Chapter 20

"Idon't know whose idea it was," Oscar grumbled for at least the twelfth time in a week, "for me to fly north for Christmas while you're heading south to see Abby and Dex."

I jostled my phone as I left the noise of Penn Station on Christmas Eve Day behind and entered the train.

"Babe," I said with a laugh before lowering my voice so as not to be annoying to the people around me. I quickly took a seat by the window and slid my overnight bag between my legs. "I thought you were looking forward to Christmas in Vermont with your family. Seeing the little kids open their presents and all that."

"I'm not… not looking forward to it," Oscar admitted, which was tantamount to an epic declaration of enthusiasm from a man who'd been holding himself back from his family for as long as he had. "But you promise you'll be waiting in my bed when I get back on the twenty-sixth, right?"

"I said I would," I agreed, though something about it still didn't quite sit right with me.

Oscar might have given me the figurative keys to his penthouse nearly a week ago, but it still felt strange to think about being there without him. Like Devon the security guy would take one look at me scanning my fingerprint on the elevator, immediately see through our fake-boyfriend pretense, and recognize me for exactly what I was—a man who'd cannonballed off friendship mountain a long time ago and was now trying to drag Oscar over the edge too.

"And you're bringing me leftovers of the Christmas lasagna Abby's making from your mom's recipe?" Oscar asked.

"Mhm. She's making a whole extra pan for you. I told you this."

"I know," he said in a low voice, probably so his pilot or flight attendant wouldn't overhear. "Sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

He blew out a breath, and when he spoke, he sounded so anxious and frustrated my heart ached. "I don't even know. Sorry for being needy? Sorry for wishing you were coming to Vermont with me, even though I know how much you want to be with Abby? Sorry that you're wasting time in this fake relationship when if you were in a real relationship, you'd be with your boyfriend on Christmas?—?"

"Stop." The word came out a little too loud, a little too forceful, and a woman's head snapped around from the seat in front of me. I quickly lowered my voice and tried to tamp down my annoyance, but if Oscar reminded me one more time that the time we'd been spending together, the closeness we'd been enjoying, wasn't real, I was going to scream. "Boyfriends sometimes spend the holidays apart. That's just life. I don't need you to pretend to be the perfect boyfriend. And you do not need to feel pressure from me to be a certain way, ever. I knew what I was getting into," I said confidently.

This… was a lie.

It had all seemed so simple immediately after Abby's nacho party. Soaking up Oscar's presence like parched, cracked earth soaking up a cool rain, my heart had chanted, "More, more, more," way too loud for my logical brain to remember why I'd avoided him for months in the first place. Who dwelled on the endings when things were finally, finally beginning?

The answer was Oscar. Oscar did.

Because after thirty-nine days of eating dinner with Oscar, sharing baths in his palatial tub, drinking tea he made when I was under the weather, telling him all my HEA stories, attending his office Christmas party, and helping him take care of Frank…

After thirty-nine nights of falling asleep in his bed…

After thirty-nine mornings of waking up in his arms…

I was so positive I'd found my real, true happily ever after, I couldn't doubt he felt it too.

Until he reminded me that for him, it was all fake and would be ending soon.

"I'm not sure about that," Oscar argued, still sounding uncharacteristically anxious.

"Babe, take a deep breath. Your family loves you, and you'll have a good time. You'll see. I'll FaceTime you tomorrow and say hi to everyone after you open presents, so nobody'll try setting you up on a date. They'll turn their matchmaking wiles on Jasmine instead," I teased and felt unreasonably thrilled when he relaxed enough to chuckle a bit. "And that's assuming anyone's thinking of anything besides Dirk and Hyacinth's wedding, which— Oh! I forgot to tell you, I got the perfect shot of the two of them the other night. Check your email."

After I'd mentioned taking a candid of the happy couple at the rehearsal dinner to frame, Oscar had come up with the idea of scheduling an HEA interview with them instead so I could get content for my channel and also have an excuse to get still photos of them we could use for Oscar's gift. We'd met up at the Rockefeller Center rink two nights ago for an ice skating "double date."

Once Oscar saw how much I'd enjoyed it, he'd offered to set up other HEA interviews for me with several of his popular and famous friends. I now had a full schedule of meet-ups that would skyrocket my channel to the next level, which was amazing.

But little did Oscar know that the part I'd enjoyed most about the date wasn't the professional boost; it was getting to spend time with him.

There was a brief rustling sound as Oscar checked his email, then a sharp exhale.

"Oh, Hugh," he said, and god, even the way he said my name made happy shivers run down my neck. "It's perfect."

I smiled. "Yeah? Good. I'll frame it up as soon as I get back to my place."

"You mean my place. You said you'd be there?—"

"Oscar." I was taken aback by his strange new anxiety. Was it about his family? Was it about us? "My photo printer is at my apartment, so I'll have to go there, then I'll meet you at your place, as agreed. I haven't spent a night at my own apartment since Abby's nacho party. I'm not likely to forget."

"Is that a problem? We could stay at your place if you want." He sounded a bit dubious, and I couldn't blame him. My apartment, as much as I liked it, not only had fewer amenities, but it also had way more roommates. At least, of the human variety.

"That would not be the ideal setup for my favorite Overton," I joked.

"Nonsense. I'm flexible. Remember I used to live in a tiny walk-up in?—"

"I didn't mean you, Oscar. I meant my favorite nocturnal Overton."

"Oh, well, in that case…" More rustling came over the line, and then a ding in my ear alerted me to a new text. I clicked in, heart beating faster…

Oscar

PICTURE ATTACHED>

I stared at the front of his suit pants, where, if I wasn't mistaken, the fabric was more filled out than usual.

"I can be nocturnal," Oscar promised, and I laughed out loud.

We flirted back and forth as the train pulled out of the station. The familiar sound of his voice was good company as the train picked up speed. He told me about his recent meeting with Chuckie and his plan to see his previous mentee in Boston next month. We never had trouble finding things to talk about, and I didn't realize how long I'd kept him on the phone until the train stopped in Bloomfield and our call was still going.

"I'm here, so I'm going to have to go so I can get a ride to my sister's place. I thought your flight would have taken off by now. What's the delay?"

Oscar hesitated. "I, uh… told them to wait to take off until I finished the call."

"You…? Oscar." My face burned with embarrassment… and something else entirely. He'd delayed his entire flight crew to stay on the phone with me? There were times like this when I felt like I was the center of Oscar's world. Like I meant more to him than his millions. Like so often happened with Oscar, the things he said were so very different from the things he felt. It was a heady feeling, even if I was only deluding myself. "Take off now and text me when you land," I instructed before saying goodbye.

I was still feeling slightly off-center as I grabbed my bag and let myself get carried along with the crowd of happy, reunited families and bell-ringing Santas. Both my sister and Dex were running last-minute errands, so I took an Uber to their place and let myself in with the spare key. After stashing my bag in their guest room, I crashed on the couch in front of the Christmas tree to wait when I noticed a framed photo collage sitting on the coffee table. In the center was a picture from the courthouse wedding, and it was surrounded by snapshots from the nacho party. I hadn't realized she had photos from either event, so I leaned forward to check them out.

In the center photograph, Abby stood on her tiptoes, pressed against Dex's chest. His hands wrapped around hers, holding her to him as he gazed down into her eyes.

That was real love. The kind I'd always wanted. The kind I'd found.

Except it wasn't, was it? That kind of love was only real when it was reciprocated. When it was acknowledged. When it was wanted.

I didn't even realize I was crying until I heard my sister say, "Hey, what's wrong?"

I looked up to see her standing in the doorway to the kitchen, several large shopping bags slung over her arm. I quickly wiped at my eyes and stood to give her a hug. "Hey! I didn't hear you come in."

She glanced at where I'd been sitting, taking in the collage. "Are the pictures really that bad? I know you have pretty high standards and all?—"

I laughed, but it came out watery. "No, they're great. Truly. You look so happy."

"Then why the tears?"

I shook my head. It was Christmas Eve. She didn't need me and my mangled heart bringing down the mood. "Nothing. Just… happy tears."

She rolled her eyes. "Liar." She dropped her bags on the floor and kicked off her shoes before moving to the couch. She sat, tucking her legs underneath her, and patted the spot next to her. "It's Oscar, isn't it?"

With a deep sigh, I slumped down next to her and nodded. "It's complicated," I admitted. "He's been burned by love before way too many times, so he has this…" I blew out a breath. "This giant wall up… wrapped in razor wire, covered in booby traps, and smeared in a lethal toxin."

She lifted her eyebrows. "Impressive. And yet he's willing to date you."

"Actually…" With that single word, the dam broke, and tears flooded my face. "Not exactly," I admitted before explaining the situation. As I spoke, her eyebrows only stretched higher until I feared for her hairline.

"Jesus, Hugh. I don't want you to have to lie to me because you think I'm worried about you?—"

"That's not what happened. I didn't set out to lie. I wanted to bring a date to your party because of Jared and the Curriers. I didn't want to show up alone and have them all feeling sorry for me. So I was going to bring Rafa, but then he canceled, and I… I was a little desperate. I called Oscar, even though we hadn't talked in months, and he agreed to come, as a friend. But then… it just… it became more. Like, from the first minute. And he suggested we pretend to be together, and I figured why not? but then his brother was there, so he sort of had to keep pretending, and I agreed to attend brunch at his mother's house as his boyfriend?—"

"He had to?" Abby interrupted. "Did he though?"

I squirmed. "Well. Sort of? Yes. And they naturally asked if I'd be attending his sister's wedding on New Year's Eve in Vermont as his date?—"

"Naturally." She snorted.

"And since we were going to, uh, do the fake-boyfriend thing again so soon, we sort of decided to… just… pretend for the month."

"That's… unbelievable." Surprisingly, her lips twitched. "Literally. You mean to tell me that for the past six weeks, you've been living a lie?"

I nodded, miserable.

"So when I called you a couple weeks ago and the two of you were cuddled on the sofa doing a jigsaw puzzle and teasing each other like a couple of the old ladies at Grandma Currier's nursing home… that was fake?"

"Well, I… I mean, yes," I admitted. "Essentially."

"Damn." She shook her head. "And when you told me he called in a favor with a friend to get you reservations at that exclusive dessert restaurant with the gold-flaked, gooey chocolate thing, that was all an act? The photos looked so real."

I frowned. "I mean, no. Roscoe's is real. And the cake is very real. And we were really there. But…"

Abby lowered her voice to a horrified whisper and leaned toward me. "And the sex? Are you faking the orgasms too?"

"No!" I exclaimed, shoving her shoulder gently. "Abigail Currier! Obviously, that's real."

She grinned, but her grin quickly faded. "It's pretty obvious that your feelings are real too."

I sniffed. "How can you tell?"

"Your face is still wet from tears." She ran a thumb across my cheek. "So you want Oscar, but you're worried he doesn't feel the same way, is that it? You think he's faking how he's feeling? Because, Hugh, that's just not?—"

"No! No, it's the exact opposite." I fiddled with the edge of the throw blanket on the back of the sofa so I wouldn't have to meet her eyes. "I think he might feel the same way I do, but he… he won't let it be real. He won't admit that it is. He's keeping that wall up?—"

"His toxic-torture wall?"

I nodded, then swallowed through a throat thickened from deep emotion. "I get it. He's scared. I am too. But I really thought this was it, Abs. That he was The One. I feel it like… like I feel when I've taken the perfect shot. I can feel it in my chest. In my heart. In my bones. So I've tried to persevere, you know? To approach him like an animal with a hurt paw and let him know he's safe with me. To show him, over the last few weeks, how good the two of us could be together if he'd just let me into his heart all the way. I just… I don't know if I can keep doing that because the clock is ticking down, and if he doesn't want me enough to try…" I shuddered out a breath, unable to complete the sentence.

Rafa had already mentioned the idea of taking a trip in January. A wild weekend away, he called it. He'd made it sound like it was something he needed—a way to recover from a Grindr hookup gone wrong or something—but I'd recognized the offer for what it was: a way to distract me from my broken heart now that all things Shonda Rhimes were laden with Oscar-related memories.

"I don't want to pressure him when he's made it clear he doesn't want what I want," I continued bravely. "I want to be a better friend to him than that. And deep down, Abs, I know it's not supposed to be this hard. If it was right, if Oscar was meant to be my happily ever after, it would be easy." I tapped the picture of her and Dex. "Like this. Pure happiness, zero struggle. Like a key in a lock."

Abby laughed. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Hugh. You're such a damn romantic."

The words were an ice-water shock after her warm sympathy from a moment ago. I drew myself up straighter in my seat and lifted my chin. "That's not an insult, you know. Being romantic isn't a bad thing."

"Oh, honey, it is when it blinds you to the reality of things. You know what happened three minutes before this photo was taken? I was about to rip our marriage certificate in half—the one we'd just signed—because he didn't want to stop and take a picture to commemorate our wedding ceremony. And you remember that we had this wedding ceremony at the courthouse in the first place because we had a monster fight a few days before, right? I hit every weak spot the man has with laser accuracy, and if my students ever used the language I used, I'd keep them in detention until graduation. It was brutal. Love isn't all sunshine and rainbows, and anyone who goes into a relationship expecting it to be is doomed to disappointment."

"That's not true. Mom and Dad's love was easy," I argued.

Abby sighed. "How do you know? We only saw the good parts. For all we know, they kept the hard bits out of sight. Nobody's love is easy, Hugh, because people aren't easy. We're all a mass of contradictions and imperfections." She scooted closer, putting a hand on my knee. "That's the reality of it. Love is choosing your partner even when you're pissed off at them. Love is giving your partner the chance to do the right thing. Love is compromise and not always getting what you want. Love is learning all the rules to a game you don't particularly like so you can understand what your partner is yelling at the television about."

"You make it sound so glamorous," I grumbled.

Abby laughed. "That's the thing. It's not glamorous. Not in the day-to-day. You photograph weddings and film videos about how people fell in love. You capture people's best moments. And that's great and important and inspiring work, but… it's not the whole story. I would argue it's not even the most important part of the story. No one could live up to that ideal all day, every day. But this?—"

She reached for a stack of photos on a side table and rifled through them until she found a specific shot. She shoved it at me.

I stared down at a picture of Oscar and me. We were standing together outside the bar, the sky dark around us except for thin shards of colored lights from the neon beer logos in the pub's window. We were in profile, almost in silhouette. Oscar had his arm around me and was smiling at me. I vaguely remembered the moment when he'd offered me his coat.

The picture was striking. The expression on our faces. Even from the side, the way we looked at each other was obvious. The absolute adoration.

"I know you said your relationship was fake, but this is real," she said, tapping the photo. "My friend Chelsea took it out the window because Sage said he wished he'd gotten a picture of the two of you to show his mom. You weren't putting on a show here. You didn't realize anyone was looking at you. This was just the two of you together, in love."

My heart squeezed so tight that I worried it might shatter. Tears blurred my eyes at the truth of her words.

"This is love," Abby said, her voice soft but fierce. "And it's the kind of love that's worth fighting for."

"But how do I convince him?" I asked. "How do I make him give us a chance?"

She shook her head. "You can't. But Hugh… if you're honest with yourself, you're holding back out of fear too."

"What? I am not! I'm the one who?—"

"Is so worried that time is ticking down and Oscar hasn't come to some huge revelation that you're looking for an escape hatch?" Abby suggested. "Is trying to hide behind some idealized version of love as an excuse for not being all in?"

I stared at her, stunned.

"Have you told Oscar how you feel?" she asked gently.

"N-no. Of course not! If I did that… If I told him… I…" I swallowed.

"You'd be in the same boat on January first that you're in right now," she concluded a trifle smugly and, worse, correctly. "No one can predict the future, Hugh. Mom and Dad are a prime example of that—they planned on growing old together, and they didn't get that chance. Life is full of risk and unexpected pain. But it's full of those things whether you hide from them or not."

I took a deep breath. "I love him," I blurted. "I'm… I'm…" I let out a laugh. "I'm completely out of my mind in love with him, Abs."

"I know you are," she said.

"He's it for me, he really is."

"Yup."

"And more than that," I said with growing confidence, "I'm the one he's been waiting for."

"Hell yes, you are."

"So…" Another deep breath helped me ignore the swooping feeling in my stomach, the sudden dizziness in my head. "So I'm going to tell him I love him on New Year's Day. And I'll tell him that if that freaks him out and he wants to split up, or he wants to go back to being text-only friends for a while… then… then… Christ, I guess that's what we'll do. Because eventually? He is going to realize that what we have is the real thing, and I'm willing to wait for him. I just… I want him in my life. And I'm going to show him that he's worth waiting for. I won't let him push me away. I will stay." I gave her a worried glance. "Does that sound a little stalker-ish? I was going for a kind of Queen Charlotte ‘I will stand with you between the heavens and the earth' vibe, but?—"

Abby laughed so hard she nearly rocked off the sofa, which was not quite the encouragement I'd been hoping for, but when she popped up again, curls askew, she was grinning ear to ear. "That's it, Hugh. You nailed it. You're willing to throw your perfect image out the window. You're willing for your great romantic love to be a… a platonic text friendship for a little while if that's what it takes for you to be with him. That's all in, baby." She cupped my face in her hand, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to my cheek. "I love you, and I believe if anyone can make that prickly bastard change his mind about love, it's you." She pushed to her feet. "And if that doesn't work, we'll get Rafa involved. He keeps telling me he knows people. Now… you want some of Dad's spiked eggnog? I made a huge batch."

* * *

By the timeOscar and I made it to Vermont for the wedding later that week, I was exhausted.

I'd spent a large part of Christmas Day FaceTiming with Oscar and his family before having a quiet dinner with Abby and Dex. Somehow, possibly defying the laws of space and time, Oscar managed to make it back to the city before me the following afternoon, and we'd spent the rest of the week lounging around in pajamas, making lazy breakfasts at all hours of the day, strolling hand in hand through the Winter Village in Bryant Park, and… well, having sex.

Copious amounts of sex.

The amount of sex you might have if you thought sex might be outlawed at any moment.

The sex you might have if you thought the world was about to end.

The kind of sex you'd have if you were utterly and completely in love with a man who might not love you back and were trying not to blurt out the truth until you absolutely had to, in case he laughed in your face, or lashed out in anger and accused you of changing the rules, or demanded your immediate departure with a gut-wrenching "I told you so."

Seriously. So. Much. Sex.

I'd never been insatiable like I was that week. At some point, I'd expected the heat between us to simmer down, for the craving to let up, but it hadn't. If Oscar even looked at me, my skin itched with need, and my dick filled.

And Oscar was just as bad. The strange anxiety that had come over him shortly before Christmas hadn't gone away. In fact, it might have gotten worse. I still didn't know whether it was because he was nervous that he'd finally decided to open his heart to his family or because he was as aware as I was—for good or for bad—that our relationship clock was ticking down, but the only time he seemed to settle was when as much of my skin was touching as much of his skin as humanly possible.

Consequently, by the time we got in Oscar's private plane for the trip north—Oscar's second such trip in a week—I was simultaneously wrung out and buzzing on endorphins, terrified and excited, and also low-key wishing Hyacinth and her fiancé would have a falling-out that wasn't serious enough to cancel the wedding but serious enough to delay it for a few days.

Or weeks.

Or months.

Or years.

Unfortunately for me, sweet Hyacinth stayed happily in love with Dirk, and their wedding day arrived right on schedule.

My hands shook with nerves as I dressed for the occasion in the primary bedroom of Oscar's beautiful Vermont house. Out in the twilight, beyond the picture window, fairy lights already twinkled in the snow-covered winter garden. Further afield, I imagined the wedding planners were making final preparations in the barn where the ceremony would be. Elsewhere on the property, Oscar's whole family was probably dressed and ready, eagerly anticipating the festivities. If there were ever a perfect setting for two people to commit themselves to one another, it was here and now.

"I think I might throw up," I told my reflection in the mirror conversationally.

Oscar poked his head out of the bathroom. "Sorry, what?"

"I said we should get a move on, or we'll be the last ones there." I'd finished buttoning my tuxedo shirt and stuffed it into my pants, so I grabbed my cummerbund and wrapped it around my waist before turning to look at him.

His hair was still dark with water from his shower, and tiny droplets clung to his neck and shoulders. Tuxedo pants hung loose and unbuttoned from his waist. His chest was bare, and all those acres of hot, tempting skin and the small red marks where I'd gotten a little aggressive—a little possessive—earlier tonight gleamed in the lamplight. He fumbled with his wristwatch, scowling down at the golden band like it had defied him.

Mine, I thought. Every imperfection. Every obstinate inch. And how freaking lucky was I that unlike any of the other weddings we'd attended together, this time I got to arrive on the arm of Oscar Overton, perpetual best man… and leave with him too?

"O-oscar," I began. I was breathing too fast, and I knew it.

He glanced up at me. "Yeah, gorgeous?"

I swallowed hard. I couldn't do it. Not now. Not yet. But tomorrow… yeah. Tomorrow, I was going to I love you this man so hard he'd never doubt it for an instant.

I forced a smile. "I'm ready when you are."