“It’s work, Michael, like you’re writing. You have to enjoy some aspect of it, or readers would know that you hated absolutely every minute, and you wouldn’t be a writer for very long.”
That was probably true, but I only admitted that to myself.
“I hate thinking that you’re doing something against your will, that men are taking advantage of you, hurting you…” I couldn’t continue. If I did, I might break down completely.
“I wouldn’t like it either.” He turned to me with those earnest, lovely eyes and said, “I’ll be the one to end it. When it becomes too much.”
“I don’t want that.” That was, in fact, the opposite of what I wanted. “Can’t you think of something else?”
Arden frowned. “It’s better than having you hate me.”
I almost said I never could, but I wasn’t so confident anymore.
I awoke laterthat morning to find Arden still asleep on the bed. Franco was snoring on the chaise. Someone—I assumed Marquis—was in the shower. I went in search of another bathroom. The mansion was like a mausoleum. Surely, we weren’t the only guests to sleepover? I did my business down the hall and washed my hands. En route back to our room, I was confronted by Liam’s handler. Trevor? No, Travis.
“Liam’s got something to say.” He turned as though he expected me to follow. Well, okay.
Travis led me to another bedroom where Liam sat in the middle of a large bed, an unmoored boat at sea. He was shirtless and barefoot with his raven hair sticking up like feathers and his big, blue eyes red-rimmed and remorseful. He looked as though the fight had been beaten—or perhaps fucked—out of him.
“I’m so sorry, Michael. I was inexcusably rude. I don’t know what came over me. Well, I do actually. I suppose I was trying to protect you, but I went about it in the absolute worst way. I’d like to blame my drinking, but I don’t think that was all of it.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling guilty because everything Liam had said last night was something I’d considered at one time or another. Even Arden spoke as though we weren’t meant to last.
“You hurt Arden’s feelings and mine too. You’re a guest in this house, Liam, and you attacked him for no reason.”
“I know. And I’m terribly ashamed of myself.” He dropped his head, and his pale, slender shoulders caved inward.
Travis sat in a wing-backed chair and observed our exchange with a stoic expression. His meaty limbs were arranged in a man-spread that would rival a king at court. True to Liam’s assessment, he was a man of few words.
“If you feel the need to get involved in my love life, leave Arden out of it,” I said at last. “This is the second time I’ve had to talk to you about being unkind to him, and there won’t be a third.”
“I’ll apologize to him at my first opportunity. I think…” He paused. “I think I’m too jaded to be objective anymore. Everywhere I look, I see disaster.”
“Tell him the other thing,” Travis said in an unhurried Southern drawl.
“Your relationship is not my business, and I promise to be supportive in the future.”
He stared at me intently, and I nodded. Liam wasn’t the affectionate type, so I simply stood and made my way to the door.
When I returned to the bedroom, Arden was just waking, eyelids droopy and hair mussed. I climbed back in the bed and drew him to me. He fit so perfectly in my arms, in my bed, in my life.
“You can be the one to end it,” I said. “Hopefully a long time from now, but I’d like you to make me a promise.”
“What is it?” he asked, peering up at me intently.
“You’ll let me come after you when the timing is right.”
He gave a sad, crooked smile. “I promise.”
Part VI.
The boy grew into his powers. It was a strange sort of self-awareness that came on slowly and then, all at once. Angelique was the first of the islanders to pay him such attention, but he wasn’t the last. Even while his heart belonged to that sweet boy in Georgetown who’d first initiated him into the pleasures of sex, the captain and his first mate sailed onto more islands, where there were others willing to give and receive such gifts.
There were boys his own age with funny accents from far-flung places. They were, much like himself, strangers in a strange land, looking for a connection or a sweaty, hurried release.
There were lazy island villages and crowded ports, both with sleek, keen-eyed boys—men too—whose gazes lingered on him a little too long. A swipe of the tongue against lips, a nod of the head, and sometimes only an inquiring tilt. The boy learned the language of attraction as he’d studied Shakespeare and knot-tying. He was free to follow them or not. More often, he did.
Excepting his own vices, the captain lived austerely, but the boy liked these small indulgences—desserts and candy, a bit of marijuana, a shirt with a rock band on the front of it, a used book. He didn’t ask for such things. They were given to him freely, like the many pet names his lovers bestowed on him—Silky, Blondie, Baby, Bey—and when he showed them his gratitude, he could be assured of something even better, even nicer, the next time around.
