16. Gibson

16

GIBSON

I slept most of Monday, and Tuesday was packed with wall-to-wall meetings. I’ve had no time to have the conversation with Christian I’ve been meaning to have, but it’s been on my mind constantly. I’ve seen him a few times in the lobby, and each time he looks at me expectantly like he’s waiting for a date and time, but the truth is, I need more than one assistant to keep me from feeling constantly rushed and overwhelmed. Having him “part time,” the details of which we still need to iron out, likely won’t make the kind of dent I need in making my life easier, but I’ll take anything at this point.

Wednesday morning, however, when I wake up with Pet curled at my feet on my bed at the club and have no desire whatsoever to touch her, I’m newly determined to set aside some time and figure out next steps in my life.

Marianne is my number one priority, but Christian’s role is a close second.

Though I barely touched her last night, Pet looks content, so I ease myself off the bed, managing not to wake her. As I exit my room, I find Emilia in my usual seat. She nods toward one of the glass-walled rooms where a few people are gathered to watch the action inside.

“Who is it?” I ask.

“See for yourself.”

“Is it going to mess me up the rest of the day?”

She shrugs. “I think it’s sweet.”

Curious, I make my way over. One of the couples watching is whispering to each other in voices too low to hear above the music. The club is mostly empty at this hour, a safe place for people having affairs to meet before work. But the pairing behind the glass shocks me to my core.

One of my best friends—Fischer Elliot—a primetime anchor on a popular cable news network is taking a urethral sound practically out in the open for anyone to see. The person coaching him through it, whispering into his ear and holding him with so much tenderness it makes my heart feel like it’s being ripped from my chest is his brother. Another doorman of mine from The Eastmoor down the block.

Jesus Christ.

Not only have I never seen Fischer so much as hint at wanting to be with a man, but he looks enraptured. And more than that—deeply, deeply in love.

Matthew—my doorman—glances at the glass as he tightens his arm possessively around Fischer and whispers something in his ear.

Fischer—looking both pained and achingly vulnerable, kisses him deeply, begging him for something.

Matthew removes the sounding rod, and I’m faced with the jarring sight of one of my oldest friends ejaculating, his body twisting in ecstasy.

I haven’t taken a breath in at least a full minute, so when I do, it flows in with a gasp. And I’m not the only one gasping.

Sounding is shocking and deeply kinky, but it’s the brother part I’m struggling with most. I go back to Emilia who’s grinning because she knows me well enough to know I don’t get surprised easily. “You thought that was sweet ?”

“So sweet I walked away. I’m surprised your friend didn’t use a more private room.”

“They’re brothers,” I hiss.

“Adopted,” she says.

“Really?” I suddenly feel immensely better.

“Did you not know Mr. Elliot was adopted? How am I the one telling you this? Didn’t the two of you grow up together or something?”

“We went to college together, and maybe he told me that. I don’t remember.”

“Ah, the good old days,” she says. “Back when Marianne was all yours.”

It’s a low blow, but she’s not wrong. When I think of my college days, it isn’t Fischer I think about.

“I’m never going to unsee that, you know?”

“I assumed you’d be happy for your friend.”

Frustrated and awkwardly aroused, I run a hand through my hair. I catch the time and notice I’m late for breakfast with my wife. “Will I see you tonight?”

“More than likely,” Emilia says.

I give her a nod and head for the elevator. When I pass the glass room again, I can’t help but look. Matthew’s topping Fischer, but it’s more than that. They’re making love.

Jealousy has become such a familiar creature inside me, fed and watered daily by Marianne’s sex-sated grins and images just like that . I swear to God, I can’t go to the restroom in this city without seeing two people wanting each other with their entire beings.

Now that I’m home, back in the real world and not some Roman fever dream, I’ve been returned to my place, which is to say that I serve at the pleasure of my wife, who I doubt will ever want me again—unless she needs me to help her ruin someone in my spare time.

She’s dressed and all done up when I arrive in the dining room, a departure from her usual silk robe and sex-mussed bun. “Good morning,” she says with a smile, unbothered by my rumpled appearance.

“Good morning.” I walk behind her, plant a soft kiss on top of her head, careful not to mess up her hair, and take my seat. “Where are you headed looking so beautiful?”

Her smile tightens, and she spears a slice of banana with a fork. “Avery’s attorney’s office. She asked for moral support.”

“When did the two of you get so tight?”

“What does that mean?” Her tone is sharp, as is her direct look.

I’m too hurt and exhausted to say anything but what I’m thinking. “She sees you more often than I do.”

“You’re busy.”

“I’ve never been too busy for you,” I say.

She stiffens and shifts in her seat. “We have our own hobbies. Our own friends. Nothing wrong with that.”

My chest is tight, and it’s hard to take my next breath. I pour my coffee from the carafe and stir in a packet of sweetener. Like I’m the one who needs to suffer to feel alive, I say, “You should pick a weekend. We’ll go to Palm Beach, just the two of us. Spend some time together.”

Her gaze goes wary, and her tone is laced with caution. “What is this about?”

“You realize that in no part of this arrangement was I expected not to want to be with you.” I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into me today. It’s been ten years, and I’ve never brought this up. Why today? She looks like she’s wondering the same thing.

She sucks in a breath, and I’m jealous of it, too—the air that she welcomes into her body. “I’ll think about it,” she says shortly .

I glance at her, certain she’s joking, but she’s staring studiously at her plate picking at the fruit and taking shallow breaths. “Really?” I ask.

“You’re right. But please—let me think about it. I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

I reach out and take her hand, and for the first time in a long time, she holds on tight. Some stupid hope rises inside me, and it’s so foreign, I don’t know what to do with it. Putting her fork down, she rests her other hand on top of mine. She meets my eyes. “I love you. No one in the world is as dear to me. You know that, don’t you?”

A lump forms in my throat, but I nod. As tears fill her eyes, I want to do something. Touch her face or kiss her cheek. Anything . But I see the broken thing she was shining through like the cracks never mended at all. Like the memory of what happened to her when I wasn’t there to protect her is still just as fresh as it was the day after.

“Yes,” I say. “Of course.”

“You’re still my world,” she whispers, and my heart shatters again.

“Is there anything I can do?” I ask, desperate for some direction—anything. “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

“You know I would. After everything, who can I trust if not you?”

“I love you,” I tell her.

She strokes my hand before letting it go. “I love you, too. Now, stop. I’ll cry and ruin my make up.”

I wish I felt relieved by this exchange, but I’ve been mollified at best. I feel no closer to her than I did yesterday or last month or two years ago. The devastation is unending. With each day that passes while we pursue meaningless encounters with other people, the dream I once had of us is less and less likely to come true. I take a shaky breath and my coffee and leave the room to wait for an answer I doubt will ever come.

On my way out of the building to make an appearance at the downtown office, I stop at the front desk to have a brief word with Christian.

Since I haven’t really spoken to him in two days, I’ve managed to halfway convince myself that what happened between us was a travel-induced one-off, but the moment we’re face to face, all the illicit fantasies re-materialize with a realism so stark, it feels like I could reach out and touch them.

The way his cheeks darken with color when he lays eyes on me makes me wonder if he has some fantasies of his own swirling through his mind.

“Are you free for dinner tonight?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says without hesitation.

“And you’ll have an answer for me?”

“I will.”

“You’re really going to keep me in suspense all day?”

His forehead pinches in the slightest of frowns. “The way you asked…”

“Yes or no?”

“It’s a yes,” he says, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Where would you like to eat?”

“There’s a ramen place I like in Spanish Harlem.”

I must make a face because he laughs.

“Wherever you want, sir,” he says casually, making me too aware of my dick.

You’re hiring him to be your part-time assistant, not taking on a sub.

He comes out from behind the desk to walk me to the door, and being this close to him again puts too many ideas in my head. “And if I’d rather not go out?”

“I’m happy to come up,” he says .

“To the club?”

“I meant your apartment, but if you want me to come to the club and not pay for dinner, fine.”

I smile. “I’ll figure something out. Can’t have you going unfed.”

“Have a nice day, Gibson,” he says as I step outside.

“I’ll try.”

And I do try. I have a long meeting with my not-so-silent partner Geoff Reiner whom I met through the club. I trust him implicitly because I know all his secrets, and he knows very few of mine. I took him on when I began to expand internationally. He manages the ever-growing workforce, which leaves me free to scout properties and make deals. In this business, I started with nothing, and then, one day, I had everything. Then everything turned into more, and I secured about a hundred lifetimes for myself. If I had kids, they’d be set—spoiled by wealth. I’d probably hate them.

In part, I owe my success to Marianne. It was an investment from her family that resulted in my first commercial real estate purchase. And now here we are. Co-dependent in the worst way and unwilling to touch each other for more time than it takes to shake hands.

Because of our painful exchange this morning, the image of Fischer being made love to lives rent free in my head for the majority of the day. The way Matthew held him—the way he kissed him and whispered to him—like he couldn’t breathe without him was so deeply moving. I think I wouldn’t feel so bad now if I didn’t know how it felt to love someone like that—to be loved like that.

But unless Marianne finally allows herself to heal, this is the rest of my life. Every day is a struggle to accept this one, unchanging fact.

Geoff and I spend the morning together going through HR complaints and making some tough decisions. I speak to him about Christian coming to work with me part time.

“You really need about three people working full-time.”

“I’m aware. I’m not too high maintenance, am I?”

He chuckles. Geoff is in his thirties, married to a man with a child on the way via a surrogate. I panicked when he told me they were pregnant, but he assured me they have a very supportive family, and he doesn’t expect to miss much work at all. He also reminded me that his executive assistants are more than capable of running the company for a few weeks of paternity leave. Personality-wise, he’s a shark. Brilliant with money and allocating resources. He graduated from Yale with an MBA, and he looks the part. White, clean-cut, impeccably dressed, with the requisite dark-rimmed glasses. “I think you could use some more maintenance.” He winks.

I shake my head and wave his comment off.

“When can I meet Christian?”

“Once he signs on—which I’m hoping will be this evening, I’ll find a time to bring him by to meet you all.”

“I’ll look forward to it.” He checks his watch and makes a face. “Shit, I’m late for a call with Brazil. Let’s do lunch Friday.”

I nod and let him go. Swiveling in my chair, I look through the large window at the river and New Jersey. My mind wanders again. To Fischer. To Marianne’s tears. To Christian’s.

I close my eyes and let myself remember that last afternoon in Rome. The way he relented and let me hold him, and the kiss he sought and sought until I came undone.