Chapter 21
Adriel
The invitation had arrived three weeks ago.
Adriel had found it on his desk one morning, thick cardstock in a cream envelope, his name typed neatly across the front. He'd opened it standing there, still holding his coffee, and read the words without quite understanding them at first.
Grayson House Publishing requests the pleasure of your company at the launch of… and then the name of the book, the author, the venue.
He'd looked up, across the office, through open doors of Landen's office. Landen had been on the phone, gesturing at something, and for a moment their eyes had met. Landen had smiled.
That was three weeks ago.
Now the night was here, and Adriel was standing in front of his closet trying to remember how to breathe.
The event was a launch celebration for one of Grayson House's biggest authors. Important client, important press, important people. The entire editorial floor had been invited, which meant Adriel would be there, which meant Landen would be there. In the same room. For hours.
Landen had talked to him about it. One evening, a hand on his hip, steady and warm.
“We should keep our distance,” he'd said. “It's not that I want to hide this. Believe me, I do not. I just don't want to give anyone ammunition to use against you. You work for me. People will talk, and I don't want that to touch you.”
Adriel had nodded. Had understood. Does understand.
But now, standing alone in his apartment days later, choosing his clothes for the event, the understanding felt thinner than it had when Landen's hands were on him.
He pulled a dark jacket from the closet, held it against himself in the mirror. Adjusted it. Tugged at the hem. Took it off. Put it back on. Tried a different shirt underneath. Took that off too.
He thought about the marks on his body, faded now to faint yellowish shadows. He thought about Landen saying mine in the dark and Mr. Alvarez in the light. He thought about how much space there was between those two things, and how he existed, always, in the gap.
He was staring at his fourth shirt option when Jenna appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with the particular expression she reserved for when he was being ridiculous and she was deciding how long to let it go on before she intervened.
"You're spiraling," she said.
"I'm getting dressed," Adriel said, tugging at the collar.
"You're spiraling while getting dressed." She took a stock of him. "You've been in here for forty-five minutes. I timed it. I was going to give you an hour but I got bored."
"I'm fine."
"You're wearing the same shirt you started with."
Adriel looked down. She was right. He groaned and sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Jenna snorted, and came to stand in front of him. She tugged the jacket straight on his shoulders, smoothed the collar, tilted her head to assess.
"This one," she said. "Done. Stop touching it."
Adriel didn't move. He stared at the floor between his shoes and said nothing, and the silence was apparently louder than any of his wardrobe complaints because Jenna's hands stilled on his collar.
"Okay," she said, voice shifting. She sat beside him on the bed. "What's actually going on? And don't say nothing. I know your nothing face and this isn't it."
Adriel picked at a thread on his sleeve.
"Is this about Landen?" she asked.
His silence was answer enough. Jenna sighed.
She was aware of Landen. She knew they were seeing each other, knew Adriel was in deep, knew the broad shape of it even if Adriel had kept the details close to his chest. He'd been tight-lipped in the way he always was when something mattered too much to risk saying out loud, as if describing it fully would somehow jinx it, or worse, invite the kind of scrutiny he wasn't ready for.
Jenna had let him have that space, which was generous for her.
"What did he do?" she asked, and there was a careful edge to it.
"Nothing," Adriel said quickly. "He didn't do anything wrong. It's just…" He exhaled. "This event tonight. We're both going. But separately. He doesn't want anyone at work to know about us."
He saw the flicker in Jenna's eyes, and he rushed to add the rest.
"It's not like that. He's not ashamed. He said he doesn't want to give people ammunition. Because I work for him. Because of the power dynamic, the gossip."
"Okay," she said eventually. "I can actually see his point."
Adriel blinked, surprised. He'd expected a fight.
"No, I mean it," Jenna continued. "If he's your boss, and people find out, you're the one who gets the looks. You're the one people whisper about. He's probably right that it would get ugly." She paused. "But."
"But," Adriel echoed, already deflating.
"But his reasons being valid doesn't mean your feelings aren't," Jenna said. "You can understand why he wants to keep it quiet and still hate the way it makes you feel. Both things can be true, Adriel."
He stared at the floor. She was right. She was always right about the things he didn't want to hear.
"What do you actually want?" she asked.
The question was so simple it winded him. He opened his mouth, closed it.
What did he want?
He wanted Landen's hand on his back in a room full of people. He wanted to be introduced as something. He wanted the space between mine and Mr. Alvarez to close.
"I want him to not have to pretend I don't matter to him," Adriel said quietly. "When other people are watching."
Jenna nodded slowly. "Then you need to tell him that."
"I can't just…"
"Yes, you can. You tell him what you need. You tell him what's not working. That's how this works, Adriel. You don't just take what you're given and be grateful. You get to want things."
Adriel looked down, fingers twisting in his lap. When he spoke, his voice was so soft she had to lean in to hear it. "What if he leaves?"
The question hung between them.
"What if I tell him what I want and he doesn't want the same thing?" Adriel whispered. "What if it's too much?"
Jenna was silent for a moment. She looked at him and something in her expression went very steady.
"Then he's not the one," she said.
Adriel's head snapped up. "Jenna…"
"No." She held up a hand, cutting him off before he could argue.
"Listen to me. You know I'm right. You always do this, Adriel.
You always shrink yourself, make yourself into some caricature of yourself in order to fit what other people expect you to be.
You bend and you fold and you cut pieces off until you fit into whatever box they've built, and then when it still doesn't work you blame yourself for not fitting.
You need to stop." Her voice didn't waver.
"You need to realize that you are enough, just as you are, and if someone does not like it, then that's their problem. Not yours."
He didn't respond right away. His eyes were burning. He blinked hard, jaw tight.
"I don't know how to do that," he said finally, voice rough.
"I know," Jenna said. "But you're going to learn. And I'm going to be annoying about it until you do."
A wet laugh escaped him; small, surprised, and shaky. She bumped his shoulder with hers and he bumped back, and for a moment they just sat there, the way they had since they were children.
Jenna stood eventually. Straightened his jacket one more time. Stepped back and looked at him.
"You look good," she said. "Really good. Go to this thing, have a drink, and when you're ready; talk to him. Tell him what you need. And if he's worth a damn, he'll listen."
∞∞∞
The venue was exactly what Adriel had expected and dreaded. He'd seen photos of it online when he'd looked it up three days ago, unable to stop himself. It was worse in person.
High ceilings, crystal chandeliers, walls paneled in something that probably cost more than his annual salary. Bright lights bounced off polished surfaces, making everything gleam.
Adriel stood just inside the entrance and fought the urge to turn around and walk back out. Instead, he handed his coat to the attendant. Forced himself forward.
The room opened up around him, swallowing him into its current.
People everywhere; editors he recognized, authors he'd only seen in headshots, agents and publicists.
He smiled at a few faces, nodded at others, kept moving toward the bar because moving was better than standing still and the bar was somewhere to go.
He ordered champagne. Then he scanned the room before he could stop himself.
It was instinct by now. He'd developed it over the past months, this automatic searching whenever he entered a space where Landen might be.
His eyes moved across the crowd, past clusters of people in conversation, the waiters circulating with trays, the small stage at the far end where the author would eventually speak.
He found Landen almost immediately.
He stood near one of the tall windows at the far side of the room, the city glittering darkly behind him. He was in a dark suit; charcoal, perfectly cut. His jacket was open, his posture relaxed, one hand in his pocket. He was mid-conversation with someone, head slightly tilted.
He looked devastating. Composed. Elegant. Every line of him sharp and intentional. The kind of beautiful that stopped conversation when he entered a room, that made people turn and look and then pretend they hadn't.
The real smile was on his face. The one that changed everything, that softened the sharp edges, that Adriel had learned meant Landen was genuinely engaged. It was directed at whoever he was speaking with.
Adriel looked away.
Looked back.
Looked away again. His fingers tightened on the champagne glass.
He thought about the promise Landen had made that morning. They'd been in bed, still half-asleep, Landen's arm heavy across his waist and his mouth pressed to the back of Adriel's neck.
Come over after, he'd murmured, low and warm. I want you in my bed tonight.
The thought steadied him. Briefly. A small anchor in the middle of all this glittering chaos.