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“Marry me?”
Paul asked it like he was asking Hugh to take out the rubbish. Like he was asking Hugh how his day had gone. He said it in his everyday steady, clear voice. Paul’s tone had been so even, so normal that Hugh hadn’t even registered the question, he’d simply hummed in agreement.
Paul had been cooking breakfast, tired of Hugh’s ‘entirely too English approach’ to the meal. It was something with eggs and potatoes. Hugh had never been much of a cook and would readily eat just about anything but whatever Paul was cooking was beginning to smell particularly delicious. Hugh’s stomach gave a loud gurgle and he glanced up from his book.
“How long could it possibly take to cook eggs and potatoes?” he asked in German.
They’d been talking mostly in German today with a bit of French thrown in at Hugh’s request. He’d been trying to work on his French. His progress wasn’t significant but it was noticeable.
“It’s called Bauernfrühstuck, mon chou.”
The German with the bit of French stuck on the tailend of it caught Hugh’s attention and he properly put down his book this time.
“Did you just call me a cabbage?”
“I called you my cabbage. Did you hear what I asked?”
“No, I did not,” Hugh picked up his book again. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my stomach growling.”
“I asked if you would like to marry me.”
Hugh barely noticed that Paul had switched to English.
“Sorry, you what ?”
“I asked,” Paul said slowly, back to Hugh as he continued to mess about with his dish. “If you would like to marry me.”
Hugh put down his book for the third time. Paul turned around to him and gave him a grin. Hugh was furrowing his brow slightly as he looked at the man leaning against the counter.
“How exactly would you plan on working that out with the British government?”
“Hugh, I don’t care about the British government.”
“Careful, that’s my employer you’re on about.”
That irked Paul slightly. Hugh was great at turning what should be complex and personal conversations into joking ones.
“Please, I'm trying to be serious.”
Hugh had the tact to look contrite at that.
“I’m sorry, it’s just, we wouldn’t be properly married.”
Paul moved quickly. He kneeled so as to be level with Hugh who was sitting at the kitchen table.
“Who cares .”
“I just don’t see the point, Paul.”
This would have put off any lesser man. Any normal person would have accepted that as a personal insult and probably started a row about it. Paul von Hartmann was not exactly a normal person.
“We could have a wedding, a small one, out in the countryside,” Paul was talking with his hands, the way he did when he got excited. “You love the countryside, Hugh.”
Hugh was trying not to smile and failing miserably. Paul took this as a sign to continue.
“We could be married and exchange rings and vows. You would be mine and I’d be yours and we’d be each other’s forever. We’d drink tea in the morning and whiskey at night and we’d buy a house, Hugh. Not the kind of house your parents have but a nice house, a small house. One with a fireplace and a cat that sleeps on the windowsill. We could have a garden for vegetables, carrots and the like and every morning I’d go out and get the post. During the summer we could lay out in the garden and look up at the stars if it’s not cloudy. We could-.”
Hugh had lost his smile. He looked thoughtful now, brow furrowed and lips pursed the way they always were when he tried to work something out.
"Okay."
“Okay?”
“I’ll marry you Hartmann.” Hugh said in Paul’s mother tongue, giving him a coy grin.
Paul laughed almost giddily.
“Should I call Lena and tell her?”
“You should most certainly call Lena and tell her. Can you imagine what would happen if we got married and she wasn’t there?”
“Murder.”
“Of the worst degree.”
Paul left the room in search of the phone, leaving his half-finished Bauernfrühstuck forgotten on the counter. Hugh tried to return to his book but found it awfully hard to focus.