‘I haven’t said yes yet, cowboy.’
He lifted her chin, nudged her dimple. ‘Rose, will you be my wife?’
‘Da,’ she whispered, and closed her eyes as he kissed her. When she opened them Plato was gazing at her, and she could swear he looked a bit misty. Her big, tough, invincible Russian.
He was a romantic after all.
‘I just thought of something,’ she said. ‘Mrs Padalecki.’
Plato looked mildly surprised. ‘Da, what about her?’
‘I want to tell her first. Our news. After all, she’s almost family.’
Plato chuckled, that lovely rumbling sound deep in his chest, and Rose spread herself happily out over him. His hands began to wander.
‘We will tell her later, Rosy. Much later.’
* * * * *