The Spindle's Curse: A modern mm romance inspired by Sleeping Beauty (Ever After Book 1)

by TL Gehr

  I feel a strange mix of emotions looking at these titles. I already know that he’s smart and that he cares about people, and these books underscore the truth of that. But the more my admiration for Philip swells, the more I question what he can possibly see in me. My chest aches with how wonderful he is and how little I have to offer him. Once more I’m haunted by Chase’s words.

  Tell me about your new boyfriend, Philip. The one you found in the park. Tell me, what do you talk about? You’re not even the same species.

  I turn my back on the library and try the door across the hall. This opens up into a space that is probably half the size of The Spindle. There’s a bar, a pool table, and at the far end french doors leading out onto another terrace, this one big enough to host a barbeque. This is where Philip hangs out with his friends.

  Back in New Paltz, back when I had friends, we rented a little one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of town. We were all a bunch of druggies, so none of us had the cash to live alone. There was only one bed and one couch we picked up off the sidewalk and there were four of us. We made it work. We even had some good times when we weren’t high (and even a few when we were). That place was always a mess of empty bottles, pizza boxes and drug paraphernalia. It was always a mess of people too. Lovers, dealers, other friends, siblings.

  That entire place was smaller than this room.

  “Mister Rose?”

  I turn at the voice. It’s Emma and she has two dry-cleaning bags over her arm. How did she possibly get done shopping so quickly? I must look like I’m snooping. My skin crawls with shame.

  “Bathroom?” I ask.

  “Of course, this way.”

  She leads me back into Philip’s room, presses a button on the wall that I didn’t even see and one of the wooden paneled walls slides aside to reveal a huge bathroom. There’s a claw-foot tub and a shower with a head bigger than a basketball hoop. It’s all done up in tasteful earthen tones. There’s a fricken bidet. My eyes are drawn to the marble sink, where Philip’s toiletries are stacked neatly on little wooden shelves.

  “I should shower,” I say, but even as I manage to get those words out, I know I’m not going to manage the actual deed. There’s no way I could get undressed.

  “I’ll wait out here for you,” Emma says.

  “No.” I cringe as I turn back to her. The blood rushes to my face. I can’t ask this, but if I don’t her efforts will be wasted. I can’t do this on my own.

  “I’m gay,” I say.

  She tilts her head and offers a little smile as if to say I hadn’t guessed, but she waits for me to speak.

  “I need help.” It kills me to ask. The only person who should be undressing me is Philip, but he’s downstairs.

  Understanding dawns in her eyes and she sets down the dry-cleaning bags and steps forward to help me out of my clothes.

  “I’m sorry.” Humiliation burns through me. I shat Philip out for asking her to go shopping, now I’m asking her to strip me. God, Brian.

  “I’m happy to,” she assures me, but I wonder what she must be thinking.

  She helps me lift my shirt over my head and her hand flies to her mouth when she sees the bruising on my chest. “Oh, you poor man. This is why you can’t speak?”

  I nod. Thankfully she doesn’t request more of an explanation. She averts her eyes as she helps me out of the rest of my clothes and then waits outside for me.

  I’d love to linger under the hot water of this incredible shower for longer, but I know we’re pressed for time. My nostrils fill with the scent of Philip when I use his shower gel and I recall him whispering how he used my deo and would smell like me the whole day… after he used my shower. My shower that isn’t even a shower—it’s a crappy showerhead over a tub. He stood in my bath to clean himself when he’s used to this. The shame already permeating my body feels so thick I can hardly move. Only knowing that Philip will be waiting for me gives me strength. There’s a stack of fluffy white towels on a shelf beside the shower and I take the top one and step out.

  Emma holds out two outfits—one in her left hand and one in her right, “Pink or blue?”

  The one on the left is cream-colored slacks, a pink turtleneck and a white vinyl jacket with a collar and studs. I point instantly to the other one. The blue one. Navy slacks, a preppy v-neck sweater over a white collared shirt.

  “Ah, a fan of the classics,” she says as she slips it from the hanger. I only notice then that the v-neck has a subtle leopard print. Okay, so maybe I didn’t need to tell her I was gay.

  “How did you get—”

  “Shh, don’t speak.” She helps me into the white shirt. It’s crisp and freshly ironed. It smells like… laundry.

  “I have a friend who works for the designer Ford Ovadia. You heard of him?”

  I shake my head.

  “Well, he lives two blocks over. I asked her to bring some of the looks he showed at Fashion Week this year. You’re small enough.”

  “He won’t mind?”

  “Pfft. He’s probably forgotten about them already. They all go into this giant storeroom. He’ll be working on next season already.”

  Wow, she really is a miracle worker. “Thank you.”

  “It’s really no problem. It’s my job to make the Arrigos’ lives as easy as possible.”

  “I’m not Arrigo.”

  “Not yet.”

  My heart bounces painfully. How can she say something like that? Can’t she see what I am? If I’m lucky I’ll be able to call Philip my boyfriend a little longer. That’s all.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that Mister Rose. I live with these people, you think I don’t notice their moods?” She puts my hand on her shoulder while she helps me into the pants. “I knew something had changed. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen Philip smile the way he has the last few weeks. I was curious when we’d get to meet the man responsible.” She straightens. “Don’t tell him I told you, but the other day I caught him singing.”

  That I can’t picture. “Singing?”

  “Okay, humming. Which is a big deal for someone who’s been bummed out for six months. And I can tell you, Mister Rose, that he’s sleeping better too, and eating.” She’s smiling but when she says that I remember Chase’s accusations about the eating disorder and I worry again. Not eating better, just eating. Bummed out, or depressed? Oh Philip…

  Emma straightens me out and turns me around to look in the mirror. I blink. Instead of a sallow addict with wide eyes, sharp cheeks and concave ribs, I see a slender man with all the fine lines of a runway model. Is this really the difference that expensive clothes make?

  Or is it something else? Good food, good sleep, good sex. If I’ve been good for Philip, it’s nothing compared to how good he’s been for me.

  “Hmm,” Emma says, “I forgot about the shoes.”

  But once we have the cuffs of the fancy pants folded over the tops of my boots, they actually look okay. I look okay. This might be fine. If Philip’s managed to appease his father, this might not be a disaster.

  Emma escorts me downstairs. I like her more and more with each moment. I was terrified of having to walk into the family meeting alone.

  As we near the sitting room, we can hear raised voices. She throws me a concerned look, but I can’t stop myself from continuing forward. Call it morbid curiosity, I want to know what they’re saying.

  And then I don’t.

  Surely, with that hospital bill, he should be well enough to go home, or are you going to tell me he doesn’t have a home?

  He has a home.

  Your father raises a valid point, darling. If this man is feeling unwell, it is his own doing and not at all our responsibility.

  I press my eyes shut as I listen to Philip defending me, as I hear the pain in his voice when he tells them that I died. I died, in his arms. He sounds like he’s crying and the ache of it floods through me. I did that to him. I caused that.

  Emma clears her throat.

  The
shouting stops and they all look at me. I’m cold all over. “Um… I’m just…” I gesture to the door. “Thank you. I’m going to go.”

  I start for the door, my own vision blurring. I just need to get out, call a cab, go back to the apartment. I can’t be a burden on this wonderful man. Not financially, not emotionally. Screw him humming a happy tune. That was before. She didn’t know about today.

  Philip rushes past me and blocks my way. “Wait, please wait.” His voice is pure anguish.

  “I can’t…” I want to explain but the physical pain is too great.

  He takes my hands and he pulls me close. He wraps his warm arms around me. “I’m sorry, you weren’t meant to hear that.”

  He’s always apologizing, always worrying about me.

  “Don’t want to… make things… difficult.” Shit, the painkillers are upstairs. If I leave now I’ll have to get more. Maybe Cynthia has some. Don’t old people usually have spare medication lying around?

  Cynthia. She must have let Philip in earlier. She must have seen me like that. Will she still want to speak to me?

  Philip doesn’t let go. “If you leave, I go with you. I already told them.”

  “Oh for goodness sake,” his mother says from behind me. “This scene is really quite unnecessary. Are you going to introduce me to your man, Philip? Or are we rubes?”

  I turn around and I get my first real look at the infamous Arrigo heiress. Philip must get his height from his father because she’s a tiny woman with fine features like a bird. Her dark red hair is swept back in an elegant knot, showing off pearl earrings, but what strikes me most is Philip’s blue eyes. In her face, they look sharp and hard.

  While Philip stammers introductions, she looks me up and down and doesn’t offers her hand. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to bow and offer mine or something. I am a rube. His father is at her shoulder, but I avoid his gaze. He’s made it clear what he thinks of me, both this morning and with what I overheard.

  “Did you tell Hristina to set a place for your guest, Philip?” his mother asks.

  “I did.”

  “Well then, we should go through to the dining room before our meal gets cold.”

  Philip’s hand slips into mine as we move down the hall. I hear him exhale.

  The dining room is opposite the sitting room and it’s swish enough to host state dinners. There’s a huge wooden table that must seat at least twenty, decorated with fresh roses. The carpet looks Persian and there’s another chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. This is where Philip eats every day. On Monday I got him an egg salad bagel for breakfast.

  A serving girl points out where I’m to sit and Philip only lets go of my hand to pull out my chair for me.

  The dinner is awkward AF. We have a crabcake starter that I don’t taste at all because I’m so nervous, and then Philip’s mother sends back the mains—hake with cheese sauce—because she isn’t in the mood for fish today. Then we sit in silence while the chef is forced to quickly make something else for us.

  Eventually, Philip’s father asks, “So how long do you intend to stay?”

  It’s like the tension in the room is a balloon and he’s just popped it. Philip answers, stiffly, “As I mentioned, father, Brian will be staying until he is well.”

  “I was merely asking how long you expect that to be.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize space in my bed was at such a premium. I’ll be sure to free it up as soon as possible.”

  “Philip!” His mom sounds genuinely shocked. Maybe this sarcastic, snippy Philip is just as new to them as he is to me. I kind of like him.

  Philip and his father stare each other down across the table. Then Philip says, “Would you like me to feed and water him out of my own wages?”

  “That’s enough,” Mrs. Arrigo snaps. “Honestly. What’s gotten into you?”

  “Besides the obvious?” Philip asks her.

  I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Was that a dirty joke? Was that a dirty joke to his mother? Was that him speaking back to his controlling, powerful mother with a dirty joke? I half expect her to slap him, then he drops his gaze.

  “I apologize, that was uncalled for.”

  “I should leave,” I say again. My chest feels hollow with shame. I should have known better than to think clothes would make any difference at all. They see me as I am.

  “You’re not leaving,” Philip puts a hand on my leg as if to hold me in place. He looks up at his father again. “Brian will stay with me. We’ll take our meals upstairs, if that’s what you wish. You won’t see him. And as for the situation with The Spindle, I appreciate your help, Father, but it is my own endeavor and I will see to it from here.”

  At that moment, Emma sweeps in. She’s holding a pile of magazines. “Forgive the intrusion, I thought you might want some reading material while you wait for Hristina to prepare your meal. It’s subscription week.”

  I glance at Philip to see if this is normal.

  He explains under his breath, “Mom subscribes to all the magazines. They arrive a week before they come out in stores.”

  He watches Emma distribute them with that little line between his eyebrows. She gives Philip’s father a copy of The Hollywood Reporter and offers Philip’s mother the choice between InStyle and Vanity Fair.

  Mrs. Arrigo waves her off. “Really, this is hardly the time for…”

  She trails off as she catches something on the cover of the Vanity Fair. Then she snatches the mag out of Emma’s hand without so much as a “thank you”. While she pages furiously through it, Emma winks at me. Did Philip see that?

  He’s gone tense. I reach for his hand under the table and our fingers brush just as his mom exclaims, “In last year’s Chanel!”

  “What is it?” Philip’s father asks, casting aside his own magazine.

  She holds up a hand for silence as her eyes move rapidly across the page. From where I’m sitting all I can see is that there are lots of dark photos. Then she reads out loud, “Hosted by Chase Shaw, a slew of fashionable faces were in attendance at this swanky new venue in Queens. While dark music throbbed, starlets mingled with fashionistas.” She reads out a few names I don’t recognize, then shifts her emphasis. “The most surprising of the guests was, perhaps, Philip Arrigo, the billionaire heir and former flame of the host himself, who has been flying under the radar since the couple split. Any speculation that this celebrity duo would be rekindling their passions was put to rest immediately as Arrigo had a new mystery man on his arm.”

  This is what Philip wanted. It’s why he invited me to that party in the first place. Chase probably paid a fortune for this media coverage, only to have the limelight stolen by Philip.

  She continues, her voice pitching upwards, “While Arrigo refused to answer questions about his new beau, sources close to him have told us this handsome stranger is here to stay. Are we hearing wedding bells?” Mrs. Arrigo holds out the magazine to her husband. “There’s a photograph.”

  Wedding bells?

  “Would you like something to read?” Emma asks casually. She’s on our side of the table now. I didn’t hear her move. She passes Philip the InStyle. His hand trembles as he takes it.

  “What’s wrong?” I whisper. Is he upset about the article? Maybe he didn’t want the world to think we were serious. Am I the lie that went too far?

  He presses his lips together as he opens the magazine directly to the celebrity section. There’s a photo of us there. We’re dancing. My hand is on his chest and I’m smiling up at him as if he’s the center of my universe, and he’s looking down at me with a tender fondness that makes my insides melt.

  “This is how I found out,” he says, in a voice meant only for me. “It was at dinner.”

  About Chase’s affairs. “Oh god.”

  “The photos were splashed across this section. There was one, taken with a telephoto lens, of him on the balcony of a place in Malibu and there was a naked man on the bed behind him. It was ages ago now. How do
es it still affect me so much?”

  “Uh, because… you’re not a… psychopath?”

  The barest hint of a smile crosses his lips as he traces a finger over the photo of us and reads the caption, which is similar to what was in the other mag. “This is nice though, isn’t it?”

  Warmth floods my chest. He’s not ashamed. “Yeah.”

  Now his parents are speaking in a shortcode I don’t understand. “At the very least Save the Children. It’s too soon. If he’s not there, there will be talk.”

  Philip tunes in to what they’re saying. “You also promised we’d attend Good Hearts this year, didn’t you?” He looks over his shoulder. “Emma?”

  Emma pulls out her phone and checks the calendar. “Yes. You RSVPed in July.” Then she adds, “Should I request an additional plate?”

  Ooh. Oh, I get it.

  If I’m not at these upcoming charity events after these articles, then people will wonder why. The press will start asking questions. They can’t kick me out because they need me.

  Emma really is brilliant. She orchestrated this by bringing in the magazines. How did she even think of that? When?

  Philip smiles a proper smile with dimples and I would hug Emma right now if I could. “So I suppose Brian should stay here after all?”

  37

  Brian

  I wake up before the sunlight finds Philip’s room. I’m on my back, deep in a nest of blankets, and I discover Philip curled up beside me with one arm thrown over my stomach and his forehead pressed to my bicep. It’s a position that’s both possessive and protective, as if he’s declaring, even in sleep, that I’m his.

  Wedding bells.

  I close my eyes again and wait for the rolling wave of emotion to pass. I’ve never felt like this before, like a little boat swept up in feelings too big for me. I never imagined I could want anything more than I wanted smack. What deep, secret desire is this that Philip’s uncovered? A little picket fence, a partner… a family?