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Meng Yao doesn’t know whether to scream or laugh. This sums up the year that he has now spent with Nie Mingjue. Mingjue is kind, generous, so sexy, and thoughtful, but he is also dense and the most stubborn man Meng Yao knows.
Mingjue stands in the middle of their suite as he tries not to let the pain he is in show on his face.
“We have dinner reservations in forty minutes, A-Yao,” he says through gritted teeth. “Get changed.”
Meng Yao sighs and shakes his head.
“Take off your clothes, Mingjue.”
“Oh. I suppose we--”
“No!” Meng Yao throws up his hands, exasperated. “Not that!” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Not that I don’t want to, but you’re clearly hurting.” He sighs again. “I told you to reapply sunscreen!”
“I know,” Mingjue says miserably. “I’m sorry.”
“Take off your clothes,” Meng Yao says again. “I’ll run a cool bath for you.” Meng Yao is grateful that Mingjue booked one of the biggest suites in the resort on Sanya where they had met for their anniversary trip, especially for the large tubs.
“Do you--”
“Clothes, Mingjue. Oh, do you need help?”
“If you could,” Mingjue says. “It hurts to lift my shoulders.”
“Alright, just a moment.”
Meng Yao starts the tap then returns to help Mingjue ease out of the loose linen shirt and pants he’d chosen. Thankfully, this burn isn’t nearly as bad as the one he had the day they met, but Mingjue’s back and shoulders are painfully red. He helps Mingjue into the bath and get comfortably situated before kissing his forehead.
“I’m going to call down to the restaurant and see if they will move our reservation.”
“Use my card to send a tip for tonight,” Mingjue says as his eyes drift shut.
“Mm. I’ll order something for us for tonight as well.”
“Thank you.” Mingjue opens one eye. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, you beautiful oaf.” He kisses Mingjue once more before retreating to the bedroom.
He takes Mingjue’s wallet from his suit jacket, and as he does, a small black box falls onto the carpet. He flips the lid open, and his eyes go wide when he sees the slender platinum ring with a single emerald set in the band.
“Oh, shit.”
Meng Yao looks over his shoulder at the bathroom, grateful that Mingjue cannot see the ridiculous grin he sports. He tucks the box back into the jacket pocket and picks up the phone.
“Yes, this is room eighty eight,” he says, his voice carefully bland. “Yes, could we please move our dinner reservation to Thursday night. Mm hmm. Seven will be fine. Oh, and could we have a private dining room. The one overlooking the beach will be just fine. Thank you.”
He hangs up, walks calmly over to his side of the bed, and flops down face first into the pillows. He screams once, gets up, and fixes his face.
How did he get so lucky?