Jonah
Belladonna Mansion
Masquerade Ball ~ Ballroom
Virginia Beach Oceanfront
Heat crept up his neck beneath the black satin mask Thorn had forced him into.
The masquerade ball was all lavish glamour, glitter, laughing, confident men masked in feathers, lace, gold, and jewels. But Jonah felt as if every eye in the ballroom had turned and locked on him.
His hands shook where Arnold guided them, one broad palm resting on Jonah’s lower back, the other holding his hand with surprising gentleness. Jonah had braced for the squeeze, for the mocking pressure against his sides, but it never came.
Arnold held him in what he called his safe places , as though he were something precious, something he didn’t dare make uncomfortable.
Jonah had to crane his neck to look Arnold in his eyes. The sharp angles of his jaw disappeared beneath the edges of a black-and-gold mask shaped like a hawk’s wings.
He spoke with a deep midwestern accent that rolled down Jonah’s spine like a slow stream of warm honey.
“How are you tonight, Jonah Matthews?” Arnold asked, his baritone so deep it vibrated through his chest.
Jonah swallowed, his voice catching. “I…I’m fine.”
Arnold’s gaze sharpened, but his lips curved beneath the mask. “I like your mask.”
Jonah ducked his head quickly. “Thanks.”
He waited a beat, then murmured, “Your eyes are pretty.”
Jonah swallowed hard. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had complimented him, not without mockery tinging it.
Arnold leaned closer, his breath grazing Jonah’s ear, smooth as silk and tempting as sin. “You feel good in my arms.”
Jonah nearly tripped. That couldn’t be true. This had to be Thorn’s doing. He’d begged this man to take pity on him. That was the only explanation.
The music faded and an upbeat rhythm surged through the room as couples broke apart and started dancing harder, faster, grinding and touching each other.
Jonah panicked, knowing he wasn’t about to attempt that.
“Th-thank you for the dance. I should… I have to go.”
When he tried to step away, Arnold clamped his hand over his, not aggressive but unyielding. “I’ll walk you to your room.”
Jonah blinked. “You…you don’t have to do that.”
Arnold inclined his head, guiding him out of the ballroom. They walked in silence, and Jonah’s nerves knotted with each step.
Instead of Arnold leading them toward the back stairs, he turned into the glass-walled conservatory.
The room glowed like a fairytale setting. The floor lights created a golden walkway through thick greenery. Flowers in every shade bloomed out of season, their fragrances mingling in the warm air as if it wasn’t late winter.
Jonah narrowed his eyes. This was his place, the one area he always came to at night when the house fell silent.
He thought no one knew.
Arnold was quiet, staying close to his side as they walked down the cobblestone path.
Suddenly, Arnold plucked a pink carnation from its stem and turned toward him, standing so close Jonah could feel his breath in his hair.
Arnold brushed the velvety petals over his cheek, staring down at him as his face warmed to an unbearable temperature.
Arnold had a calm, grounding fragrance that was all man…and so familiar. But as the flower lingered under his nose, the faint sweetness of the carnation wove into his scent, making him dizzy.
Arnold’s deep, mellow voice cut through the silence. “Pink carnations mean admiration and fondness.”
Yes, I know.
Jonah’s knees weakened. He wanted but knew he’d never have. This was torture.
“Jonah…will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”
Jonah’s eyes widened before he shook his head, tears pricking. He couldn’t eat in front of a man like this. He couldn’t.
“N-no. I…I can’t. I’m sorry.”
He turned away, choking back the sob building in his throat.
He had to leave. This was stupid. Thorn couldn’t erase years of him being put down. He was leaving Belladonna first thing in the morning.
“Thank you,” Jonah whispered hoarsely, eyes blurring before he bolted toward the door.
“Don’t run, Bear. It took me a long time to find you.”
Arnold’s voice, his tone, that name, halted Jonah mid-stride.
It is him .
Jonah forgot how to breathe, his pulse pounding in his ears.
He turned around just as Ross’s mask hit the floor.
Jonah could only stare, unblinking, trembling. He stared at the love of his life before his mind dared to believe it was really him.
“Ross?” he rasped, the single word emerging as a question and a prayer.
He was taller now, broader, beard thicker, and jaw sterner.
Ross took one step toward him, and Jonah’s world collapsed to only the space between them.
He tore his own mask off before they collided like magnets that’d been waiting years to snap back together.
The force rocked Jonah back on his heels, but Ross’s arms were like steel around him, holding him tight as if he were afraid he’d threaten to run again.
Not a fucking chance.
Jonah buried his face in the scent that’d been so recognizable—the woodsy cologne and clean earthiness Ross had smelled like since they were teenagers.
“Bear,” Ross groaned against the shell of his ear, the old nickname wrapping around Jonah like a well-built wall of protection.
Jonah’s knees buckled, but Ross held him tighter, lifting him off the ground as though he weighed nothing.
Jonah clawed at Ross’s back, clinging, terrified to let go, and risking Ross vanishing again and leaving him with more years of loneliness.
Tears streamed down his cheeks, soaking into Ross’s tux. He rubbed his wet face against Ross’s beard, gasping, trying to take in every inch of him at once: the rough scrape along his skin, the warmth of his neck, the sound of his breath.
“I found you,” Ross whispered, repeating it over and over like an affirmation. “I finally found you.”
Jonah choked on a sob, his chest convulsing as years of buried longing ripped their way free. “Why’d you take so long?” His words were muffled in Ross’s big shoulder, and he answered with a fierce shake of his head, his mouth pressed to Jonah’s temple, his cheek, then jaw.
“It’s been so long…I-I thought you wouldn’t want to see me.”
Jonah scoffed. You idiot.
“I’m sorry, Bear. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”
They rocked together, still clutching like drowning men who’d just crashed back to the surface.
Jonah’s hands trembled as he ran them through Ross’s hair, tugging, needing to confirm he was real, Ross mapping every line of his body with strong hands, as though refamiliarizing him all over again.
Jonah’s sobs turned to frantic little laughs, then back to tears. Ross’s heart was pounding to the same ragged rhythm.
“Don’t let go,” Jonah whispered, begging, pleading, his soul filleted open.
“Never again,” Ross vowed against his mouth, their lips brushing but not quite kissing.
Jonah was too caught up in the desperate relief of simply being in his arms again.
If this is a dream, don’t wake up, please, don’t wake up.