1113 P.M.
MIGUEL
Miguel stared around their room while Winslow poured them each a glass of water.
It really was a lovely space. All shiny teak and navy and cream with brass fittings.
The finishings were understated nautical, and he loved every inch of it.
The dining room was a bit outdated, having been refitted when wood everything was all the rage, and Miguel would kill to be given free reign to turn it into something truly special.
Truly special—that was the term used in every design show.
We’re going to transform this space into something truly special. Somewhere you’ll never want to leave.
Winslow handed him his water and offered him a sheepish look, then turned and walked over to the bar, where his vitamin case was waiting.
Miguel knew they needed to talk about what Winslow said at dinner, about Miguel leaving him someday, but that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Not tonight. There was no way he could promise he’d never leave him when he was quite likely going to be gone by the end of the year.
If he couldn’t convince Travis to let him film in London, he’d need to think up a plan for how to drop the bomb.
Although maybe it wouldn’t be a bomb at all.
Winslow was the smartest man Miguel had ever met, and nothing seemed to get by him.
He also had the rare ability to not express every emotion he was feeling in real time, unlike Miguel.
He might have known for weeks and was just waiting for Miguel to confess.
He hadn’t asked Miguel even one question about what happened in the hotel that night.
Not one. Which could mean he was too afraid to dig or he knew everything already and was just biding his time.
Winslow took out his last vitamin from the case, the shiny gold vitamin E capsule (that matched the taps on the minibar sink quite well). After he took it, he said, “Listen, about what I said at dinner…”
“Let’s not,” Miguel answered. “We’re both a little drunk, we’re here on this fabulous yacht in this gorgeous room. Let’s just enjoy ourselves tonight.”
Winslow turned and smiled at him, relief washing over his face. “Sounds perfect.” He picked up his vitamin case again, then said, “Wait. Did I take them already?”
Somewhere far off in his brain, Miguel heard an alarm bell, but he shut it down. “What? You must be drunk. You literally just took them all.”
Worry flashed across Winslow’s face, then he said, “Yes, I definitely overdid it.”
“We all did. Now, onto more exciting topics.” Miguel took their matching Derek Rose sage green silk pajamas out of the drawer and tossed Winslow’s onto the bed before unbuttoning his shirt.
“What do you think about Ted and Antonia? More importantly, what do you think about Ted and that pretty young Charlotte?”
Winslow took his pajamas and walked into the en suite to change (a new habit he’d acquired over the last year—a shyness about his body that didn’t exist before). He raised his voice. “Oh, that is definitely not what it seems. Did you see how he was looking at her when she arrived?”
Miguel, dressed only in his bottoms, marched into the bathroom in time to catch Winslow tugging his shirt closed over his now-slightly-sunken chest. “Um, yes, it was exactly how you look at David Beckham.”
Winslow pursed his lips. “As if you don’t!”
Letting out a little grin of admission, Miguel said, “All right. Pretty much everyone on the planet stares at him that way. But, back to Ted. Can you imagine if one of The Marriage Whisperers was cheating on the other one?”
“Or maybe the good doctor is into it too.”
“Come on, they’re not poly!” Miguel spit out.
Winslow shrugged and finished doing up the last button. “They don’t fit the profile, but wouldn’t that be quite the scandal if they were? Prancing around on television pretending to be the perfect couple, only to have some dark secret to hide.”
Miguel considered the idea. “She did seem to have an odd sort of connection with Charlotte, didn’t she? Like she was desperate for her approval or something.”
Winslow pulled him in for a quick kiss. “I think, deep down, we’re all a little desperate for approval.”
“Me, yes. But you couldn’t care less about what people think of you.”
“I care what you think.”
Miguel gave him a slow kiss this time. “Well, you’re in luck because I think you’re the sexiest man alive.”
“Except for Beckham.”
“Well, obviously,” Miguel answered, causing them both to laugh.
A minute later, they both climbed into bed, and Miguel scootched over to Winslow’s side, resting his arm on his chest. His eyelids closed and he felt his breathing grow steadier.
Just as he drifted off, he told himself to remember this moment.
He had a very bad feeling this might be one of the last times they fell asleep in each other’s arms.