So many things, Hilliard wanted to say. The way he’d been listening to Ezra’s instructions. Not just following them, but embracing them. The way he’d been making an effort to end his quarreling with Cal. But most of all, the way he’d shown Hilliard that he was interested in more than just falling into bed together. As far as he knew, Monty had never taken anyone else to brunch before.
It was more than what Monty had done, though. Somewhere between the first rich bite of his gelato and sitting beside a truly content man during the movie premiere, he decided that perhaps it was time to allow himself to indulge in the things he wanted for once, at least when it came to his heart.
“I decided to stop letting my fear of losing you keep me from having you.”
“You have me.” Monty’s hand covered his on the table. When Hilliard met his intense gaze, he gave a gentle but firm squeeze. “You have me, Hilliard.”
The magic in his heart simmered at the words.
“I know, sweetheart.”
Monty had said as much in the early hours of the morning. After they’d caught their breath, Monty was the one to let out a pitiful moan when Hilliard attempted to get up and wet a washcloth for them.
“Stay,” he’d said, hardly more than a whisper.
As Hilliard put his head back against the pillow, Monty had thrown an arm over his chest, tucking a knee between his thighs as he pressed himself along the side of Hilliard’s body.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Hilliard promised, sliding his hand along Monty’s forearm.
“Good,” Monty said before pressing a slow kiss to Hilliard’s jaw. “Me neither.”
It was all said in afterglow, of course, but Hilliard had a feeling that both of them meant what they’d said in a larger sense than sharing a bed for the night.
Monty returned to his breakfast, scooping up his last forkful of eggs. Hilliard drained his coffee cup and went to stand, but paused when he noticed the two copies of The Stargazer at the other end of the table.
“Everyone thinks we’re just friends.”
Monty’s answering laugh was high in the back of his throat.
“There was a time everyone thought I was secretly from Spain and doing a terrible job of covering up my accent. Two years ago, I had a twin brother. I’ve been listed as five-foot-seven and six-foot-one.” He waved a dismissive hand at the magazines. “If anyone reads a rag like that and takes every word for the truth, it’s their own damn fault.”
Hilliard considered this for a moment.
“I suppose you’re right,” he said finally. “You are most certainly not six-foot-one.”
Monty’s jaw dropped, brows furrowed. “And how do you know that?”
“Because I am six-foot-one.”
Monty’s expression slid into something effortlessly naughty. He hummed in a deep, self-satisfied sort of way that nearly made Hilliard’s breath catch.
“No wonder I had such an easy time getting your legs over my shoulders last night.”
“Montgomery,” Hilliard scolded with an embarrassed grin. To help cover it, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood, picking up both of their plates. “Help me with these dishes.”
And Monty did.
Chapter 21
Monty
Monty didn’t know how to explain what had changed after he and Hilliard slept together. Because on the one hand, nothing changed. Hilliard still gently scolded him when he fed Henrietta table scraps or when he dipped his finger into the batter of cookie dough Hilliard was mixing. Hilliard still smiled at him affectionately when he said something honest or when he sang in harmony to the song playing on the radio. When they drove to the studio on Monday morning, they still took Hilliard’s car, with Henrietta perched on Monty’s lap as Monty read over his script for the day.
But on the other hand, everything had changed. When Hilliard scolded him, Monty now kissed him in response. The affectionate smiles were now charged with something more, and sometimes accompanied by soft kisses or embraces. And when Monty went to bed on Monday night, it was in Hilliard’s room, tucked up against his friend, with Henrietta nestled close.
At the studio, they remained professional, although Director Chen gave them an amused side-eye when Monty stood a mite closer than usual to Hilliard as he listened to her instructions. His arm might have wound its way around Hilliard’s waist, as well. Hilliard certainly didn’t seem to mind.
They were back in the sound stage that week, recording closeups and transition moments of walking through hallways or opening doors. It would have been a dull work week, except that Monty felt more attuned to Hilliard than ever. He found himself paying close attention to every detail about the man, soaking him up like he’d just met him. He noticed how Hilliard’s voice changed slightly when he was delivering a particularly funny line, or the way he used his hands to add emphasis for comic effect. He began to tell when Hilliard was in filming mode by the set of his shoulders, or that the man clenched a muscle in his jaw when he didn’t like his own delivery of a line.
