Chapter Eight
Then — Before
I stand and stare into the three-part mirror while the tailor takes measurements and marks the suit with chalk. Behind me, in the reflection, I see the way Ward smiles from his chair. He looks practically…giddy.
He’s paying for this today. All of it. His father thinks the suits are for Ward, I’m certain, but I haven’t asked.
Me? I’m terrified. Today, Ward’s paying more for two suits for me than I think Dad paid for his last truck, and Ward’s not even sweating it.
This means he must love me.
Right?
This doesn’t feel…real. The golden shafts of late Sunday afternoon sunlight slanting through the windows and capturing tiny dust motes dancing in midair feels ethereal and otherworldly. Like I’m trapped in a sweet dream I never want to escape.
It’s just the two of us in here today as customers and I suspect Ward paid extra for the privilege of coming in to have this done when they’re usually closed.
I’m not used to this. To someone spending this kind of money on me. In the two years we’ve been engaged in this secret dance, supposedly as nothing more than friends and college roommates while being far more than that, this is one of the few things he won’t let me pull rank on him over, about how he spends money.
It’s usually money he spends onme. Whether it’s food, or something he’s figured out that I want but can’t afford, or taking me to see shows on Broadway, or…
This.
My first expensive, custom-tailored suits. Something a future attorney should have, he insists.
Except I should be the one taking care of him, right? That’s what I want to do. I want to graduate with a law degree and be able to go right to work, earn a good living, and take care of my family and Ward.
I already know I want to spend the rest of my life with him.
Yeah, we’re young, but I see the way my parents look at each other, and this feels likethat.
Like forever.
I know I can convince him to come out by the time we graduate from law school. Who cares if his old man cuts him off after graduation? By then, Ward will have his degree and we can work together.
We can build a life together.
All these thoughts and more roll through my mind while I stand there, struggling not to feel like I’m somehow failing my guy right at this moment by the very act of accepting this generous gift from him.
Inadequacies attempt to chip away at my happiness. Anxiety tries to strangle my hope.
But I stare into the mirror, into his loving blue eyes, and let the world go quiet around me.
Obviously, there needs to be more between us than really hot sex or kinky activities, and I think there is. We share many of the same interests and enjoy a lot of the same things, from books and movies to music. We are so much alike in many ways, and complementary in others. Like we are two puzzle pieces perfectly made for each other.
I know that’s a cliché, but I’m majoring in law, not creative writing.
The tailor’s cell rings and he excuses himself to step out and answer it.
I watch in the mirror as Ward stands and walks over, his blue gaze on me the entire way.
A thrill rolls through me when he rests his chin on my shoulder, a small PDA—which he rarely engages in PDAs ofanykind with me in daylight hours outside our room.
“You look so hot, Master,” he whispers.
I’ve just turned twenty-one, and he’s twenty. Even when we’re studying, frequently we’re naked in bed and wrapped around each other like Toulouse-Lautrec’s kissing lovers.
Fear keeps us focused, though. Ward’s fear of failing and incurring his father’s wrath, and my fear of failing and losing my financial aid and not being able to continue my education.
