by Andrew Grey
“I’ve been really busy and… it’s good to see you, Gloria.” He smiled. She was one of the first people he’d met when he’d moved to town.
“I hear about the good work you’re doing here.”
“Thanks.”
“I also hear that you had the Beast volunteer yesterday.” She caught his gaze. “People here talk about everything.”
“That’s what I’m counting on.” Beau swallowed hard. “I spent hours with him yesterday, and I don’t quite get it. I’ve seen him tear the mayor a new one, and I heard him on the phone with his business, where he sounded as cold as the Arctic. But his staff looks at him like he hung the moon, and he won over all the kids in a matter of minutes. Raymond….”
“Yes. That little boy who was terrorized by his dad.” Gloria brought him a Coke and set it in front of him.
“He was scared of Dante, but Dante won Raymond over. I don’t get it.” Beau was usually so good at reading people, but Dante confused him. Beau purposely kept his own opinions to himself. “Kids know who they trust.”
“Yes, they do.”
“I was hoping you knew the real story.” Beau figured she could shed some light on all this.
“I don’t think anyone knows the real story except Dante.” The note of sadness in her eyes told him some of what he wanted to know. “As a kid, Dante was always wild and full of energy. He used to come in here and could liven the place up just by walking in the door.” She patted Beau’s hand gently. “I remember when….” She sighed. “There are some things I know, or at least I think I know. Apparently his father told Dante that in order to get his inheritance, he was going to have to get married, which surprised a lot of us because Dante was gay as far as we all knew. But he married Allison. She was his best friend, and we hoped they could make a go of it. Less than two years later, both Dante’s father and his wife were dead. People said she fell down the stairs, and there was a lot of speculation that she was pushed. People stayed away from him, and Dante hasn’t left the house very much since, except when he goes out of town. He runs the porcelain works from the house, and we rarely see him. When he is in town, people walk on the other side of the street.” Gloria wiped her eyes. “He’s surly and rarely talks to anyone.”
“Then why did he come to the benefit dinner?” Beau sipped from the glass and set it back down without taking his gaze away from hers.
“Probably because someone told him he had to. Dante hasn’t done any of those things since his wife died, and if he volunteered with you, then that’s some sort of miracle as well.”
“We’re having dinner tomorrow at his house, and… I asked him to talk over some new programs for the Center. At least that’s what I told him.” Beau finally broke her gaze.
She smiled. “You like him.” Gloria took his hand in hers. “You know, there’s nothing wrong with that, and maybe Dante deserves someone in his life. But be careful. There’s a lot of hurt in him, and it’s got to come out sometime.”
“I….” Beau swallowed really hard. “Was Dante’s father… ever abusive… or did he drink… or anything?” Hell, this was hard.
“Hiram? God no. That man never touched a drink of anything in his life. He hated the stuff, and as for anything else….” She shook her head. “The abusive part….” She paused. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead.”
“Telling the truth is just that.”
“I don’t know if he was abusive per se… but he was controlling as all hell. No one in that factory did anything without his say-so. What Hiram wanted, Hiram got, and no one argued with him, including Dante. I mean, what kind of man forces a son to marry someone?”
“Was it because he was gay?” Beau asked, and Gloria grabbed a napkin out of one of the dented aluminum holders to wipe her eyes.
“I think so. Hiram was a closed-minded… know-it-all jerk, to put it in a word. I wouldn’t want my worst enemy as his son.” She cleared her throat and turned away. “What can I get for you?”
“How about one of your famous BLTs?” Beau asked, trying to process what she’d told him.
Gloria nodded, wrote out a ticket, and placed it on the board for the kitchen. “I know Dante has secrets, plenty of them, and none of us knows what his marriage was like or what happened that night. Only he knows what happened and he’s told no one. I doubt he will.”
“But why the Beast thing?” Beau asked.
“I don’t know. It developed somehow, and then everyone started referring to him that way.” A bell sounded, and Gloria went to get his food. “Sometimes things really suck, and maybe all it takes is someone willing to look under the surface to see what’s real. Because Lord knows there’s a whole lot of speculation, rumor, and storytelling that’s embellished this tale to near fairy-tale proportions.” She looked down the counter and moved away, filling water glasses as she went.
“That man is a menace,” the guy two stools over said as soon as Gloria was out of hearing range. “He gets off on firing people and refuses to listen to anything.” The man was probably in his late fifties, half slumped over his plate, and his hands shook. “The town would be better off if he dropped dead. He sits in that big house on the hill and lives the high life, while the rest of us scrape out a living in his factory.”
“Marv, that’s enough,” Gloria said. “You lost your position because you were drinking on the job, and you know it.”
“I did my work, and that bastard fired me. Came down from on high to do it himself, with this smug, satisfied look on his face.”
“Are you still drinking?” Beau asked gently.
“What’s it to you?” Marv snapped. From the smell and look of him, he clearly was, but making the judgment wasn’t going to help.
Beau reached in his pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to him. “If you want some help, come by.” He had already learned that people had to want help if there was going to be any chance of success. He turned back to his lunch and ate slowly, checking the time. He was supposed to have dinner with Dante, and more and more, the picture of the man kept getting muddled.
What the hell had he gotten himself into?
Chapter 3
IT WAS Saturday and Dante still had work to do. He sat in his office, reviewing production reports and sales figures, which were all encouraging… with the exception of their artisan line, which had stagnated somewhat. A knock pulled him out of the reports, and Roberts came in with a tray.
“Where did you want to have dinner this evening?” Roberts set the tray on the corner of the desk and waited for an answer.
“He’s coming to discuss business.” Dante looked around the office and back to Roberts just in time to see him roll his eyes. “What is it?”
Roberts cleared his throat, his way of saying that Dante was being stupid without actually saying a word. “Mr. Beau is coming here for dinner at your invitation. I believe the proper thing to do is to prepare the dining room.”
Dante raised his gaze. “It’s business.”
“I don’t think so. It’s a Saturday night. Normal people go out and have some fun because they don’t go to work on Sunday. So my guess is that the business is a ruse.” He met Dante’s gaze for a second and then turned away, heading toward the door. “Shall I call to give you time to get ready?”
Dante picked up the papers, already engrossing his mind in them. “That would be great.” He heard Roberts leave and picked up the cup of tea, then set it back down without drinking. Dante jumped up and left the office a few minutes later, following the sounds of activity through the living room and into the dining room, where the dust sheets had been pulled off all the furniture. Roberts carried them past him, while his housekeeper, Clare, cleaned the room like some sort of tornado. She paused in her work when she saw him, nodded, and continued.
“Roberts?” Dante called. “What’s all this?”
Roberts kept his face neutral as he walked back into the room. “I told you the dining room would be appropriate and you didn’t disagree, s
o we went ahead. I’m also removing the dust sheets in the living room and library. It’s supposed to be cool this evening, so I’ll have a fire built and serve brandy in there after dinner.”
“Isn’t this a little much?”
“No.” Roberts walked away, leaving him standing near the head of the long walnut table.
Dante followed him into the other room, where Roberts was removing the dustcovers. “Roberts….” He let a growl slip into his voice. None of these rooms had been used since Allison died, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to open them up again.
“We can’t entertain guests in a few rooms with the rest of the house closed up and unused.” Roberts finished removing the covers and turned to survey the space. Dante did the same as a huge wave of regret washed over him. He had made so many mistakes when it came to Allison, and he hadn’t been able to bear them, so he’d shut up most of the house and lived in the rooms that he could stand.
“Roberts, I never want to use these again.”
“And you expect that nice Mr. Beau to eat Harriet’s amazing dinner cooped up in your office?” He shook his head. “All right. I’ll have everything put back the way it was.”
“No.” Dante turned, went back to his office, and closed the door. He needed a chance to breathe.
Allison had loved to entertain, and she’d used those rooms of the house all the time. They were the ones he most closely associated with her energy and vitality. At least those were the qualities she’d had when they’d been friends and had first gotten married. Before everything changed and Dante managed to mess up both their lives.
It had been over two years, and maybe it was time. If it had been up to him, those parts of the house would never have been opened up. But now they were, and apparently he and Beau were using them for their dinner and discussion. Roberts seemed to think this was something more than business. Did Beau think this was a date of some kind? Dante sat back at his desk, intending to return to work, but his mind had other ideas and he wasn’t able to concentrate on anything.
“Sir, he’ll be here in an hour. I laid out some clothes for you on your bed,” Roberts said. Dante hadn’t even heard him knock. “Harriet has made your favorite, beef Wellington. Unless you object, we’ll serve appetizers in the sitting room.” He held the door and stood silently, waiting for Dante.
“Roberts,” Dante said as they began climbing the stairs a few minutes later. “When did you get so pushy?”
“Sir, I am the perfect servant. I know what you want before you do. It’s my job. So I became ‘pushy,’ as you call it, when I realized it was what you needed.” He opened the door to Dante’s room and waited as he went inside.
“Thank you.” Dante turned away and went into the bathroom, hearing Roberts leave. He wasn’t sure if he should have been insulted at Roberts’s answer or not. He wasn’t, which surprised him. Dante also couldn’t deny it. Since Allison’s death he’d largely retreated from his own life, and other than business, he lived in a very small circle. He had everything he thought he wanted, but maybe he hadn’t understood what that was.
Dante started the shower and undressed, ignoring the mirror the entire time. He hated looking in them, always afraid of what he was going to see looking back at him.
He knew what people called him. He’d heard the comments; it was hard not to, now that he knew what to listen for. But what also ate at his heart was that he knew they were right. Dante had been beastly in the past, and that had cost him the close friend who’d agreed to become his wife. He’d made a bargain with the devil himself, in the form of his own bloody father, and that had cost himself everything—including a part of his soul that he would never be able to retrieve. So sometimes he wondered if the beast he felt inside him, the one who had sold his own and his best friend’s futures out from under them, would glare at him from the glass.
He stepped under the water and pulled the shower door closed. He used the tea tree oil soap from the dish, luxuriating in the lather and mild scent. It soothed him, but he had no idea why. Closing his eyes, he was shocked when it brought up images of Beau. His slightly crooked nose and full lips, the small turn to his eyeteeth—all of it fell to the background when his stunningly deep blue eyes forced their way forward, making Dante wonder what they hid. The water was hot, but Dante shivered for a second at what those eyes might have seen and comprehended.
No one asked him anything unless they wanted something from him. He wasn’t invited to dinner to discuss deals. People made appointments, came, and then left as quickly as their legs and cars could carry them. Beau had asked him to dinner, and for the thousandth time, Dante wondered what it meant.
Without realizing it, he’d slipped back out of the water and had soaped his chest and belly, his hands dipping lower until his fingers wrapped around and slid along his now-throbbing length. As long as he kept his eyes closed, he saw Beau looking back at him, eyes intensely watching his, lips curling upward, parting slightly. Dante wondered what they tasted like, what they’d feel like against his, on his skin, around him, sliding deeper. But it was what they’d be like when Dante took possession of them, sliding his tongue between them, taking Beau in hand, watching his eyes as they turned the color of the deepest water, and the tiniest hint of the word please on his lips, that sent Dante over the edge.
Breathing deeply, he placed one hand on the tile wall to steady himself, water cascading over him, washing away the soap and everything else. Finally, once he could move again, Dante turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. He used the luxurious towels to dry his still-tingling skin before entering his bedroom and starting to dress.
The pants Roberts had laid out were dark gray but soft, and the shirt—silk that shimmered over his chest, caressing it like a lover—made him close his eyes once again. He hadn’t been touched in that way in so very long. Dante didn’t deserve it and never would again. He pulled on his socks, woven from bamboo fibers, and then slipped on his shoes.
Roberts knocked and came inside to look him over. “Yes. That will do very nicely.”
“This is a business meeting,” Dante groaned, but Roberts merely cleared his throat and waited. It was so annoying. “Yes?”
“I never thought you were that obtuse.” Roberts left the room, pulling the door closed, and Dante growled into the empty space. If Roberts was going to be matchmaking, Dante was going to have to put him in his place, fast.
He strode to the door, pulled it open with more force than was necessary, and barreled out into the hall toward the stairs. He took them at damn near a run, building up a head of steam, then came to a halt in the entrance hall when he saw Roberts taking Beau’s jacket.
Dante had seen him in that god-awful, ill-fitting tuxedo, as well as those terrible clothes he wore at the Center that looked like they’d been chosen by a blind man feeling his way through a jumbled-up secondhand clothing store. But the plain, light blue button-down that hugged his upper arms just a touch and the light charcoal pants that hugged his hips and accentuated his narrow waist displayed just what Beau had been hiding. He might not have been handsome in the classic way, but he was eye-catching, and when Dante’s gaze reached his eyes, the energy in them, like waves on the water, took his breath away.
“Thank you for coming,” Dante said, extending his arm toward the living room.
Beau clutched a bottle of wine in his hands as though it were a life preserver. “Thank you for having me.” He handed Dante the bottle, and Roberts stepped forward, but Dante shook his head once and carried it with him into the living room. “I wasn’t sure what to bring to….” Beau quieted as he looked around the room. “Holy cow.” He lifted his gaze, mouth hanging open. “I’ve seen things like this in books but never in person.”
“My great-grandfather started the porcelain works, and he built the house as a twenty-fifth anniversary gift for his wife. Well, actually, he let her build it. Apparently my great-grandmother had a love for architecture, and she designed the house. I’m told th
is room was one of her favorites. She adored rich woods and used them throughout this floor.” The focal point of the room was a grand fireplace, surrounded in hand-painted tiles specifically designed for the house and executed at the works. The surround included a wide mantel that went all the way to the ceiling. Next to it were two pedestals in marble with large bronzes of Greek gods. The walnut display cases on the far end of the room held examples of the decorative porcelains they’d produced over the decades, including some of the earliest and rarest pieces that collectors would kill for now. In short, this room was designed to impress.
Dante set the wine on the coffee table and motioned Beau to one of the large, overstuffed club chairs. His great-grandmother had them custom-made for this room, and they had been reupholstered over the years. And as Dante sat down, he remembered how much he loved them.
“I appreciate you having me over.” Beau sat stiffly, his back straight and hands clenched. “I have some ideas for some new programs…. We offer counseling and treatment at the Center, working with two local doctors, but I’d really like to be able to have a doctor—a psychiatrist—on staff. The programs we have are ones to support people’s treatment and recovery. I’d like to be able to offer access to quality primary mental health to people who can’t afford it.”
Dante raised an eyebrow. “That’s very ambitious.”
“Yes, and it would take the support required to hire a staff doctor, which is expensive. I’d like to look to Baltimore or Washington to recruit someone, along with a psychiatric nurse and even a medical practitioner to act as support. I have a feeling that once these services become available, they will be in great demand.” Beau cleared his throat. “I want to say that I’m not asking you to write a check for this. A free ride isn’t what I’m talking about. You’re the town’s most prominent citizen, though, so your support would be invaluable.”
Dante cleared his throat, trying to remove the lump that wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t say how much it pleased him that Beau wasn’t simply asking him to write a check, like so many others thought he should. “I don’t know what the town would think about that.” As soon as he’d said it, he wished he’d kept his thought to himself. “The Foundation could certainly provide you with help. We have people who could work with you to write grant applications, and we could pledge some startup funds that would boost your applications.”
