Page 6 of The Awful Truth

“He grew up in the hood, after all,” Winslow added with a wry grin.

“Well, I’m going to hope it works out and you end up being the most famous person I know.”

“Thank you, Byron,” Miguel answered. “Based on the people you know, it won’t happen, but I appreciate the thought.”

“I mean it. You and Winslow are my very favorite clients. I wish you nothing but the best in life.”

“And you are our favorite fashion expert,” Miguel said.

“I appreciate that,” Byron said, taking a salmon-pink organic cotton T-shirt off the rack and holding it up in Winslow’s direction. Miguel nodded, so Byron slid it off its hanger and tossed it into the Winslow pile. “Honestly, you’re the happiest couple I know. So different and yet perfectly suited.”

Winslow beamed at Miguel, who blew him a kiss and tried to shut out the feeling of dread building in his tummy.

They were the happiest couple anyone knew. People were always saying it. He loved that about them—how they radiated love, especially when they were out with other people. Miguel would smile up at Winslow adoringly and touch his arm, which, now that he thought about it, was something he rarely did when they were at home alone together. He would change that immediately and make sure Winslow never forgot how much he appreciated him. It would be especially important now, because there was a good chance their beautifully-crafted relationship was about to be blown up, and only a slight chance that he could save the entire thing without his husband ever knowing what he’d done.

But he wouldn’t think about that now because Miguel had to focus on looking his best. He needed to remind Winslow that he was still the man he fell in love with through that store window all those years ago, so even if things went horribly wrong once they were aboard the yacht, Winslow might be willing to fight for their love. He held up a white chambray micro-print, short-sleeved, button-down shirt. “This is a yes.”

Winslow narrowed his eyes. “Are those…tiny lobsters?”

Byron nodded. “Mm-hmm. Every resortwear collection should have something playful.”

“Not my resortwear collection.”

“That’ll go in my pile.” Miguel slid the shirt off the hanger and tossed it on an overstuffed velvet ottoman nearby. “Unless you hate it. I’ll give it up if I must.”

If I must. He was starting to sound more British by the week. His sisters teased him about it when they were on the phone, and it bothered him more than it should. But it did. Some days, he felt like he was losing himself in tiny increments, one morsel at a time, and there were even moments when he had to take a giant breath just to stop from panicking about it.

Winslow narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, which caused Miguel’s stomach to churn. “That’s very unlike you—to offer to give up something you love because I might find it offensive.”

Oh God, he knows. Of course he knew. Winslow was the most perceptive person he’d ever met. Miguel gave him a flirty smile. “What do you mean? I make sacrifices all the time for you.”

“Name one.”

“There was that bartender at the hotel in Monaco three months ago. A sure thing if ever there was one, and I didn’t even give it a second thought. I said no, thank you, sir. I’m happily married.”

“Not cheating seems rather like the bare minimum, don’t you think?”

“Yes, I suppose. That’s just the first example that popped to mind.”

“You’ll note I asked for an example of something you love that you gave up for me.”

Miguel’s cheeks heated up. “Obviously I didn’t love him. Oh, forget it.” He flipped through the rack quickly to cover the awkward silence with the sound of the hangers scraping along the metal rack.

Byron glanced at his watch. “Look at that. It’s nearly four o’clock and I told Cheryl I’d be home in time to give Alice her tea. She’s staying with us for the night so the kids can have a bit of a break. Why don’t I leave everything here and have it picked up in the morning?”

“That would be lovely.” Miguel gave him a bright smile, as though nothing was wrong. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Goodbye, Byron,” Winslow said, remaining seated. “Thank you, as always.”

Byron gave Winslow a slight bow, as if he was taking his leave of the king. “I’m happy to help. Enjoy your trip and best of luck with the television deal.”

Miguel followed Byron to the front door, then opened it for him, letting in the warm autumn air. “Honestly, you’ve done such an amazing job, I doubt there will be much left on the rack by morning.”

“Thank you. What time shall I have it picked up?”

“Will nine work?”

“Perfectly.”