* * * *
“He won’t say yes,” Conley said to Sir Kenith. He was sitting in one of the chairs in the solarium with the macaw perched on the arm. He had been there for at least an hour, talking out his worries because he needed to verbalize them, even if Sir Kenith didn’t understand.
The bird flew to his shoulder, rubbing its head against Conley’s. “Con sad?”
He’d asked that several times, and Conley had denied it. “Scared, I guess,” he replied this time. “When he thinks it through, will he believe I love him enough that I want him with me always? Forever is a long time. He could regret it. Hell, we’ve only known each other for a couple of years. Right now he’s sure he loves me as much as I love him. Will that change? Would it change if I was your average human and we decided to, I don’t know, get married? How many marriages end in divorce?” Conley drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair.
“Bad Con. Noisy.”