Chapter 12
TWELVE
At first, everything hung suspended, like Jake and Hélène might burst into laughter at any moment, proving the entire thing was a joke at Rafe’s expense. But as the awkward silence between the three of them filled with the sounds of London traffic, the faint, throbbing bass of Cupid’s Arrow across the street, and groups of people laughing or talking in the false light of the city at night around them, reality sunk in.
He'd been played. Jake had fed into his deepest hopes and fears, coming up with exactly the right bait to trick him into his mad marriage scheme.
“I didn’t mean to,” Jake said quietly, his eyes growing rounder with fear by the moment. “You have to believe me, Rafe. I didn’t mean to deceive you.”
“Yes, you did,” Rafe replied, fighting to pull himself together. “That was the entire point, wasn’t it? To deceive me so you could get what you wanted?”
“I—”
Rafe turned away from him to Hélène. “I’m so terribly sorry, Madam Rénard,” he said. “There’s been a grievous misunderstanding.”
Hélène stood to the side, watching the seething confrontation with mild, gallic interest. “Not at all,” she said with a shrug of one shoulder. “I quite frequently fight with my lover. It is what gives love its spice.”
Rafe’s mouth hung open for a moment as he tried to digest that. Jake wasn’t his lover, not really. One afternoon in the sheets didn’t make them lovers. Those words didn’t begin to cover the way he felt about the audacious liar who stood beside him, looking like he might spontaneously combust. He’d let himself believe that Jake could be so much more than just a lover, but now he wasn’t certain they could even be friends.
He snapped his mouth shut and stood straighter, grasping onto the stiff upper lip he was supposed to have by right of birth. Jake might have lied about his connection to Hélène, and he’d probably lied about a hell of a lot of other connections he supposedly had, but that didn’t change who Hélène was, or the fact that knowing her could do incredible things for his career.
“I’m terribly sorry about all of this,” he said, doing what he could to turn on as much charm as possible. “I’ve been a great admirer of yours for such a long time, Madam Rénard?—”
“Please, call me Hélène,” she said, smiling and holding out her hand to Rafe.
Rafe smiled with relief and brought her hand to his lips to kiss it. It was embarrassingly old-fashioned and he felt like a fool as soon as he did it. There was something about Hélène that begged for an old-fashioned gesture like that. The woman was a picture of silver-haired, bohemian elegance, rather like his mum, really. In fact, his mum would probably get along famously with Hélène. They were both strong women of a certain age and artistic goddesses to boot.
“Did you say your name was Rafe Hawthorne?” Hélène asked while Rafe stood there in wonder, scrambling for any way he could think of to get Hélène to like him.
“Yes,” Rafe said with a nod. “I recently finished a residency at the Corning Museum of Glass, and before that, I was privileged to have a few shows of my glassware in galleries around the world.”
It was mortifying. Who did he think he was to rattle off his entire artistic CV to Hélène Rénard on a street corner in front of her hotel near midnight on a Friday? It was silly and amateurish. It was the kind of thing Jake would do.
It was exactly the kind of thing Jake would do, and Rafe understood why. He understood the desire to impress someone, especially when they were someone you looked up to in your field. Which meant maybe Jake’s stupid actions weren’t as horrific as he wanted to make them out to be.
He ignored his conscience’s attempt to show Jake a shred of forgiveness and focused his attention on Hélène.
“I believe I have seen your work,” Hélène said, nodding slowly. “Was it you whose neo-Venetian vase was featured in Glass Art Magazine?”
Prickles of excitement filled Rafe’s gut. Hélène Rénard knew who he was.
“Last year, yes,” he said beaming. “I’m surprised you took notice.
Hélène shrugged. “I take notice of all rising stars of the glass world.”
Rafe drew in a breath, basking in the praise. It was the sort of recognition he’d waited to have for a very long time. It was proof that all his years of trial and error, his efforts to be noticed and to let his art speak for itself had paid off. And he hadn’t had to lie about who he knew or any of his accomplishments to get there.
Buoyed by that, he shifted his stance, bubbling with anticipation, and said, “I’m not sure how long you are in London, but if you have time, I would love for you to come visit us at Hawthorne House.”
“Hawthorne House?” Hélène asked, looking interested.
“It is my family’s ancestral home,” Rafe said, falling into the aristocratic mien that he hated, but that he couldn’t help but slip into, like a velvet dinner jacket, when he was trying to impress important people. “My father is the ninth Earl of Felcourt, not that that means anything these days. Hawthorne House has been in the family since the sixteenth century. It’s been converted into an arts center now, of course. We teach all varieties of art classes to the community, but I also have quite an extensive hot shop on the property.”
“Do you?” Hélène’s expression lit with interest. “And the entire house has been dedicated to art?”
“And the family, yes,” Rafe said. “It would be an honor to all of us if you could join us there while you’re in London.”
“To view your studio?” Hélène asked. “And your current work?”
Rafe thought he’d died and gone to heaven. Hélène Rénard wanted to come view his work. “Yes,” he said.
She glanced past him to Jake. “And you, Jake Mathers. Do you have work at this Hawthorne House as well?”
Rafe tensed. So help him, if Jake stole his thunder now, there would be hell to pay.
“I’ve been working with Rafe for the past few months,” Jake said, surprisingly sheepishly, “but it’s his work, his concepts.”
“I see,” Hélène said. “And are these new concepts entirely Monsieur Hawthorne’s?”
“For the most part,” Jake said. “Rafe is brilliant and innovative. You should see what we’ve accomplished in the last few weeks. I think it’s going to set the world on fire.”
Hélène smiled at Rafe once more. “Then I must see it,” she said. She gestured to Rafe, then went on with, “Give me your phone number and I will call to make arrangements within the next few days.”
Rafe could hardly believe his luck. The night had been a wild rollercoaster. He was still beyond furious with Jake, but it seemed as though regardless of the lies, his fortunes might have just taken exactly the turn he’d hoped for.
He wanted to say more to Hélène. If he’d had his way, they would have gone back into the hotel, or even across to Cupid’s Arrow again, and had a drink while talking about glass. But whoever Hélène was waiting for pulled up to the curb a few moments later, and with a few parting words, she ducked into the sleek, black sedan and sped away.
Rafe had to take a moment to just stand there, watching the car disappear into the night, breathing in the disbelief of his sudden good luck.
His buzzing excitement was cut short when Jake said, “See? Everything turned out alright in the end after all,” in a quiet, hesitant voice.
Rafe pulled himself tight. The idea that he should let things go and give Jake the benefit of the doubt warred with the blistering hurt he felt.
“You lied to me,” he said, still staring out at the traffic. “You told me you would introduce me to Hélène Rénard if I married you and helped you get a spousal visa.”
“I mean, you could sort of argue that I did what I said I’d do,” Jake said, still hesitant.
Rafe turned to him, glaring. “This isn’t about Hélène Rénard,” he said, boiling with anger as he drank in the sight of Jake standing there, slightly hunched, looking worried and defeated. “This is about you manipulating me to get what you wanted. What were you planning to say when I discovered the whole thing was a malicious fabrication?”
“Sorry?” Jake took a step back.
Rafe followed that momentum, walking toward him, which had the result of moving both of them out of the flow of foot traffic and up against the side of the hotel. It was better that way. Fewer people would hear as he tore Jake a new arsehole.
“All this time, I believed that you actually liked me, that we could form some sort of partnership, no matter how brief,” he hissed.
“I do like you,” Jake insisted. “I like you so much. I lo?—”
“Don’t say it.” Rafe held up a finger in warning. “Don’t you dare say those words to me now. You don’t really feel them. You don’t feel anything but love for yourself.”
“That’s not true,” Jake said, his voice and expression filled with hurt.
“Isn’t it?” Rafe demanded. “Since the moment you arrived in London, all you’ve done is tell me and my family exactly what they want to hear so that you can get your own way. You manipulated me into making a major life decision based on a lie. You wormed your way into my bed as a way to pull the wool over my eyes.”
“I didn’t,” Jake insisted, stricken. “That was something special between the two of us.”
Rafe shook his head, wanting to believe him but too blindsided and hurt by the events of the night to let himself. “What part of your little deal did you think would benefit me?” he asked.
“I…I don’t know,” Jake said, shaking as he tried to defend himself. “I would have come up with something. I do like you, Rafe. You’re the only person who has ever given me the benefit of the doubt and been truly nice to me.”
Rafe pulled back, laughing bitterly. “Listen to yourself,” he said, gesturing to Jake. “In your own words, you just admitted that the only reason you like me is because of what I’ve been able to do for you.”
“That’s not the whole story.” Jake swayed after him. “I admire your work. You’re a thousand times more talented than I am. I want to see you succeed. You’re smart and funny and hot, and this afternoon was the best sex of my life. It was special. You’re special.”
“Oh, yes,” Rafe said, pushing a hand through his hair and moving restlessly on his spot to diffuse the angry energy pulsing through him. “There you go again, telling me things you think I want to hear to get on my good side.”
“What do you want me to do?” Jake demanded. “I screwed up, yes, but you’re not letting me say or do anything to make it better.”
“I don’t think you can make it better,” Rafe spat back at him. “You’ve made me feel like a tool, like I’m nothing to you but a means to an end.”
“You’re so much more to me than that, Rafe, whether you let me say it or not,” Jake shouted back.
They were starting to gain an audience as passersby lingered to watch their argument. Rafe hated it. He longed for attention sometimes, but that was definitely not the right kind.
“How can I mean more to you?” he demanded, lowering his voice. “The only person Jake Mathers cares about is himself.”
“That’s not true,” Jake seethed in return, desperation lighting his eyes. “My whole life has been one long fuck-up, but coming here is the best thing I’ve ever done. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, Rafe. I don’t have to lie about that, it’s true. And you know what else is true, whether you want to hear it or not? I love you.” He threw his arms out to the side. “There. I’ve said it. Now what are you going to do about it?”
Rafe’s anger flared and twisted to something more. His heart and his body burned for Jake. He was almost irresistible when he was laid as bare as he was just then. Rafe didn’t know if he wanted to slap sense into the man or push him up against the wall and kiss him until they were arrested for indecency.
He wasn’t ready for either of those things. He was too raw and hurt. His head was spinning, and he knew there was no way he could make any sort of rational decision until he had time to breathe and cool down.
So he did the only thing he could think to do, he turned and walked away.
“Where are you going?” Jake called after him, lunging to grab Rafe’s sleeve.
Rafe shook him off. “Home,” he said, walking on.
“But we’re not done here,” Jake called out. “We’re definitely not done.”
“We are for now,” Rafe said, then held up his middle finger as he walked away.
Three seconds later, he felt terrible for the childish gesture. He didn’t feel bad for walking away, though. Nothing good would have come from him staying there and continuing the argument in public. Jake was right that they had more to say, but he needed time to sort his feelings and to decide what he really wanted before they got into it.
He walked around London for a bit, fighting to steady his breathing and put himself in the right frame of mind, before returning to the garage where he’d parked his car. The drive home was uncomfortable. He didn’t much care for driving at night anyhow, and the anger that still had his heart pounding and his skin heating made him clench his hands on the wheel and pray he didn’t get into an accident.
It was a relief to finally make it to the relative calm of Hawthorne House an hour later. All he wanted to do was head up to his flat, strip out of his sweaty clothes, take a shower, and go to bed. But of course he ran into his dad on the way up the stairs.
“You look like you’ve had a wild night,” his dad said with a smile as they fell into step as they went upstairs.
Rafe huffed a humorless laugh. “You could say that,” he said.
His dad stopped when they got to the first floor. “What happened?” he asked, full of paternal concern.
“Jake showed his true colors,” he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.
“In what way?” His dad crossed his arms and stroked his long beard, looking like some sort of contemplative wizard.
Rafe didn’t want a father-son heart-to-heart just then. “What are you doing up so late, Dad? It’s past one.”
“Your mum and I were at Trudy and Leonard’s place for naked whist this evening,” he said, as if that was the most ordinary thing in the world. “And now, back to you. What is going on?”
Rafe blew out a breath and shifted to lean against the wall. He should have known better than to try to deflect his dad’s questions.
“The big promise Jake made me in return for marrying me for a visa was to introduce me to world-renowned glass artist Hélène Rénard and to get me an internship with her,” he said.
“Yes, I’ve heard of her,” his dad said.
“Well, we ran into her in London tonight, and it turns out Jake doesn’t know her at all,” Rafe said with a sneer. “Jake zeroed in on the one thing he knew I wanted and lied to me, manipulated me, by promising that to me when he knew it was impossible.”
Rafe didn’t exactly expect his dad to share his anger. He couldn’t remember very many times when his dad had been angry. But he didn’t expect him to shrug and say, “Did you actually think Jake had the power to convince a world-renowned glass artist to take you under her wing in the first place?”
Rafe blinked. Had be believed Jake could do that? Honestly?
He shook his head and sank farther against the wall. “That’s not the point, Dad. He knew exactly how to manipulate me and he did. And I thought we had something?—”
He stopped before he said too much. Knowing his dad, he’d passed that “too much” point the moment he said hello.
His dad nodded and leaned against the opposite wall in imitation of him. “So you’re angry with Jake for lying, when he’s already told you he has a problem with lying, because he told you something improbable that you believed. And why did you believe such an outlandish claim to begin with?”
Rafe glared at his dad. He hated it when his dad called him out for being unreasonable.
He ignored the line of questioning in favor of saying, “At least I had a chance to introduce myself to Hélène Rénard properly.” He stood straight again. “She’s actually quite nice. I invited her here to Hawthorne House and she accepted the invitation.”
“That’s wonderful,” his dad said, genuine happiness in his expression. “When is she coming? Janice will love this. She’s had a bit of a crush on Hélène Rénard since some conference they both attended in the seventies.”
Rafe groaned and rolled his eyes. The last thing he needed was for his mum to follow his idol around when she visited, probably drooling and asking all sorts of inappropriate questions, like whether she wanted to have a threesome with her and his dad.
“We haven’t made firm arrangements yet,” he said. “Could you tell Mum not to embarrass me when she’s here, please?”
His dad chuckled. “Of course. But you know I’ve never been able to tell Janice what to do.”
That was certainly the truth. Rafe’s mum did as she pleased and always had.
“Now,” his dad said as they continued down the hall to their respective flats. “Tell me why you’re really angry at Jake. Hint, it’s not because he manipulated you into helping him immigrate to the UK by promising something you probably, deep down, knew he couldn’t deliver on.”
Heat flushed through Rafe’s entire body as he neared his flat’s door. “I’m too tired for this Dad,” he sighed.
“Alright, then I’ll just cut to the end and tell you,” his dad replied with a smile. “You’re falling in love with Jake, and witnessing him being caught in a major lie has made you uncertain about the veracity of this relationship the two of you are building. Because even though he’s been open about his compulsive lying, you’re worried that the feelings you have for him are based on a lie as well when you want nothing more for them to be the truth. You’re not angry, you’re hurt and you’re scared of losing him.”
Rafe narrowed his eyes and just stared. Then he shook his head and turned to unlock his door. “Goodnight, Dad,” he said, not glancing back at his dad as he opened his door and retreated into his apartment.
As soon as he had the door shut behind him, he heaved out a breath and let his shoulders and arms hang. Dammit, his dad was right. He hated how vulnerable it made him, but he’d genuinely started to fall in love with Jake and trust him.
Jake was a liar, though, by his own admission. How did you love a man who had a serious problem with the truth?
He shook his head, tossed his keys onto the table by the door, and slumped his way back to his bedroom. He didn’t know what to do. From the start, he’d wanted to help Jake, but now he wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to help himself.