Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
XAVI
I don’t answer the phone when my mother calls me later that night. Enfield’s words are screaming in my head, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s right. Until I get my emotions in line, I don’t want to talk to my parents.
What if he’s right? Are the options for families with gay sons available so slim that this was the only option?
I lie awake all night thinking about this. I think about the upheaval when Ayren first came out as gay when he was a teenager. Neither of my parents was happy about it. They didn’t want to have a gay son. They didn’t want to lose their kid.
The house was tense and borderline hostile for a long time. Months. I was a kid, so it may have only been days. At the same time, it could have been a year or more.
Then one day, everything snapped. There were tears. There were apologies. I didn’t miss the undertone of fear that lingered as my mother clung to Ayren as she cried, and my brother cried, and my father tried to hide that he was crying.
I don’t know what happened, even to this day, but everything changed.
My parents stumbled along the way, but they learned to be allies.
They learned support and embraced unconditional love.
By the time I came out, I already had a gay brother, a bisexual polyamorous brother, and twin brothers who were talking about having families under a single roof and sharing them.
My parents supported it all. They didn’t stop looking until they found perfect partners for my brothers to live their authentic lives.
Am I supposed to believe that they gave up on that thorough search by the time they reached their seventh and last son? By Enfield’s argument, I am. I don’t know how to feel about that.
He made alarmingly good points, though. I looked up the Duke affair and the dates when it was first leaked and went viral.
I looked up the earliest note that the images were proven AI.
I looked up the date of the statement from the Duke of Somerset, stating that the affair was a hoax.
It never happened. However, he is gay. His marriage is a sham.
A beard. A ruse to keep up tradition and the royal image.
He’s tired of living a lie, and the viral images forced him to face it.
The point is, Enfield is right. It was all recent.
Not hidden deep in his past. You’d have had to live under a rock to miss it.
The moment I search Enfield’s name online, my screen is filled with this duke scandal—which is only the latest in a long line of crazy headlines that were not disclosed in the contract.
My parents really didn’t know?
My stomach rolls with the possibility that they did and signed it anyway.
Nowhere do I find a statement from Enfield concerning the images.
He ignored them entirely. Then again, his presence online seems nonexistent.
There’s a whole bunch of headlines all over the place concerning him, but no one close to Enfield or Enfield himself addressed them at all.
I just close my eyes when I feel my bed shift. Squinting them open, I find Shapiro making his way to me from the foot of the bed. My eyes burn. The sun is coming up.
“Hey,” I greet in a whisper, as if my voice could carry across the hall and wake Enfield through two closed doors. I scratch him behind his ears. “I don’t know what to believe, Shapi. What do you think?”
He purrs quietly as he settles on my chest and allows me to pet him.
“I kind of want to cry, but that’s not going to solve anything. I could get angry like him, but I think one of us being angry is enough. So what do I do? Carry on like this isn’t happening?”
Of course, I get no answer. Shapiro looks at me through barely slitted eyes as he purrs on my chest.
I may doze here and there with Shapiro cuddling, but eventually, I force myself to get out of bed. I feel sluggish today. Probably from my lack of sleep.
As I walk through my morning routine, I find myself begging the universe that yesterday wasn’t real. It was some weird glimpse into an alternate reality, and today my real life happens. Today is the actual day that my new husband will arrive.
The door across the hall is open. I peek in there on my way by, and it looks as if it’s empty. I don’t see a suitcase. I don’t see dirty clothes. I don’t see anything indicating someone has been in here. The bed is made perfectly, too.
Wait. I know I was hoping for something different, but… I don’t understand what I’m seeing right now. Did he leave?
And what if he did? What if we just don’t get married? What if we don’t show up at the church on the day of our wedding? What then? Would someone hunt us down and drag us into the church? They can’t force us to say ‘I do.’
I chew the inside of my lip as I head for the stairs and the kitchen.
Time for breakfast, and then I’ll figure out if yesterday happened or…
not. Is it possible that I dreamed a dream so real that it felt like I was awake for it?
It’s said sexy dreams are the devil’s work.
What would a hallucination like that be?
Probably still demonic.
I push the kitchen door open and stop abruptly. Enfield is standing over the stove, the delicious smell of breakfast foods filling the space. He doesn’t appear to have seen or heard me, so I remain where I am. Should I back out quietly? Wait until he leaves before making breakfast?
Wait. It’s my kitchen!
“Do you want an omelet?” Enfield asks without turning around.
I release a breath. “Yes. Thanks.”
“I’m assuming the food in the house is all to your liking, correct?”
“It is.”
Enfield nods. I cross the room slowly to stand at the counter where he had stood yesterday evening while I filled bowls of soup. He’s just finishing an omelet and hands me the plate.
“Thank you,” I reply and watch as he adds more butter to the pan before pouring in the rest of the whipped-up eggs. He planned to make me breakfast. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have whipped that many eggs, right?
I turn away, choosing not to think too much about it. It doesn’t mean anything. I shared dinner last night, and he’s doing breakfast. Like… roommates.
Was his suitcase at the door? Is this a kind gesture on his way out? Is that why he’s being nice this morning? It’s not like he wasn’t nice yesterday. He wasn’t, like, a gentleman, but he wasn’t mean to me.
He joins me a few minutes later, and together we eat in silence. This morning, I decide that if we’re going to talk, it’s going to be his prompting. I’m not sure I have anything more to say right now.
I’m not even sure what I expect from him.
He’s right about so much of what he said.
If our situations were reversed and I were being forced to marry a woman, I would not entertain a romantic relationship with her, never mind a sexual one.
Can I truly expect something different from him just because I’m on this side of the equation?
Enfield finishes before me despite starting after me.
Maybe I’m too caught up in my head. I watch him from the corner of my eye as I make a concentrated effort to finish my omelet.
He’s done cleaning the kitchen mess when I get to my feet, while at the same time, the kitchen door opens and my mother stands there.
“There you are,” she says, relieved.
“Where else would I be?” I ask and bring my plate to the dishwasher.
Enfield watches my mother with complete cold disinterest as he dries his hands on the kitchen towel. I don’t stare at him, but I’m very aware as he hangs it on the side of the sink and then pushes his hands into his pockets as he regards my mother in silence.
On the one hand, I kind of feel like I need to have some solidarity with him. Not for contractually betrothed or misguided reasons, but because I think maybe he’s right. But this is my mother, and I want to hear her out.
When I’m finished putting away my plate, I stand and look at her.
Mom is looking between us, not moving. Finally, she says, “Hello, Enfield. I’m Patricia Adair.” She offers him a smile. “I’m sorry for intruding.”
Enfield doesn’t answer more than to incline his head. I expect nothing more.
Mom turns her attention to me. “Are you okay, honey? You didn’t answer our calls last night.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter and lean against the counter to look at her. “I’m going to have an affair.”
My mother looks comically alarmed. Enfield snorts. I glance in his direction and find he’s looking at me with amusement. Does he wink? Without a word, Enfield walks around the counter behind me and heads for the door my mother is standing in. She steps aside, and he leaves the room.
Silence settles as my mother stares at the door. Yeah. I know that stupefied feeling. Unconvinced that it’s real. Mom turns to me again. “Xavi?”
I roll my eyes and return to the breakfast booth we’d been eating in to drop on the bench. My mother joins me.
“What did Dad say?”
She frowns. “Nothing that will be helpful. We spoke to his parents again last night. For quite a while. They’re not willing to nullify the contract. And… I suppose they’re right, baby. You both signed it, whether Enfield read it or not.”
I press my lips together. “Can you honestly tell me you thought that man was gay?”
“I don’t know him,” she answers, shrugging. “Why wouldn’t I trust his parents when they go through with this?”
“They didn’t tell him they’d changed the contract from the previous woman to a man! They let him sign it without saying a word, Mom. And seriously, if you search his name online, it’s all over the place; that thing with the Duke is a lie. How did you not know that?”
“Again, why would I ever think that they’d present me with a straight man for my gay son?” she asks, shaking her head. “I’m as appalled as you are upset. But… I don’t know what to do. You both signed it. Without his parents’ willingness to amicably cancel the contract…”
“So you expect me to live with him for the rest of my life? Seriously?”
Mom twists to look at the door behind her as if she’s going to see him standing there. She sighs. “I don’t know, Xavi. It’s been less than twenty-four hours. Maybe he’ll come around.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” I ask and get to my feet in disgust. “This isn’t asking him to come around to purple drapes when he prefers gray.
This is a straight man being forced to marry a gay man!
And you really think he’ll come around?” I mock her tone with the last three words. Not well, because I’m frustrated.
“What do you want me to say, Xavi?” Mom asks.
“Nothing. Unless you can nullify this damn contract and try again, there’s nothing you can say. Nothing is going to fix this. Nothing is going to smooth it over. My options are to live absolutely miserably for the rest of my life or have an affair—his suggestion, I might add.”
Once again, my mother looks horrified. Yeah, Mom. Not my first choice, either.
“It’s unfair. I never fought this. I compromised on everything in that stupid contract that I hated and didn’t want. I didn’t throw a fit. I didn’t make a scene. I haven’t said anything, and you gave me to an angry straight man!”
“I didn’t know!” she says shrilly.
“Then maybe you should have done your research!” I shout.
“This is my life, Mom. My life that’s fucked up because of this.
My chance for happiness is gone, and all you can say is there’s nothing you can do about it.
What do you want me to say? I forgive you?
It’s fine? I’ll live happily as a miserable person for the rest of my life without complaint and pretend nothing is wrong?
Will that make you feel better? Newsflash, Mom.
This isn’t about your comfort right now. It’s about my damn life!”
I turn around, and maybe unfairly, I storm out of the kitchen, leaving my mother calling after me.
I don’t know where I’m going. I have no destination in mind.
I just go. It’s a big house, so even if she comes after me, it’ll take her a hot minute to track me down since I don’t stop in any of the usual places to find me.
I half expect to run into Enfield on the way. As if he were standing there listening, and he’ll give me a high five. Or maybe decide we’re on the same team and life will get less… tense in this house.
He’s not around any corner or in the room I finally stop in.
It’s not fair to be mad at my mom. I don’t believe for a minute she did this maliciously. But right now, I need someone to blame, and if she or my dad had made the slightest effort to look into Enfield at all, I think they’d have had more questions.
Maybe it’s on me, too. Should I have looked him up before signing? I put my trust in my parents to choose right for me. Like they had with my six older brothers. All my brothers are happy. Happily married. Happily in love. With happy, beautiful families.
Why would I think it would be different for me?
Unlike Enfield’s parents, I don’t believe mine are jerks and did this intentionally. I don’t think that they purposefully kept information from me concerning him that might have made me question this.
None of that changes my situation, and right now, I’m not willing to look past those details.
It shouldn’t have gotten this far. Maybe Enfield didn’t read the contract, but I read it thoroughly.
More than once. There was nothing in there that gave me any indication that I had something to be concerned about.
No hint that he’s straight. Nothing suggesting he’s a miserable asshole.
I read it. I read everything in that stupid contract.
And this is my life now. I’m forced to be in an unhappy, unhealthy marriage until I die.
I think I have a right to be upset with my parents at this very moment.
I’ll probably forgive them in the future, but right now, I’m not willing to let it go.
Bottom line, they should have done more than whatever it was they did, which I’m inclined to believe was the bare minimum vetting.