“I’m yours,” Park murmured simply. And for the first time, Cooper didn’t see it as having a power and dominance over him that he’d never wanted, but as a rare and fragile responsibility that Park had gifted Cooper in love.

Chapter Nine

Apparently, one did not arrive fashionably late to a conservation gala. When Cooper and Park showed up—still very much on time despite second showers, some spot cleaning and quite a lot of emergency ironing—the Smithsonian Natural History rotunda was already teeming with people.

It had been a long time since Cooper had last been here, but he remembered this room directly at the museum’s entrance. An enormous, four-story, round space all white stone and marble, with two levels of overlooking balconies, and columns out the wazoo. The room was lit dramatically by blue and purple lights and vague hints of nature were projected all over the stone balconies and ceiling. Everyone appeared to be in tuxedos or long dresses, and though some people had incorporated little hints of animal print into their attire, no one was wearing anything remotely Halloween-y. Close call, there.

In fact, the creepiest thing about the room was the taxidermy elephant near the center, beneath which an empty stage had been set up. Across the space, under one of the balconies, musicians were performing big-band music and waitstaff flitted through the crowd with platters of hors d’oeuvres. There was a small number of tables and chairs scattered around the room as well, but the majority of people appeared to be standing or even dancing in the center.

Cooper eyed the elephant. “Odd choice of venue, isn’t it? Help us save animals, while enjoying a cocktail under this poached one.”

“Maybe it’s part of their point,” Park said. “Or maybe it was just cheaper to have it here. Either way, I don’t think tonight’s animal guests mind.”

Cooper raised an eyebrow. “Why Oliver, making digs at yonder gentry? The riffraff is rubbing off on you.”

“Yes, you are. Approximately once a day. But I was actually referring to nonhuman animals.” Park said, waving the pamphlet they’d been handed at the door. “Apparently you can get your picture with two different special guests.”

“Is that—are they okay, do you think?”

“The people must be entertained. And according to the schedule, the animals’ gig is only an hour,” Park said, still reading. “There’s the raffle draw soon, and then a short screening followed by some words from Genevieve. Also, a silent auction, so if you want to bid on one of these resort getaways or oil paintings of flamingos, now would be a good time to tell me.”

“You’re about to own a resort,” Cooper reminded him.