Chapter 9
NINE
Nervous? That didn’t come close to describing how Graeme felt as he and Ryan drove up the long, winding drive of Penwith Grange, the gorgeous, old estate in Cornwall where Mavis and Benny were having their wedding.
He fiddled with his seatbelt, squirmed and pushed his feet against the front of the footwell, and even played with the switch that locked and unlocked the door several times before Ryan gave him a gentle warning to stop.
“We’re almost there,” Ryan said. “We’ll be checked in by three, the service is at five, and the reception supper is at six and over by ten. You only have to endure this for a few hours.”
“I know, I know,” Graeme insisted breathlessly.
He didn’t have the heart to tell Ryan that he’d been enduring this for twenty-four years, or that the last year had been so intense it felt like an additional twenty-four.
Ryan was dealing with his own struggles and didn’t need the extra weight of the kind of homophobia that was a foreign concept to the Hawthornes but par for the course for his family.
The parking lot of Penwith Grange was already filled with cars when they reached it. Ryan found them a spot at the far end of the lot, the shady end. That seemed about right.
Ryan cut the engine, but turned to Graeme and took his hand instead of rushing to get out of the car. “You’re going to be okay,” he said like he had the authority to make it so. “Mavis wants you here, and apparently Benny does, too. Whatever anyone else says or does, just remember that.”
“Okay,” Graeme said, forcing himself to smile, though he didn’t think the expression was all that convincing. What he really wanted to say was, “That’s easy for you to say.”
Ryan took Graeme’s hand and squeezed it, looking straight into his eyes. “I’m here for you,” he said. “I care about you, and I want you to be happy. If all else fails, remember that.”
Graeme’s tight smile turned genuine. “Thanks, Ryan. That means everything to me.”
Ryan’s gaze dropped to Graeme’s lips. The intention to kiss him buzzed in the air between them, although the kiss remained just a wish. Someone with a kid walked behind the car, making enough noise to subtly push Graeme and Ryan apart. Now wasn’t the time.
But there had been a time, Graeme remembered as they got out of the car, then fetched their overnight bags from the back.
Graeme’s lips still tingled from that kiss in the garden a few days before.
How a simple kiss in broad daylight could be so sensual and make his legs turn to jelly was still a mystery to him.
So was the hot and heady kiss Art had planted on him in Brighton.
For someone who had hardly been kissed at all before Damien came along—Mavis hadn’t been that affectionate, and Damien liked his mouth on other things besides Graeme’s lips—Graeme sure had been kissed soundly lately.
He pushed those thoughts aside as he hitched his bag over his shoulder and followed slightly behind Ryan to the front entrance of Penwith Grange.
Like so many other former aristocratic estates, Penwith had been turned into a hotel several decades ago so that the family could make enough money to keep it.
Graeme preferred the Hawthorne family’s idea to turn their estate into an arts center, but whatever family owned Penwith had done alright for themselves.
The interior was decorated with understated elegance, which was perfect for a wedding venue.
There were plenty of soft colors, just enough gilding to be posh without being tacky, and fresh flowers in enormous vases throughout the entry hall.
Once he and Ryan checked in and dropped their bags in the small, two-bed room they’d been given in a quiet wing of the house, Graeme had a chance to explore the estate’s gardens as well.
“I knew bringing you outside would calm you down,” Ryan said with a grin as they investigated the manicured lawns and numerous themed gardens.
“It’s lovely,” Graeme said, “but I’m not sure it’s been properly taken care of.”
“Really?” Ryan’s brow shot up.
“Parts are a bit straggly,” Graeme said, pointing to a bed of dahlias that hadn’t been tended properly. “And the borders are patchy.”
Shifting into work mode was a defense mechanism, pure and simple, but it did its job and calmed Graeme. He would have gone on pointing out the subtle flaws in the garden and making suggestions for improvement, but his phone buzzed in his pocket.
He pulled it out to find a text from Art.
“Thinking of you on this momentous occasion.”
Graeme smiled at the text.
“Is that Art?” Ryan asked as three dots appeared on Graeme’s phone.
“Yeah,” Graeme said, showing his phone to Ryan. “He’s been texting me since last night with motivational comments and encouraging messages. Not that all of them have been appropriate, mind you,” he said, laughing at the memory of some of the more colorful things Art had sent.
A moment later, the three dots turned into an image. An image of Art’s erect penis with Art’s hand at the base. Graeme’s own cock twitched in reaction and heat filled him.
Ryan laughed so loud he startled some nearby birds. “That man has an unhealthy obsession with his cock,” he said. Graeme glanced to him in question, and Ryan sheepishly admitted, “He sent me a dick pic the other day, too.”
“Oh,” Graeme said, feeling weirdly deflated.
“But I’m sure he means that particular erection to be just for you,” Ryan said, still laughing.
“Yeah,” Graeme said, cheering up a little.
It wasn’t that he wanted Art to send dick pics only to him.
He’d never been sent a dick pic before, and he was surprised that he kind of thought it was hot instead of thinking it was gross, like he’d always been told it was.
Something in him wanted to send one back, too.
Something else wanted to skip the pics and go right to the real thing.
But what about Ryan? What about the amazing kisses they’d shared? It felt so weird and wrong to be hot for two men at the same time.
“Graeme? Is that you?”
Everything froze at the sound of Mavis’s mum’s voice. Graeme rushed to put his phone away so fast that he dropped it.
“Um, hello, Carla,” he choked out as Ryan bent to retrieve his phone.
His former mother-in-law’s reaction to him was about what he’d expected. Her face contorted with fury and she hissed, “How dare you show your face at Mavis’s wedding?”
Strangely, Graeme didn’t mind her rage at all. Well, not exactly. It hurt to be the object of so much venom, but it was completely expected.
“Mavis invited me,” he said calmly. “She said both she and Benny want me here.”
“Nobody wants you here, you ungrateful pervert,” Carla snapped.
“Just a moment,” Ryan started to defend him.
He didn’t have a chance. Carla threw her head back, turned, and stomped off, probably to find security, if Penwith Grange had such a thing, to throw him out.
Ryan was almost shaking with indignation, so Graeme rested a hand on his arm. “Don’t bother getting upset with them,” he said, a dark spot of gloom growing inside him. “It isn’t going to do any good. They are who they are, and they’re not going to change.”
“It isn’t right,” Ryan growled.
“No, it isn’t,” Graeme sighed, “but arguing with them doesn’t work. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Ryan didn’t seem to like that answer, but he accepted it. At least, he didn’t say anything more.
The garden tour lost some of its shine, so the two of them headed back into the house and up to their room to shower and change for the festivities.
As much as Graeme had tried to downplay Mrs. Munroe’s reaction to him, the anticipation that he would have to deal with more of that in the next few hours kept him from even noticing Ryan half dressed as they got ready.
Sex and attraction were the last things on his mind as he showered, dressed, and brushed his hair.
“I swear to you,” Ryan said once they made their way downstairs again, dressed in suits and looking fabulous, or, at least, Ryan looked fabulous, half an hour later, “I’m not going to let these people be cruel to you.”
Graeme sent him a watery smile as they crossed through the conservatory, which the staff was already setting up for supper, and out to the garden where the ceremony would take place. “Thanks,” he said.
He wanted to take Ryan’s hand for support, but he didn’t dare to. It was obvious Mavis hadn’t told anyone he was going to be there. The gasps and looks of shock that were thrown his way as he and Ryan walked to the edge of the chairs that had been set up on a springy, green lawn were brutal.
“What is he doing here?” he heard Mavis’s cousin Simon mutter to Benny’s brother, Zack.
“Mavis insisted on inviting him,” Zack said in return, making no attempt to speak so that Graeme wouldn’t overhear him. “She had some hysterical, last-minute fit of conscience or something.”
Simon humphed and looked at Graeme like he was a flea-ridden dog that had wandered into the garden. “He’s disgusting. Having him here will probably taint the entire union.”
“What kind of flower is that?” Ryan asked, tugging on Graeme’s arm and turning him away from the jerks.
It was obvious what he was doing. Ryan was his hero on so many levels. The man could turn an innocent question into an iron-clad shield to keep him safe from the cruelty of his former community.
“Oh, that’s a peony,” he said, moving closer to the bush. He even reached out and touched it once he was close enough. Touching nature had always been healing for him.
“It’s a Duchesse De Nemours, to be exact,” an older woman in a dove grey pantsuit said, moving closer to them.
Graeme smiled at her. He didn’t know her, which meant she wasn’t family. “I’m surprised you know that,” he said, instantly feeling like he might have insulted the woman.
“Of course I know it,” she said, imperious but not offended. “It’s my garden, after all.”
“Is it?” Graeme perked up even more.
The older woman held out her hand. “Muriel St. Ives,” she said. “Owner and manager of Penwith Grange.”