Chapter 21 Nicholas
B. Whitmore
Don’t be late. There’s a lot riding on tonight. I expect you to pretend you care about this family and its name.
Staring at the text from his father, Nicholas has the urge to throw his phone at the wall to watch it shatter.
All day, he’s done an incredible job of ignoring why he and Andrew are in New York. He’s put all his focus where it belongs—on Andrew. Giving him a massage in bed, ordering room service, wining and dining his man at the nicest places on the upper East side.
Experiencing Andrew’s unbridled pleasure at the simple luxuries Nicki grew up with left him resolved to spoil the fuck out of this man any chance he gets.
All day, everything had been going great, playing tourist and making memories, until reality crashed back in when Andrew started asking questions about the party tonight.
What should he expect? What were Nicholas’s parents like?
Has he ever brought anyone to meet them? What did they know about Andrew?
All perfectly reasonable questions for a man to ask before meeting his boyfriend’s parents.
Given Andrew’s need for information and control, he’d shown incredible restraint in holding off on the questions until the last minute.
Except suddenly, just hours away from this, Nicholas wasn’t sure he wanted it to happen anymore.
He’d orchestrated this entire thing to get back at his father, to emotionally one up him up, but faced with letting that horrible man meet Andrew, he isn’t sure it’s worth it.
He knows Andrew can hold his own, won’t hold any of it against Nicki, but it made his skin crawl.
He’d pushed it all aside, focusing on the practical things he could explain to Andrew—his father loved cognac, his mother loved anything she could get drunk on, they had charities everywhere but cared about no one but themselves.
The more he shared, the sadder Andrew’s eyes got until he’d requested they return to the hotel and nap.
Nicholas hadn’t fallen asleep, but he’d pretended, letting Andrew hold him and listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
They’d stayed in bed so long, they’d ended up taking separate bathrooms to get ready.
Nicholas finished first, depositing himself on the end of the bed to wait and see what Andrew would be wearing tonight.
He’d all but convinced himself everything would be fine when the text from his father came, reminding him what his father’s priorities always have been and always would be—appearances.
“Are you ready?” Andrew yells from the bathroom.
“So fucking ready,” Nicholas answers, pocketing his phone, ready to forget about his father.
And forget he does when Andrew steps out of the bathroom looking like a fucking work of art.
His thick waves have been tamed, his part swooped to the side and gelled back in a style that draws attention to his thick brows and sharp features.
His suit is definitely something custom from Denise, the modern style highlighting his trim figure, and the rich purple color highlighting his dark complexion.
Andrew King is the most singularly beautiful man Nicholas has ever laid eyes upon. How did he ever not see it? He was a fucking self-centered dick, that’s how. Well, he sees it now, and he knows what a fucking lucky man he is.
“You’re staring,” Andrew huffs.
Despite his words, Andrew’s cheeks darken. His princess is such a fickle creature, so insecure yet so desperate for praise. Well, Nicki is going to spoil him in that too. Someone this perfect deserves to know it.
“Give me a spin.”
“No.”
“Come on then.” Nicholas stands, holding out his hand. “Give me a twirl, princess.”
Andrew grumbles but lays his hand in Nicholas's, allowing himself to be turned. The back is as good as the front, and Nicholas spins him a second time, only stopping when Andrew swats his chest.
“You’re going to make me dizzy.”
“Sorry.”
“Wait,” Andrew says, his easy smile slipping. “Why are you wearing that?”
“Because it’s my father, and we’ve got to dress up.”
“No, why are you wearing a tuxedo,” Andrew corrects. “Nicholas Whitmore, was this a black tie affair?”
Nicki frowns. “Call me Nicki.”
“Fine, Nicki. Was this a black tie party?”
“Fuck if I know, I didn’t read the invitation. I threw it in the trash the day it came in the mail.”
“Then why are you in a tux?” Andrew asks accusatorially.
“I wanted to dress up for you.”
“That’s—oh.” Andrew smooths out a nonexistent wrinkle in his shirt. “Alright then. Well, you look very handsome, Nicki.”
“Do you like it?”
Andrew nods. “I miss seeing the rest of your tattoos but—what are you doing?”
Nicki tugs off his bow tie, throwing it to the floor before undoing the top three buttons. “Better?”
“You don’t need to do that just for me.”
“It was selfish, I assure you. I want your eyes on me all night.”
“They’d be on you regardless,” Andrew grins.
Fuck this man. This perfect, honest, good man who Nicki wants to keep forever.
Suddenly, he doesn’t want to take Andrew to meet his parents, doesn’t want to taint the most real, beautiful thing he’s ever experienced in his life with his family who have done nothing but try to downplay or ruin every good thing he’s ever had.
What the fuck was he thinking bringing Andrew here? Bringing him here as a fake boyfriend made Nicki a fucking asshole. Bringing him here as a real one is something infinitely worse.
It’s on the tip of his tongue to tell Andrew they should skip it when he gets another text, this time from his mother.
Rose
You should have been here already, dear. The paparazzi will be watching. Be sure and make us look good.
“Everything ok?” Andrew asks, moving between the spread of Nicholas’s thighs.
He skims his nails over Nicholas’s buzzcut, the touch becoming as soothing to Nicholas as it is to Andrew.
At this point, he’s developing a pavlovian response to Andrew touching him there, his entire body signaling safety at the simple touch.
“Just my mother. She uh…doesn’t want us to be late.”
Nicholas isn’t sure why he doesn’t just tell Andrew the full truth.
He would understand. Yet some part of him doesn’t want to burden him.
Andrew takes on everyone else’s problems, worries enough as it is, if he had any idea the selfish reasons Nicholas still made them come, he'd try and fix it, find a way to blame himself.
Nicholas can at least spare him that much.
“Should we go then?”
Conflicting desires war within Nicholas—the urge to take Andrew and run far away from this city and the people who never gave a damn, and the need to shove Andrew in their faces and prove he’s not as hard to love as they always made him think.
The second wins, Nicki curling his hand possessively in Andrew’s.
“Yeah, princess, let’s go.”
* * *
“Wow, this is fancier than I expected,” Andrew whispers.
Fancy is an understatement. His father rented out the ballroom of one of the most expensive hotels in New York City, the decor over the top and garish with walls draped in silk tapestries and oversized centerpieces on each table.
His mother clearly had a hand in the decorating process, her love of gold apparent in its excess.
“This is just his birthday?” Andrew questions. “It looks like a wedding.”
“Mhmm,” Nicki hums, taking Andrew’s hand in his.
Even for Nicholas, who admittedly has no qualms spending money on what he wants, it’s overkill.
Then again, he’s always found his parents need to show their wealth stifling.
It reminds him of his childhood home, filled with expensive show pieces and devoid of love.
He broke one of his mother’s vases once, and while they could easily afford to replace it, he’d done it while his mother was hosting tea, leading to a lot of yelling.
“My mother likes gold.”
“I can see that,” Andrew says, squeezing Nicholas’s hand. He looks down at where their hands are joined, watching as Andrew traces a circular pattern with his thumb on the side of Nicholas’s hand. Clockwise three times, then counterclockwise three times.
“I’m underdressed,” Andrew mumbles. “Everyone is in tuxedos like you.”
“That’s because they’re trying to impress my father.”
“You don’t want me to impress your father?”
“He won’t like you anyway.”
“Wow, thanks,” Andrew snorts.
“He doesn’t like anyone who doesn’t benefit him. I like you, which is all that matters.”
“Okay.” Andrew taps his thumb.
Nicholas kisses the side of his head. “Would it make a difference if I told you not to be nervous?”
“Nope.”
Nicholas lifts Andrew’s hand, slipping it under the open collar of his shirt to settle it over his heart.
More than once, he’s noticed Andrew seeking it out, counting the beats under his breath or laying his ear against Nicholas’s chest to listen at night.
Within seconds, the tension in Andrew’s shoulders loosens as he spreads his fingers wide, tapping Nicholas’s chest in time with the beats of his heart.
He can’t imagine what good thing he must’ve done in a past life to be worthy of being Andrew’s safe space.
“Tell me when you’re ready to go inside,” Nicholas says, prepared to stay here in the entryway as long as it takes for Andrew to settle and hold his head high where it belongs.
Andrew is quiet, catching Nicholas off guard when he moves in front of him and kisses him right there with everyone watching in a rare display of public affection.
Andrew tastes faintly of toothpaste still, crisp and fresh, and Nicholas suddenly wants to carry this man out of here and back to their hotel room so he doesn’t have to share him tonight.
Fuck the party, fuck his father, all he wants is to kiss Andrew. Unfortunately, Andrew pulls out of the kiss, giving Nicholas a soft smile.
“I’m ready now.”
“Give me a second,” Nicholas grunts, trying to adjust his now rock hard dick.
“Why Mr. Whitmore, you’re hard from a single kiss. How scandalous.”