“It’s a little late for lunch,” Art said, following Graeme nonetheless as he made his way down the wide staircase, into the lobby, and around the corner, heading to the courtyard at the center of the majestic building.
“We drove all the way here from Cornwall in one go, without stopping,” Graeme pointed out. “I don’t know how you’re not starving.”
Lunch took a bit of work to get, since there were so many people vying for only a few tables and neither Art’s name nor Graeme’s was on the list for the posher of the two restaurants in the courtyard. They did manage to get something, though.
Art grinned as he ate a quick salad. Graeme had been clever and caring enough to contact Ryan effectively and to remind them to eat. He’d been brash and bold enough to get them a table and service when the entire place was overly busy and the staff was overworked. And once Ryan came down to meet them, all smiles and glazed eyes, like he was still caught up in the whirlwind of his success, the Wallace Collection staff comped all of their meals before they shifted over to the private reception area.
“I don’t care what anyone says about us,” he commented as the three of them took flutes filled with something pink and fizzy from a server who was carrying them around the reception on a silver tray, like they were at some sort of truly aristocratic event, “the three of us make an amazing team. Together, we get the job done.”
“I never would have dreamed of saying this before the summer,” Graeme said, shaking his head slightly in disbelief, “but I agree with you. We’re a team. No, we’re something more than a team.”
“We’re a throuple,” Ryan said, looking dazzlingly happy as he raised his glass.
Art rushed to raise his as well, and so did Graeme. God—or rather, Goddess—only knew what they looked like to the people around them, but he didn’t care one bit. How he and his men found fulfillment was no one else’s business.
That went double, or maybe triple, when Giorgio Esposito arrived in the room, a shorter, animated man by his side. Right from the start, Art was positively giddy that the bastard looked as grumpy as a cow with a stick up its backside. It was even better when the animated man spotted Ryan, waved at him, then dragged Giorgio over toward them.
“Oh fuck,” Ryan mumbled softly, standing taller and putting on a tight smile. “It’s Marco Valliant.”
“I have no idea who that is,” Art laughed. “But with a name like that, I need to know him.”
“He’s a fellow designer,” Ryan said. That was all he had time to say before Giorgio and Marco reached them. “Marco, Giorgio, hello. What did you think of the show?”
The question seemed innocent enough, but Art could see it was designed both to suss Marco out and possibly to take a dig at Giorgio.
It worked on both accounts.
“I thought it was fantastic,” Marco said, his accent American instead of Italian, like Art would have expected. “Positively brilliant. You captured the energy of three so well and it had a beautiful, spring feeling.”
The man grabbed Ryan and pulled him close for a kiss to each cheek.
Art couldn’t help himself. “Do I get one, too?” he asked, flirting shamelessly.
Graeme looked horrified. Ryan tensed. But Marco laughed, swept Art up and down with a look, and said, “Of course you do.”
He leaned in to kiss each of Art’s cheeks, getting a little handsy, and smelling of expensive cologne. Art loved it. And he knew how to set Marco back on his feet in his own space without making it seem like he was pushing the man away.
Giorgio had looked grumpy before, but he seemed livid now. Especially when Marco said, “It’s so refreshing to see the idea of triads acknowledged so openly. You know I have two partners, too, don’t you?”
“I do,” Ryan said, relaxing visibly. “This is Arthur Johnson and Graeme Dallen.”
“It’s absolutely a pleasure to meet you,” Marco said, shaking Graeme’s hand.
“And you, sir,” Graeme said, eyes a bit wide and face flushed, like he was in way over his head.
“We should all get together sometime,” Art said, shaking Marco’s hand as well, even though he’d just cheek-kissed the man. “We could have fun.”
“We absolutely could,” Marco said, lowering his voice so Art understood exactly what sort of fun he meant.
“You’ll have to excuse Art,” Ryan said, rolling his eyes. “He’s feral. We haven’t quite tamed him yet.” He took Graeme’s hand as he spoke.
“I understand,” Marco laughed. “There’s always one in every relationship, right?”
The whole exchange was light and casual. The four of them clicked and felt easy with each other. But Giorgio stood by the side glowering the whole time. “We need to get going, Marco,” he said in a bored voice the second there was a lull in the conversation. “180 The Strand is waiting,” he added with more than a little gloating.
Ryan handled the attempted slight with perfect grace. “Don’t let me keep you,” he said, touching Marco’s arm.
“We do have to go,” he said. “But I’ll call you. We’ll talk. I might have a place for you in my house.”
