“Arden has a $700 shirt from Issey Miyake.”
“A gold bracelet isn’t a shirt,” Franco insisted. “It’s an extravagant gift to a kept boy. They’re fucking.”
It might be true—maybe this Matteo character was Arden’s mysterious benefactor—but my hackles were up. Why couldn’t Franco mind his own goddamned business?
“He has racks of clothing from modeling shoots. He can’t be fucking all of them,” I said hotly.
“It’s that kind of business,” Franco said as if he were the authority on such matters.“¿Como se dice?Predatory.”
I glared at him. “So, what if they are fucking?”
He looked stunned for a moment, then his cunning eyes narrowed. “You knew? That he’s a prostitute?”
“Escort.” I wasn’t sure if there was a difference, but the picture proved Arden was desired for his company as well as… other things.
“You’re dating a hooker,” Franco crowed a little too joyously.
“Keep your voice down,” I hissed. “It’s none of your business what Arden does for money. Besides, I’m helping him with his memoir.”
He blinked as though I’d said something incomprehensible. “A memoir?”
“Yes, a memoir. It’s a story about your own life. Kind of like an autobiography.” Even though Franco was fluent in English, there were sometimes words he didn’t recognize.
“Does your father know about this?”
My father wouldn’t approve of Arden’s sex work, nor would he approve of me helping someone else with their writing project when I was supposed to be working on my own. “It’s none of my father’s business who I’m dating.”
“So, youaredating?” Franco said, victorious.
“Friends,” I amended.
“Liam is going to shit a brick,” Franco gloated, excited at the prospect. I’d taught him a lot of Americanisms over the years.Shit a brickwas one of his favorites. He’d been stupid drunk when I’d first explained it to him.
“You’re being extremely judgy right now, Franco,” I said. “You’re a man whore, and Marquis is a stripper, for Christ’s sake.”
“He’s a dancer,” Franco corrected.
“Who gives lap dances with his ass hanging out. I was there when you met him, remember?”
“That’s my type, Mikey, but you…” He shook his head in mock disappointment.
“Me what?”
“You won’t even date outside of Manhattan. And now you’re spending your nights with a prostitute with a criminal past.”
“He’s not a criminal”
Franco leaned forward and sniffed. “Jesus, I can smell him on you. What do you even know about him?”
I leaned back to put some aromatic distance between us. “I know that he’s from Florida,” I said defensively, “and his favorite book isThe Old Man and the Sea.”
“And he was an alcoholic at twelve.”
“Well, you’re an alcoholic at thirty.” I motioned to his beer, his second, as evidence.
“I have a stressful job,” Franco sputtered, his bravado wilting because I’d hurt his feelings. “We can’t all be bestselling authors.”
I dragged my hands down my face and stared at him. “I appreciate you looking out for me, Franco. And my compliments to Marquis for his Instagram sleuthing. Arden is a friend, and he’s been nothing but honest with me. If I need rescuing, I’ll blink twice, okay?”
