8
Wayne’s suite was, as Leo had suspected, only a couple doors down from his own. When Leo knocked that evening, Wayne opened the door in a soft open-collared shirt and bare feet. He deployed an award-winning smile. Nominated, at least.
“Come in. Dinner’s on the balcony.”
Dinner was a masterpiece. Electric candles in deference to the ship’s no-flame policy. Five courses, each accompanied by an appropriate wine. The ocean spread before them. The setting was capped by streaks of purple and orange in the sky as they witnessed the perfect sunset.
The only thing missing was the perfect man. They’d seen each other in passing, but Marcel had been run ragged following up on wedding plans—and setting up this private dinner for Wayne, which made Leo feel guilty as fuck. He’d wanted to cancel, but he also couldn’t get a moment alone with Wayne. Daniel and Alyssa had booked the entire group into the spa for sauna time and various other treatments, and their friends were falling all over each other trying to maximize face time with their new best friend, Wayne Flagg.
So here he was. Leo observed Wayne throughout the meal with a growing certainty that he was watching a man alone on a stage. He was a generous, practiced host. He refilled Leo’s glass before Leo realized he’d emptied it. He asked questions that seemed genuinely curious until you realized that no matter the answer, he already had the next comment scripted in his head.
It was a performance. Not cynically. Not even deliberately. He’d just been famous for so long, he’d forgotten there was a fully realized version of himself without all the gloss. Wayne performed his laughter. Wayne performed his listening. He was, Leo suspected, a decent person under all of it. And probably lonelier than almost anyone Leo had ever met. Coming from someone who’d only last night realized how lonely he himself was, that was saying something.
If Wayne had planned the evening hoping it would end in his bed, he’d realized before the prime rib that Leo wasn’t just playing hard to get. He simply wasn’t dazzled by the Wayne Flagg show. If the way Wayne started working Marcel’s name into his stories was any indication, he also knew who had truly caught Leo’s attention. He remained on, but he discarded the persona just enough to give Leo a glimpse of his unrehearsed self. By dessert, Leo might have even seen the potential for them to become friends. Still, when Wayne offered him coffee, Leo decided to give them both a reprieve.
“I’m wrecked. Too much sun today.”
“Of course.“
Wayne didn’t argue. Leo wondered if he’d have given him a chance if he’d met this Wayne Flagg instead of The Wayne Flagg. Or if he wasn’t already falling for Wayne’s overworked, overlooked PA.
The door shut softly behind him. Leo stood in the corridor with his key card in his hand, ready to enter his own suite. Private hot tub. Balcony. Book. All the things he’d planned to enjoy in abundance this week.
Then he turned around and walked toward the elevators.
He pressed the call button thinking about where Marcel might be at that moment. The doors opened, and the man himself stepped out. Head buried in his tablet, as usual, he appeared to be on a direct vector for Wayne’s suite.
Leo put out a hand to waylay him. Marcel stopped and lifted his head to study Leo. He clocked his neatly trimmed hair, jacket, and the fact that he’d just obviously come from the exact direction in which Marcel was heading.
“How was the performance?“
Marcel asked deadpan.
Leo laughed. It came out of him without permission. How to explain that he’d just eaten a five course meal and couldn’t wait to escape? He reached for Marcel’s wrist to pull him into the elevator, still laughing at the absurdity of the evening.
Something changed in Marcel’s face.
And then he pulled away.