Cartography for Beginners (30 page)

"Don't analyze me over lunch," Stuart said. "It makes things awkward."

"I know you. That makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it? I know you, I like you, and no matter how much you keep pushing me away I keep coming back. Confuses you, doesn't it? Why would anyone just...
like
you?"

Stuart drank his coffee, eyes averted.

"I don't want your money or your connections," Leo said. "I don't want anything from you but your company. If you lost everything tomorrow I'd still be your friend." He watched Stuart with those knowing eyes. "Are we okay?"

"I don't know," Stuart said. He inhaled shakily.

"You know what?" Leo said. "I think after we eat I should walk you back to the gallery and then drive you home."

"You don't know how to drive over here."

"How hard can it be? Just do everything flipside." Leo smiled wryly. "But I think you need to take the afternoon off. Everything's ready for tonight, right? And your assistant can handle any emergencies that come up."

"I have other matters to attend to."

"They can wait," Leo said. He lifted Stuart's hand and kissed it, and then pressed it to his cheek. "I'm worried about you."

"I ask you to move in with me and suddenly I'm in a fragile emotional state?"

Leo considered it, and then nodded. "Yeah, pretty much."

They looked at each other, and they both quietly laughed. "You're right," Stuart said. "I want to go home." He wanted more than that -- he wanted to lie in bed with Leo in his arms and watch the sun go down from his bedroom window.

But since Leo already thought he was fragile, he didn't want to perpetuate that idea. He allowed Leo to drive him home and even put him to bed, but Leo shut the door with a quiet, "Get some sleep," and Stuart lay awake, his arm over his eyes, only his own thoughts for company.

***

"When did I raise a clothes horse?" Leo said as he inspected Dune. Dune smiled as he tucked a silk t-shirt into a pair of linen trousers, and Leo added, "This was definitely not your mother's doing, either. Her fashion sense is still bohemian chic, circa 1969."

"So says you, Mr. 'Everything goes with black.'" Dune came to him and unknotted his tie to retie it for him. Leo sighed and let him, looking up at the ceiling. Dune said quietly, "Are you okay?"

"Of course."

"You've been quiet all afternoon."

"Is that unusual?"

"It's not normal," Dune said. "Is it because of Stuart's migraine?"

"I'm not sure it's a migraine," Leo said. "He was strange at lunch, not like himself. You know how he's usually so calm."

"I figured it was a migraine," Dune said. "Lying down in a dark room in the middle of the afternoon."

"Migraine or just needing some time alone. Not asking me to move in with him and saying he has nothing to offer but money."

He could see Dune trying not to smirk. "Dad," he said seriously, "did Stuart ask you to be his kept man?"

"No," Leo said. "I'm not sure what he asked me, which is why I was worried. Stuart tends to make sense most of the time." He looked down at his newly-knotted tie. "Do I look presentable?"

"Always." Dune handed him his suit jacket. "Dad. If he asked you, seriously, to move in with him, would you do it?"

"And leave you?" Leo shrugged the jacket on. "No. You don't have to worry about that."

"I'm not worried about that. Not for my sake, anyway -- for yours. I mean, the Moms left and I feel pretty okay about that. They're happy." He looked around the bright, pretty room, art on the walls, a wardrobe in the corner, a bed that probably cost more than Leo's car. "I don't think you'd be happy here. It's a bit like a gilded cage, don't you think?"

"It's gilded, anyway. Look, Dunie, don't worry about me. I'm not going to take a leap because I'm lonely -- but even if I were, I can handle Stuart."

"I don't know, Dad. He's so--"

"What?" Leo said, bracing himself to defend Stuart once again.

"Needy," said Dune and Leo looked at him with surprise. "I know. Everybody thinks he's made of stone, but he's not. He thinks he has to buy love. You said it yourself -- he was obviously trying to ask you to live with him and that he'd look after you, only without actually saying 'kept man.'"

"He wasn't," said Leo. "I don't know what he was offering but it wasn't that. But don't worry about it, okay? I'm not leaving you."

"I'm not worried," Dune said, but he did look relieved.

Micah bounced into the room. Like them both he was dressed for the opening night -- unlike Dune his idea of 'dressed up' was not fashionable or even, like Leo, a good suit, but instead his least ragged jeans, a red-and-white checked shirt and a knit tie in a shade of blue that didn't match the shirt or the jeans. At least the shirt was ironed, and he'd attempted to tame his hair. He shoved his glasses up his nose and grinned at them both. "Ben says we're not allowed to freak out in front of Jamie because Jamie's freaking out enough on his own, so we have to do any freaking out now. I'm not freaking out, though. I think this whole thing is pretty awesome."

"I'm not freaking out," said Dune.

"I'm not either," said Leo. "Maybe I should take Jamie for a walk before we leave for the gallery to calm him down."

"Ben's got that under control," said Micah. "Boyfriend duties."

"Ah," said Leo and went to Stuart's room. He wasn't sure he could call it boyfriend duties, exactly, but he supposed it was the same intention. He knocked on Stuart's bedroom door. "Stuart? It's Leo. It's almost time to go."

"Come," Stuart said, so Leo opened the door and peeked in. Stuart was in the en suite bathroom, shaving. His gray and cream suit was laid out on the bed, and he wore only the suit trousers. He looked at Leo over his shoulder. "You look good."

"Thank you," said Leo. "So do you. Dune was worried you had a migraine."

"I don't get migraines." Stuart rinsed his razor and turned his head to shave the other cheek.

"Well, he was worried. So was I." Leo leaned against the sink to watch Stuart shave. "Are you feeling better now?"

"I was fine earlier."

Leo sighed. "Don't do this again, Stuart. Don't shut me out."

Stuart rinsed the razor again and scraped it along his throat.

"You're infuriating," Leo said without heat. "And yet I can't stay away. Is there something wrong with me, do you think?"

Stuart said quietly, "There is absolutely nothing wrong with you," as he leaned over the sink to splash water on his face. Leo looked at him, bewildered as to what to say in response, while Stuart patted his face dry and didn't look at him.

"Stuart," Leo began.

"I need to get to the gallery," Stuart said. "Are you going to watch me dress or let me have some privacy?"

Leo pushed himself up to leave, then smiled and said, "I'm going to watch. I like watching you put on your clothes as much as I like watching you take them off."

Stuart huffed and went to the bed to pick up his shirt.

Leo said, watching him blatantly, "Stress. I think that's what this is. You're going on vacation soon, aren't you? Going out to the vineyard? Maybe you ought to move that up a few weeks."

"I'm not under stress," said Stuart as he threaded his tie through his collar. It was creamy gray, only slightly darker than the suit material itself. "I'm fine, Leo. Stop hovering."

"I want to be sure you're okay."

"I am okay," Stuart said. He turned to his bureau mirror to knot his tie. "It's like any other opening night. The fact that my children may be there is a point of pride, not something to worry about."

"But it's on your mind."

"Of course it's on my mind." He turned to Leo. He was always majestically handsome, but there was something about him right now that took Leo's breath away -- the color of the fabric or the cut of his shirt, or something as simple as how blue his eyes looked in the fading sunlight. "How do I look?"

"Amazing," Leo said sincerely. "I'm proud of you, you know."

"Why is that?" Stuart sat on the bed to put on his socks and shoes. "Because I'm admitting my past mistakes and doing my best to atone for them?"

"That," Leo said, "and because you're really hot."

Stuart laughed, startled, and rested his arms on his thighs as he looked up at Leo. "You never fail to surprise me."

"It shouldn't surprise you that I find you hot." He added softly, "If tonight weren't so important I'd ask you to stay home and let me take that suit off you again."

"After," said Stuart, holding his gaze, and a beat or two passed before Stuart looked away. "Leo."

"I know," Leo said. "I'm going home tomorrow and you don't know what to do about it. I've told you my solution."

"Webcams and phone sex," said Stuart with revulsion.

"It works for Ben and Jamie when they're on opposite sides of the world. I assume, anyway, I don't ask for details." He sat on the bed with Stuart and put an arm around his shoulders. Stuart leaned into him with a sigh. "We can make this work if we want it to."

Stuart said, "I've no doubt we can. Sex is easy, after all." He sighed and rose. "If you're riding with me, it's time to go."

Chapter Eighteen

The gallery looked perfect. The wood floors gleamed honey-gold, the walls and pedestals were creamy white to be a flattering ground to the art, the catering staff was poised in the kitchen with their trays of food and drink, the completed mural was covered with a curtain, a jazz trio played softly in a corner, and the angel portrait of Ben hung at the end of the wing so that it was the first thing visitors saw when they walked in.

Deborah had followed Stuart's instructions to the letter, and he hugged her briefly in thanks. "Are you all right?" she said, studying him with concern. "Mr. Bellamy said you were unwell."

"I'm fine now," Stuart said. "I needed some more sleep. Shall we open the doors?" Guests were already milling about in the other wings, peering into the gallery as if they couldn't wait another second.

"What does Mr. Makepeace think?" Deborah said. Ben and Jamie had arrived a few minutes before Stuart and Leo, and they were now walking slowly up the length of the gallery as Jamie inspected every piece.

He turned to Deborah with a smile. "Mr. Makepeace is ready."

She smiled back and went to open the doors, and the first dozen guests trickled in.

Sometimes on exhibitions like this, Stuart knew, you would have twenty visitors and could call it a success. That many people came in the first half hour, and stayed as more and more guests came and wandered up and down the gallery, looking at this piece and that, asking questions, drinking champagne, and congratulating Jamie. Ben stayed near Jamie, as he usually did, though he managed to keep the glowering to a minimum and instead looking happy and proud and even posed for pictures next to drawings Jamie had made of him. Micah looked intimidated by it all and stayed near the musicians, and Dune, after his initial walkthrough, went to another wing with his notebook under his arm.

Whenever Stuart had a moment between greeting new visitors or answering questions or making small talk, he sought out Leo to make sure he was having a good time. He needn't have worried -- Leo was a born host, with his storyteller's demeanor and his way of making everyone feel welcome. He knew when to step back and let Jamie take over with talking about this piece or that, and how to listen to a particular matron talk about her opinion of modern art without looking too bored or annoyed.

He's a natural,
Stuart thought.
When it comes to people, he knows exactly what to do and what to say.
He watched Leo laughing with David Campbell and then step demurely away as a fan came to David to gush about the art and his films. Leo's eyes met Stuart's and Leo raised a hand in a small, unassuming wave, as if to say
I see you.

Stuart raised his hand in the same way -- and it hit him like a lightning bolt:
I love him.

Oh, God. It all made sense now. Wanting to look after Leo, wanting to keep Leo in London, the possessiveness that Leo's other suitors caused in him -- he wanted Leo for himself.

And the thought that followed fast on the first one's heels was
I can't have him.
Leo deserved better -- someone who would never hurt him, someone who loved the human race as much as he did, someone who'd be a good father to Dune and a good grandfather to the children he and Micah would inevitably bring into their lives; someone who could live with him, co-host those lovely Sunday brunches, be friends with Frances and Ocean -- someone, Stuart thought, who was all the things he wasn't and could do all the things he couldn't.

He was still reeling from this double whammy when a new group of visitors walked into the gallery. Tallis, Nicole and Amelie he knew on sight, of course, which meant the tall, blond man on Tallis's arm could only be Jean-Claude, as handsome as he'd been as a boy but now with a man's broad shoulders and square jaw.

And Joelle had come. It may have been twenty-five years since Stuart had last clapped eyes on her but he knew every angle of her pointed face, recognized the length of her stride and even the angle of her ribcage to her waist. Nicole had the same long, slender build -- Joelle could have been a dancer too, if she'd had the inclination. Joelle was aging gracefully, beautifully, her hair still the color of ripe wheat in the field and her eyes like the sea.

Stuart felt fingers winding through his, and looked at Leo. "You look like you were hit by a truck," Leo said, searching his face.

I love you.
He cleared his throat and said, "Joelle and Jean-Claude are here."

"Really?" Leo turned to look at the doorway, but by then Tallis had spotted them and cried, "Stuart, Leo!" and came to them for kisses and handshakes. That occupied a few minutes, even Nicole dropping her reserve long enough to accept a kiss on the cheek from Stuart and a hug from Leo, and then Stuart had to face Joelle.

She looked stunned at the sight of him, and he wondered if he looked the same. She managed to hide it after a moment, and merely smiled and held out her hand. "Stuart," she said simply.