Chapter 19
Monty
Monty had carefully selected a place for brunch that Hilliard was unlikely to try on his own—just swanky enough for Hilliard to consider it a luxury, but homey enough that the man wouldn’t fight too hard—and also so he’d be comfortable with the options.
It was a new Italian restaurant that he’d been eying for a few months that seemed perfect. Even better was the magazine stand on the corner nearby, so Monty was able to snag two copies of The Stargazer as promised.
Hilliard was duly impressed with the restaurant. He admired the floral centerpieces with delight and looked over the menu with a curious eye.
They got their coffee in tiny demitasse cups. Monty ordered a cornetto filled with custard while Hilliard ordered a lobstertail pastry filled with pistachio cream. When Hilliard bit into his pastry, he gave such a delicious-sounding moan that Monty had to wheedle him into giving him a piece.
Once they had eaten, they both flipped open their copies to the interview. And the interview was…certainly something.
“What part did you say was inspiring to people?” Monty asked after he’d skimmed quickly over the contents.
“This bit about platonic relationships.”
Monty frowned when he found it. “‘Though many have speculated about this relationship, the two maintain that it is strictly platonic. Mr. Kincaid is a lucky man indeed to have such a good friend who prepares his favorite breakfast and gives him a safe haven as he focuses on his career. If only the rest of us could be so fortunate.’” He huffed.
“Seems to me the only thing I should be inspiring people to do is be more selective in their friendships.”
Hilliard chuckled. “Not a bad thing to inspire, all things considered.”
Monty sipped his coffee and read the article with more care.
All in all, the interview accomplished what he’d hoped it would: he was portrayed as a real person, one with close friends, favorite meals, and preferences.
There were very few mentions of his charm or appeal.
Although he hadn’t expected Hilliard to figure in the piece so much, he had to admit that it was no bad thing.
Hilliard brought out the best in him, grounded him.
And that showed through in Dupree’s editorializing.
He snuck a glance at the man in question.
Hilliard looked relaxed and comfortable.
A tiny bit of rogue powdered sugar had snuck onto his shirt just below his ascot, and Monty couldn’t explain why the slight imperfection to the man’s usually impeccable appearance did such things to him.
It made him hungry to see Hilliard more mussed.
There had been moments recently that made him hope that Hilliard might feel the same way he did.
The expression in the other man’s face when Monty had presented him with the boutonniere had been so full of something.
And for a gift as simple as a few daisies, Monty was a little off-kilter by the response.
After all, it hadn’t been expensive, nor difficult to obtain.
Were such things really all it took to win Hilliard’s heart?
Then again, Monty reasoned to himself, he had never bothered to figure out his former lovers’ favorite flowers.
Perhaps if he’d made the effort, his relationships wouldn’t have ended as quickly as they had.
But what he had with Hilliard felt so different from all of those past flings.
Monty wanted to make the effort. He wanted to learn every little thing that would make the man smile.
He wanted to take him to every single restaurant in the Los Angeles area to see what else would make Hilliard so satisfied that he’d moan into his bite and miss the icing sugar on his shirt.
In fact, he wanted to make Hilliard moan for very different reasons.
He turned his attention back to the article, trying to focus on it, but there was something about the tone of the interview that Monty didn’t care for.
“Is it just me or does this read as…” He gestured vaguely.
Hilliard looked like he was trying to understand but couldn’t quite predict the end of his sentence.
“Smug,” Monty finally tried.
“Oh, most assuredly.”
“Not me, I mean.”
“I know what you meant, sweetheart. And I agree. Considering how she was when she interviewed you, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
Monty thought back to the day of the interview.
He’d been so focused on making a good impression, on squashing the urge to let loose his magic, that he barely registered the interviewer herself much at all.
He remembered that she’d asked him a few questions, which Hilliard had answered, and that she’d then directed several of her questions to Hilliard instead.
Now that he thought about it, he remembered the clever smile she wore and the subtle glances between the two of them as if she was trying to find something specific.
“She thinks we’re bluffing,” he said at last.
“Yes.”
“But why would we?”
Hilliard shrugged. “It certainly makes for a more entertaining copy.”
Monty scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. If we were in a relationship we—” He broke off at the guarded look in Hilliard’s face.
It was a subtle thing, easy to miss if he hadn’t gotten used to studying his friend’s expressions when filming or dining together.
At first, he worried that it was a sign that Hilliard really wasn’t interested in him and that he was treading on unwelcome grounds by bringing it up.
But then he realized that Hilliard’s expression was more of a shield.
Monty cleared his throat. “If we were in a relationship, we wouldn’t hide it.”
“No, I imagine we wouldn’t.”
They held each other’s gaze for a long, excruciating moment. Then Monty broke the tension with a light laugh. “Well, it’s good to know I wouldn’t be your dirty little secret, Mr. Burke. Now why don’t we order the thing you’ve been eying since we got here?”
“Montgomery,” Hilliard said. “It’s too decadent for the morning.”
“Nonsense,” Monty said, waving down a waitperson. “That’s what brunch is for.” Then he ordered two gelatos.
* * *
Monty had been to many a premiere in his relatively short career at Powell Productions.
He knew what to expect. There would be plenty of reporters, the click and flash of the cameras.
Fans would line the red carpet, notebooks and pens at the ready, eager for autographs.
Stars would mingle in front of the theater and in the lobby, graciously agreeing to spontaneous interviews with the reporters.
He’d even gone with a date before. A pretty someone on his arm who would smile at the cameras or at him when the timing was right.
Conveniently placed lipstick stains on his collar or slightly mussed hair during the movie.
It was as much a part of his role as a movie star as any character he’d ever played. He knew the lines by heart.
But going with Hilliard felt different somehow.
Monty knew there would be no grins for the benefit of the cameras, no proprietary touching.
But now with the interview buzzing in his brain as they drove to the theater, Monty wondered if that’s what people would expect from them.
He glanced at Hilliard, who was dressed in an off-white dinner jacket and black pants.
His burgundy cumberbund matched the bowtie and pocket square.
Even his calf-skin driving gloves looked as if they’d been chosen as part of the ensemble.
Hilliard caught him staring and raised his eyebrow questioningly.
Monty smiled and reached over to tweak the bowtie unnecessarily. “You look great.”
A slight blush rose to Hilliard’s cheeks. “Thank you, doll. Although I don’t think anyone will be too worried about how I look when you step onto the carpet.”
Monty tsked. “More fools them then. The Stargazer ought to do a feature on you and your wardrobe. You’re a regular fashion icon.”
Hilliard rolled his eyes goodnaturedly. “Sweet of you to say, but I don’t want that sort of a fuss. That’s far too much pressure anyway. I like dressing how I want to dress without worrying about what others will think about it.”
“I wonder what that’s like,” Monty said, leaning back in his own seat and gazing out the window. “I feel like I always worry about what others will think.”
“Yes, you do. Though not when you’re at home, thankfully.”
Monty couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face at his friend’s words. Not only because Hilliard was right, but because he’d called his house “home”—almost like he knew that Monty had begun to regard it as such.
Flashbulbs went off as soon as Monty stepped out of the car and onto the carpet. He put on his most dashing smile and gave the crowd a wave. He saw a few copies of The Stargazer being waved at him to sign. He glanced at Hilliard.
“Shall we?”
“After you, sweetheart.”
They made their way slowly up the carpet, signing magazine copies and notebooks, greeting reporters and fellow actors. Once inside, Monty saw Jesse and Cal standing in the lobby. Without thinking too hard about it, he led Hilliard over to the other two men.
“How did the underarm turn go?” he asked by way of a greeting.
Jesse smiled at him. “It went great. Thank you again for your help.”
Cal’s response was more measured but he admitted that filming was going smoothly.
Monty gave a mock gasp. “What? Did you just talk about your movie without a whole spiel filled with self deprecation?” He pretended to wipe at the corner of his eye. “I’m so proud.”
Hilliard elbowed him. “Stop teasing him, Montgomery.”
“Aw, he knows I’m only fooling.”
“I do,” Cal agreed. “How has your movie been going?”
“We were out on the backlot all week.”
“At least the weather was pretty nice,” Hilliard offered.
“We are not spending Jesse’s first premiere talking about the weather,” Monty protested.
Jesse laughed. “I don’t mind. It’s certainly nicer here than it is back home.”