obscenely expensive and exactly right. “Zoya Koval. Will you marry me?”
A heavy silence settles over the room. Zoya stares at me, then the ring, her eyes carrying over lastly to the people watching us. “Can I negotiate?” she asks.
“You can try. But I still need an answer.”
“What’s the point of the performance when you already know I'd say yes?”
“I need to confirm. Will you be Mrs. Romanov, or do I need to stay down here? My knee is getting sore.”
“How is she supposed to wear that?” a woman whispers from the crowd. “It looks heavy.”
I keep my gaze locked on Zoya. “If it’s too heavy for her, I’ll hire somebody to carry her hand.”
Laughter spreads through the ballroom.
“Tell your husband to work harder!” someone yells.
Zoya turns her head, finding whoever said it. Her smile is sharp. “I’m not complaining about the size, and I’m the one being proposed to. Why don’t you mind your business, extra number twenty-seven?”
The room erupts in louder laughter.
“Well?” I look up at her. “Yes or no?”
“Yes. I’ll marry you.”