Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
Goddamn Jake for playing with his emotions like a golden retriever thrashing around with its favorite toy in its mouth. Rafe twisted and ached with the emotions that welled up in him as Jake made his apology. The worst part of it was that as much as Rafe knew he should feel anger, betrayal, and frustration with the man, and he did, he definitely did, the emotion that bounded straight to the top of his confused insides was lust.
Fuck, but he wanted Jake so badly when he looked so vulnerable and needy the way he did just then. He wanted to throw him over the table, tear his clothes off, and do things to him that would probably make even Bax blush, what with all his past Pagan orgies which he swore he hadn’t had, even though everyone knew he was lying.
Instead of acting on those impulses, he waited, knowing that prolonged silence was the rope that Jake usually used to hang himself.
He didn’t. He stayed perfectly quiet, even though his eyes said everything. Rafe knew his fake fiancé well enough now to know that he desperately wanted to blurt out a string of whatever he thought Rafe would want to hear to try to make it better. The fact that he was fighting to do nothing, just waiting to see what Rafe had to say, was a colossal turn-on. One Rafe didn’t want, but couldn’t resist.
He was saved from doing something he would probably regret when Hélène Rénard, of all people, knocked on the arts center’s front door.
“What the bloody hell?” he murmured under his breath, then strode over to open the door.
“Good morning! Bonjour !” Hélène greeted them, stepping through into the front hall as soon as Rafe held the door for her. She threw her arms wide, then had to adjust the enormous, designer bag she had slung over her shoulder to keep it from falling. “I have arrived! Is this the Hawthorne House Arts Center?”
Rafe blinked, the gears of his mind grinding hard as he shifted from the pivotal moment with Jake to Hélène’s interruption. He had too many questions about what the fuck was going on to latch on to just one of them.
“Madam Rénard,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound like a fool. “We didn’t expect you here so soon.”
Hélène blinked at him. “You invited me to tour your beautiful estate and to see your studio and your work, non ?”
“I did, of course,” Rafe said, rushing to be as hospitable as possible to the woman he admired so much. “You are more than welcome, Madame Rénard.”
“I thought I told you to call me Hélène,” she said, gesturing as if to brush his formality away, then adjusting her bag when it slipped again.
“Hélène,” Rafe repeated. “I assumed you would call today so that we could arrange a time for you to visit. We don’t hold classes on the weekends during the summer.”
“I do not mind,” Hélène said, smiling and sunny. She glanced around Hawthorne House’s front hall. “Perhaps it is more exciting to tour this old house when it is silent and waiting.”
“Yes, of course,” Rafe said, scrambling to pull himself together. “I could give you the full tour, if that’s what you want.”
Conducting a tour of Hawthorne House wasn’t at all what Rafe thought he’d be doing that morning. He’d planned to bury himself in work so he could forget about his fight with Jake. He’d grabbed a box of new frit that had just come in the day before with the intention of playing around with it that morning. He knew the script of the house tour like the back of his hand, everyone in his family did, but his headspace wasn’t there.
“Er, this version of Hawthorne House was built in sixteen-forty-five,” he said by rote as he started across the hall toward the corridor leading to the classrooms, Hélène and Jake following. “It was partially destroyed in a fire in the sixteen-seventies, but the first Earl of Felcourt rebuilt and made it twice as big. The second earl added the west wing during the reign of George I.”
“Oh, I see,” Hélène said, looking around.
“The third earl built even more after marrying a daughter of the Duke of Marlborough, but by the end of the eighteenth century?—”
Rafe stopped as he spotted his parents coming down the grand staircase. They were holding hands and chatting with each other and looked like they were dressed for a walk. As soon as they saw Hélène, they stopped their conversation, let go of each other’s hands, and hurried the rest of the way down the stairs to meet them.
“Mum, Dad, this is Hélène Rénard,” Rafe quickly made the introductions. “Hélène, this is my mother and father, Janice and Robert Hawthorne.”
“What a delight to meet you, Madam Rénard,” Rafe’s mum said, sweeping forward while sending his dad an animated look over her shoulder. She then took Hélène’s hand in both of hers and shook it, all while her eyes sparkled. “I’ve followed your meteoric career, of course. Your exhibition of broken glass in Monaco three years ago was groundbreaking.”
“ Merci and thank you,” Hélène replied, laughing and touching a hand to her chest.
Rafe wanted to roll his eyes. The last thing any of them needed right now was his mum flirting with the celebrity artist who could not only make or break his career, but who was such a bone of contention between him and Jake.
“We were just about to do the tour of the house,” Rafe said, his voice flat.
“Oh, wonderful,” his mum said, still holding Hélène’s hands. “Let me guide you on the special family tour.” She sent Hélène a significant look, then glanced excitedly at Dad.
Rafe had no choice but to step back and let his mother take charge of the tour as, once again, he was shunted into a back seat. At least this time he hadn’t been eclipsed by Jake.
“Hawthorne House was built in sixteen-forty-five,” his mum said. “It was partially destroyed in a fire in the sixteen-seventies, but the first Earl of Felcourt rebuilt and made it twice as big. The second earl added the west wing?—”
“We already did that part, Mum,” Rafe said as they headed for the classrooms.
“Oh, I see,” his mum said. “Where did you leave off?”
“With the end of the eighteenth century.”
“Ah. Right. By the end of the eighteenth century, the house as it is now was finished,” his mum picked up the script where he’d left off.
Rafe fell into step behind Hélène and his parents, which, unfortunately, was the perfect view to watch his mum more or less throwing herself at the sophisticated Frenchwoman as they wandered the halls of Hawthorne House. His dad was doing his share of flirting as well.
“They’re such an embarrassment,” Rafe muttered as they left the classroom corridor and headed to the ballroom-turned-dining room and event space.
Jake snorted in what sounded like an attempt to swallow his laughter as he walked by Rafe’s side. When Rafe frowned at him, Jake gave him an apologetic look and said, “You have to admit it’s funny.”
“It’s funny to watch my aging parents flirt with my artistic idol?” Rafe asked, his insides feeling paradoxically light.
“Yes,” Jake said, bursting into a smile. “You’re parents aren’t that old, and clearly, they’ve still got it.”
Damn him, but Rafe just wanted to smile and laugh along with Jake. He was radiant when he smiled, even if a huge part of Rafe was still furious with him. He had a face that was meant for smiling and those impish, blue eyes that held none of his mirth back.
Why did he have to fall head over heels for a man he couldn’t trust?
He deliberately bit his tongue through the rest of the tour, even though he could practically feel Jake vibrating with the need to engage him in banter. It had to have taxed Jake to his limit not to jump in and take charge of the tour and the conversation, even though he didn’t know the first thing about the house. The fact that he remained quiet and walked by Rafe’s side as they followed his parents and Hélène all through the house only made Rafe hot.
“It is all so beautiful,” Hélène said once they’d gone through the whole house and ended up back at the front hall. “And such a lively place. You are very good to donate such a stately home to the community and the pursuit of art. Many English aristocrats still guard their homes jealously, non ?”
“We are only aristocrats by default,” Rafe’s dad said with a gracious bow, which was part of his upper tier of flirting tactics. “The least we could do is give the house and grounds over to the community.”
“Speaking of grounds,” his mum said. “Robert and I were just about to go for a walk through the woods, since it’s such a lovely day. Would you care to join us?” She actually batted her eyelashes at Hélène.
“I would love nothing more,” Hélène said. “However, I have promised Rafe that I would tour his studio and witness his work.”
Rafe drew in a breath and stood straighter. This was it. This was the opportunity he’d been waiting for.
“That sounds like an even better idea,” his mum said, moving in a way that drew Hélène’s attention to Rafe. “We are so proud of all our children and their artistic pursuits, but Rafe’s work is second to none.”
Rafe felt his face heat, but he managed to keep smiling. He expected Jake to step in and say something at that point, but his pseudo-fiancé just stood there grinning.
“My hot shop is one of the out-buildings,” Rafe said, feeling like he spoke a beat too late. “I’ll take you down there.”
“I cannot wait,” Hélène said, smiling.
They all headed outside, and with a few quick words of goodbye and a vague invitation to lunch that Hélène didn’t quite give an answer to, Rafe’s parents headed off down the path toward the woods. That left him, Jake, and Hélène to walk on to the hot shop.
“I’ve put a lot of work into updating the building and its equipment in the last several months, since I returned from the States,” Rafe said as he began his tour. “We brought in a new furnace, made some repairs to the annealer, and completely restocked the glass we’re using.”
“This is exquisite,” Hélène said, heading straight off to the corner where the English countryside work Rafe and Jake had been fiddling with rested. She reached out for the platter they’d painstakingly made, then pulled her hand back when her bag slipped yet again and she had to put it back over her shoulder. It didn’t seem to want to behave, so she let it drop and placed it on the floor under the table.
Rafe glanced immediately at Jake, tensing. This was the moment when Jake stepped forward and turned on his shine, eclipsing him entirely.
Jake did inch forward, but only to say, “Aren’t those beautiful? Rafe and I have been working on the design and ironing out a new technique. We call it ‘English countryside’, but Rafe can tell you much more about it than I can.”
Rafe’s heart flipped, causing him to catch his breath. He stared at Jake for a long moment, waiting for the hope that slowly spread through him to be disappointed. Jake just smiled back at him, then nodded his head toward Hélène, who had picked up the platter and was examining it closely.
At last, it was his moment to shine…and all Rafe wanted was to talk to Jake, ask why he was being so nice, and to maybe, finally, sort things between them.
“This design,” Hélène said, glancing briefly at Rafe before putting the platter down and picking up a goblet made with the same technique. “How did you make it?”
It felt like pulling away from a magnet to drag his eyes from Jake and to shift his focus to Hélène. He walked away, shaking his head slightly to get his thoughts to the right place. Concentrate. He had to concentrate if he stood a chance of getting the apprenticeship with Hélène that he craved.
“The line we’re working on was inspired by an afternoon Jake and I spent at Box Hill,” he said once he’d reached the table.
“Box Hill?” Hélène asked.
“It’s an idyllic spot in Surrey that looks out over an expansive view of the countryside,” Rafe explained. “We were there last month, admiring the view. As we talked, we came up with the idea of embodying the texture of the grass, the perspective of the vista, the blues and whites of the sky, and the greens, yellows, and browns of the land.”
“I see,” Hélène said, nodding seriously. “And how did you manage to capture such an appearance of depth in a small space such as this?” She held up the goblet.
“We used an experimental technique that involves folding thin layers of glass,” Rafe said. “It’s something we’ve spent weeks developing now. It’s not precisely a new technique, but we are confident that the way we are employing it is novel.”
He glanced back at Jake, again expecting him to intervene and explain the whole thing. Jake moved to stand nearby, but his expression had changed from grinning and eager, as he’d been back up at the house, to curious and thoughtful as he watched Hélène.
“Tell me,” Hélène said, barely glancing Jake’s way at all.
“It starts with blowing rondelles,” Rafe dove into his explanation.
He talked Hélène through the entire technique, explaining a few of the various phases he and Jake had gone through while trying to get exactly the effect they wanted. Hélène understood the basic concepts as well as he did, which meant he could talk in more depth about his art, which he was rarely able to do.
Rarely able to do, except when he was talking to Jake. Jake understood the fundamentals that made him tick more than anyone else. The last few weeks of having Jake there, working by his side, had been some of the most enjoyable, not to mention the most productive, of his career.
All this time, he’d been aching to get some sort of an apprenticeship or residency with a world-renowned glass artist, but what if the real key to his success was standing in front of him, listening to the conversation with intense focus? What if he didn’t need to go outside of himself in order to gain the recognition he wanted in the art world? What if his happiness was standing right there in jeans and a garish t-shirt, frowning slightly and absently rubbing his arm as he watched the conversation?
Jake glanced up at him as he finished the explanation of how they’d created the ombre effect of opaque to transparent that differentiated the clouds from the land in their work. Rafe worried that he’d stopped speaking as his feelings about Jake got the better of him, but that didn’t seem to be an issue.
Something was off about Jake’s expression, though. He was miles more serious than Rafe thought he should be. Maybe it was the effort to keep silent when Rafe knew his impulse was to butt in with a thousand different, inane comments.
“I would like to see you work,” Hélène said, putting down the small bowl she’d been studying. “I would like to see this technique of yours in action. Can you show me?”
Rafe snapped his thoughts back to the moment. “It might take some setting up, but I’m sure I could show some of it to you.”
“Good,” Hélène said, clapping her hands together. She then made shooing motions and said, “Go, go! You too, Jake.”
Rafe didn’t need to be told twice. He glanced at Jake in a silent ask for help. Jake tore himself away from Hélène and the table with their work reluctantly. The fact that he was able to contain himself and not shoot off on some explanation of their work that put himself at the center of it all went a long way toward the forgiveness Rafe was working on. In fact, Jake’s quietness as they set up everything they would need to demonstrate their techniques was more than enough for him to let the mistakes of the past go.
“I think she’s impressed,” he whispered as they donned their protective equipment and laid the right colors of frit out for gathering.
“She’s impressed, alright,” Jake said warily.
Rafe jerked as he reached for a blowpipe. “You don’t sound happy about that.”
Jake frowned. “I don’t know.”
Rafe had no idea what that was supposed to mean. His confidence and hope that things were about to get better started to desert him as quickly as it had come.
“Let’s just make a plate and show her what we’ve developed,” he said, disappointment that bordered on heartbreak in his voice.
Jake stood there staring at him for such a long time that Rafe was convinced he was going to say no. Something was wrong, but for the life of him, Rafe couldn’t figure out what.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to figure it out. Maybe Jake’s hesitation as Rafe turned to gather glass from the furnace was sulking because he wasn’t the center of attention. Maybe, as hard as he was trying, Jake would never be able to take a backseat and let someone else shine. As he brought the bit of glass out and took it to the marver to roll it, then stuck it back into the furnace to gather more glass, he worried that Jake would never be able to let go of his ego and his need to impress.
He was ready to forget the whole thing and make something else for Hélène by way of demonstration, but as he pulled his second gather out of the furnace, Jake was right there, ready with the tiny, colored glass rods that they needed to make the grass effect inside the work. He didn’t seem happy to be working, though, which was completely unlike Jake.
“It’ll be alright,” Rafe tried encouraging him before he moved to the workbench so he could fashion a rondelle. “We’ve got this.”
Jake broke into a small, anxious smile, like he was trying, but something definitely wasn’t alright.