I smirked as I knew the diner-style restaurant didn’t quite fit Edward’s personality. A vegetarian eating in a diner—total dick move on my part. However, he pushed me into meeting, and I figured he’d drop off my radar if I pushed him away. But Edward fiercely drove himself to madness in pursuit of gaining footage in friendship with me for some reason.
His sense of self-assurance and direct nature intrigued me as nobody else had in years. All my friends were cookie-cutter molds of me in a way, and the girls I dated, or rather screwed, were one of two things: Either easy and open—Scarlett or waiting for the wedding band and knock-up—Deborah.
Edward didn’t ask anything of me, except to be respected. He didn’t force me to divulge my secrets. He appeared to want some sort of companionship. I understood this as he moved far from home and away from the familiar comforts of his world. The least I could do was meet him halfway and get to know him. If truth be told, I’d never had anyone ask me how I was before, and it seemed equal parts confusing and soothing at the same time.
I sucked in my lip, shook my head, and peered directly into his eyes. The first time I noticed the deep mesmerizing blue as they shone bright and full of hope against his dark blonde lengthy lashes and well-kept brows—manscaped and perfect. I stuck out my hand and, with a firm shake, confirmed, “Six good?”
Chapter Six
Edward
“Six is fine. I’m looking forward to it.”
“Cool, but if you don’t mind, I’ve got tons to get through, and you’re a distraction.”
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. What did he mean? Was it a good or bad thing? I had no idea, but with most things associated with Milo, I won’t take his words as gospel. “Okay, sorry, yes, I shall let you get on.” In truth, I had a lot to do myself, making my gorgeous home visitor ready for starters. Damn, I thought. Hilary Saunders, the hoity-toity housekeeper my interfering mother sent to spy on me, doesn’t clean until tomorrow. Now, I really had set myself up for a fall because where housework was concerned, we were strange bedfellows. “I will see you later.”
“Yeah.” He turned back to the computer screen. “See ya at six.”
With one last quick glance, I rushed off in the opposite direction, pulled my mobile phone from my pocket, and scrolled for Hilary’s number.
“Hello, Hilary, it’s Edward Baines-Tennant from Kissing Hills.”
“Good afternoon, Sir. What can I do for you today?”
Switch off your recording device, my internal voice whispered to me. “I was wondering if you could clean for me today. I know it’s short notice, but I would be willing to pay you double.”
“Does that mean my services are not required tomorrow after all?”
“Well, yes you can still come tomorrow if you want to, but I could do with some help today.”
“What time do you need me today?”
“I have a friend coming at six, and the place could do with a once-over.”
“I shall be there within the hour.”
“Oh, thank you so much, Hilary.” I felt the pressure lift somewhat. “Please use your key. I’ll be home soon.”
“That is most kind of you, Sir.”
“Please call me Edward.” I wasn’t a fan of formality for the sake of it. Nor did I believe my upbringing and social standing made me any better than her. Hilary might be Jane Bond masquerading as this sweet lady, but familiarity certainly did not breed contempt in this instance because having her about the place offered a gentle reminder of home.
Still, in my world, she would be viewed as nothing more than the help and definitely not the type for me to consort with. But I prided myself on being a people person, whichever class they were born into. My dalliance with Jago, the hunky gardener, had only been tolerated because Mother had a soft spot for him, not that she would ever admit to it.
When I think about it, the actions of others are those that mark the differences between them and me. I am seen as Edward Baines-Tennant, son of Sir Euripdes Baines-Tennant and Lady Audra Baines-Tennant. I begin and end there, which was why my decision to study abroad was so important. It allowed me to shake off the shackles of society and embrace the world without class distinction.
Growing up in my family stifled me at times and appearances counted for everything.
My world differed from most, and I wondered what Milo would think if he knew the whole truth. I wouldn’t see him for dust, and who could blame him. But I wanted him to get to know the real me before the truth became apparent.
My family status afforded us many luxuries, but genuine friends were few and far between for me. As a child, and into my teenage years, I wished for a best friend, somebody I could confide in, share secrets, and misbehave with, but I learned the hard way. My friendship wasn’t good enough. My presumed title was all-encompassing for most. I saw it many times in the playground. Parents nudging their children toward me, desperately wanting their offspring to bathe in the warm glow of considered aristocracy.
I am not ashamed of where I come from, but I would be lying if I didn’t confess hindrance caused by my family and public perceptions, a charade of sorts.
Would Milo ever understand the world I come from? I doubted it but hoped he possessed the ability to look beyond my family name and embrace the person underneath the facade.
My hands gripped the strap of the backpack, noticing the fact that I knew little of Milo and could be judging him unfairly. He knew nothing of my life back in England, and I knew nothing of his life here. The person he presented as could be a front for something else entirely. He could be as at ease with high society as he was with the other students in class.
Still, I wondered what lay beneath the surface with Milo.
What were his parents like? Where did he live? Which of his parents did he resemble most? Did his standoffish nature come from his father or mother? I didn’t know because my experiences with him alone remained limited with varying success, or failure if I was to be honest.
I wouldn’t quiz him. He’d trust me and tell me when ready.
Maybe then, I’d know when the time came for revealing the truth about myself.
The closer I travelled toward home, my wondering about Milo set me to thinking about my family, forgetting my mobile still attached to my ear.
My father expected perfection. Anything less was unacceptable. He also demanded the highest standards. What we presented to the outside world was beyond reproach because he was made a Commander of the British Empire.
While such an honour might not seem anything remotely special to most, to my father and family, it represented the culmination of years of hard work and dedication in his chosen field.
My family’s immediate circle reveres my father, which indirectly affected the rest of us. It meant my mother, sister, and I were held in high esteem. Collectively, it was akin to receiving the booby prize at the church raffle because Father’s achievements reflected unkindly upon the rest of his immediate family.
Felicity and I had fawning acquaintances masquerading as friends, and my beloved, kind-hearted mother was thrust to the very top of her social circle. A place she felt ill at ease. That one solitary honour pushed us into a lane of inequality made worse by expectations that were, and still are, hard to meet and maintain.
A few years ago, our lives were further constrained when Her Majesty The Queen declared my father Knight Commander of the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire for his services to business and charity. The ultimate honour: one that defined us all. Three little letters, KBE, put the kibosh on freedoms assured beforehand that were swiftly revoked as the critical and watchful gaze of high society followed our every move.
“Thank you, Sir.” Her response in my ear brought me back to the task at hand.
“Thank you, Hilary. I will see you shortly.”
I rang off, unsure of what to do next.
Milo Garcia was coming to dinner.
Big deal. Despite attending numerous fancy dinners and garden parties at Buckingha
m Palace, meeting The Queen and other members of the Royal Family, tonight was a big deal because Milo was special, and I wanted to know what made him tick.
He was that rare person who didn’t kiss my arse or go out of his way to impress. In fact, he did precisely the opposite, which only left me craving more. I was Edward Baines-Tennant; people dropped at my feet expecting social gain, but Milo Garcia couldn’t give a fuck who I was, or at least that was how it appeared.
Milo held me at arm’s length, opening up a whole new and confusing world.
How I navigated these unfamiliar, choppy waters remained to be seen, but Milo would be a fool not to see what was right in front of his face. Yes, I had my failings, but I was loyal to a fault.
Five thousand miles, a journey across the Atlantic Ocean from England to Texas, and I finally realised what I craved; somebody to love and for that person to love me in return.
Could a man from the wrong side of the tracks capture my heart?
Hilary beavered away as I tittivated myself in the mirror.
“Please make sure to clean the guest bedroom, Hilary.” Milo would have space to crash if he was too inebriated to drive home.
“Do not fret. I will take care of everything.” She continued to hum along to whatever tune played in her head.
I left her to her own devices, even though the humming drove me to distraction.
Still standing in front of the mirror, it suddenly dawned on me; Milo wouldn’t arrive for another five hours. “You’re such a dick, Edward.”
“What was that you said, Sir?”
“Sorry, Hilary, I’m talking to myself as usual.”
The incessant humming continued. I should make use of the free time. Mountains of coursework beckoned, yet I lacked the desire to engage my brain toward studies of any kind. My mind toyed with other things.
Milo. Milo. Milo.
Why he consumed every waking moment baffled me. He was just another boy, and one that didn’t seem interested in anything but friendship. Was the thrill of the chase holding me in its tight grip? Common sense told me to leave well alone, but I was never the type to do things by half.
Milo liked me; I was certain of that. Why else would he entertain the idea of spending time with me?
Humouring me, perhaps?
I discounted that idea pretty much straight away. He wasn’t one to suffer fools gladly. So, what was it that interested him? I considered discussing the issue with Hilary, but I didn’t trust my words not to filter back to my mother. Gay World was probably way beyond her scope of experience anyway. Milo continued as a conundrum I couldn’t easily solve, and, like a red rag to a bull, I wouldn’t leave it alone until I had what I wanted.
The sound of silence shattered by the buzz of the doorbell. My heart skipped a beat, knowing Milo stood on the welcome mat outside my front door. “Calm down, Edward.” I was prone to conversations with myself when stressed and rushed across the open-plan sitting area, ready to grab the door latch. I peered out the window to make sure it was him and not an unwelcome neighbour wanting to thrust an introduction onto me.
I checked my hair in the mirror next to the door. Perfect. Then I plastered a smile to my face and slowly opened the door to greet my guest. “Good evening, Milo.” God, he looked scrumptious. My anxiety skyrocketed toward the stratosphere. I sucked in a lung full of air then exhaled slowly, releasing any nerves I feel.
“Hey, Edward.”
“Do come in.” I stepped aside. God, why did I sound so formal?
“This place is fancy,” Milo replied, handing me a bottle of red wine.
“A gift, how nice.” I took the bottle from him and gestured behind me. “Make yourself at home.”
“I hope Rioja is good for you—it’s my mom’s favorite.”
“I’m sure it tastes divine.” I noted his style of dress for the occasion. His over washed blue jeans hung low on his waist. A little worn in the knees and along his thighs. A simple white crew neck T-shirt fit taut across his pecs. The ones that moved nicely as he slid the leather sleeves of his jacket up, exposing the defined sinew of his forearms. His outfit was nothing ostentatious and basic by my standard, but he wore it well. His clothes clung in all the right places.
Fuck me; this man could be a porn star! Leather jackets didn’t suit everybody, but on the right guy—Milo—a major turn-on. The sleeves bunched halfway up his wrists; the veins in his lower arms popped. Bend me over and fuck me into oblivion right now.
My train of thought travelled south, and at light speed woke my groin. Have I ever met a man as hot as Milo?
I once considered Jago, the randy gardener who annihilated my virginity, a mythical creature reborn in human form, but Milo existed as something else entirely.
Perfection!
In my mind’s eye, he stood before me, silent, proud; his head tilted to one side. In this conjured fantasy of mine, I knew what his body craved—Me!
In my imagination, he stood naked apart from the leather jacket. He pulled me close, allowing me to inhale his natural musky, manly smell. His hand rested on the small of my back. Our personal space ignored; the heat of our bodies closer than we’d ever been. Then, taking me by complete surprise, Milo leaned in and took hold of my bottom lip between his teeth, almost causing my knees to buckle.
“You’re going to ride me so hard, cunt!” His deep, gruff, manly tone told me who was in charge, and for once, it wasn’t me. He guided my hand to his long, thick, meaty cock. It stood rock hard, ready for me to worship.
“It’s best at room temperature.” Suddenly, the present ripped from the pornographic fantasy by his words. As if I needed lessons on how best to serve wine. I almost baulked at the prospect, but Milo remained unaware of my privileged background, which stayed hidden for now.
Chapter Seven
Milo
Edward shuffled into the kitchen, reaching in one of the cabinets for a few wine glasses. Somehow his factory torn jeans intrigued me. Money I never fathomed spending on clothes adorned his body daily. I wondered how it felt to never be worried about money.
My mother caught me as I slid out the back door after my father left for the Friday night game. Her hair up in a messy bun, and her face free of makeup. She’d worked far too many hours; it wore on her like the weight of the world. I knew when she asked me where I intended to go, but I couldn’t hide it from her. We trusted one another, so lying to her about my guys’ night with Edward wasn’t an option.
Her rich chocolate eyes begged for details of my whereabouts. I told her two small things: One, I met an exchange student, and two, he and Seth might be a great match. This sent her into her Miss Manners diatribe.
“Milo Ricardo Garcia, you never go as a guest to someone’s house empty-handed. And you tell me he is an exchange student. I’m sure he thinks you were born in a barn...”
I stood by the door as she stretched up to the cabinet where she kept her baking goodies and moved a few items around. When she brought out the bottle of wine her boss special ordered for her for Christmas, I lost my mind. “Mom. No. That is yours. You deserve something for yourself and not shared. We’re college kids. We don’t take things to people’s houses. I guess if I were going on a date I would.” The words fell out of mouth before I realized what I said.
“Milo. You listen to me. If someone invites you for dinner, date or not, you never go empty handed. And this bottle is mine, and I can give it to my son if I want to.”
She shoved it into my hand and patted me in the chest. “I’m glad you’re making friends at school. You need to branch out. Who knows, maybe you’ll both serve to be good wingmen for one another. I mean Seth, has been your best friend forever, and you both deserve happiness.”
She muttered on without mentioning why I had no date on a Friday or why I wasn’t attending the football game or why I wasn’t cruising around fucking everything that walked. I swept her into my arms, overwhelmed with the need to protect her from the beast of a man we lived with. I placed a kiss on the
top of her slate black hair. “I’ll be home later. Call me if you—”
Her small hands found each side of my face. “You listen to me. I’ll be fine. Go have fun. Don’t forget your manners.” She winked and turned me back toward the door.
With a glass in each hand, Edward approached me. I never drank wine, and in hindsight, this choice ensured the bottle as the safest bet for me to stay sober.
“So, how did your studies go today?” Edward gestured toward the family room. His house held no resemblance to the typical starving college student with mismatched second-hand furniture and piles of tossed fast food containers strewn about. His place appeared on the front pages of architecture journals and interior design centerfolds.
My house sat furnished with my grandparents’ antiques and a couch which had seen better days. I knew the high-end executive types that came to town rented these places: the high rolling accountants, lawyers, and ad executives that promoted the cattle farms, rodeos, and other events—those who bankrolled over six figures and left marriage for a later time in their lives.
“They were great. I need to ask you something.” My pause quieted the room, and the only consistent sound in my head was an erratic beat that drummed in my ears and matched the thump in my chest.
“Well, go on then, ask? I don’t bite.” He chuckled and added, “Unless you want me to.”
My fingers found their way to thread through the longer inky black tousled hair on the top of my head. Seth and I were best friends, and he made innuendo jokes all the time. We laughed and thought nothing of it, but Edward unnerved me. A war played out in my head as to whether I took his comments personal or if they, too, were banter in the same way I spoke with Seth’s. No woman or man had ever confused or intrigued me like Edward; I appeared to be at a loss as to how to handle his quips.
“How does a college student studying abroad afford a place here, in Kissing Hills?”
He swirled the wine and placed the rim to his lips, watching me with something deeper written behind his baby blues—almost a haunted truth he refused to expel.
Shattered Beliefs Page 5