Chapter 23
TWENTY-THREE
GREGG
Sunday
Gregg’s Townhouse
Egerton Crescent, London, United Kingdom
Rain is tapping softly against my office window, not a storm, just enough to make itself known.
Beyond the glass, the garden stirs. Ivy shivers along the brick wall and branches bow under the weight of the breeze.
I lift my cup and immediately regret it.
My tea has gone forgotten and become lukewarm.
I set it back down with a faint thud, already pushing my chair back, to go downstairs and make another when my laptop chimes.
Cameron’s name appears in the corner of the screen, and the sight sends electricity through me.
I pull myself back up to the desk and click open the message eagerly.
CH: It was so nice to sleep in my own bed.
CH: I think I may paint today :) Also have to pack to visit this guy across the pond.
I smile back at the screen and type back playfully.
GH: Not a fan of hotel beds?
GH: Sounds like a wonderful day for you—you’ll have to send me a pic! That must be a lucky chap ;)
CH: Not necessarily. I don’t mind them if I’m sharing with you.
CH: Click To Open
I click the image, expecting a painting to fill my screen, but instead, it’s Cameron.
He’s naked against rumpled sheets, fabric loose around his waist, trimmed hair just barely visible. One arm is tucked beneath his head, the other lifted high to frame the shot. I catch my breath, heat rushes through me and I feel my trousers grow tight.
I back out of the image, my pulse racing, and return to the message, fingers hovering as I try to find the right words. But before I can compose a single thought, another message appears.
CH: Sorry. You probably meant a pic of my painting ;)
GH: Yes! The painting… but I’ll accept that too ;)
My smile barely has time to settle before my phone begins to buzz across the desk. Flipping it over, I read the screen.
I exhale, bracing myself, and swipe across the screen to answer it. I force my voice into something that passes as composed, as if I wasn’t just looking at a teasing photo of the most beautiful man. “Hi, Mum.”
“Greggory,” Mum’s voice purrs down the line, crisp and composed. “I hope you haven’t forgotten about tonight?”
“I’m sorry,” I inquire, racking my brain of any engagements. “Tonight?”
A stinging pause.
“You have, haven’t you…” Annoyance treads her words. “We’re dining with the Thornes this evening. I’ve just confirmed with Evangeline.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and pinch the bridge of my nose. Of course. This is what Celeste meant by her text back in San Francisco.
“Oh, yes. Right. I’m sorry. I’ve been traveling so much lately, it must have slipped my mind.”
“Of course, darling,” she replies lightly. “You must get better at managing your diary. Or at least take on an assistant.”
“Yes,” I agree, smiling tightly. “I’ll have to look into that. What time this evening?”
“Eight o’clock. But do try to arrive a bit early, we’ve hardly had time to see one another.”
“Yes, well—”
“And please dress appropriately,” she cuts me off smoothly. “Something classic, not that dreadful Italian linen you’ve been so fond of.”
I roll my eyes so hard I’m certain they may fall from my head.
“Oh, and Evangeline mentioned Celeste will be joining us as well. She’s been ever so eager to see you. Apparently, it’s all she’s talked about. She’s just returned from Paris, chairing some gala for the Louvre.”
“Has she?”
“Mmm,” she hums. “I believe she’s done rather well for herself. Though Robert and Evangeline are hoping for some sort of formal announcement soon. It would be so…” She pauses, savoring it. “Fortuitous for both our families.”
“Honestly, you and Dad!” I sigh, the words escaping before I can stop them. “I told him at your birthday celebration that I can’t—”
“We only want what's best for you, darling.” Her tone slices through my protest neatly. “I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to see you tonight. But I must go, I have a few things I need to attend to this afternoon. I’ll see you tonight, darling.”
The line goes dead with a polite chime. I stare at my reflection in the black screen of my laptop, my jaw tight. It had to be tonight. If I tell Celeste, she may move on to someone else, that had to be the only way. A beat later, the screen comes to life again with a new message from Cameron.
CH: I’ll be sure to send you one… maybe more ;)
GH: Give me a warning if you send something other than paint on a canvas. Having dinner with family tonight.
CH: Will do, babe.
GH: Would rather be dining with you.
GH: I am planning on coming out to someone tonight, though…
Cameron responds almost immediately.
CH: Really?! That’s amazing! I’m proud of you! Who?
GH: Celeste. She’ll be there with her parents. But besides Julian, I’ve known her the longest.
CH: And you feel like you need to make it clear to her?
GH: What do you mean?
CH: I remember you told me that your parents would like it if you two got together.
I reflect a beat to figure out my response.
GH: Well, yes. But I think I can trust her. I don’t plan on telling my parents tonight.
CH: Well regardless, I am proud of you, and I’m here to talk if you need to.
GH: Thank you, I mean it. I’ll message after… I promise.
GH: And I was thinking, just fly into London if you can. We’ll drive up to Lochaven together :) It’s a long drive, but better than you sitting in the airport all day.
CH: Wouldn’t it be easier to take a train than drive?
GH: Easier? Yes. But I’d enjoy just your company over others in a crowded train coach.
GH: Plus I think my car is more comfortable and reliable than LNER :-D
I stare at the message thread, my eyes trace each word as if they can calm the restless knot growing in my chest. Finally, I close the laptop, lean back in my chair, and watch the raindrops race down the window.
The club’s restaurant terrace sits high above the streets of London.
Glass panels wrap the perimeter, giving an unobstructed view to the city below and around us.
Streets are traced in gold lamp light and headlights twinkle like constellations framing the dark ribbon of the Thames.
Behind us, inside the restaurant, cutlery chimes softly and laughter floats in waves.
The night air is cooled from the rain earlier in the day, and Celeste brushes away goosebumps from her fair arms. She props an elbow against the rail gracefully and causally, the world glowing behind her.
If I were a different person, I know I would appreciate her effortless beauty differently.
Light dances off the pale fabric of her dress as she turns toward me, ease in her smile.
There is familiarity that has been earned over years of dinners, charity galas, and shared summers.
“You’ve been terribly quiet this evening.” She sighs lightly. “I’m beginning to think London has finally bored you.”
I smile, though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes, and I slide my jacket off and drape it over her shoulders. “Hardly.”
“Thank you.” She laughs softly, curling into the residual warmth. “I should hope you’re not bored, though I must admit…” Her eyes linger, searching. “I do miss when you used to look at me a bit longer.”
There it is, the opening she always offers. The one I always sidestep. My heart begins to thud against my chest heavily, as though it realizes this moment was here.
“Celeste,” I begin, stepping closer and bracing both hands on the railing. I force myself to meet her eyes. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
“You’re beginning to frighten me a bit, darling.” Her expression is attentive.
“I don’t mean to,” I reply weakly, taking her hand. “But I do owe you honesty, and I should have given it years ago.”
The city, the restaurant, it all seems to hush, dimming until all I can hear is my breath.
“I can’t marry you.” The words land gently, but they are firm. “And not because of timing, or pressure, or expectations.”
She stands straight, but her smile fades. “Greggory…”
“I’m gay,” I continue, my voice steady. “And I’m in love with someone else.”
Silence follows. It’s not sharp, but it is as vast as the sea. Celeste looks away, pulling her hand away and bringing it to her face. Her fingers trace her lips gently as if she is searching for what to say. She looks across the city, and for a second I think she may not say anything at all.
“I admit, I had wondered,” she speaks at last, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
I blink. “You did?”
“Yes. Not at first, of course. But over time.” She nods in acknowledgment, and offers a sideways, wistful smile. “There were things. The way you loved, but never seemed to reach. The way you were kind, but distant. I told myself it was just your ambition. Or your family.”
She turns to me fully, her eyes glisten. But she doesn’t cry. But of course, that is Celeste. Graceful even in her heartbreak. And I hate that I’d broken her heart, I really do. I hate that I’ve waited so long to tell her the truth. So much wasted time for both of us.
“I suppose,” she mutters softly. “I suppose some part of me hoped that I was wrong.”
“I’m so sorry.” And I mean it with every fiber of my being. “You deserved the truth long before tonight.”
She nods, swallowing. “You know, I deserve happiness too.”
I look away, attempting to hide the tears that build in my eyes. A long pause follows, so long I begin to feel ill.
“And so do you.”
I look back at her, blinking away moisture.
“Is he kind to you?” she inquires. The question undoes me more than anything else.
“Yes,” I answer quietly, wiping a tear I can’t contain with the back of my hand. “He is. Incredibly so.”
She reaches out and takes my hands, not possessively or pleading. Just familiar. “Then I’m glad. Truly.”
Her smile returns, altered but intact. “Don’t worry,” she continues, “I’ll make sure my parents don’t turn this into some sort of… tragic misunderstanding.”
I let out a breath that’s mixed with a small laugh of relief. “Thank you.”
Celeste shakes her head gently. “No. Thank you. Thank you for telling me.”
The sincerity in her voice loosens the knot in my chest. “I’m sorry it took so long,” I say, the words catching. “I should have trusted you with the truth earlier. But… thank you for hearing me.”
She studies my face for a moment, then glances toward the floor-to-ceiling windows behind us, where the dining room glows with low light and expectation.
“And what do your parents think?” she asks softly.
The relief drains from me instantly, my smile fading. “They don’t know,” I admit. “And Dad…” I swallow. “He’s given me a fortnight to ask you to marry me. That deadline ends on Saturday.”
Her brows knit, not in shock, but in quiet calculation. She leans back against the railing again, her fingers lacing together as she thinks.
“Well,” she says after a moment, carefully. “I imagine you could ask me. Publicly and properly.” She glances at me sideways. “And I could appear honored.”
My heart sinks. “Celeste, I can’t—”
“But,” she continues, lifting a hand to stop me, “I could also make it clear privately, and later publicly, that we are only friends. That this was a misunderstanding born of familial enthusiasm.”
I shake my head. “Believe me, I’ve already tried that explanation. It didn’t go over particularly well.”
She smiles resolutely. “Leave it to me.”
I search her face. “You’re sure?”
“I am,” she declares firmly. “I promise. I’ll host a celebration for you at Ashcombe with your mother. To celebrate your project. As,” she takes a beat, “your friend.”