“Maybe we should go for a ride together sometime then. With that outfit, you must be a keen rider.” Mark took a step back and scanned Griff from head to toe, leaving him damp with sweat as if he’d been licked.
Griffith looked down at the tips of his snug riding boots. He wore his favorite breeches today—pale brown plaid, comfortable without compromise in the visual department. “You should have seen me at one of the competitions this summer,” he said, unable to keep from boasting when Mark so clearly was into horses too.
“You do dressage, I bet. A bit of horse dancing, Guerrero?” He asked his horse with a smile, but the beast only snorted and stomped its hoof.
The suggestion smacked Griff right in the breastbone. Was this some kind of insinuation that he wasn’t manly enough to participate in other competitions? “Jumping, actually,” he said, somewhat subdued.
“You should teach me then. This guy doesn’t do shit unless he feels like it. He’s a mustang mix. Pretty, but a mutt.” Mark stroked the horse’s mane with affection. “And in return I’ll teach you how to hire hitmen on the dark web. Deal?” He held out his hand.
Griffith shook it before he could think. “And we could do some sightseeing.”
Was it Griff’s overactive imagination, or had Mark held his hand for a bit longer than strictly necessary? At this point, Griff’s brain was frying in the heat of Mark’s charm anyway. Where he was panicky and on the verge of a stroke, the guy in front of him seemed perfectly at ease, as if he hadn’t just fallen off a horse.
Mark winked again. “Is that a date or is my virtue safe?”
And yet the cocky way he smiled told Griff that it was his own ‘virtue’ that was in danger. Mark oozed sexuality in a way Griff had never experienced. He was choking on the sweet, thick air of possibility, and in a single moment of absolute bravery, he tapped Mark’s shoulder, pretending he was offended.
“Is that how you joke around with everyone?”
Mark opened his lips, but his gaze settled over Griff’s shoulder, and before Griff could look back, a pull on his arm snatched him out of Mark’s proximity. It felt like having his skin stripped away.
“Let’s go,” Charlotte hissed.
Griffith stared at her, stunned by how rudely she was acting. Not sure what to do, he let his gaze return to Mark, who watched Charlotte with his lips open.
“I— uh... I’ll be with you in a moment,” Griffith said, desperately wishing to make this right somehow.
“No, we’re going now,” Charlotte growled through her teeth, once again yanking at Griffith’s arm as if he were a five-year-old. This was a disaster, and the fact that Mark was witnessing his humiliation only added to the heavy feeling in Griffith’s chest. He needed to leave before Charlotte got even more mental.
Driven by a desperate need to apologize, he glanced Mark’s way again, forcing a little smile. “Uh, I’ll see you around. We’re here almost every day.”
Mark nodded and tapped the pocket where he had his phone.
To try to keep at least some dignity, Griff followed Charlotte, unwilling to yell at her before they were out of Mark’s sight. His cheeks burned even hotter than when Mark suggested they would go on a a date. He had suggested that, hadn’t he? It couldn’t have happened only in Griff’s head.
“Is this about Percival? I was about to go back to him anyway. Why do you need to make me look like an idiot in front of a new acquaintance?” Griff half-shouted, half-whispered once they entered the stables. In here, the horses were the only witnesses to their argument.
Charlotte stared at him, her blue eyes strangely bewildered. “Perci… val… what? No. And that guy is not your acquaintance,” her voice was climbing in register, even though she was trying to stay quiet.
Griffith attempted to push away her hand, bus she kept digging her fingers into his shoulder, which left him at a loss. Charlotte was his sister, which used to excuse a little bit of violence when they were younger, but what was he to do now? “Why are you acting so mental? He’s such a pleasant person.”
Her eyes went so wide she looked as if they were about to pop out of her head. “‘Pleasant’? I don’t want you anywhere near that guy. I know him, and he… he’s shit, okay? He’s awful. He… You know my friend Morwen? He’s her ex, and he dumped her as soon as she had sex with him. He’s a total asshole. He ran over her cat and didn’t even apologize. He’s the worst. I’m not kidding, Griff.”
Her words hit Griff on the head like an old-timey wooden ruler. That sounded nothing like Mark. “That’s her side of the story.”
Charlotte shook him, only getting more frantic. “He’s a total con man, Griff. He knows we have money, and he chatted you up on purpose.”
Griffith stilled, watching her with his heart thumping fast and seemingly rising up in his chest. “I just... talked to him. He fell off his horse.”
Charlotte raised her eyebrows, but at least she finally let go of him. “So you just happened to conveniently be there? Trust me, Griff. I know what I’m talking about. This is exactly why he hangs out in places like this. Morwen met him at a casino. Just… you can’t be this naive.”
Griffith stared at her for a long, painfully silent moment, then turned on his heel and rushed off toward the grooming station where his horse awaited his care.
“I am not naive.”
Chapter 2 - Mark
Mark leaned against the tall iron fence surrounding the communal garden across the street from his new place, and pulled on the hood of his sweatshirt. He leaned forward to shelter the cigarette that he was about to light from the drizzle. The scent of damp leaves and earth behind him was so strong that if he shut his eyes to blank out the cars parked along the fence and the off-white facades of the Georgian terraced houses, he could believe he was somewhere out in nature. The constant tap of raindrops against the trees behind him echoed in his ears, creating a calming background to his thoughts.
It hadn’t been too difficult to track down Charlotte. Her social media accounts were extremely private, but her brother’s were not, so Mark had found out which stable they kept their horses at, and once that had been established, he found out where they lived by following them all the way home.
But while that had been relatively easy, weaseling his way back into her life likely wouldn’t be. Normal people didn’t constantly check their surroundings, instead remaining unaware when they were being tailed, which allowed Mark to find out a great deal more. Charlotte lived with Griffith in an expensive part of the city where streets looked like period drama sets. Mark wouldn’t be too surprised if one of the tall windows on the other side of the street opened to reveal a lady in silks and with big powdered hair. The area was clean, the local café sold sandwiches with roasted beetroot and artisanal goat’s cheese, and the ‘fish and chips’ shop around the corner had a certificate of excellence proudly hanging in the window.
After three years as Domenico’s right hand man in El Encanto, Mark had huge savings, but the technicalities of buying an apartment went over his head. As always, Domenico had all the answers and got Mark in touch with a lawyer, who’d dealt with everything for him. Less than two weeks later, Mark moved into his own apartment in a building originally inhabited by a fantastically wealthy merchant three hundred years back. If someone had told the sixteen-year-old him that this was what his life would become, he would have laughed in their face.
While Domenico approved of Mark’s choice of property, he remained in the dark about the reason why Mark had been so set on that one. Yes, the housing market was a nightmare of apartments being claimed within a day or two of the listing being published, but the real reason would remain a secret. Mark would never hear the end of it if Domenico knew Charlotte was back in the picture. Or at least Mark hoped she would be, but he had to tread carefully if he didn’t want to bury his chances forever. Right now, their relationship was like thin ice, only forming at the first bite of frost.
Fifteen days had passed since their eyes had met at the st
ables, and her reaction had been so volatile Mark chose to give her space. She’d looked spooked, and that hadn’t been something he was ready for. In his imagination, they’d meet after all these years, and she’d cry, punch his chest while saying how she’d hated him for leaving her alone on the plane. But then they would talk and fall back into one another’s arms as if the past three years had been just a bad dream.
What he got was rejection. And that was much worse than cries and anger. She must have recognized him, of that he was sure, but she chose to not speak to him. Today marked the end of Mark accepting this without a fight. He moved into the same building.
Enough was enough. He’d followed her all the way to the United Kingdom, and he would get closure if it killed him. What they’d shared back in Colombia had impacted Mark like no other relationship he’d experienced, no matter how messed up the situation had been. She must have felt it too, so maybe there still was a chance for reconciliation.
But that was the future. For now, Mark had to get used to being alone. He’d never had a place of his own, and even though he was an adult man who could deal with a variety of shit thrown his way, the empty rooms of his new apartment made something inside him itch for the homely scents coming from the kitchen, or the understated elegance of Domenico and Seth’s Buenos Aires home.
He had bare walls—pigeon blue, with white moulding. And since it was located in a Georgian building converted into apartments and Mark lived on the second floor, his ceilings were so high the larger of the two rooms easily accommodated a mezzanine that could fit a king-sized bed and a rail of clothes. When he’d first purchased the few pieces of furniture he considered necessary, the intention was to make the space more homely, but the few items somehow managed to make the huge rooms appear even less cozy—abandoned rather than empty.
The smoke filled Mark’s lungs with warmth, but when the rain became heavier, he crossed the empty street to hide under a balcony, which had a pagoda-inspired roof above it.
The city center was only a twenty-minute walk away, but between the old buildings erected over three centuries ago by wealthy residents of the developing city, time seemed to have stopped. The architecture of Buenos Aires had prepared Mark for Europe, but some of the narrow streets still felt exotic, as if they belonged to another time. When fast footsteps echoed down the street, Mark half-expected a gentleman in silk breeches and a wig under a tricorn, but instead he spotted a large gray umbrella that faced Mark when its owner climbed uphill.
He knew that umbrella, because he’d seen it several times when he’d followed Charlotte. It belonged to Griffith, his potential entry point into Charlotte’s life. The few photos Mark had found of him before coming to Bristol hadn’t quite conveyed his… well, Griff was definitely gay. The sparks he’d thrown Mark’s way when they met could have ignited a fire.
The boy rushed up the steep hill, carrying a leather messenger bag over a pale brown trench coat that he wore fashionably open. Sheltered by the umbrella, he was about to pass Mark and walk through the gate into the inner courtyard of the building where they both lived.
The courtyard that separated their apartments.
The courtyard that provided Mark with a prime view of one of the rooms belonging to the Elswoods.
“Oh, hey! Griff wasn’t it?” Mark smiled to catch Griffith’s attention, instantly feeling guilty for over-flirting with this candy-lipped doll of a boy when all he wanted was his sister.
Griffith stood still, slender and elegant in his white chinos, and short fine hair that so effortlessly fell into place. The scarf casually resting around the white column of his neck brought out the pale blue of his eyes. They were the color of snow reflecting a cloudless sky—cool and yet radiating heat like the winter sun.
Griffith seemed baffled at first, but after half a second, he offered Mark a wide smile and rushed under the balcony, closing his umbrella. “I wanted to tell you this when we met at the stables, but once again, I am deeply sorry for Charlotte’s behavior. She’s been under a lot of stress recently.”
Griffith’s features made him instantly recognizable as Charlotte’s brother. While his jawline was decidedly less soft and his cheekbones sharper than hers, the overall proportions of the face carried family resemblance, as did Griffith’s coloring.
From up close, his skin was so pale it looked powdered, but the shade of his hair—a yellowish white—and the translucent lashes and brows were proof that this was the way God had made him. Griffith swallowed, stepping closer to avoid water drizzling down his back and briefly bit his bottom lip when he looked up, as if the confrontation two weeks back had been on his mind since.
Mark waved it off. “Don't worry about it. I'm the one who should apologize for never calling you. I've been busy with my house move." He sucked in more smoke and Griff's gaze drifted to the cigarette. Or Mark's lips for that matter. It would have been so easy to just pluck this flower of a boy, but after the fuck-up with Diego, after losing his eye and going through countless meaningless flings, Mark was done with this kind of bullshit.
Griffith nodded, as if he’d never heard anything as interesting. “I completely understand. We went through this recently too, and it was a nightmare. But what are you doing around here? Looking for shelter?” he asked, opening his umbrella and raising it above his head with a smile.
Mark cozied up under it too, but had to bow his head in order to avoid touching the damp fabric. The fresh yet masculine scent that forced its way into his nose and down the highway to his dick was surely some expensive cologne.
“No, I moved in here.” Mark pointed to the facade behind them, but his voice trailed off when he noticed that Griff’s ears were nothing like Charlotte’s. They had the cutest little point on top, all pink and perfectly chewable. Maybe standing under Griff’s umbrella wasn’t such a good idea after all.
Griffith blinked, and Mark could practically hear him sucking in a breath. “No way, really? That’s where we live. What are the odds?”
Slim. “Get out of here!” Mark grinned, as if he were really surprised, and nudged Griff’s shoulder. The boy’s dilating pupils and growing smile told Mark all he needed to know about the nature of their conversation.
Griffith gave a short laugh and briefly lowered his gaze while his pale face flushed. “We’re neighbors. I think it’s only appropriate that I invite you in for tea.” He already took a step forward when his face stirred with worry. “You do have time now, right? I don’t want to mess with your plans.”
Mark threw the cigarette into the gutter. "Sure, sounds great.” It also sounded as if Griff were inviting him for a quick blowjob, but Mark doubted his new neighbor could do something so deeply impolite, even in the name of hospitality.
Mark silently congratulated himself. The invitation would allow him to have a good look around Charlotte’s house. Mark could have just broken in when the Elswoods were out, but that idea felt so crass he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He wanted to be a guest, not an intruder. He’d decided against bugging Charlotte’s place for the same reason, even though if he were to rely on what Domenico taught him, that would have been the obvious thing to do.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t just stomp his boots all over normal people as if they were made of the same stuff as him. If he wanted Charlotte to love him again, he needed to at least pretend he was a regular person and use his charisma instead of lock-picking tools. His lies were good enough to convince the angel-faced boy to invite a wolf into his home with a smile.
“This is so exciting. I never asked you what you’re doing in Bristol. Are you a student?” Griffith asked, leading the way through the courtyard that featured several small bushes and even a bench in the middle of the grassy circle. He pulled out a set of keys and opened the red-panelled door before entering a spacious hall. Here, too, period features had been left intact, and the staircase Griffith climbed was appropriately extravagant in terms of width.
“I am. How about you?” Mark couldn’t help a s
incere smile when Griffith looked back at him with excitement beaming off him. So Mark’s eyepatch wasn’t all that offputting after all.
Griffith approached one of the two doors on the second floor and opened it, letting Mark into a pristinely white space with a wooden floor. “I’m studying law. I want to deal with property in the future.”
Of course he would. Rich boy wanted more money. Mark was hardly surprised. “I’ll know who to call when I need advice on my next mansion. I could be your first client.” Did that sound dirty? Mark needed to rein in the flirting that came to him all too naturally around Griffith. This was exactly the kind of trouble he didn’t need when trying to get back together with Griff’s sister.
Griffith slipped off his shoes and hung his coat before inviting Mark into a living room that managed to be modern without losing an air of tradition. For Mark, stepping into the monochrome space was like entering the Snow Queen’s castle, at least until he smelled the huge bouquet of fresh lilies on the coffee table. Most of the furniture, while painted white, were either restored antiques or replicas and their style only enforced the serene atmosphere.
“I bet I’ll have a queue of prospective clients waiting at my door on the day I have all my qualifications,” Griffith said.
Mark hesitated for a moment, but in the end he threw his wet sweatshirt over the back of an armchair and sat on the dainty sofa that didn’t belong in an apartment of people so young. Had their parents chosen it?
“With those cheekbones? For sure. Wait, are we still talking about property law?” Mark winked at Griffith, even though he should have bitten his tongue instead. Maybe quitting sex had been too much for him too handle, and the pent-up energy was now fucking with his brain? He could use a guy like Griffith in his bed. Just for one night. To let off some steam.
Griffith’s pink lips looked like raspberry marshmallows when he opened his mouth, staring back at Mark for half a second too long. “Ha-ha, that’s a good one,” Griffith said before seeking shelter in the next door kitchen. “Let’s see, any preference in terms of tea? We have this amazing afternoon blend my parents’ local tea shop makes for our family.”
A Breath of Innocence Page 2
