“He’s only here for this weekend,” Niklaus is saying. “But we’ve had some troubles here in some parts of the scene.” His voice drops low so that no one can overhear. “Zee and I wanted to help set an example in the community.”
I yank my gaze away from Oliver. “An admirable sentiment. And as you know, it suits me to be here for a while. England can become rather stifling at times.”
He gives a sympathetic nod. I hope he won’t say it. Iprayhe won’t say it. He said it in his email to me, before castigating me for shutting myself away for so long.
But I’m so tired of hearing it: that he’s sorry for what happened to me.
“Well, I hope you’ll enjoy your time here, Elliot. The weather will be better, at least.”
He didn’t say it. Thank God.
“I should have thanked you already for the silent piano in my rooms,” I say, to make sure the conversation moves on.
“Does it suit? I’m so glad. A very small price to pay for the pleasure of your company.” There’s movement at the door; an arrival. “We’ve invited a few guests for dinner tonight,” Niklaus adds. “And there’s one familiar face for you, at least.”
I catch sight of another old friend, and set aside my gin and tonic. “Fox!” I call out, pleased to see him.
“Arden!” comes the reply, as Sebastian Fox makes his way across the room to me. He shakes my hand as warmly as Niklaus did before. Los Angeles must be Americanizing him.
Fox introduces me to his new partner, Ezra—a striking young man.
“And this is Xander Romano,” Niklaus says, ushering forward a tall, dark-haired, serious-eyed man. “I’m afraid Elliot is completely uninformed about pop culture, so he won’t have heard of you, Xander—”
“Oh, but I have,” I say, nodding at Romano as he’s introduced. “Niklaus keeps trying to cast you in his films, so he’s told me a lot about you.”
Romano gives a rueful half-smile. “And I would very much enjoy acting in one of them. Unfortunately, my filming schedule…” As he goes on, I can see in his manner Zee’s hand in molding him as a Dominant.
I approve.
I also approve of his partner, Benjamin, who strokes my ego just the right amount to be flattering without jarring. “I’ve always loved your music,” he says. “I almost wrote to you once and asked permission to use one of your pieces in my work, but I chickened out.”
“Well, we must have a private moment to discuss it later, if your Dominant will permit it,” I say. I don’t miss the glance between Benjamin and Romano, the humor on both their faces.
“I’ll permit it,” Romano says, sparkling eyes belying his serious tone.
“Thanks,” Ben mutters.
“I’m sorry if I’ve misunderstood your relationship,” I say at once—best to air these things immediately. But they both shake their heads and assure me that there has been nofaux pas.
The nice thing I’ve found about Zee and Niklaus is that, while they often have guests, one is not expected to socialize for the sake of socializing. Their friends are always fascinating, and Zee has a gift for bringing together people who will actually enjoy each other’s company.
Indeed, at any other time, I’d be enjoying myself immensely.
But tonight I’m distracted—and for once, not by the usual dreary thoughts. No. Tonight, my attention is constantly diverted back to Oliver, who stands at the edge of the dining room, watching the proceedings with large, intelligent eyes. When we go into the dining room, I’m secretly delighted to see that he has been allowed to be part of dinner service, despite it being his first night.
But whatever Oliver does in his daily life, it’s not waiting tables. He struggles with the delicate silver tongs when serving the vegetables, and when he pours out the water and the wine, he drips it on the tablecloth each time.
I see Sebastian Fox wince more than once. I don’t think Oliver would make it in Fox’s restaurant. And indeed, Oliver is never so clumsy as when he’s serving me. I almost end up with a lapful of green beans, and he seems to be constantly reminding himself to use the serving tongs rather than his fingers. I see two of the other servers exchange a grimace when Oliver squeezes the tongs too hard and sends a roast potato flying across the room. He dives after it with alacrity and when he sees me watching, he flushes deeply.
I look away and pretend not to have noticed. No point embarrassing him. So Fox would never hire him for his restaurant. What of it? Oliver is not a potential hire. He’s joined the household for an experience—one I’ll be happy to give him, if he accepts it. And from the way he’s been trying so hard not to stare at me all night, I believe hewouldaccept a little light training from me, if I chose to give it.
And something more, perhaps…
Niklaus is probably right, even if I didn’t want to hear it from him. It’s past time for me to get back into the swing of things.
I’m in the middle of listening to a spirited discussion about whether American pizza is better than Italian pizza, raising a glass of good Californian red to my mouth, when an arm reaches in to try to remove my plate.
It jostles my wrist instead.
