22. Graham
GRAHAM
THEN
December, Year Two
Tatum moved with grace as we spun around the polished parquet floor.
She looked lovely in an ice-blue satin dress, and the silver pins tucked in her braided bun sparkled beneath the chandeliers, creating a halo effect that drew the eye.
Every ten seconds, my attention drifted to the corner of the hotel ballroom where Miguel stood with Maisy, strangling a glass of tequila sunrise in his fist.
I shouldn’t have stared at him so much, but it was impossible to look away.
He was more handsome than ever, dressed in a burgundy tuxedo jacket and a black bow tie, his dark hair gelled and styled to perfection.
The one accessory out of place was the panic in his eyes as they darted around the room, landing on everyone but me.
The winter gala my friends and I attended when our schedules allowed it raised money for fine arts programs in disadvantaged communities.
As creatives from humble backgrounds, the cause was near and dear to our hearts.
After weeks of begging, I persuaded Miguel to join us.
He should’ve been in my arms, not Tatum.
She hid her face in my neck. “Go to him.”
“Wish I could,” I murmured with my lips pressed in her hair.
We’d learned to keep our voices low and our mouths concealed when speaking in public. Our past conversations had been splashed across tabloid headlines too many times.
I let out a quiet sigh. “Despite what he says, he’s battling with our relationship.”
“What does he say?”
As the instrumental pop song hit a crescendo, I turned us, putting my back to the bulk of the crowd. “That he’s happy and I have no reason to feel guilty when he’s the one encouraging our secret.”
“But?” she asked.
“I think he’s lying to himself…and me.”
Most days with Miguel were blissful. We rarely argued, never strained for conversation, and the sex was abundant and incredible. There were times, however, when he’d retreat into silence and distance himself from me. He blamed stress and his job, but I was convinced there was more to the story.
Tatum looped her arms around my neck. “It’s been two years, and he hasn’t run.”
“But how much longer is he willing to hide in plain sight?” I asked.
“You guys aren’t very good at hiding. Too many people know about your relationship.”
We were terrible at hiding. At least, I was. Miguel’s aversion to public displays of affection may have been our only saving grace. I longed for the day when I could hold his hand in front of someone without asking for a signed NDA. I wanted the whole world to know he’d chosen me.
As if reading my mind, Tatum murmured, “We should break up.”
I jerked my head back and smirked. “Wow. Dumped on the dance floor. That’s cold, Tot. Who knew you had it in you?”
Her forced laughter was a performance for the audience. Tatum buried a galaxy of sadness behind her bright smile. “I can’t keep using you as a security blanket. It’s time to put my big panties on.”
“That’s not how the saying goes.”
“You know what I mean.”
Our arrangement worked in her favor because it saved her from the societal pressures of being in a relationship, a real one.
People loved a celebrity who was in love.
If she were single and looked at someone too long, her fans would spin theories and start rumors.
Tatum hated that, because she would only ever love one man.
Sliding a knuckle under her chin, I lifted her head, an intimate shot for the photographers skulking in the shadows. “You’re not ready.”
“I never will be,” she whispered, blinking as tears welled in her eyes. “But you and Miguel don’t need me anymore. I’m extra baggage at this point.”
A swell of activity and excited whispers drew our attention to the main doors where a younger actor stood hand in hand with his partner.
Every year, new celebrities arrived on the scene, out and proud.
With streaming services producing their own shows and movies, the industry was changing, leaving old Hollywood behind.
I’d planted roots in the past, and sometimes it felt impossible to dig my way out of it.
Tatum hugged me close and slipped a keycard from the front of her dress to my inner pocket. “My escape room is on this floor. End of the hallway on the left, near the exit.”
My hand covered hers. “Marcus will be mad if he finds out you gave this to me.”
“He doesn’t have to know. And it’s not like my fan club will storm the hotel in the next twenty minutes.” She patted my chest. “Go, while everyone’s distracted. I’ll send him to you.”
I checked the exits and who was guarding them. A large group still crowded the main doors, but a side door stood neglected. Could the plan work? Could Miguel and I steal a few moments alone without getting caught?
Another thought came to mind. “What about security cameras in the hallways?”
“We’ve all mastered the art of ducking our heads, honey. I’ll remind Miguel.”
I kissed her forehead. “Thank you, Tot. You’re a gem.”
Adrenaline set my nerve endings on fire as I strolled toward the restrooms, hands in my pockets and head on a swivel.
After confirming the coast was clear, I veered down the hallway and maintained a leisurely pace while staring at the carpet.
Only when I was safely inside the room did I allow the air in my lungs to break free.
Thick, drawn curtains darkened the space. I switched the lamps off and on, testing the best combination for a romantic ambiance. Satisfied with the mood lighting, I faced the mirror to smooth out my black jacket and dust lint off my pants.
All the finer details, including the flaws in my appearance, sharpened into focus. Loose strands had fallen from my slicked hair. The black bow tie Miguel made for me sat crooked, and that wouldn’t do. I wanted to look as flawless as his talent.
As I adjusted my cufflinks, there was a swift knock at the door. Four taps, urgent and annoyed. I opened it without checking the peep hole. “You came.”
Miguel shoved me aside and slammed the door, fumbling with all the locks. Once they were secured, he spun and plastered his back to the wood, eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed. “Are you fucking insane? I nearly had a heart attack when Tate said—”
I grabbed him by the jacket and slammed my mouth to his, cutting off his lecture. He tasted like oranges and cherry grenadine, and I moaned while licking the flavors off his tongue. As we moved deeper into the room, he loosened the death grip on my wrists, meeting me stroke for stroke.
“Indulge me,” I said, digging inside my pants. “We don’t have much time.”
“I’m not sucking your dick at a fundraiser,” he mumbled against my lips.
Chucking, I held up the phone from my pocket.
He watched with cinched eyebrows as I opened the music app, selected a playlist, and set the phone on the desk.
When we met toe to toe again, the confusion in his eyes gave me pause.
The idea may have been silly, but he was all dressed up—a prince at a ball—and my prince deserved to dance.
Like an awkward schoolboy, I lifted his hands to my shoulders and placed mine on his hips.
Once we were in position, neither of us moved.
We stared. The secrets he kept from me glistened in his brown eyes.
I wasn’t surprised when he hid them from my view as well.
He circled his arms around my waist and rested his cheek on my shoulder. I hugged him back, and we swayed.
“I couldn’t let the night end without stealing a dance from the most beautiful man here,” I said.
Warm breath fanned my neck as he spoke. “Why the bolero music?”
“It relaxes you, and it’s romantic.”
Leaning away, he slid his hands up my chest and straightened my bow tie. “I vote we continue the romance at home. We’ll keep our tuxes on while you feed me leftover cheesecake by candlelight.”
“Or…” I grabbed his hand and spun him outward before pulling him back in. “We lose the tuxes, and you eat the cheesecake off me, by candlelight.”
His face lit up like the sun, and he snorted. “My graham cracker crust.”
“You let me get away with many crimes, darling, but being crusty isn’t one of them.”
We were both grinning when he laid his cheek my shoulder again. My nose grazed the tips of his hair, and I relished the sweet scent of his shampoo. The light strumming of guitar strings poured from my phone and added to the mellow comfort of our embrace.
In stolen moments like this one, I regretted the decision I made at eighteen. Despite being told otherwise, my road to success felt like a winding path instead of a direct one. And I couldn’t see a way out of my current situation without losing everything I’d worked for.
As I danced with Miguel in a bland hotel room while other gay actors spun their partners under chandeliers, I wondered if the dream was still worth the sacrifice. He deserved better. We both did.
“I didn’t realize how much I needed this.” His soft voice barely rose above the music, but the tremor and honesty in it rang loud. “It’s hard to stand by and watch while you pretend to love someone else. It’s even harder to pretend I don’t care.”
“Our time will come. And when you’re grinding against me on a dance floor, I’ll be thanking you for not giving up on us.” I pressed my lips to his forehead and kept them there.
“You shouldn’t thank me, not when I’d rather keep the real you all to myself.”
“The real me will only ever be yours.” With limited space, we moved in a tight circle, but having him close gave me the courage to speak the scary things out loud. “Tate pitched the idea of breaking up.”
Miguel stiffened. The music filled the excruciating pause, a count of four, before he asked, “Is that what you want?”
“She said we don’t need her anymore, but what do you think?”
A count of two passed, but his voice was calm compared to my rapidly rising pulse. “Would we still keep quiet?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, but I can’t give you answer right now. There’s so much to consider, and I hate that we’re even in this situation because of me and my choices.”
“Hey, it’s okay.” He wrapped me in a strong hug. “I love you. You know that, right? I’ll love you forever, no matter what.”
My throat thickened, and I fought hard to swallow. “That almost sounded like a goodbye.”
His soft chuckle floated to my ear. “I’d never use that word. It’s so final.”
The organ pounding in my chest threatened to tear through bones and flesh so it could lie begging at his feet. Taking a step back, I cupped his face in my shaky hands and forced him to look at me. “Just to be clear, you’re not telling me goodbye?”
Miguel’s sincere smile and tender touch helped me breathe easier as he brushed the loose hairs from my forehead. “No, Graham. Leaving you isn’t an option. I’d have to leave my heart behind, and I wouldn’t survive without it.”