23. Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Branson
Embrace art, food and culture. Discover cities and countrysides and all the wonders of the world.
“ G ive us a clue?” I asked, pressing Milo for hints about the date he’d planned. It had been two weeks since he’d brought Juliet back to the hotel and more than a week since either of us had been back to our apartment. We’d fallen into a routine that had all of us returning from work to the suite at The Starlight where we would eat together, watch TV, talk until all hours of the night and explore each other’s bodies until we were all exhausted. In short, it was perfect and I wouldn’t complain if we never went back to our own beds. Being together felt natural.
Milo still tensed when I washed his back or ran my hands along his bare shoulders, though he never stopped me from touching him anywhere. My man was touch starved and he thrived on the gentle caresses Noel and I peppered him with every chance we got.
Noel had been a little off the last few weeks. Something was playing on his mind and despite me asking if he wanted to talk about it, he always brushed it off. Outwardly, he was his usual, cocky self - the powerful businessman who took shit from no one and treated us like royalty, but I could see it - in the tightness around his eyes, in his smile that wasn’t as big as usual and in the way he got lost in his own world, staring at his phone or out the window. Still, he maintained that nothing was wrong.
My two beautiful men. Stoic and stubborn.
“Nope,” Milo said, popping the p before sipping the last of his coffee. It was later afternoon and we were sitting in a café on 5th Avenue - the start of our official second date, not counting the dinners we had out together. It was early September, and the day was mild, so we’d grabbed a seat outside. The streets were busy and the few trees that were around were still green, not yet ready to accept the changing seasons.
“Are you working this weekend?” Noel asked Milo, who shook his head.
“Not officially, no, but I had thought that if Branson was ready, we could go in tomorrow and start on his tattoo.” Milo turned to me and I nodded enthusiastically. I had been happy with the design weeks ago, but Milo said it was missing something, so he had been working on it for the last few days, and though I gave some input, it was mostly all his creation. “Great. Well, if you two are both done with your drinks, let's get going.”
Noel, Milo and I stood from the table, pushing our chairs in and putting on our coats. Standing between the two of them, we turned down the avenue and I linked my right hand with Milo’s. Our fingers twined together and he gave me a squeeze, meeting my eyes with a smile. With my left hand, I reached for Noel’s and mirrored the movement, linking our fingers together. He lifted our joined hands, kissing the back of mine before letting them drop.
Shortly after we’d left the cafe, we turned off 5th Avenue, hand in hand, and headed towards a large black and white fronted building with a sign that read “MoMA” on the side. I knew what it was but had never been inside before.
“Here we are,” Milo said, waving his hand and gesturing to the building. “The Museum of Modern Art. My favourite place in New York.”
“Fantastic choice. I haven’t been here in years.” Noel let go of my hand to come around and kiss Milo on the cheek.
“I spent a lot of time here, and at a few other museums in the city, when I was a teenager.” Milo started walking towards the entrance and we followed. We paid the entry and walked into the first gallery, following Milo's lead.
“So, you’ve always wanted to be an artist then?” Noel asked as we walked through a gallery of drawings and paintings.
“For as long as I can remember. I’ve always loved sketching and when my mom was alive, we used to paint together. I haven’t painted in years though. After she died, I couldn’t bring myself to get back into it without her.” He shrugged his shoulders, not turning to look at us. This was the first time he’d ever mentioned his mother to us, the first time he’d mentioned any of his family other than Mia. Sadness crept into my heart at the thought of a little Milo losing his mom and never painting again.
We had a lot in common, Milo and me, though I think we handled our grief differently. He closed parts of himself off where I opened myself up, grabbing every adventure or experience I could to make my father proud and keep my promise to him. There was no right or wrong way to grieve - the heart and soul did what it could to get by without that missing piece.
Turning to face Milo, who was studying a watercolour painting, I asked, “Do you think you’ll start painting again?” His brow furrowed and he bit his bottom lip before answering.
“I hope so.” There was so much unsaid in his reply but I didn’t press. Instead, I took his hand and gazed at the painting with him, not knowing what exactly I was looking at. On his other side, Noel wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer.
We spent the next hours wandering the various galleries of modern art until it was nearing closing time. I knew nothing about art so I waited for Milo to explain various pieces to us or I simply tried to interpret things for myself.
“You got into art when you were young, through your mum, I presume?” Noel asked once we’d stopped at one of the bars inside for a drink. Milo sipped on his soda, then nodded.
“Mom was a kindergarten teacher before she had us. After I was born, she gave up working but she would run classes for kids at a community centre and in her free time she’d either be painting or sculpting. She taught me how to sketch, how to select the right pencils and on the weekends we’d grab supplies and then spend hours working together on a project.”
“When did you decide to get into tattooing?” I asked.
“After my mother died, I couldn’t bring myself to paint again - that had been her favourite medium - and my father cleared out all her things. He threw away everything she had created, wiped all of her art and her essence away. He spared nothing, not even a single drawing.” Darkness flashed in his eyes and he turned away from us, looking down at his drink, clearing his throat before continuing.
“From then on, I would only sketch, filling hundreds of notebooks. One day, when I was around seventeen, I happened across one of those television shows where people get their tattoos fixed up. That’s when the idea came to me. I wanted to do that - not fix up people’s tattoos - but give them a piece of art they could love and cherish. Something permanent. Something no one could ever throw away.”
God, my heart cracked at the sadness in his voice. How could his father do that to him? I’d be so lost without the bits and pieces of my father I still kept at home. The letter, the model car we’d built together one summer, the silly theme park photos he adored, the mugs he’d collected - all of the memories that made up my childhood.
“Your work is incredible and I hope one day, I get to hang a piece of your art in our home.” Noel’s eyes crinkled around the edges as he smiled and Milo returned it, his mood lifting.
“Well tomorrow, I’ll be the proud owner of art by the great Milo Montague, on my ass.” I said playfully and Milo coughed, choking on his soda, while Noel scoffed at the two of us.
“Sure thing, gorgeous, anything you want.” Milo’s lips tipped into an adorable smirk “Right, ready for the next part of the date?”
The three of us sat at a table laid with a red and white chequered tablecloth and ate from two large cheesy pizzas. We were at a small mom and pop place that Milo claimed was the ‘best pizza in the world’. “You cannot tell me you’ve had better pizza than this!” He exclaimed, taking another bite.
Noel and I shared a look, grinning at Milo’s enthusiasm. “I will admit,” Noel started, “that as far as American pizza goes, this is very good. I would not however call it the best in the world.” Milo scowled at Noel, feigning offence.
“Let me guess, you went on your fancy jet to Italy and ate the best pizza there?” There was no malice to Milo’s words. He’d been more accepting of Noel’s extravagance lately.
Noel chuckled, but I replied before he could say anything. “I took a budget flight to Rome once and that is where I had the best pizza in the world.”
Milo cracked out a wicked smile, shaking his head at me while Noel nodded. “Florence. Best I’ve ever tasted. And yes, I took the jet.”
“Show offs, the both of you,” Milo joked and I mentally added ‘take Milo to Italy for the best pizza’ to my list of things to do with my boyfriends.
We joked around for a little longer before sharing a tiramisu and gelato, then took a short walk to work off the carbs before Milo hailed a taxi and not long later we were outside a bar slash nightclub. Music pumped out the large front doors as we stepped inside and made our way to the bar. Milo insisted we do some shots and we did, the cold, bitter liquid settling heavily in my stomach. After my second one, my stomach cramped slightly, but I shook it off, sure I'd probably just eaten too much.
“Do you want to dance, kitten?” Noel asked, his hot breath brushing against my ear, while his one hand gripped my hip and the other wrapped around Milo’s neck, pulling him towards us. If either of them were nervous about being seen together in public, they never showed it. And I couldn’t care what anyone thought. These two made me happy. They were mine. I kissed Noel, his warm lips were sweet and tinted red from the wine he was drinking and I pressed my tongue inside to get a better taste. All the while he held on tightly to Milo. Breaking the kiss, I turned to my other boyfriend and pressed my lips to his, tasting the tequila on his tongue.
Without another word, I walked backwards onto the dance floor, the two of them following me, one hand on my body and one gripping each other. Most nights, I was sandwiched between them in bed which I loved, but tonight I wanted to overwhelm Milo with affection. Stepping out of their holds, I turned Milo and pressed him forward so he was facing Noel. Noel needed no instruction, dragging Milo flush against him and placing one hand on the back of Milo’s neck. Then, I stepped up behind Milo and crushed my smaller frame to his, wrapping an arm around his waist. His body relaxed and the three of us moved to the beat of the music, locked in our own little bubble.
I love them , I thought. I love them .