Chapter 20
Vance
Several weeks after the wedding that wasn't.
He had set up a workspace at the kitchen table, papers everywhere, coffee cups in various stages of cold. The focused intensity on his face reminded me of how he looked when he was cooking—completely absorbed, completely himself.
"Hey." He looked up when I came in, and his expression softened. "You're early."
"Slow day." I kissed the top of his head and glanced at the blueprints. "Is this the Grandview project?"
"The preliminary designs for the cottage renovation." He pulled up a rendering on his laptop. "Ronan wants to convert the old groundskeeper's cottage into a honeymoon suite. I'm trying to preserve the original stonework while modernizing the interior."
I studied the image. It looked good—elegant without being fussy, fitting the Grandview's aesthetic.
"Impressive."
"It's just a first draft. I need to walk the site again tomorrow to check the foundation." He stretched, rolling his shoulders. "But it feels good. Using my degree for something real instead of sitting in meetings where no one asks my opinion."
The transition had happened faster than either of us expected.
After the meeting with his parents—after the yelling, the tears, and the awkward handshake that passed for reconciliation—Tobias had called Tristan.
"I want to come back," he said. "To the company. But on my terms."
I watched him pace the apartment, phone pressed to his ear, laying out his conditions: no more decoration, no more empty chair at board meetings. He wanted real projects. Real responsibility.
And he wanted to start in Hudson Valley.
"There's development potential here," he explained to me afterward. "The area's growing. Dad's been looking at properties upstate for years but never had anyone to run point. Tristan's too busy with the Manhattan projects."
"So you'd be—what? Opening a satellite office?"
"Eventually, maybe. For now, I'd be the family's eyes on the ground up here, scouting properties, managing renovations, and building relationships with local businesses." He paused. "Like the Grandview."
I stared at him. "You want to do business with my hotel."
"I want to help your hotel." A small smile. "The cottage project is a trial run. If it goes well, there's talk of a spa expansion and maybe additional guest cottages on the north grounds."
"Does Ronan know about this?"
"Ronan's the one who suggested it."
That floored me. Ronan Beck, who trusted no one and ran background checks on his own staff, had reached out to a Langford about renovation work.
"He called Tristan," Tobias explained. "Asked about family-owned contractors who could handle historic preservation. Tristan mentioned me and said I was looking for projects in the area." A pause. "I think your boss has a soft spot for you."
"Ronan doesn't have soft spots."
"Everyone has soft spots. Some people just hide them better."
His father had taken longer to come around.
The first few calls had been stilted. Awkward. Richard Langford discussed property values and market trends like he was talking to a junior associate instead of his son.
But gradually, something shifted.
"He asked about my design ideas yesterday," Tobias told me one evening, surprise in his voice. "Actually asked. And then he listened."
"That's good."
"It's weird." He shook his head. "Twenty-six years of being invisible, and now he wants to know what I think about load-bearing walls and zoning regulations."
"Maybe he's trying."
"Maybe." A pause. "He still can't say the word 'boyfriend.' Keeps calling you 'the person Tobias is seeing.' But he asked when you're free for dinner. That's something."
It was something. More than I'd expected, honestly. Richard Langford wasn't going to win any PFLAG awards, but he was making an effort. Showing up in the ways he knew how.
I watched Tobias work for a while.
The way his brow furrowed when he concentrated. The way he chewed his pen cap—a habit I'd learned to find endearing instead of annoying. The way he'd occasionally mutter to himself, working through problems out loud.
This was who he was supposed to be. Not the hollow-eyed runaway who'd stumbled into my life weeks ago. Not the perfect Langford heir performing a role he'd never wanted.
This. Blueprints and coffee cups and muttered calculations. Building something real with his own hands—or at least his own mind.
"Stop staring at me," he said without looking up. "It's distracting."
"Can't help it. You're nice to look at."
He glanced up then. Smiled. "Flattery won't get you out of helping me measure the cottage tomorrow."
"I'm head of security, not a contractor."
"You're my boyfriend. That means you hold the other end of the tape measure when I ask."
Boyfriend. The word still hit differently when he said it. Still made something warm unfold in my chest.
"Fine," I said. "But you're buying dinner after."
"Deal."
The evening settled around us.
Tobias eventually closed his laptop and stacked his papers into something resembling order. I made dinner—nothing fancy, just pasta with whatever was in the fridge—and we ate at the kitchen table, blueprints pushed to one side.
"I talked to my mother today," Tobias said eventually.
"Yeah?"
"She wants us to come to dinner." He looked up from his plate. "Sunday. At their place in Manhattan."
I went still. "Us."
"You and me. As my partner." His expression was careful, watching for my reaction. "If you want."
"Your parents. Dinner. With me." I set down my fork. "I thought your dad needed time. A lot of time, from what you told me."
"He called my mom this morning. Said he'd been doing a lot of thinking. That he'd been reading, talking to people." Tobias's voice was cautious, as if he feared to hope too much. "He told her he wants to meet you. That if I'm happy, he wants to understand why."
"That's a big change from 'I don't understand it.'"
"I know. Tristan thinks he's been working through it in his own way. You know, research and strategy; it's how he handles everything." A small smile. "Apparently, he called Tristan last week to ask questions. Tristan said it was awkward but kind of sweet."
"Your dad called your brother to ask about being gay?"
"My dad called my brother to ask how to be a better father." Tobias shrugged. "I think he's really trying."
"Trying is good."
"Trying is terrifying." He reached across the table and caught my hand. "But I want them to meet you. I want them to see why I'm happy."
The panic was immediate. Vivid. A full-bodied, a memory of every time I'd been judged and found wanting.
Foster families who decided I wasn't worth keeping.
Commanding officers who saw only a troubled kid from nowhere.
Every person who measured me against their expectations and decided I came up short.
"They're going to hate me." The words spilled out before I could stop them. "Rich family, security guard boyfriend. That'll go over well."
"First, they're not that rich. Second, you're head of security at a prestigious hotel. Third, I don't care what they think."
"You should care. They're your family."
"I care what you think." He squeezed my hand. "That's enough."
"What if I fuck this up?"
"Then we figure it out together."
"That sounds familiar."
"I learned it from someone."
Later, after dinner and the rituals of ordinary life, we ended up on the couch.
His head on my shoulder, my arm around him, the TV on but neither of us watching.
"I want forever," he said quietly.
The words landed deep.
"Forever's a long time."
"Is that a no?"
"That's an 'I'll try not to mess it up.'"
"Good enough for me."
He tilted his head up. I kissed him. Deep. Certain. The kind of kiss that made promises I wasn't sure I could keep.
When we broke apart, he was smiling.
"Sunday dinner with the Langfords," he said. "You ready?"
I thought about it: the wealthy family, the Manhattan townhouse, the careful scrutiny of people who'd spent their lives judging others.
"I've faced Taliban ambushes that scared me less."
He laughed, genuine and bright.
"You'll be fine," he said. "They'll love you."
"You don't know that."
"I know I love you." His eyes held mine. "That's what they'll see. How happy you make me, how much better my life is with you in it." He pressed a kiss to my jaw. "The rest is details."
I pulled him closer and held on.
Forever was a long time. But looking at him, feeling him warm and certain in my arms, I could almost believe it was possible.
Sunday dinner with the Langfords.
I had a week to prepare. A week to figure out how to be the kind of man who deserved this—this life, this person, this second chance I'd never expected.
The fear was still there. Probably always would be.
But so was Tobias. And that made all the difference.