Tenderness softened Chess’s lips. “Every day. Sometimes I wake up and think I’m still dreaming.”
André reached into his pocket and pulled out the box, loving Chess’s startled expression, knowing he’d remember the look for all his life. “I know Dad would’ve wanted you to have it.” He opened the box, the gold of the thick band catching the sunlight. “Will you?”
“You want me to wear your father’s ring? Are you sure?”
A tapestry of emotions played over Chess’s face—joy, surprise…and fear. The little information Chess had volunteered about his family hadn’t been that of a happy one—no father, and his mother dying when he was young, resulting in Chess being placed in foster care since no close relatives were willing to step up to help. Early on in their relationship, whenever he tried to talk to Chess about it, no matter how gently he’d bring up the subject, he was shut down, and hating how withdrawn Chess would become, André had backed off. He couldn’t imagine how devastating and traumatic losing a parent was to a young person, and he vowed to love Chess even harder. One day, maybe he’d feel safe enough to open up.
“Who else could it be?” He held the ring, rubbing his finger over the smooth gold, the warmth of it on his father’s finger a beautiful memory. “Sometimes you know from the very first. That’s how it was with me. That night, when I looked at you, I saw your soul and it spoke to me. I saw the two of us reflected in your eyes, and everyone else faded away. It’s always been you.”
Blinking furiously, Chess held out his hand, and André slid the ring on his finger. It fit perfectly, and Chess curled his hand in a fist, holding André’s hand in his.
“The night I met you, I came home and told the guys I met the man I wanted to marry. They laughed at me—except for Elliot, but he’s a bigger romantic than I am.”
“I always did like that man best.”
Laughter lit up Chess’s face, but then his expression turned serious. “Before I accept this, I need to talk to you.”
Chapter Seven
Chess hadn’t been this scared since the first time he had sex, and that brought up memories of fumbling, awkwardness, and pain. It had been an act of rebellion, one he’d chosen to do for all the wrong reasons, with a person he barely knew and never saw again.
But this was André. The man he loved and was going to spend the rest of his life with. The man he thought he knew better than anyone else. And yet, he knew he’d never stop the queasy feeling in his stomach or the nerves running through him like spiders in his blood until he had an explanation for André kissing that man.
“I have no idea what’s wrong, but of course we can talk. Anything you want. Let’s sit.”
A quizzical tilt to André’s brows was the only sign of his confusion as they sat next to each other. That, and his direct, unflinching gaze, which Chess knew he’d perfected in negotiations with business associates, in an attempt to bend them to his will.
But this wasn’t a business deal, and his heart wasn’t open for negotiation. This was the love of his life, and he’d fight to the death for him, but he first had to know his enemy.
“There’s something bothering you, and I might be mistaken—although I think not—that whatever it is has been weighing on your mind for days now.” His champagne glass remained untouched, and André glanced down at it and set it aside. “Talk to me.”
Chess wished he could remain detached and unemotional, but this was his heart. His home. André was the only future he’d ever seen since his mother died, and if he lost André too? He might as well lose himself.
“The day before you came home, I told you I was out with Elliot.”
“Yes. The Great Dumpling Fest. I was pissed I missed out.”
“Believe me, I wish you were with me. Because on the ride home, I got tagged in some Instagram pictures.”
“What kind of pictures?” André’s brow furrowed. “You don’t even use your Instagram or any social media, really. That makes no sense.”
Anxious, heart pounding, Chess licked his lips. “What makes even less sense is what I saw in the pictures. You. Kissing another man.”
Mouth wide open and brows sky-high, if it had been a comedy show, André’s reaction would’ve been funny. But it wasn’t. It was his life.
Red-faced, André held out his hand. “You’re fucking kidding me. Show me the pictures.”
Of course that would be the first thing he asked. “I-I don’t have them. You know I’m hopeless on social media. I didn’t think to save them, and the next day when I tried to find them, I couldn’t.” Miserable, he hung his head. “I don’t even remember who sent them because I wanted to puke the moment I saw you kissing someone else. Tell me it wasn’t you,” he whispered. “Tell me you didn’t kiss someone else…or worse.”
A warm hand cupped his cheek, and he raised his gaze to meet André’s highly disturbed one. André kneeled in front of him, and it wasn’t lost on Chess that one of the most powerful men in the business world was on his knees before him.
“I promise you with every cell in my body: I didn’t sleep with anyone else. I haven’t wanted another person since the night we met.” A flicker came and went in his eyes, and Chess steeled himself. “But…I got drunk that night and lost control. Like I told you. And I was told, because I don’t even remember, that I kissed someone, but it meant nothing.”
“How does a kiss mean nothing to you? Obviously you must’ve been attracted to the man.”
“No,” André burst out. “It was nobody.”
“He was enough of a somebody for you to want to kiss him. I can’t believe you don’t remember.”
