by Lily Morton
“Oh, are you surprised?” Max says sweetly. “It’s hard to tell on a Thursday after the botox has kicked in.”
I want to high five this man and kiss his face off.
Patrick reddens. “Well, it’s something you could do with, Max. Faces give away so many things that we try to hide. Just think of what you could let slip with your lined complexion.” He directs a sweet smile at me. “It makes a man think. Wouldn’t you say so, Felix?”
“I thought you’d been told not to think because it gave you wrinkles,” I say, trying to stifle my unease. Something is going on here, and I have a suspicion it’s got something to do with me. My face gets hotter. It really isn’t fucking nice to be the only person who hasn’t got a clue about what’s going on.
My suspicion is confirmed when Max shoots me an awkward look and then stares accusingly at Zeb, who immediately reddens.
“Really, Patrick?” Max says, still staring hard at Zeb. "It’s so nice that you’ve been allowed an opinion on things. Personal things.”
Zeb reddens. “It’s not what you’re thinking,” he says.
“Save it,” Max snaps. “You ready?” he asks abruptly, glancing at me. There’s something working behind his eyes. He raises one eyebrow.
I jump hurriedly to my feet. “Yes, of course.”
“Aww, that’s lovely,” Patrick purrs. “An accommodating man. God knows, Max is in need of one after all these years of being in—”
“That’s enough, Patrick.” Zeb’s voice is like a gunshot.
Patrick jerks but doesn’t exactly look chastised. “As you wish, Zeb.” He shoots me a spiteful look. “It’s good to see you getting what you deserve, Felix,” he says sweetly.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Max says angrily.
Patrick holds up his hands in defence. “Just that it’s great to see Felix with someone. He’s very young, and he’s been on his own for so long. What he really needs is a decent man. Do you know any, Max?”
Zeb grabs his arm. “We need to talk,” he says grimly.
Patrick laughs as he follows Zeb into his office, and the door closes behind them.
A brief but very full silence falls, and then Max turns on his heels. “You ready?” he asks curtly.
I scurry after him as he walks out. Neal’s Yard is full of sunshine which seems to bounce off the psychedelic colours of the buildings’ paintwork. It has a busy, cheerful vibe with people sitting at tables chatting and laughing or wandering around taking pictures. I follow Max, who’s walking with a fierce sort of determination out of the yard towards the main road.
“Max.” I finally catch up to him, and, for some reason, I make a grab for his hand. I don’t know what I expect. He’s never initiated this sort of romantic gesture before. He’ll hug me, but that’s about it outside of the bedroom.
Maybe I’m hoping he’ll return my touch, give my fingers a squeeze and tell me what’s going on because Zeb’s words are still ringing in my ears about how Max might be developing feelings for me.
What I don’t hope for is to have Max jerk and shove my hand away like I’m a cockroach who’s landed on him. But that’s what happens.
I stop dead and stare at him, my stomach awash in acid.
Max glances down at me and his face twists. “No,” he says quickly as I turn back toward the office. He grabs my hand, and I stand rigidly, facing away from him. “No, wait, Felix. I’m sorry.”
I swallow hard, still not looking at him. “It’s fine,” I say quickly. “I think for some reason this day has gone downhill. I’ll see you whenever you’re around, okay?”
“No, please, Felix.”
The plea in his voice catches at me, and I turn reluctantly to face him.
He looks imploringly at me, a tortured expression on his face. “I’m sorry. That was really shitty of me.”
I make myself shrug. My face feels hot with embarrassment and hurt. “No big deal,” I say stiffly.
“It is a big deal,” he bursts out. A group of girls glances at us as they pass and they giggle. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he says in a lower voice.
“You can’t,” I say, glad that my voice is icing over.
“Really?” He looks hard at me, his eyes dark and turbulent.
“What is going on? What was that conversation about? It felt like you, Zeb, and Patrick were talking in code.” I breathe in to stop my flow of words.
He shrugs. “Patrick doesn’t like me.”
“Really? What a surprise.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Patrick doesn’t like anyone unless they’re his mother.”
We both shudder, and a small smile crosses his face. He looks relieved at my tone.
“Perish the thought,” he says solemnly. “That woman is one ducking stool short of a medieval pond.”
Unbidden, I laugh, and his expression lightens even more.
“I am sorry, Felix,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
“Why did you?”
He looks torn. “You caught me by surprise going to hold my hand.” I flinch, and he carries on talking quickly. “You know I’m not into romantic crap like that. And I suppose I was also still a bit surprised that you and Zeb are connected.”
I lean against the whitewashed wall of the nearby building and take a deep breath. The air is filled with the scent of roses from a nearby basket of flowers. I ask, “And is that a problem?”
He hesitates in his response for a beat too long.
I straighten from the wall. “Well, maybe this is a bit of a wake-up call.”
“No,” he says quickly. “It’s not a problem. Just a bit of a surprise. Like two pieces of my world are colliding.”
I stare at him. A piece of his world? Something inside me softens. I want to hoard it and examine it later. And I decide it would be best to do that without him stumbling into more unchecked and possibly cruel words.
“Well, I think lunch is a bit of a washout,” I say. “Did you need me for anything? Because I’m going to bugger off back to the office.”
“And we’re okay?” he asks.
I take a few moments to consider my response. “I don’t think we’re anything,” I say finally. “So, I’m not sure why you’re concerned.” The words feel like ash in my mouth, wrong and dry. I draw in a deep and hopefully unobtrusive breath. “Sure you don’t want to finish it?” I make myself say lightly, even though it’s the very last thing I want.
His expression becomes stricken. “No,” he says quickly. “No, I don’t want that.” I exhale in relief, wanting to sag against the wall. “I’m sorry it came across that way,” he says. “I guess I was in a funny mood anyway, and Patrick always has a detrimental effect on me.” I grimace sympathetically, but he’s still talking. “I got an invite today,” he says, staring far too hard into the shop window next to him.
“Oh,” I say cautiously. “To make a speech?” He seems to get those sorts of offers three or four times a day.
“No.” He shuffles uncomfortably. “I’m going to be the best man at a wedding.”
“Well, that’s nice.” I hesitate. I’m really at sea. Why is he telling me this? Then realisation dawns. “Oh,” I say before I can stop my fucking mouth. “Did you want me to go with you?”
He jerks his head up, his expression utterly discomposed and startled.
My stomach sinks. Obviously not.
“Never mind,” I say quickly, forcing a careless laugh. “Wrong end of the stick.”
Once again, I go to turn away, and, once again, he grabs my hand. “Wait,” he says, and then more words tumble out. “Maybe you could come. It would be nice to have you with me, and the wedding is in Cornwall, which is lovely.”
I stare at him. That all sounded far too much like a question for it to be flattering. “I’ve never been to Cornwall before,” I say without thinking.
“Really?”
“Never had any cash. I don’t think I’ve even been out of London apart from a trip to Norfolk to visit a rel
ative of my dad’s.”
Something crosses his face. Something strong and fierce. “Then you come with me,” he says in a voice full of emotion. “Come with me to the wedding.”
I eye him dubiously, and when he gazes back at me without flinching, I essay a small smile. “That might be nice,” I say.
His sudden laughter chases the unfamiliar emotions from his face. “Then it’s a date.”
“I think we’ve skipped rather quickly over a date and ended up on a dirty weekend,” I say demurely, glad he can’t hear the hammering of my heart. “Goodness, I hope you don’t get the wrong idea about me. I’m not that type of boy.”
“Are you sure? That’s disappointing.” He gestures toward the end of the road. “How about we go to lunch, and I’ll tell you the details?”
I nod slowly, considering his mood change. Actually, all of his moods today have been uncharacteristic. Normally he’s very even-tempered.
With a thrill, I wonder whether he wants to ask me to change our relationship. Zeb is right. Things have changed between us. Maybe Max wants to date and he’s nervous about asking me.
“So, whose wedding are we going to?” I ask as we turn and start to walk along the road.
He stares ahead. “My best friend Ivo.”
I look at him. That name seems to ring a bell in my head. I wonder where I’ve heard it before but then dismiss the thought and hasten after him.
The lunch is easy and full of our usual laughter. Still, even though Max is fully present, laughing and joking and talking a mile a minute, I get the impression that those odd feelings from earlier are still there, like a whirlpool under the water waiting to suck us under.
He leaves me at the door of the agency with a promise to pick me up later and a kiss that’s warm on my lips and tastes of the strawberries he had for dessert.
I watch him walk down the road. A few people take notice of his tall, wide-shouldered frame as he goes past. And then he’s lost in a patch of shadow that feels somehow ominous.
I jump as Zeb says from behind me, “So, you and Max?”
I spin around to find him leaning against the wall by the door. “Shit, you frightened me.” His gaze remains fixed on me, and I say hesitantly, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind about what?” His expression turns cautious.
“Well, your employee is dating your stepbrother.”
He shakes his head. “I wouldn’t mind you being involved with anyone I know, Felix. You’re brilliant, and they’d be lucky to have you. Max is bloody lucky to have you.” He sounds almost angry. I narrow my eyes, but he carries on speaking in a too-careful voice. “So, you’re dating each other now?”
I startle and then laugh. “Shit, I never thought I’d use that word in connection with me, but… Well, he’s just invited me to his best friend’s wedding, so maybe that's a good start.”
“Ivo’s wedding?”
“Yes. Why?” I don’t like the sharp breath he takes.
“Oh, no reason.” He runs one finger down the paint on the door, looking at it intently. “I just thought you said you’d never date?”
“Maybe it’s time I started. At least, that’s what you said I should do earlier.”
“I did, didn’t I?” He manages a smile after I give him a pointed look. “That’s great. I’m pleased for you.”
He makes his way into the building, and I look after him, puzzled. He’s lying and I can’t figure out why.
Chapter Seven
One Month Later
Felix
I run my finger appreciatively over the leather seat of Max’s sporty red Audi R8. I’d been thankful to see the car when he’d picked me up this morning, because I’d fully anticipated having to make the journey to Cornwall on the back of Max’s bike. My arse hadn’t been created for that punishment.
Over the last month, I’ve grown to love the bike though. It’s a representation of how things have changed between Max and me. Instead of meeting me in a hotel bar and then taking me upstairs to shag, he’s devoted his time to showing me as many places beyond London as he can. I have a sneaking suspicion that his new interest in sightseeing was inspired by my revelation that day in Neal’s Yard that I’d never been outside London.
We’d travelled by bike to Camber Sands and walked along the beach, talking and laughing while the cool sea rolled over our feet on the sand flats. Later, we’d sat at a small seaside pub with wood panelling, drinking white wine and feeling the salt sting our faces as the sun sank into the water in a ball of reds and purples.
On another memorable occasion, we caught the ferry to the Scilly Isles. We didn’t do anything over the top, just walked along the beach and wandered around the villages and stopped for a meal. I’d loved every minute. It had felt a bit like one of those romcoms my mum loved so much and I used to sneer at. A few times, I almost turned to search for the cameras.
Max has been as passionate as ever this month, but also tender—absorbed in me and fascinated by whatever I’ve had to say. However, at times I’ve chanced to see a brooding expression on his face that should have made me wary. Still, I have a horrible suspicion that no matter how hard I try to pull back from the edge, my heart has already sent me spiralling over a cliff.
I can’t help it. He’s just so… Max. That's the only way I can describe what he is to me. He’s Max.
I turn my head to watch him as he drives. My easygoing, passionate companion of the last month seems to have vanished. He’s staring at the road; his fingers are sure on the wheel but his eyes are turbulent. He hasn’t spoken since we stopped at a pub for lunch and even then he was quiet. I have the unnerving impression that if an alien beamed me up from the front seat, Max wouldn’t even notice.
I swallow hard and shift position again, suddenly wanting his attention on me desperately. When he’s in a good mood, it’s like bathing in the warmth of the summer sun, but today his mood has gone behind the clouds, and I can’t seem to shake the feeling of cold.
He doesn’t even acknowledge my movement, and I open my mouth to launch into some desperate conversation. Luckily for my dignity, he flicks the indicator and turns into a drive guarded by huge stone posts on which two fierce-looking stone eagles perch.
“Fancy,” I say.
“What?”
I narrow my eyes as he continues to stare fixedly ahead. “Oh, nothing,” I say casually. “Just thought you should know that I’ve been naked for the last hour.” No response. “It created quite a stir in the petrol station. If a riot ensues, I’ll expect you to protect me.”
“Hmm.” He scratches his chin and then turns his head quickly, as if feeling my gimlet gaze. “Sorry, did you say something?”
I wince but pin a smile on my face. “It’s nothing. I just—” A huge Elizabethan house has appeared in front of us, its gold-coloured brickwork gleaming in the late afternoon sun. “Holy shit, is this where the wedding is?” I turn to Max. “You said it was being held in one of the groom’s homes, you piss-taking wanker.”
A welcome smile touches his wide mouth. “This is the groom’s home.”
“What?”
“Ivo is marrying Henry, who happens to be the younger brother of Silas, the current Earl of Ashworth. Henry, Ivo, and Silas grew up here.”
I stare at him for a long second. “Oh, I remember now. Henry and Ivo are stepbrothers. A bit like Dynasty.”
“Were stepbrothers,” he corrects me. “For a year or so I think. Their parents divorced almost as quickly as they got married.”
He pulls up with a flourish outside the house. He turns off the engine and unbuckles his seat belt. As he opens the door, he looks over at me. I haven’t moved. He asks, “You coming in or just sitting in the car for the weekend?”
“I think I might sit here,” I say faintly, still staring at the house.
He settles back into the seat. “You alright?”
“I’m not sure,” I say desperately. “This isn’t what I was expecting.” I glance at him. He’s f
ocussed on me as though seeing me for the first time today. “I just don’t think I’ll fit in here.” This is so unlike me. I don’t confide weakness to anyone. It gives people a target to aim for. But with Max I usually feel safe.
His face softens. “Felix, you’d fit in anywhere. You’re clever and funny and extremely smart-mouthed.” He traces my lips with one long finger. “And if you’re really nervous, just do what I do.”
“You want me to get drunk and sleep with whoever isn’t nailed down.”
He laughs, his dark eyes warming and lighting from within. “Not at this time of the day,” he says primly. “No, just fake it.”
“Fake it?” I stare at him in disbelief. “That is your advice? Fake it.” I shake my head. “Outrageous.”
“Not really.” He laughs. “It’s what I’ve done all my life. Project enough of a confident exterior, and people will believe it. They’ll believe anything if it’s said with surety. Even if we say it to ourselves.”
“Some days I really feel you’d be happier running a cult.”
That startles a laugh out of him, and he suddenly pulls me into his arms, hugging me and dropping a smacking kiss on my face. “They’d have very stunning robes,” he says, blowing a raspberry in my neck. “And I’d put you in charge of the tranquillity classes, seeing as you’re so very zen.” I brush him off, laughing but warming inside. Some days I reckon I must look like a sunflower tilting to face wherever he is.
“Come on,” he says. “I’m here. Zeb’s coming later. These are nice people.” He pauses. “Well, apart from Patrick and Henry’s mother. You can’t have everything.” I laugh and he strokes my hair back from my face. “You’re going to enjoy the weekend, and people will love you. Nothing is going to go wrong.”
“I can tell you’ve never read any Greek tragedies,” I say sourly.
He laughs as he gets out of the car and opens the boot to get the luggage. The huge front door of the house opens, and a man appears. I blink. He’s stunning. Dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, he’s tall and broad-shouldered with blond hair that falls in waves down to his shoulders.
