Chapter 2
TWO
Keep smiling, Jake. Be charming and agreeable. Don’t let them see you sweat .
Those words and more cycled through Jake’s head like a bad commercial jingle for a product he didn’t need but would end up buying anyhow from the moment he spotted Rafe at Heathrow.
Rafe Hawthorne, who was always smooth, always charming and natural. Rafe was just so British, so of course Jake had been lusting after the man from the moment they’d met. He had a quintessential Britishness that couldn’t be bought, it had to be bred. And frankly, the word “bred” in the same sentence as Rafe Hawthorne did things to Jake that were better saved for his showers or late nights with a box of tissues.
The way Rafe’s composure cracked and his eyes went wide when he asked about marriage sent acid pooling in Jake’s stomach. What if Rafe wasn’t on board with his last-ditch effort to move overseas? What if Rafe had only brought him there to tell him in person what a waste of time he was and that no one would ever truly love him? What if he’d screwed this whole thing up before it even started?
He laughed. It was his reaction to everything when he was so nervous he thought he would puke, which included several times during the drive from Heathrow to Hawthorne House.
“Just kidding,” he said, slapping Rafe’s arm, then scrambling to get out of the car.
He needed air. He needed to breathe the fresh air of the English countryside. He needed to sit still in a country that valued sitting still and somehow find his center again. Because God only knew that after the last year he’d had, after the last several, he was so far off-center that he didn’t know which way was up anymore.
He shut one car door, opened the back passenger door, and fumbled for his backpack. Rafe was only just getting out of the car as he circled around the back, ready to get his suitcase.
“I brought a lot of stuff,” he said in a rush, hoping to cancel out the shock of pushing his marriage idea on Rafe right off the bat. “My plan is to stay for as long as I can, hopefully getting some work done, if you’ll let me share your hot shop, and we’ll see where things go from there.”
“Right,” Rafe said slowly, opening the trunk.
“I don’t have to stay here if it’s too much of a hassle,” he went on, trying to slow down his words and not send himself careening into the kind of trouble that seemed to follow him wherever he went. “I’ve got plenty of money. I could book a hotel or an Airbnb if I need to.”
He absolutely did not have a lot of money. If the Hawthornes refused to let him stay with them, he’d be looking for a hostel somewhere. He might have to live rough for a while.
“My family is eager to have you stay with us,” Rafe said, shutting the trunk once Jake had his suitcase, then standing with all the regal grace that could be expected from someone who was genuine aristocracy. “Are you certain you don’t need me to carry anything?”
“Nah, I’ve got it,” Jake said. He glanced up at the stone face of the ancient building in front of him. “This place looks amazing. When did you say it was built again?”
Rafe gestured for Jake to follow him across the modern parking lot and along a small flagstone path to a side door. “The original house was constructed in the early seventeenth century. Subsequent earls built on that, and the structure you see now was completed by the early eighteenth century. The outside, at least. As you’ll see, the inside has been renovated several times, most recently in the nineteen-nineties, when the family flats were made.”
“Right,” Jake said, nodding and glancing around as they entered the vast house. “I still can’t believe anyone would want to live near their family. I can’t get far enough away from my family, but that’s probably because they can’t get far enough away from me. Good, middle-class Christians from Ann Arbor, Michigan don’t admit to having sons who are as gay as a tambourine.”
Rafe turned back to stare at him as they made their way toward a staircase at one end of the hall. That end of the hall opened out to what looked like the lobby of a grand hotel or the central hall of a school building.
“Are tambourines gay in America?” Rafe asked.
Jake laughed. “Nothing is gay in America. Not if you listen to my dad.”
Rafe made a typically British sound that Jake translated as “I don’t know what to say about that, so I’m not going to say anything.”
Jake just smiled back at him. He’d learned a long time ago that a smile went a long way to getting people to like you, and more than anything, he wanted Rafe to like him. He needed Rafe to like him. That’s why he’d bent over backward in an attempt to impress him back in Corning.
“We have several empty family flats at the moment,” Rafe said, pausing by a door with a brass “4” on the front. “Dad’s giving you this one for the duration of your stay. It’s one of the ones we occasionally rent out to tourists.”
The way he said “tourists” made Jake cringe inwardly. You didn’t usually refer to the man you were going to marry, even if it was just for the visa, as a tourist.
“We need to fetch the key from the office, though,” Rafe went on. “You can leave your things here.”
“Thanks,” Jake said, wheeling his suitcase around to stand next to the door. He took his backpack off and rested it against the door as well. “I remember you telling me your family’s house was now an arts center and that it used to be a school, and that it was a convalescent hospital after World War One before that, just like Downton Abbey.”
Rafe glanced at him as they continued down the hall and into the lobby area. “Jullian Fellowes didn’t pull his ideas out of the ether,” he said. “A lot of estates became convalescent hospitals during the Great War.”
Jake felt chastised by about five things in that one sentence. He was so out of his league with Rafe in every way. It made him question whether his idea to get a UK visa by marrying Rafe was brilliant or the worst thing he could have done.
The trouble was, Rafe was the only guy in the UK who he could marry and make it look like a plausible love match in the eyes of the UK Home Office. He could prove he’d known Rafe for more than a year, that they had a lot in common, and that they’d spent a significant amount of time together within the last year. As long as whatever immigration official interviewed him for the visa didn’t probe too much, everything would look legit.
He had a lot of experience in making utter lies look completely legit.
“Ah, Rafe. This must be your American friend.”
They’d entered a small office that looked like someone had constructed it off-site and slotted it into an existing parlor off the front hall and were greeted by an older man with a young twinkle in his eyes and an excellent, grey beard that reached down to his chest.
“Dad, this is Jake Mathers,” Rafe introduced him.
“Robert Hawthorne,” Rafe’s dad said, stepping forward to shake Jake’s hand vigorously. “It’s wonderful to meet you. Welcome to Hawthorne House.”
Every warning bell Jake had sounded at the same time. What did the man already know about him? What was he really saying when he said it was wonderful to meet him? If he stepped one foot out of line, would Robert Hawthorne send him packing?
“Nice to meet you, um, my lord?” he greeted the man, suddenly at a loss.
Mr. Hawthorne laughed, making Jake feel like he was in big trouble. “Call me Robert,” he said, giving Jake’s hand a squeeze before letting it go.
“Okay, Robert,” he said, flashing what he hoped was a winning smile.
“Is he here?” A middle-aged woman with short, spikey hair dyed flame red stepped out of the front office, her green eyes aglow. “Is this the American we’ve heard so much about?”
“Mum, this is Jake,” Rafe did the introductions again. “Jake, this is my mum, Janice Hawthorne.”
“Pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Jake said, stepping forward to take her hand.
That wasn’t the end of it. Three more people appeared from the office, bright-eyed and eager to meet him.
Rafe sighed a little and said, “This is my sister, Rebecca, my youngest brother, Nally, short for Ronald, and this is Early, who works for us and is more or less engaged to my brother, Rhys.”
“Not engaged yet ,” Early said, blushing and bashful as they stepped forward to shake Jake’s hand. “We haven’t even been dating for a year yet.”
“But you live together,” Rafe said.
“That doesn’t mean marriage is imminent,” Robert said as he stood to the side, his arm around his wife’s waist. “Or is it?” He grinned at Rafe, who blushed and avoided his look.
“I’m not holding my breath for a ring,” Early said. “They/them, in case you were wondering,” they whispered to Jake, then winked.
“Thanks,” Jake said, glad to be trusted with their pronouns.
Frankly, Early was one of the most strikingly beautiful people he’d ever met, regardless of pronouns. They had long, dark hair, soulful eyes, and just a hint of makeup, all while wearing a flattering pantsuit that would have looked cringey and out-of-date on anyone else.
“Rafe tells us you’re here to work on glass with him for a while,” Rebecca said, stepping forward to greet him, and Nally after her.
“Um, yeah,” Jake said, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck once everyone was done shaking it. The gesture was an unconscious way to avoid anyone else trying to introduce themselves to him. He was already over his family limit for the day. “If Rafe doesn’t mind, I’m really hoping to get some good blowing done.”
As intended, his off-color comment was met with laughter from the family. He found glassblowing jokes to be some of the most tired, unfunny jokes around, but they broke the ice when it needed breaking and made people think he was funny, which made people like him. Being liked was the only way he knew to be safe.
“You and Rafe met while doing residencies at the Corning Museum of Glass, right?” Nally asked, leaning against the office’s front desk and gazing at Jake with wide, welcoming eyes.
“We did,” Jake answered. He took a small step back, peeking sideways at the door. It was good to know where the doors were at all times in case he needed to run. “Our residencies started around the same time. We shared a studio and worked in the gallery and school together now and then.”
Rafe colored and crossed his arms. The gesture was defensive and made Jake worry.
“I bet that was amazing,” Nally went on. “Some of the best names in glass either do residencies at the Corning Museum or teach there.”
“It’s an amazing opportunity for any artist,” Janice added. “We were so proud of Rafe when he told us he’d been accepted.”
“It’s a prestigious program,” Jake said. “They only take the best of the best.”
“Which was why you were there, of course,” Robert said.
Jake tensed, rocking to the balls of his feet like he was about to start a race. Was Robert making fun of him? It wouldn’t have been the first time a dad mocked him for blowing glass instead of doing something useful with his time. Not just his dad either. In college, when he was still trying to date girls to hide who he was, he’d had a girlfriend’s dad scoff at him for wasting his time with art when he should get a real job.
That relationship hadn’t lasted. None of his relationships lasted.
“Where are our manners,” Janice said stepping away from her husband. “You look tired, Jake. I bet you’re jetlagged. Rafe, why didn’t you show him to his flat first thing?”
“We came here to get the keys,” Rafe said tightly.
“Oh. They’re right here.” Early ducked behind the desk and handed Jake an old-fashioned key with a wooden tag that had been waiting there.
“Thanks,” Jake said, then nodded to the rest of the family. “I appreciate it.”
He turned to Rafe, trying to look casual and easy on the outside when really, his heart was beating a mile a minute.
“I can find my way back to my flat, if you have other stuff to do,” he told Rafe. “It’s just down the hall. And thanks again for picking me up at the airport. We can talk about everything else later.”
He waited, almost holding his breath, to see if Rafe got the message that he needed a time out to be alone with his thoughts and disasters.
“Whatever you’d like,” Rafe said in a worryingly dry voice. “I had planned to spend the morning in the hot shop anyhow, prepping for Monday’s start of classes.”
“If you need help finding your way to the hot shop later, I can show you,” Nally said, his face still shining with admiration.
“Thanks,” Jake replied.
“Or you can follow the signs,” Early told him quietly, smirking at Nally.
Jake laughed a little louder than the comment warranted. There went his knee-jerk laugh reaction again. He covered his awkwardness by moving toward the door.
“Well, it was great to meet you all. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other,” he said, desperate to get away. “Then I can tell you all sorts of stories about this one when we were in Corning.”
“Oh? There are stories to tell?” Rebecca asked, glancing between him and Rafe. “I haven’t heard any stories yet.”
“There are no stories,” Rafe said, rolling his eyes.
There weren’t any stories yet, but give him a few seconds and Jake was sure he could make up a dozen stories to entertain Rafe’s family and make them like him.
“I’ll see you all in a bit,” he said, excusing himself as graciously as he could.
The Hawthornes all said goodbye and wished him well, and Jake strolled out of the office, pretending he was perfectly comfortable in their unusual home.
As soon as he was out of sight of the office, his smile dropped and he hurried down the hall to door number four. He unlocked it as fast as he could, pushed it open, and practically threw his stuff inside before closing the door and leaning against it.
Once he was by himself for the first time in what felt like months, he closed his eyes and blew out a breath.
How had he gotten himself into this mess? Yes, he’d been dreaming about running away from home to live in England since he was a kid, but actually doing it was another thing entirely. His childhood fantasies had mostly involved him riding horses in the English countryside and marrying a prince.
He might still get to marry the prince, or the guy that would be an earl someday, but his imagination had never filled in the blanks about the projects he’d dropped in order to run away or the friends he’d ghosted because he couldn’t keep up with the stories he’d told them. Running away to England had been a fun idea, not something he had to do because too many people in the US were furious with him for lying to them.
“I will not tell a lie,” he spoke into his new home, his eyes still closed. If it was good enough for George Washington, it was good enough for him.
He took another deep breath then opened his eyes, letting the breath out as the sight of his home for the next indeterminate amount of time met him. He smiled. The flat was so reminiscent of every flat or Airbnb he’d ever stayed in on his numerous previous trips to the UK. It was simple and elegant with furnishings that were all half a size smaller than anything he’d been used to in the US. The TV was small and a bookshelf on one side of the room held a random selection of books that looked like they’d been left behind by students of the school in the fifties and sixties.
He pushed away from the door and grabbed his suitcase to take it into the bedroom. That room was small, too, but the bed looked cozy and comfortable. The room held a wardrobe and bureau instead of a closet, and through the door into the en suite, he saw the squarish sort of toilet that screamed British to him.
It would be okay. Everything would be okay. He would spend the next couple of weeks working alongside Rafe and endearing himself enough to the man to convince him they should get married so he could get a visa first and then British citizenship. Everything was okay.
Fifteen minutes later, when his phone rang and his sister Beth’s name showed up on the screen, Jake did not feel okay.
“Hey, Beth,” he answered with a smile in his voice as he sorted his clothes. “You’re up early.”
“I’m a teacher, I’m always up early,” she said, then rushed into, “Where are you? You didn’t come home last night and your things are missing.”
Jake swallowed hard. Here we go .
“Um, actually, I’m in England,” he said, abandoning his unpacking to sit on the bed. He was going to need to sit down for this.
“England?” Beth said, her voice going up an octave. “As in British England?”
“Yeah,” Jake said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I flew over last night.”
“What the fuck are you doing in England, Jake? Didn’t you tell me you had a gallery opening in New York next week? Does this have something to do with that?”
Jake breathed carefully, steeling himself before saying, “I don’t have a gallery opening in New York. I don’t have a gallery opening anywhere. I…it was…I might not have been entirely honest about that.”
A long silence followed. Jake could practically feel Beth vibrating with fury all the way across the ocean.
“Jake, we talked about this,” she said, her words clipped and sharp. “The lies have got to stop. Mom and Dad are already done with you because of the lies.”
“Mom and Dad are done with me because I’m gay,” he said. That definitely wasn’t a lie.
Beth huffed. He could practically see her pressing her fingertips to her forehead. “Okay, whatever, I know. But you have to stop doing this. You’ve ruined your life by lying to people.”
“I can’t help it,” Jake said quietly.
“You need to help it,” Beth snapped. “You’ve got problems, Jake. Lying about them and running away to England isn’t going to solve them. Get your ass back here and deal with the mess you’ve made of your career and your life.”
“I can’t,” Jake said, sinking into an uncomfortable hunch. “At least, I can’t right now. You know I’ve always wanted to live in England.”
“ Live in England?” Beth’s voice rose again. “How long are you planning to stay there? Where are you staying? You don’t have any money, Jake, and you burned all the bridges you had in the art world over here. What the fuck are you doing in England ?” she demanded, circling back to her original question.
“I don’t know,” Jake said as loud as he dared. He didn’t know how solid the walls of Hawthorne House were yet. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Beth. I just know that something is calling me to be here. Yes, I’ve burned bridges over there, but I want to make new ones over here. I want to start over, start a new life, a better life.”
“You need therapy, Jake,” Beth sighed.
“I know, I?—”
Before he could agree with his sister or say he fully intended to get help, she hung up on him.
Jake pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at it. The disconnect had an air of finality to it. He was left with the sinking feeling that he would never hear from his sister again.
There wasn’t any point calling her back and trying to explain that he knew he had a problem, knew he needed professional help for it, but didn’t know how to find that help. There was no point in saying that the best idea he’d come up with, even though it wasn’t a good one, was to appeal to the one person who he might be able to call a friend, who he hadn’t disappointed, to talk him into a risky marriage.
No. There was no point at all. He couldn’t make his sister see his reasons any more than he could stop himself from telling people whatever he thought they wanted to hear to get them to like him.
The lies always caught up with him, though. But maybe with Rafe he could fix things and start over. Maybe this time things would be different.