28. Olivier

We make a show of it, Elodie and I, involving the wait staff and my getting on a knee to draw the attention of the other restaurant guests and their camera phones.

I recognize a few people well enough for them to avoid making eye contact with me, but it's a whole new ballgame once Elodie accepts my proposal.

Everyone starts popping their heads out of their holes to give me a clap on the back and congratulations, once again proving that image is important, reputation is vital, but money is everything. An Arnaud-Lafayette wedding? No one will want to be left off that invite list no matter how many adult film stars I get into drunken car accidents with.

"I can't wait to watch them scramble once we've set a date," Elodie says behind a sip of my family's champagne. "We'll be booked with their invitations all Spring. I say we get married in the Hamptons in June."

"June?" I ask. "As in three months from now?"

"I wasn't under the impression we were supposed to be dragging this out."

"Yeah, but—September, maybe—next year, ideally?"

"There's no way we can pull off being happily engaged for over a year, Ollie."

I'm glad to hear her acknowledging that. This whole farce will fare better once we're actually married and no one expects us to spend time with each other anymore. Look—I don't make the society rules. I just know how to follow them. But wait, what's she saying?

I frown at her. "Bored with me already?"

The corners of her mouth turn down in displeasure. "I'm not exactly in love with our complete lack of chemistry."

"What would you propose we do about that?" I regret the question the instant it leaves my mouth. She may take it a different way than it was intended. She might think I want more intimacy—one solution involving both of us—when what I want is the exact opposite.

"Do you mean like pre-marital counseling?"

"Absolutely not," I say firmly. "No offense, El, but that's the last thing I want."

She looks at me like an alien just came out of my neck. "Oh, you mean me finding someone to fuck me like you've gone and done?"

Speaking of my neck, she gestures toward it.

"Is there any way you can trust someone?" I ask. "Like…to be discreet?"

"Are you nuts? In this town? You're being stupid, Ollie. There's no way once one of your girlfriends hears about the engagement, she's not gonna go straight to the gossip columns. Or blackmail you."

"There's just one person right now, and they already know about the engagement."

This catches my new fiancée off guard. She blinks rapidly and then leans in, elbows crossed demurely on the table to hide the majority of her fantastic cleavage. "One person?"

"Yes."

"That's…odd."

I try not to scowl. I'm supposed to look happy right now. "How's it odd?"

"I've never known you to have a girlfriend. At least—not in recent memory."

"It's been awhile." Though, I'm not sure three months of fucking the same person even qualifies as having a girlfriend.

"Is she poor?"

The question hits me wrong. I don't want to mince words. Elodie and I are in this together now, and I'm not very good at lying anyway. "It's Drew."

Her jaw drops, but she quickly snaps it shut again. "The doorman?" she hisses.

I nod once, a bland smile pasted on my face for onlookers.

"You're gay?" She asks through her own tight smile and clenched teeth.

"I—no—maybe—look, all I know is Drew did this." I make a vague gesture at my neck. "And I liked it."

Her smile stays frozen in place. "What the fuck are you thinking, Olivier?"

"If you're worried about him talking, he won't?—"

"You don't know that," she's quick to say.

She's right. I don't. Maybe he could use a few grand in return for some salacious gossip, but it's not like he has proof—that I know of.

I take a long sip of champagne, draining the glass, and reaching for the bottle to refill it. It's a 2018, which has always been one of my favorites, but they could bring out a Freixenet next, and I'd drink the shit out of it.

"Look, having gay sex with the doorman is all the upheaval I can handle right now. Don't make me question his intentions."

Elodie bursts into peals of laughter, and my face literally cracks in an attempt to expand my smile like we're having a grand time over here in hell. "Your face, Ollie. Is this why you were so stressed about what we were wearing the other night? You were trying to impress your new boyfriend? Oh my God, I didn't think there'd ever be anything I found remotely charming about you, but you win. I'm charmed! How glad are you we took off the beanie?"

"Can we go?" I hiss. She's barely even bothering to keep her voice down.

"I haven't heard back from my dad yet."

"For a walk then. I don't want to talk about this in front of people."

She claps a hand down on mine, urgency in the sudden grasp. "But we're still gonna talk about it, right?"

I have to talk about it. Now that I've broken the seal on the truth, there's no way I can keep it in a second longer.

"Let's go to The Lounge," she suggests. "It's loud, and we can sit close in a booth, look cute, and no one will hear anything."

I could almost kiss her. "Thank you."

I drop cash for the bill on the table and stand, escorting Elodie to the door to the tune of claps and congrats. We smile and wave. Elodie flashes her five-carat ring. Just two high society heirs who found love, nothing to see here.

The Downside Lounge is a basement bar known for dark corners, designer drug deals, and under the table hand jobs. It's one of the best-kept secrets on the Upper East Side. It's not necessarily bad to be seen here, it's more of a status thing. They don't let just anyone in. They also have a signature frozen punch that's had me making many a stupid decision over the last few years.

Since it's a Monday night, it's not crowded, but the lights are low, and the music is loud. Trip's cousin Charlotte is making out with a dude I went to prep school with whose hairline is already receding.

Elodie and I find an empty corner booth in the back that hasn't been bussed. We scoot in from opposite sides and smash our arms together. She orders the punch from a server who clears the table, and I order an IPA.

"So, when did this start?" she asks, jumping straight back into my sexuality crisis.

"Right after the DUI," I admit without telling her it didn't exactly start off sweet.

"So, was the woman he was with the other night not his girlfriend? Because they were sure acting like a couple."

"No, that's his real girlfriend."

She cocks a brow. "How many hickeys you got there?"

I raise my shoulder in a weak attempt to hide my neck from her scrutiny. "I think they're on a break or something."

Elodie giggles. "You think?"

"Back to my original point. Maybe there's a way we can work something out. We just need to be discreet."

"Should I have a chat with my doorman? The day weekend guy is kinda cute. He's not Drew level hot, but…"

"El, I'm being serious. I get what we have to do here, but we don't have to be miserable. I'm sorry we have no chemistry, I truly am," It'd be so much fucking easier if we did. "But if anybody can think our way out of this box, it's us."

"I hate to have to bring this up again, but how do you know you can trust him?"

All I can do is shrug.

She shakes her head. "Not good enough. I'm involved in this, too. And I'm assuming you don't want to get the lawyers involved? Draw up an NDA or something?"

"Fuck, no. My parents can't know about this." Just the thought of my mother finding out gives me chest pain.

"But I mean, this isn't serious. Right?"

"No," I say too quickly.

"Then if he doesn't talk, and it's just a one-off, why would your parents find out?"

I say as casually as possible, "I just mean if I want to keep seeing him…"

She studies me for a long moment, one rich fuck-up to another. I feel too seen. "You like him."

"Obviously," I say, going for a dismissive tone.

She covers another laugh with her hand. "The beanie, though…"

"Fuck. Off. Jesus."

"I'm sorry. Is this the first time you've done anything with a guy? I feel like I would have heard if you played for both teams before now."

"It's the first time," I confirm.

She nods, like she totally gets it. "Cock's pretty great, huh?"

"I hate you."

"Just when I'm starting not to hate you? That's such a shame."

"It's both of our first times," I blurt. "That might be one of the reasons I trust him."

"Whoa. What?"

The server slides her punch onto the table and slips away quickly. I wince when Elodie takes a long slug through her straw. She's gonna be so fucked up, and I still don't know where she's going to wind up tonight.

"You bagged Hot Drew? Who's straight?"

"Lots of people think I'm very fuckable," I say defensively.

"But like capable of turning someone gay?"

"Neither one of us is prepared to say we're gay, all right?"

"Oh, I've read about this—I think it's called ‘Gay for You.'"

"What the fuck are you reading?"

"TikTok?" she says, like, Duh.

"Gay for you," I repeat.

"Yeah, like you're not gay, but you'll do gay stuff for him."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you like him."

"I don't—I didn't—" Fuck. "That can't possibly be a real thing."

"Okay. Fine." She takes another long sip and scans the bar. "Who's the hottest guy in here?"

"I don't know!" I say without even looking.

She gestures to the other visible patrons. "Check 'em out."

I pick up my beer and slump back in the seat. Elodie joins me and says, "There's only one correct answer."

There's a man dressed in black in a three-piece suit with slicked back blond hair and a Henry Cavill jawline. "Clark Kent," I say.

"You're bi," she says like she's diagnosing me with diabetes.

"What would you have said if I picked Post Malone over there?"

"I would have said you were lying."

"It's obvious though. He's obviously the best-looking man in here. It's not a contest."

"Would you fuck him?"

"I don't know. What's he like?"

"Wanna find out?"

I shrug. Gotta kill the time somehow until we hear from her dad. "Sure. Bring him over. Maybe he'll want to piss on you later or something."

"I wish."

With that, she slides out of the booth and brings Clark Kent over to play How Gay is Olivier.