“Speak of the devil,” Julian said, and opened the cab door with a distinctly sarcastic flourish. “Your carriage awaits.”
“Aiden Planetarium?” the cabbie asked, catching Rafi’s eye in the mirror. Rafi nodded as Julian slid in beside him, and they were off, just as red and blue lights came into view somewhere far behind them.
* * * *
They rode in silence, Rafi straightening his cloak and watching Julian from the corner of his eye. If Rafi was a wolf, Julian was apparently a peacock—a white one, feathers flowing in a snowy train from his long coat, and gathered in his flame-red hair like some cross between a comb and a crown.
“Were you…headed to the Gala on foot?” Rafi asked at last. “That’s unconventional.”
“I try to keep people guessing,” Julian shrugged. “That’s rather ugly.” He jerked his chin toward the bandage on Rafi’s wrist. It had been the biggest one in the gas station first aid kit, but it was already proving insufficient, blood darkening the material.
Rafi swore under his breath, rubbing uselessly at the injury. “That’s just what I need, to walk into a public event featuring my ex-fiancée while looking like I tried to slit my wrists.”
Looking as if he might already regret what he was saying, Julian pulled a thick golden bracelet, ornately carved and sporting a large square ruby, off his wrist. “This might cover it.”
Rafi felt his eyebrows rise. Julian Gault seldom appeared in public without that bracelet; Rafi had seen more than one tabloid article speculating as to why, though he didn’t think Julian had ever answered the question.
“Thanks,” Rafi said, and took the bracelet. It was a tight fit, but it did conceal the bandage. “This is a big improvement.”
“I suppose I can at least loan you a bracelet,” Julian said, “for being injured in my service, so to speak. Even if I never would have been in danger to begin with, if it weren’t for you.”
Rafi assayed his most charming smile, the one that showed off his dimple. “My hero?”
Julian rolled his eyes, but—was that a bit of pink in his cheeks? “I don’t appreciate being manhandled, incidentally.”
“Noted,” Rafi said. “Next time you rescue me, I’ll let you fall to your death afterward.”
“See that you do,” Julian said, and turned to the window, leaving Rafi to travel the last few blocks in baffled silence.
* * * *
Aiden Planetarium was a bright, gorgeous cube of blue-violet against the night sky, the sphere of the planetarium proper visible within the glass walls. Rafi and Julian were some of the last to file through the stone archway into the Gala, but that did nothing to keep the photographers from losing their minds at the sight of Julian, ever their darling. Rafi attracted his share of attention, too, including shouted questions about Bo and Distant Kingdom that he pretended not to hear. He made sure his wolf cape was on straight, and snarled obligingly at some of the less obnoxious photogs before following Julian through the door. It wasn’t until they were inside the event that Rafi realized he and Julian had just walked the red carpet together, a statement he hadn’t meant to make. He didn’t mind it; he only hoped Julian didn’t.
Inside, multiple gleaming stories of lobby swirled with noise and light and bodies, and Rafi tried to give Julian opportunities to slide gracefully away from him. Sharing a cab and a car accident did not make them friends, and Julian Gault was known for refusing to tolerate hangers-on or even fans who presumed upon his company. Although Julian was far from hanging on Rafi’s arm, though, he seemed content to let them drift about in the same general area.
The Gala was, of course, an incredible display of fashion and glamour. Distant Kingdom’s rise had been meteoric, once it ever got started, so Rafi had had little opportunity to get used to Hollywood before he landed smack in the middle of it. Rafi felt fortunate that he’d grown up attending important business soirees with his parents, and was somewhat inured to the sparkle and sweep, even surrounded by faces—like Julian’s—that he’d only ever seen on-screen. It was still a bit surreal to realize he was making small-talk about costumery with Anne Hathaway and Jennifer Lawrence. And Julian Gault.
He thought Julian had finally slipped away from him at one point, only to turn around and see that an older man in a white tux had him backed up against a refreshment table. Julian’s fists were clenched, blue eyes blazing as he looked around—seeking help? The man tried to take hold of Julian’s wrist, and Julian snatched it away.
Rafi walked over, inserting his body as unobtrusively as possible between Julian and the interloper. “Hi there!” he said to the older man. “Lovely night, isn’t it? I’m sorry but this is an invitation-only event, if you’re looking for quotes or an autograph you’ll have to wait outside.”
The man went bug-eyed; behind Rafi, Julian made a choked noise.
“Can I help with something over here, gentlemen?” said a smiling staff member, drawn by the noise.
The older man looked on the verge of death-by-outrage; he stormed off without a word.
“Do you have any idea who that was?” Julian asked, rubbing at his mouth as if unsure whether his smile should be allowed to stay.
“Someone who needed to get lost,” Rafi shrugged.
The staff member, her plastic smile faded now into a daunted expression, said, “That was Uncle Eddie. Edward Gault.”
“Oh,” Rafi said, barely able to voice the word. He hadn’t known the face, but he certainly knew the name. Uncle Eddie was a powerhouse, a titan of the entertainment industry, a man who could make and break careers with a glance. Rafi was in music, not acting, so there was less that Uncle Eddie could do to him…directly. “Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “I was still right the first time.”
“You,” Julian said through a smile that had become glowing, “are delightful. I do not need your intervention in my affairs, but please feel free to abuse my uncle at any time. If you’ll excuse me, I need to speak with this lady about the seating arrangement, as I will no longer be sitting at the same table as my uncle, come hell or high water.” He and the staff member stepped to the side.
The red carpet portion of the evening was winding down, staffers appearing to usher the guests into the event proper, during which cell phones were strongly discouraged. Rafi decided to check his phone before putting it away—rather spooking himself with a second look at Bo’s pregnancy tweet—and found a series of texts from Amber.
Rafi, did you start dating Julian Gault sometime in the last half hour?
Dude, I’m serious, because TMZ kinda thinks you did. Is that really his bracelet?
You looked great on the carpet btw but wtf is going on
I assume you heard about Bo’s baby, please try not to freak out
Is that what this is? You freaking out about Bo? You and Julian already have a ship name.
It’s Jurafi, which is about as awful as you deserve.
Rafi stifled a hysterical laugh. Beside him, Julian raised an eyebrow, and leaned closer to murmur in his ear.
“Hasn’t that little device caused you enough trouble tonight, Rafael? At least here you are merely being rude, and not causing massive property damage.”
“Who’s interfering in whose affairs now?” Rafi said, swiftly tucking the phone away again.
Then they were headed into the Gala, with no more time to discuss it.
* * * *
Dinner was set beneath a dome of midnight blue, the white glimmer of stars shifting over it and everything else in the room. Scattered amongst the tables were glass-cased exhibits of moon rocks and meteorites. Rafi tried not to stare like a rube.
Seating was, of course, assigned, and Rafi realized that his band’s implosion had probably caused the organizers a last-minute panic—though not quite so lminute as Julian’s request. They had pulled through for Rafi, at least; he only just caught sight of his brother and ex-fiancée on the other side of the room. Julian’s new seat was, alas, not at Rafi’s table, but close enough that th
ey could easily meet eyes over the heads of the intervening guests. Rafi gave Julian a wink. He did not return it.
Uncle Eddie was, unfortunately, only one table away from Julian. Now that Rafi looked for it, there was a family resemblance between them; Eddie had dark hair, a neat beard, and a solid middle-aged figure, almost a negative to Julian’s delicate looks, but the piercing blue eyes were the same. Julian’s actual uncle as well as his manager, from what Rafi had heard. Julian was only one of several rising young actors who owed his career to Uncle Eddie.
Eddie never glanced Rafi’s way, and yet Rafi felt certain he knew exactly where he was. It was disconcerting.
Soon enough, Rafi was distracted by the dinner, conversation with his seatmates—all connections worth making, and interesting people to boot—and later, the event’s entertainment, a graceful acrobatics troupe recreating the life cycle of a star. Yet he caught himself continually glancing Julian’s way, as if checking on him. Not that Julian needed assistance; his left seatmate, a well-known rapper in a leopard-print gown, looked to be wrapped around his finger, and everyone else at the table was equally charmed.
His uncle seemed to be having a nice enough time at the next table. Rafi thought that his expression of neutral geniality was…almost unsettlingly even, giving way to neither laughter nor frowns, no matter what happened around him.
Eventually, the evening drew to a close. People left their seats, drifted into the next room for a final drink or tidbit of dessert, and from thence, Rafi assumed, home. Or perhaps to an afterparty somewhere, but personally he’d had enough for the night.
That was where Rafi was faced, at last, with Carlos and Bo.
There were always a few people who ignored the dress theme, especially men; his brother was among them, wearing a fine but unexceptional tuxedo. Bo, however, was luminous in a brilliant blue number obviously inspired by the morpho butterfly of the Amazon, with a silky shawl around her shoulders in the shape of butterfly wings. She’d put blue streaks in her white-blonde hair to match. With Carlos’s arm around her waist, she stood in conversation with—was that Benedict Cumberbatch?—who bowed over her hand, then exclaimed over the diamond ring he found there, tilting it so that it flashed in the light. Bo’s other hand rested, perhaps unconsciously, on the gentle swell of her belly. Carlos caught Rafi’s gaze, tightened his arm around Bo, and bent to kiss her ear without ever breaking eye contact.
“I suppose you’ll need an address to return my bracelet to,” said a voice at Rafi’s elbow, and in a surge of pure jealous spite, Rafi pulled Julian close to his side.
“There you are, sweetheart,” he said, a little too loudly. “I was starting to worry.”
Julian went stiff as a mannequin under his arm but did not, as Rafi half-expected, knife him on the spot. Rafi had the pleasure of seeing his brother’s eyes widen, and Bo stop mid-word to look toward his voice, her mouth dropping open. Uncle Eddie, drifting by, was already eyeing Julian with some disfavor; at Rafi’s words, he looked every bit as boggled as Bo and Carlos.
“Run along, Uncle,” Julian called. “Like I said, I won’t be needing the car.”
Uncle Eddie continued standing there several beats longer than could be considered graceful, and their little tableau was drawing attention. Rafi saw someone snap a phone pic. Then Eddie pasted a bland smile onto his face and continued out the door. Carlos and Bo made a flustered attempt to resume their conversation with Cumberbatch.
Julian got a vicious sharp-nailed grip on Rafi’s arm, and hauled him into one of several alcoves scattered about the room, obscured by the long fronds of a possibly-artificial weeping willow.
“What,” Julian said, his voice arctic and precise, “was that?”
“That,” Rafi replied, “was a stupid and impulsive attempt to shock my brother and—”
“—ex-fiancée. Of course. Why me?”
“Well.” Rafi felt his face heat. “You were handy. You’re also very much my type, which lent the moment verisimilitude. I’m sorry, it was dumb—though you do seem to have gotten something out of it as well.”
“An opportunity to needle my uncle is not to be missed,” Julian said, almost absently. He was examining Rafi’s face with narrowed eyes. “In fact, this presents an opportunity for…something beyond needling.”
“Like what?”
Instead of answering, Julian held out his hand, as if for a handshake. “I accept your proposition. This arrangement has benefits for the both of us.”
“What?” Rafi stared at the proffered hand. “Proposition? No! I didn’t mean—it was a stupid idea, I’m sorry I did it, let’s never speak of it again—”
Julian raised an eyebrow, and his hand snaked forward to seize Rafi’s wrist, the cut there pinching painfully under the gold bracelet. “I saved your life, remember? You owe me.”
“I…” But the idea had its appeal. As a middle finger to Bo and Carlos, it served nicely, and he couldn’t say he hated the idea of the gossip rags saying he’d traded up. If the price was having to get cuddly with a man as gorgeous as Julian Gault, he could pay that without flinching. “Well, I guess…”
At that moment, a photographer—one Rafi had to assume had snuck in through the exit, and would soon pay in blood for it—stuck his head into their half-secluded alcove. Julian rose onto his toes and kissed Rafi full on the mouth just in time for the flash.
Chapter 2
[Tumblr post with photo of Rafael Reyes and Julian Gault kissing at the Constellation Gala]
the-gossipmonger: but Julian isn’t gay! Is he??? could i have missed that somehow????
madamgault: he pretty much just doesn’t date?? i mean, apparently he does now, but he hasn’t dated since Ellie Tanning in 2012.
noblebloodmagic: #a certain faction of his fandom has always insisted he was still pining over her #all this time #which i always knew was bullshit OF COURSE ITS BULLSHIT DID YOU REALLY THINK A MAN AS PRETTY AS JULIAN GAULT WAS GONNA BE STRAIGHT [tears emoji]
distant-kingdom-lover: the one i’m worried about is rafi, he just broke up with bo like a month ago, there’s no way he’s ready to date again already. a guy like julian gault is gonna eat him alive. rafi, honey, i am begging you to get therapy. BEGGING.
* * * *
Is it wind, is it gravity
That drives the restless waves
Pushes them forward, pulls them away
Why do the waters roar
Reach out, reach out for more
(I walk the beach in moonlight, remembering the sun)
We crash upon the shore, we crash upon the shore
—“Beach Song,” from Epicurious by Distant Kingdom
* * * *
Rafael might have been tempted to write off the whole interlude—Julian Gault rescuing him like a white knight, escorting him to a gala, kissing him behind a weeping willow—as a dream. Really, it was embarrassing to think his subconscious would even come up with something so shameless and far-fetched. But there was photographic evidence, which of course was all over the internet within hours, followed by legions of fans hounding him for answers. Along with his best friend.
“I don’t know what to tell you, Amber,” Rafi said, not for the first time that day. “He asked for my phone number, but he hasn’t called. I don’t have his.”
“You didn’t ask for it?”
“I didn’t have a chance. Apparently he arranged cars for us during dinner, but—not the same car. He rode off into the night in a white limousine.”
“After tickling your tonsils for no apparent reason.”
“Oh, he had a reason. Riling up his uncle, if nothing else, though I’m not sure what stake his uncle has in his romantic relationships anyway.”
Amber grunted, moving about in Rafi’s kitchen like she owned it. To be fair, she probably spent more time there than Rafi did. The cook hadn’t come in this week, so the fridge held little more than condiments and beer, but Amber had managed to put together a sandwich. “Uncle Eddie has a rep as a control freak,
so there’s a viable explanation right there. Oh, crap, this guy’s not underage, is he?”
“No! He’s twenty-one.” Rafi had checked Julian’s IMDB just to be sure, since the last character he’d seen Julian play had, in fact, been a teenager. They were only four years apart. “Now hush, I have to talk to these people about my car.”
By the time he did hear from Julian, it was nearly midnight. Amber had long since gone home, Jean-Paul had reclaimed his costume, the car was out of impound and on its way to the body shop, and Rafi was climbing into bed—when his text chime went off. Unfamiliar number.
Meet me at Shasta Beach tomorrow, 10 am. We’ll talk specifics.
Rafi debated leaving it unanswered until morning, out of spite, but realized he didn’t actually know whether it was Julian or some deranged fan who had gotten his number. ‘Is this Julian Gault?’ would probably get a ‘yes’ whether it was true or not, so Rafi tried another tack.
Is this the pushy jerk’s nephew?
A long pause, and then, just as Rafi was turning out his bedside lamp: Yes. I hope your slit wrist is healing well.
Proof enough. Rafi saved the number as ‘Pea Cock’ and went to bed.
* * * *
Shasta Beach was rocky and wild, picturesque but not well-suited for swimming. Rafi, in shorts and a tank top, was willing to take a dip anytime and anywhere, but he doubted that was what Julian had in mind. Especially not if that was him, in the distance—Rafi could just make out a red-haired figure in an impeccably stylish straw hat. He supposed Julian had to worry about sunburn a lot more than Rafi did.
Getting out of his car in the oddly empty parking area (his other car, of course, the SUV), Rafi was greeted by a stocky black woman in khakis and sunglasses, who could not have more obviously been a bodyguard.
“Mr. Reyes,” the woman said with a bow of her head. “I’ll take you to Mr. Gault.”
Rafi followed obediently, scanning the all-but-empty beach. “Do we have you to thank for the solitude we seem likely to enjoy?”
The bodyguard flashed a brief grin. “Mr. Gault takes his privacy very seriously.”
Star Bright Page 2
