and wide. “Sixteen?”
“Thereabouts.”
“You looked twenty-five, at least!”
“Of course. No adult wants to buy cologne and bodywash from a pimply teenager.” He winked.
“How long did you model?”
“About six years. I went to university for about a year when I was, uh, done, but it wasn’t my thing. So a friend—Naomi’s brother, actually—offered me a job on his documentary crew. We, uh, traveled all over Europe, the US, and South America for four years, making short films for BBC.” Owen had practiced that answer in his head so many times, he imagined the pauses and expression on his face as he told it. The film thing usually caught people’s interest, drawing them away from the part where he was “done.”
Daniel looked delighted, sipping from his giant coffee. “Wow,” he said, putting the cup back into his lap. “That’s quite a life you’ve had. And now you’re a television producer. Damn.”
“Victor was an old family friend. He was looking for a partner in a business, I had money to invest. The rest is history.” The casual recitation of the blurb on their website flowed off his tongue.
“Oh. Yeah, I was wondering.” He gestured to Victor and then back to Owen. “Does not entirely compute.”
“Family friend,” Owen repeated, because this was the part of the story that couldn’t be covered in a website blurb, not with Daniel’s steady gaze locked on him.
“Hmmm,” Daniel said.
THEY TALKED movies and books and travel until Daniel nodded off. Owen rescued his coffee cup, tidied up the empty bag, and put everything in the small refuse holder in the side of the door. The burn of an empty stomach combined with the car ride had him reaching for the antacids in his pants pocket a second later.
No one knew why he was partners with Victor. There was the official story. Then the expanded-upon lie they told people like Naomi, because she would never have understood why two men who supposedly had family-like ties would spit and strike at each other whenever the masks dropped.
If this were a marriage, they’d have been divorced a long time ago.
The antacids worked well enough for Owen to steal a catnap. The sound of wheels on gravel jerked him awake as the limo pulled to a stop. He glanced out the window to see the expansive beauty of upstate New York and the very tony and very exclusive Westlake Estate.
From the driveway of the main building, he could see the lawn slope toward the picturesque lake and docks, where the ceremony would take place. A lush forest towered over neatly kept grounds and outer buildings; somewhere in all this beauty sat an enormous “barn” where events were held, as well as numerous cottages for the wedding party.
When he’d made arrangements with the owner, Lois, he might have requested her to put Daniel in the Bluebird, the tiny cabin far away from the rest.
“We’re here?” a sleepy voice asked. Beside him, Daniel stretched, his gaze falling warmly on Owen. “God, I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine; I fell asleep as well.” Owen’s hand moved before his brain registered whether it was appropriate. He ran his hand down Daniel’s arm, lingering as he wrapped his fingers loosely around his wrist. The sleepy smile Daniel rewarded him with lulled Owen into a false sense of security.
If he just leaned forward….
A clearing of a throat and Owen’s attention snapped back to reality.
“Gentlemen,” Victor said smarmily. “Shall we?”
LOIS, A trim woman in her fifties, met them on the driveway. Wearing duck boots, brown wool pants, and a heavy fisherman’s sweater, she welcomed them with hearty handshakes and introductions.
“The grooms aren’t here yet,” Lois said, sliding her hands into her pockets. “Would you like to wait for them? I can show you to your cabins.”
“That would be lovely,” Victor charmed, already “on” in the presence of the woman. “Maybe a bit of a tour of the grounds—I’m
“Thereabouts.”
“You looked twenty-five, at least!”
“Of course. No adult wants to buy cologne and bodywash from a pimply teenager.” He winked.
“How long did you model?”
“About six years. I went to university for about a year when I was, uh, done, but it wasn’t my thing. So a friend—Naomi’s brother, actually—offered me a job on his documentary crew. We, uh, traveled all over Europe, the US, and South America for four years, making short films for BBC.” Owen had practiced that answer in his head so many times, he imagined the pauses and expression on his face as he told it. The film thing usually caught people’s interest, drawing them away from the part where he was “done.”
Daniel looked delighted, sipping from his giant coffee. “Wow,” he said, putting the cup back into his lap. “That’s quite a life you’ve had. And now you’re a television producer. Damn.”
“Victor was an old family friend. He was looking for a partner in a business, I had money to invest. The rest is history.” The casual recitation of the blurb on their website flowed off his tongue.
“Oh. Yeah, I was wondering.” He gestured to Victor and then back to Owen. “Does not entirely compute.”
“Family friend,” Owen repeated, because this was the part of the story that couldn’t be covered in a website blurb, not with Daniel’s steady gaze locked on him.
“Hmmm,” Daniel said.
THEY TALKED movies and books and travel until Daniel nodded off. Owen rescued his coffee cup, tidied up the empty bag, and put everything in the small refuse holder in the side of the door. The burn of an empty stomach combined with the car ride had him reaching for the antacids in his pants pocket a second later.
No one knew why he was partners with Victor. There was the official story. Then the expanded-upon lie they told people like Naomi, because she would never have understood why two men who supposedly had family-like ties would spit and strike at each other whenever the masks dropped.
If this were a marriage, they’d have been divorced a long time ago.
The antacids worked well enough for Owen to steal a catnap. The sound of wheels on gravel jerked him awake as the limo pulled to a stop. He glanced out the window to see the expansive beauty of upstate New York and the very tony and very exclusive Westlake Estate.
From the driveway of the main building, he could see the lawn slope toward the picturesque lake and docks, where the ceremony would take place. A lush forest towered over neatly kept grounds and outer buildings; somewhere in all this beauty sat an enormous “barn” where events were held, as well as numerous cottages for the wedding party.
When he’d made arrangements with the owner, Lois, he might have requested her to put Daniel in the Bluebird, the tiny cabin far away from the rest.
“We’re here?” a sleepy voice asked. Beside him, Daniel stretched, his gaze falling warmly on Owen. “God, I’m sorry about that.”
“It’s fine; I fell asleep as well.” Owen’s hand moved before his brain registered whether it was appropriate. He ran his hand down Daniel’s arm, lingering as he wrapped his fingers loosely around his wrist. The sleepy smile Daniel rewarded him with lulled Owen into a false sense of security.
If he just leaned forward….
A clearing of a throat and Owen’s attention snapped back to reality.
“Gentlemen,” Victor said smarmily. “Shall we?”
LOIS, A trim woman in her fifties, met them on the driveway. Wearing duck boots, brown wool pants, and a heavy fisherman’s sweater, she welcomed them with hearty handshakes and introductions.
“The grooms aren’t here yet,” Lois said, sliding her hands into her pockets. “Would you like to wait for them? I can show you to your cabins.”
“That would be lovely,” Victor charmed, already “on” in the presence of the woman. “Maybe a bit of a tour of the grounds—I’m
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