Lawrence
Lawrence had never broughta date to one of the family dinners before, never having tried anything like a serious relationship. You just didn’t bring a random hookup to meet Grandma, after all.
Yet there he was, standing in the elevator with Dixon, speeding up to his family’s penthouse unit on the Upper East Side. Dixon looked delectable in fitted chinos and with a gray tie flashing on his royal blue shirt. Lawrence’s father always insisted that the dinners be casual, although for him, that just meant no tuxedos. Lawrence had gone for something a little brighter, with a pink tie and equally pink tailored shirt, just to keep it interesting and annoy his family.
“I don’t really know how to prepare you,” Lawrence said as the elevator came to a stop, opening to the entranceway of the penthouse. “It’s probably going to be very boring.”
“I told you,” Dixon answered with a smile, “these things are easy. I might not have learned anything practical in the Ivy League, but I do know how to behave at a dinner party.”
They paused in front of the large double doors that led into the apartment, antique lights shining overhead and two sleek sculptures of leopards guarding either side. A part of Lawrence longed for Raiden’s company, too, and the security his bodyguard offered him. But having Dixon along made all the difference, and for the first time in years, walking into the dinner, he didn’t feel alone.
Maybe he could swing a fake boyfriend for a night, even if he resisted a real one.
“Just don’t forget,” Lawrence explained. “They’ve more or less come to peace with the fact that I’m gay, but it’s not fine that I go to the clubs every night. If anyone asks, we’ve been dating a few months, and we like to stay home and watch old movies. Outside of that, I keep myself busy with my job.”
“What’s the title they gave you?”
Lawrence rolled his eyes. “Head of Technology and Youth Development. I oversee a team of zero.”
Dixon laced his fingers together, then cracked his knuckles. “And what do you call me? Honey? Dear boyfriend of mine?”
Lawrence giggled. “Sure, I guess! Although maybe I should have learned more about you first, to pull off that lie.”
“You know my favorite movie. That’s something.”
“I watched it the other night. It was pretty good!”
“See? We’re practically married. And I promise I’ll charm them off their feet,” he said with a cocky smile. “Don’t you worry.”
Walking into the penthouse, Lawrence wasn’t worried at all. Dixon was a fast talker and a quick thinker, and the stiff dinner conversations and formalities probably wouldn’t leave much chance to screw things up anyway.
He did, however, feel a little embarrassed by the wealth on display. His father was one of the head honchos at Horizon Zed, a conglomerate so large and powerful his job saw him traveling the world, building massive factories, and personally lobbying the White House. The penthouse was tastefully decorated and not at all audacious, but any experienced eye would be able to tell how expensive everything was, from the Monet painting that greeted them to the Tiffany lamps, imported fine rugs, and antique molding and trim.
“Lawrence,” his grandmother declared, rounding the corner. She wore a tasteful blue dress, paired with a light turquoise jacket and small silver brooch, and her long auburn hair was styled up. “And your friend,” she added coolly.
“Dixon,” Lawrence said, “and this is my grandmother, Mrs. Ellison.”
Dixon bowed slightly. “Mrs. Ellison. Such a pleasure to meet you. And thank you for having me in your gorgeous home.”
She pursed her lips. “This is my eldest son’s home. Do you really think a lady of my status would have such modern art on the walls?” She frowned, then gestured down the hall. “This way.”
“Sorry,” Lawrence whispered, rolling his eyes, but Dixon shrugged it off easily.
They followed into the large, open room where the family received guests. Lawrence’s father and five or six other men in suits were huddled together, all with glasses of brown liquid. Naturally, no one acknowledged Lawrence’s entrance, and he and his date hung back by the doorway.
“I take it she’s not the kind of grandmother who made you cookies when you were a kid?”
Lawrence snorted a laugh. “I don’t know that I’ve ever seen her touch an oven, but she does criticize every meal that’s put in front of her. Does that count?” His father noticed him, nodded, and then turned back to his conversation. “I don’t know how I ever lived in this world.”
“You’re telling me. As soon as I got to Yale, I realized I hated the place.”
“But you’re so sophisticated. I figured you would have thrived there. I was always too feminine, too emotional, and too loud. I swear to god, as soon as my parents figured out I was a gay handful, they abandoned me.”
“A gay handful?”
Lawrence pretended to throw something in the air. “A handful of glitter. But it doesn’t match the decorating scheme!”
Dixon clicked his tongue. “It simply must match the decorating scheme,” he joked.
