12. 12

One year later…

Chris stepped over the debris littering the entryway, his eyes searching the living area for Joq. He spotted him out by the pool, scouring the edges, his eyes flicking up to the horizon every now and then. Chris watched for a moment and followed his gaze to the stretch of their manicured lawn the size of soccer pitch to the bay beyond. He looked back to the thin material of his white shirt, the hint of sweat soaking the fabric.

"Busy day?" he called as he came outside.

Joq looked over his shoulder, his smile small and real; Chris could imagine the crinkle of his eyes under the aviators.

"Oh, you know, fighting with the designer on how best to maintain the bloody staircases," he replied.

Chris grinned and came up behind him, crouched down so he could kiss him hello.

"Maybe leave the old ones?" he said when he pulled back.

"That's what I said."

It was a restoration more than a renovation, and their designer had a few opinions about that. But he and Joq were in love with the place—it was early twentieth century and it felt it too; you could almost feel the roaring parties that must've happened in the house, on the lawn and by the pool in the twenties. They didn't want to lose that, just give it a facelift. Their designer thought they were wasting prime Brighton real estate; "Gut the place and start again. Better yet, tear it down and build a new place."

"You are familiar with heritage laws, right?" Joq had said to that.

To which the designer had retorted, "Money talks."

Chris wanted to fire him, but Joq liked him, said he was actually the best, and well, Chris deferred to his judgement on it—Joq wanted to manage it and if he was happy to do battle every day, so be it. Besides, according to Joq, when he actually did his job, he was so knowledgeable about the period that when they had to change something completely—like the wallpaper in the bedrooms, the fixtures in the bathrooms—he knew exactly where to get authentic replicas, the perfect patterns and styles to fit the aesthetic.

"What are you doing?" Chris smiled as he stayed in a crouch, his hands dangling over his knees as a soft breeze kicked up and lifted his suit jacket gently.

"They knocked off for the day, but I wanted to see what was under the grout. Look at this," Joq ran a palm over the patch he'd exposed on the side of the drained pool. Tiny square tiles in turquoise blue with a glossy sheen. "Cool, right?"

"It really is," Chris scratched one with his fingernail. "You want to keep it?"

"Definitely," Joq gave him a big smile. "I mean, I love it, but the added bonus is going to be Henrique's face."

Chris laughed. "He's going to kill you."

"Yep."

"You want to go out for dinner?" Chris asked and stood, stretched his back.

"We can do that," Joq replied. "Or order in and chill."

Chris looked down. He could see his reflection in Joq's sunnies, his body elongated in the image.

"Maybe I can boss you around a bit," Joq added.

Chris was not going to squeeze his dick.

"Or we can order in," he replied.

Joq laughed. He laughed so readily and easily now, it made Chris smile every time he did it, almost as much as he loved it when Joq treated him like shit in bed. Chris made sure to break it up by giving Joq a thorough fucking in return, but he relished the give and take.

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket with a call.

"You gonna get that?" Joq asked. He always asked.

Chris let it ring out.

"No," Chris smiled and gave the usual reply, "I'm going to make us cocktails, order us dinner."

His phone started up again.

"Seems important this time," Joq said and went back to his work.

"It can wait until tomorrow. Martini?"

Joq looked up at him, his smile ridiculously grateful; it always was—Chris didn't get it, of course business could wait, this was their time. Chris made sure to be home by eight at the latest every night—usually earlier—and then he was all Joq's. Brendan said he was whipped (like he had room to talk), and he could practically hear his grandfather berating him from the grave—how would they become the largest player in the world if Chris prioritised his boyfriend over working on US time in the evenings? Chris didn't care. He loved Joq more.

"Hmm. I'm feeling gin tonic with this weather."

"Gin tonic it is," Chris leaned down for one more kiss. Joq met him, smiling, and Chris couldn't believe he'd gotten so lucky.

He went back inside to make the drinks, passed Delia on the way as she pranced outside looking for Joq—Henrique was almost as aghast at the elaborate carpentry they were having put in for her to get around the house without having to touch the floor as he was at them not tearing the place down.

Chris looked over his shoulder, watched Delia push into Joq's side, flick her body back and forth while he patted her and studied the tiles.

He blew out a nervous breath. It was time to ask. He had the ring and he wasn't going anywhere else for the rest of his life, now he needed to make sure Joq knew that.

Chris had everything sorted for the evening. A secluded table at a rooftop restaurant overlooking the city. The ring with the manager ready to be baked into a delicate dessert. The best spumante ordered in from his mother's vineyard in Italy. His speech prepared. It wasn't an over-the-top proposal, but he had the feeling Joq didn't want over the top. Would hate it even. A romantic dinner with Joq's parents, Brendan and Tegan, and Joq's team from the stadium secretly dining in the same restaurant to join the festivities after Chris asked was enough.

He hoped.

He was so nervous. He just had to go home and get changed, then meet Joq for their ‘romantic dinner' since Joq said he was already in the city and then everything would be set in motion.

"All set?" Brendan asked later that afternoon.

"Yes," Chris replied.

"I still think you need to do the prenup now—"

"There won't be one."

They'd had this argument too many times.

"You're thinking with your dick. You need a prenup, for both of your sakes, he'll get what he's getting clearly from that document."

"He won't want anything," Chris had said this so many times, but Brendan refused to believe him. He'd met Joq and he still didn't believe anyone would say no to a slice of Chris' fortune. "And I'm not thinking with my dick."

"I wish your grandfather was here," Brendan went on. "He'd tell you."

Chris snorted and thought of all the photos of his grandmother adorning every place his grandfather frequented. She'd died before Chris was born. They didn't have a prenup.

"Bye, Brendan. Don't be late tonight and make sure he doesn't see you or anyone else until after he's said yes."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Brendan saluted as Chris headed out. He needed to check the restaurant one more time. "What if he says no?"

"Then leave discreetly," Chris replied.

"I'm joking, but Chris?"

"Yes, what is it?" Chris turned back.

"Nothing, just, good for you, man," Brendan said self-consciously.

Chris grinned, nervous. "Thanks, here's hoping he says yes."

"He's gonna say yes," Brendan scoffed.

"We'll see," Chris murmured and headed out.