“It’s okay to be scared of this,” Sebastian said, low enough that Rhys was the only one who could hear. “But don’t let the fear ruin it.”
He nodded, not confident he’d be able to stick to that, even if he understood he had to. He absolutely had to, or he was going to lose everything he never knew he wanted.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
BECKETT GETS SERIOUS
At first, Beckett felt awkward and uncomfortable in the borrowed clothes. But as soon as he saw the way Rhys looked at him—dressed in barely too big shoes and a snug fit three-piece suit, Beckett felt something he’d never known before.
He felt powerful.
And he was sure he could bring Rhys St. George to his knees, if only he dared to ask.
So, he found himself in the back of a limo, not a town car as he’d expected, with Rhys’s hand set possessively on his leg and a glass of champagne in his hand. Undoubtedly, it was the best he’d ever had, and he had the fleeting thought…
I could get used to this.
“Did you enjoy dinner?” Rhys’s voice was quiet, tender.
“Yes.”
“Was it everything you imagined the experience would be?”
Beckett settled his hand on top of Rhys’s, giving him a gentle squeeze. Dinner had been more than he imagined. Rhys had truly taken the financial freedom to heart, but managed to arrange something that Beckett never would have dreamed of being able to attain. A private chef’s table seating at the only three-star restaurant in the state, with a dedicated sommelier and an eight course tasting menu. The food was some of the best Beckett had ever had, the wine even better, and now in the back seat of a stretch limo, his head swam with possibilities and promises.
“It was too much,” he said.
“No.” Rhys shook his head disapprovingly. “Not for you. Never for you.”
“Rhys.”
“You could do it,” Rhys said. “You could do more and you could do better.”
Beckett rolled his eyes.
Over dinner, they’d sat close and talked, with Beckett sharing stories of his childhood to fill the gaps of the ones Rhys didn’t have. He talked about how he loved cooking and how he wanted to open a restaurant one day. Beckett watched Rhys’s features soften and turn sad, but also retain a certain kind of hopefulness for more. It was something that Beckett felt always simmered beneath the surface for him, a kind of cautious optimism that he never dared to let see the light of day.
Rhys was stoic in his character, always contained and almost hyperaware of himself in a way Beckett wasn’t familiar with. But today had been different. From the moment Rhys saw him in the hallway at Sebastian’s, there’d been a change. It wasn’t that Rhys treated him any differently, he was still very much the same man Beckett had been getting to know, but he came across… more invested? More aware?
Things felt serious.
“Be careful,” he said. “You’re sounding very romantic.”
“Do you think I’m not?”
He glanced out of the corner of his eye, finding Rhys’s attention focused on him.
“I think you are, but you hate it,” he said.
Rhys huffed out a small and agreeable laugh. “I used to hate it.”
“What’s to hate about love?” Beckett asked.
“What’s not to hate?” Rhys asked back. He turned his hand, palm side up and hooked his fingers around Beckett’s. “It’s vulnerable and it’s expensive.”
“It’s only expensive because you make it that way,” he teased.
Rhys rolled his eyes. “Engagement rings are expensive.”
