Chapter Two

Tristan had to admit that Grant’s parents knew how to throw great parties. They were always entertaining and the food was fantastic. But when you lived in a house that had an actual ballroom… He gulped every time he walked into their McMansion. Naturally, the Christmas decorations were out-of-this-world. There was a towering sequoia in the hall and slightly smaller trees in every reception room. Elaborate garlands made with ivy and berries, threaded with twinkling white lights were draped around the bannisters of both curving staircases.

The place looked like something out of a movie. When Tristan had said that to Grant, his boyfriend had told him the house had been used in several films, then he’d reeled off the names. None of which Tristan had seen. Grant had been annoyed. He could get pissed off at the weirdest things, yet didn’t expect Tristan to get pissed off when Grant introduced him as his nerdy engineer .

Standish Hall was as impressive outside as inside. White lights illuminated every tree the length of the drive and it was a long drive. The lights weren’t just hanging in loops but wrapped around the main branches. According to Grant, they’d had to bus people in to do it .

Everyone here tonight wore tuxes and ballgowns. A live band would be playing after they’d eaten, and at some point, Tristan would do his thing. Timing to be determined. His stomach churned as he thought about it. He was so nervous, the meal had been wasted on him, though the bits he’d eaten had been delicious. Grant hadn’t noticed his lack of appetite, which was good because Tristan didn’t want him to guess what was coming.

Grant was in full swing on his left side, holding a lively conversation with a guy on the other side of the table about some jaunt to Thailand they’d been on in their twenties. All those they were sitting with were old friends of Grant’s from school or university. Tristan had a few friends at the party too, and had suggested to Grant that they mix up the tables, let their friends get to know each other, but Grant wanted to keep his friends together. And what Grant wanted, Grant generally got.

Tristan didn’t really mind. Grant was far more extroverted than he was. Tristan preferred an evening in with a takeaway and a film, as opposed to an expensive meal out and then clubbing in London. Grant was good for him. He made Tristan more sociable. A waiter poured champagne into Grant’s empty glass, but Tristan put his hand over his. Too much to drink and he might cock this up.

He was a little disappointed Grant hadn’t made more effort to bring him into the conversation that had now turned to India, but Grant’s hand was on him and he was massaging Tristan’s cock through his trousers as he chatted. Tristan was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what was being said. He was too enthralled by the way he was being played with, along with panicking that he might lose control if Grant went too far. Fortunately, the tablecloth hid everything.

Tristan managed a conversation about his green energy business with the woman sitting next to him, though he had the impression she wasn’t very interested. He’d tried to keep it simple, but her tight smile and the way she turned to the guy on her other side told him he’d failed.

“Have you sent Fiona to sleep?” Grant leaned in and kissed Tristan’s cheek.

“Sorry.” Tristan chuckled.

“You forget not everyone has an engineering degree.”

Harry, one of Grant’s friends, came up behind them and whispered something to Grant. Tristan wasn’t sure he liked the way Grant’s eyes lit up.

“Back in a tick.” Grant pushed to his feet.

He left the room with Harry, and Tristan really hoped Grant wasn’t about to snort coke. His cock deflated at the thought. Grant said he’d cut right down. Tristan didn’t like him doing it at all, but objecting had just led to sullen silence so Tristan put up with the occasional drug-taking. Oh God, is it occasional? He hoped it was.

When Grant returned, Tristan was fairly certain that’s what he’d been up to. He had that slightly manic air, with a too-wide smile and dilated pupils.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Grant scowled.

The smile hadn’t lasted long. Tristan wanted to tell him not to scowl at him, but he kept quiet. Do I really want to do this tonight? He’d been sure he did, but now he felt himself wobbling.

It’s what I want.

I think.

Maybe…

Is it?

Fuck. His indecision was just down to nerves.

Someone tapped on a glass and the room fell silent. A table away, Grant’s father had risen to his feet.

“I’d like to thank everyone for coming tonight,” Richard said.

“I’ll thank you later, beautiful, when you come just for me,” Grant whispered in Tristan’s ear before he nipped it. The breath caught in Tristan’s throat, though he had to fight the urge to yelp at the pain.

As Richard entertained and amused his audience, Tristan was considering getting to his feet once Richard had sat down, but when he looked around the ballroom at the sea of faces, he lost his courage. Maybe this was better done in a more private setting. His heart slowed and his stomach settled. He’d definitely wait. He ought to wait until Grant was neither drunk, nor high, but Tristan wanted to do this tonight. Grant loved surprises, adored grand gestures. Loves me. So Tristan just had to find the perfect moment. But first he needed to pee.

By the time he came back, the dancing had started and Grant had disappeared. Tristan found him in the conservatory, drinking with a group of friends. It was like a jungle in there, full of plants with huge leaves, lots of trailing vines, the air thick and muggy. Tristan always worried there’d be a lurking snake or huge spiders. He didn’t actually like the heat of the conservatory, but Grant did. So was now the right time? Grant smiled when he saw him, beckoned him over and Tristan put his hand in his pocket. Do it now!

Tristan went down on one knee and opened the small box in his hand. And… His mind went blank. Bloody hell. That never happened. He always had something to say. What the hell? Grant was staring at him, his mouth slightly open. Tristan pulled himself together. Mostly. His heart was pounding in his throat.

“Grant,” Tristan managed to force out. “Sorry, I lost all my words for a moment. You’ve probably guessed what I’m going to say.”

“No,” Grant whispered.

Really? The ring hadn’t given him a clue? “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to grow old with you. Would you do me the great honour of marrying me?”

That wasn’t exactly what Tristan had planned to say, but some instinct stopped him continuing. Instinct? Or was it the way Grant was now gaping at him, as were the others in the room. Plus, the creeping realisation that Grant’s whispered no hadn’t been referring to him guessing what Tristan had been going to say.

No? Oh. He pushed to his feet.

Shit. There was complete silence, then vague whispers, mutterings, as Tristan waited for Grant to say something. Why hadn’t he said anything? A choking sensation clogged Tristan’s throat. He wanted to turn back time.

“You’re joking, right?”

Er… Not the words Tristan had hoped to hear. Nor the short burst of laughter that sprang from Grant’s lips. Once that had happened, others joined in. It’s not fucking funny! Tristan slipped the box back in his pocket.

Maybe he should try to make it funny. “I thought you might recognise the ring I won in that bubble-gum machine in Tesco. Gotcha!”

It gave them both a chance to pretend but would Grant take it?

“No.” Grant’s face was blank.

Fuck. So that was that. “Okay,” Tristan said quietly and walked away.

Grant didn’t come after him.

Maybe he’d follow in a moment.

He didn’t.

Tristan had spent so long thinking about this, believing that if he could pluck up the courage, there was no way anything could go wrong. He almost laughed at his own stupidity. How could he have fucked up everything so completely?

When he reached the bedroom he was sharing with Grant, he locked himself in the bathroom. He was breathing too fast and he made a conscious effort to slow down before he brought on a panic attack. Not that he’d ever had one, but there was always a first time, right? His chest hurt as if he were going into cardiac arrest. I’m not. But…

Well, that had been a mistake. Not the first one of his life, but he’d really thought that Grant would say yes. They’d talked about marrying, talked about someone having their children for them, chosen bloody names—well, argued about names, planned where they wanted to live, made a bucket list of places to visit, things to do before they were too old. Tristan didn’t understand what had changed.

Did it matter? Grant had said no and all his friends had heard him. Not Tristan’s friends but the news would spread fast. He needed to get out of there. He went back into the bedroom, changed out of his tux and put on his jeans, T-shirt, sweater and coat. Then he sent Grant a message. Have all your belongings out of my house by next weekend and leave the key. There was a sense of relief that Grant didn’t have to say that to him.

Tristan ordered an Uber, then carried his bag downstairs the back way, the servants’ way. He ought to say goodbye to his few friends but he couldn’t face them. The only people who saw him leave were serving staff who paid him no attention. Before he was partway down the drive, his phone started to buzz with messages. He ignored them. How could he have miscalculated so badly?

By the time the Uber arrived, he was even more pissed off with himself. Luckily, there were still trains running when he was dropped at the station. Back to London, then out again on the last train. Only then did he look at his phone. All the messages were from his friends, asking if he was okay, saying how sorry they were. Yeah well, not as sorry as him. Nothing from Grant, which said it all.

Before he’d reached the town where his parents lived, his emotions had numbed into a sort of dull shock. He walked from the station to their house and opened the door with his key. When he heard the bleep of the alarm he panicked because the combination had vanished from his head. The more he tried to remember, the blanker his mind became, until, in the nick of time, the numbers came back to him. His parents’ wedding anniversary. He tapped them in and the beeping stopped.

Tristan spent the night there. He wasn’t sure of the exact date his parents were due back from their holiday but he couldn’t face them. Not yet. Nor could he go home. He never wanted to see Grant again. So home was not an option until he was sure Grant had been, collected his stuff, and gone.

He had a plan. This one was simple and infallible. Go to his brother’s place, since he was away, and get drunk.

It was a good plan.

Turned out to be not a good plan. It was harder than he’d thought to stay drunk all the time.

Still, he did his best.