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

by TL Gehr

  I’ve always scorned marriage, hated the idea of two people tied together for all eternity. I saw what it did to Dad and it wasn’t even an option for me when I was growing up. By the time the Marriage Equality Act passed, I saw myself as anti-establishment, a deviant, and all the men I’d been with only underscored that I was right. I couldn’t trust anyone, I couldn’t rely on anyone. But this man with his arm around me, his face slack and vulnerable in sleep… this is a good man, a kind man, a man worthy of utmost devotion.

  I know better than to imagine it. His parents would never allow it to happen, even if by some miracle he wanted it. Still, I start to picture what it would be like. A little townhouse, somewhere outside the city, cooking dinner together and sitting on a couch to watch Netflix, sharing a bed like this every night. He’d be a nurse and I’d be… well, I’d finally finish school and I’d get a decent job somewhere doing something satisfying that didn’t involve numbers. It seems possible now. In a world where Philip can want me, anything is possible.

  Philip kisses me awake. I must have miraculously drifted off again (that never happens, thanks insomnia). He’s still in his pajamas—because rich people sleep in pajamas, not just old band shirts and boxers—and his hair is all mushed.

  “What do you want for breakfast?”

  This feels so much a part of my earlier fantasies that I picture him going through to a little yellow kitchen and making it for me. I smile slowly. “You.”

  It still hurts to speak, but it’s not as bad as yesterday.

  Philip grins. “None of that until you’re better. I usually have poached eggs. Do you like poached eggs?”

  “Never had one.”

  “What? Never?”

  “Fancy-ass rich folk breakfast.” I mumble and I reach up to brush hair from his face. “I’ll try it.”

  “Poached eggs aren’t rich people food.”

  I hum noncommittally. He picks up a cordless phone on the bedside table and speaks into it, like he’s ordering room service at a hotel. Then he gets up and opens the curtains. I squint against the sudden onslaught of sunlight.

  “I usually take breakfast out on the terrace.”

  I push myself up on my elbows. “Like a fancy-ass… rich person.”

  “Yes, okay, I know how that sounded. Do you need help getting up?”

  I shake my head but I cringe as pain shoots through my chest when I get to my feet. Whatever the doctor prescribed, it was strong enough to knock me out no problem last night. Although the pasta could have had something to do with that. Hristina (who I assume is the private chef) replaced the fish with a heavenly chicken penne and I may have had three helpings, although Philip did too so I didn’t feel bad about it.

  I join Philip by the window and we gaze out at Central Park while a light breeze teases through the roses.

  “I’ve always liked roses,” he says and he gives me a significant look with a bit of a smirk. “Not that you want to hear about them, but there are some pretty rare species here.”

  “And I’m the rarest.”

  “And the cockiest.” He tugs me gently closer and kisses me.

  “Tell me about your roses,” I say, when our lips part. I may not be a budding horticulturist, but want to hear about his interests.

  He takes me on a tour of the terrace and I love the way his eyes light up when he speaks about his Osirias that are apparently rare and difficult to grow. He’s got a whole bush of them. They’re a strange two-tone. The petals have deep red tops and white underbellies. I can see why he likes them. I upgrade my fantasy to include a garden where he gets to grow as many flowers as he wants.

  By the time we’ve stopped to smell the roses—literally—two servants are setting up the little table with our breakfast.

  It turns out I do like poached eggs. They’re creamy and great on toast. I’m just cleaning the last of the yolk off my plate when Philip says, “I need to talk to you about something.”

  I glance up. His expression is serious enough to make my stomach tense and the rich food churn. I set down my fork. “Okay.”

  “It’s about yesterday.”

  The drugs. Of course he wants to talk about that. “I messed up.” My heart drums. I don’t know how to explain the compulsion, how powerful it is, without just sounding like I’m making excuses. I can’t promise it will never happen again. No matter how badly I want that now, there’s always a chance. I draw a painful breath. “I want to stay clean.”

  Philip shakes his head. “I know, it’s not about that. It’s about how I found you.”

  He puts his phone on the table between us. It looks just like mine, so I have a weird moment of deja vu. Then he puts my phone on the table next to it. Flashy silver twins.

  Philip’s eyebrows draw together. “There’s an app I didn’t tell you about. Not intentionally, I promise. I only realized yesterday.”

  “Philip…” I reach across the table and take his hand to reassure him.

  “Hey, Siri,” he says. “Find Brian’s iPhone.”

  She beeps and responds, “It’s nearby. Busy pinging Brian’s iPhone.”

  My screen flashes with a notice from an app called Find My Phone.

  Philip takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Since your device is registered on my account, I can see where it is at any time. I watched you from my cab on the way to your apartment. I pretty much stalked you. I saw you walking down the block. I saw you… I guess what I must have seen is you buying heroin. It’s really creepy and I’m sorry. I can register you for your own account if you want. I just thought this would be easiest because then you don’t have to pay for data or—shit. I’m really sorry.”

  I pick up my phone and click through to the app. It shows three little icons sitting near Central Park. They’re listed. Philip’s iPhone, Philip’s iPad, Brian’s iPhone. It even tells me the last time Philip used his iPad. “This is pretty cool.”

  “That’s… not what I was expecting you to say.”

  I get up and walk back inside, watching the screen. I can see my dot moving a little away from Philip’s. “It’s accurate too.”

  Philip follows me inside. “You’re not mad?”

  “Hell no. Do you know how many times I get lost in this city? Next time I’m just going to call you and have you direct me. Siri’s okay, but she expects me to know what North is. Who knows which way North is when you’re walking along the street? Are you supposed to carry a compass or something?”

  I deliver all this while gasping for breath so by the end I’m wheezing like an old man. I find my pills and swallow them dry while Philip stares at me from the doorway.

  “You’re really okay with me knowing where you are all the time?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

  Philip just looks at his feet and then I realize. Of course Chase would absolutely freak if Philip had some way of tracking him, because of all the cheating. He was probably one of those who claimed to be a ‘very private man’ just so he had the freedom to screw around.

  I go to Philip and tilt his chin up so our eyes can meet. “I’ve got nothing to hide from you.”

  “You deserve privacy.”

  “If you’d given it to me yesterday I’d be dead.”

  We kiss and we don’t stop kissing until the servants come to clean up our breakfast things.

  The days melt together in a dreamy montage. We cuddle, we eat, we binge-watch Netflix. I sleep. I sleep more than I have in my entire life thanks to those painkillers, and possibly thanks to feeling cozy and safe. On Monday, Philip goes into The Spindle. I offer to go with him, but he says he wants me to rest. He offers to stay, but I say, “You’re short staffed. They need you.” So, he goes to work and then to class. I miss him like hell. I can’t believe how much I miss him. At around five I take out my phone and open that app to watch him go to class. Then I feel guilty and close it. Still, at least I know that if he’s late getting back I can check he’s okay.

  Instead of stalking my boyfriend,
I do something that I should have done days ago, but have been putting off. I call Dad.

  “Brian! I was starting to get worried. Don’t tell me you’ve been holed up with your new man this whole time?”

  “Not the whole time.”

  “Are you all right? You sound strained.”

  Here’s where I tell him I fell off the wagon. Here’s where I tell him I almost died. Here’s where I confess that all the money he spent on rehab was wasted, that all it took was one thing going wrong and I gave in. I can’t do it. I’m a coward. I keep thinking of how he showed that pic of me around Al-Anon and I just can’t do it.

  “Fine. I hurt a rib.”

  “Hurt? What happened? You weren’t mugged were you?”

  Why does everyone keep saying that?

  “No.” I am such an asshole. The first thing that comes to mind is what Philip let his friends believe and I just repeat the lie. “Uh… Philip and I were a little rough. I’m fine.”

  “A little rough?” He sounds suspicious and my insides go cold.

  “Rough sex, Dad. He wouldn’t hurt me intentionally.”

  I can almost see him cringing at the TMI. The room is dim as I pace across the plush carpet. “He’s really nice. I’m staying with him now in this swish apartment.” I tell him about the Arrigos, I tell him about Emma, I tell him everything except the one thing I phoned him to say.

  And he’s so happy, so ecstatically happy for me. I need a distraction from the guilt, so I ask him about things back home. Turns out I’m not the only one who’s been lucky in the love department. He’s started seeing a woman from Al-Anon. I guess the thing keeping him single really was me all along.

  38

  Philip

  The first event on Brian’s social calendar is the Save the Children Annual New York City Gala and he’s a nervous wreck.

  My mother has decided she can’t trust me to choose what to wear anymore after Chase’s party, so she selects our outfits. She puts me in a navy blue Ralph Lauren tuxedo with satin peak lapels, and she puts Brian in a crisp black Dior Homme number that’s tailored in all the right places. He’s sitting on the bed with the iPad, his white satin tie hanging loose and his hair still wet from the shower. It’s started growing out from a number four to soft and spiky, as black as his eyes. God, I love him in a suit. He has no idea how sexy he looks. This is only the second time I’ve seen him in good clothes, and the first time I didn’t get to appreciate him because I was too busy fighting with my parents. The clothes do not maketh the man, but the right clothes do draw out all the best parts of the man. Would I be a stuck-up dickhead if I told him how good he looked right now?

  “Adam ‘Beast’ de Villeneuve will serve as the evening’s honored guest,” he reads out loud. “I don’t even know who that is.”

  I go to sit beside him. “A pro-wrestler. We were at college together.”

  “A pro-wrestler studied Actuarial Science?”

  “No, I think he did Sports Management or something. We had undergrad classes together.” I take the iPad from him and hold his hands in mine. “Brian, nobody expects you to know anyone there. All you need to do is look pretty, and you’ve already got that down pat.”

  I kiss his cheek for emphasis and he lets out a little sigh. I know what he’s really worried about—my parents. True to my word, they haven’t seen or heard him at all in the weeks he’s been here. We’ve stayed in my room with only a couple of excursions to other rooms when they’re not around. We’ve watched movies in the cinema, swum in the heated pool and even made some midnight brownies in the kitchen while everyone else was asleep. They were a disaster and Brian got a case of the giggles and ended up gasping for breath and clutching his injured rib until I insisted we toss the whole lot out. We ended up staying up all night eating the raw batter and talking about everything and nothing.

  It’s been five weeks of bliss, five weeks of holding onto every day, every moment, as tightly as I can. The more I get of him, the more I want of him, even when he wakes me, thrashing and whimpering and I have to soothe him back to sleep, even when he’s grumpy and complaining about something on the news that caught his attention. This time has gone so fast, too fast.

  He grudgingly lets me do his tie, although he insists he does know how. I tell him I like doing things for him and as usual I see that skeptical look in his eye like he doesn’t believe me.

  The party’s in a beautiful hall with marble floors and a live orchestra. I see Adam de Villeneuve at the main table going through cue cards when we walk in, and make a mental note to say hi later if I can.

  My parents split off from us to join their table and I take Brian up to the mezzanine where I know I’ll find ours. My friends are all as beautifully dressed as ever. We take our places just before the speeches begin. Adam talks about the broken foster care system and the next speaker talks about famine in Africa. I keep checking Brian to see if he’s falling asleep, but he’s enthralled. Afterwards, he engages Tabitha in a well-reasoned debate about social services. Jones shoots me a look that asks, “Did you coach him for this?” I shrug to say, “No, I don’t know where this is coming from.”

  Dinner is served and the podium passes to a pair of comedians. Brian makes wry comments under his breath. Gunther sniggers and the two of them engage in an extended repartee that gets dirtier and dirtier until everyone else is in stitches. By the time our dessert plates are cleared, Gunther’s looking at Brian in a way I’d be concerned about if I didn’t trust him as completely as I do.

  This is not at all what I expected. Am I dreaming? Or was I just a judgmental prick assuming that Brian wouldn’t charm my friends? Last time they met he was awkward and nervous, but tonight he’s relaxed. Tonight, I realize, he’s himself.

  We fall into the usual post-dinner conversation of gossip and people watching. Jones points out some celebrities to Brian.

  “Is Chase here?” he asks.

  “No, he doesn’t do the touchy feely charities,” Jones says.

  “Which one of you spoke to Vanity Fair?”

  His question is so plain and shameless that Triston giggles. Brian doesn’t know how this game is played, and that makes me like him even more. “Tabitha,” I answer, so she doesn’t have to.

  He looks at me, “Oh, you knew?”

  “No, but I know her style.”

  Tabitha tsks but doesn’t confirm or deny, as I would expect.

  Brian turns his attention from the dancefloor to her. “You’d just met me. Why did you say that about us being serious?”

  My stomach clenches. I never even asked how he felt about that. Is he angry?

  Tabitha gives him a mild smile. “Oh, it doesn’t matter whether it’s true. What matters is that it got back to Voldemort.”

  “Sending a message that Philip has moved on,” Brian concludes.

  “Precisely. You aren’t upset, are you?”

  Brian looks at me and grins. “You’re kidding, right? Next time though, you have to tell them that the sex is great, that Philip constantly compliments me, and that he’s a gentle giant. Undo some of the toxic shit that asshole spread.”

  I heat with a mixture of happiness and embarrassment. Brian touches my cheek. It must have gone pink.

  About an hour later, when the conversation has slowed and we’re all full and tired, Brian turns to me and says, “Would you like to dance?”

  It’s so surprising that I don’t answer immediately.

  “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I just thought I’d ask.”

  “Do… do you feel up to it?”

  He nods, those dark brows drawing down as he turns his gaze inward. “Should be fine. I’ve been watching and they’re moving slowly, there’s not much activity involved.”

  They’ve been waltzing. “Do you know the steps?”

  He shrugs. “I think I’ll get the hang of it.”

  As we leave the table, Triston calls after us, “Rest in peace Philip’s toes!”

  Down on the dancefloor, Brian
slips into my arms like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You don’t think they’ll mind, do you?”

  “Who, my friends?”

  He rolls his eyes. “No, I mean, two guys dancing. Will it be okay?”

  I didn’t even realize we’re the only gay couple on the dancefloor. I look for Adam automatically, but he’s sitting at his table talking to one of the comedians. “I’ve never had a problem with homophobia at one of these events.”

  Brian nods and steps closer. “Good. This was the only way I could think of to get you alone.”

  My cheeks ache with how much he’s made me smile already tonight and this might be the biggest smile of all. I hold him to me and press my cheek to his to whisper. “This fancy-ass rich people dance is called the waltz.”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, got that from the one-two-three one-two-three, it’s pretty much a meme—sorry.” First toe casualty of the night.

  “Less cockiness, more concentration,” I scold lightly. I count the steps out and he follows. It feels natural doing this with him, like we’ve been dancing together for years. I catch my parents watching us over his shoulder, but I ignore them and enjoy the feel of Brian’s body moving with mine.

  We get back at about midnight with aching feet and heads light from laughter.

  I head into the shower to clean off before bed and to take care of… another problem. Living with Brian has been bliss, yes. Except for one thing. It’s been five weeks of celibacy. Which usually wouldn’t be a problem for me, except almost everything Brian does turns me on.

  Tonight, the combination of seeing him in that suit, his dirty jokes and the way he danced against me has me hornier than I can ever remember being. It’s not the first time this month that I’ve had to bring myself release, but it just might be the most desperate.