by Katya Harris
Toby's face falls, a frown pinching the skin between his eyebrows. “Is that what he told you?”
“No. But I think the way he shoved me away and ran out of the room was pretty clear.” He hadn’t said anything after he pushed me away, just covered his mouth with a shaking hand and hurried out of the room. He’d disappeared for hours and when he’d finally returned, it was like all our years of friendship had just evaporated and we were awkward strangers again. A needle of pain spears my heart. I fuss with the folds of my toga with more force than necessary, my fingers aching with the need to clench into fists. “So that's the end of that.”
“Bullshit.”
My head snaps up. “What?”
“He wants you,” Toby declares, absolute surety on his lean face. “He more than wants you. The stubborn bastard is in love with you. Has been for ages.”
My heart—that foolish organ—leaps in excitement before I can smack it back down. “That’s bullshit.” It's the truth and god, it kills me. “He doesn't want me, Toby. He made that abundantly clear. You should have seen the look on his face.” I'll never forget it. Every time I close my eyes, I can see the horrified shock on Jaime's face as he recoiled from me. He looked so betrayed and I felt like I’d done something unforgivable.
That’s the thought that is stuck in my head—my love isn’t just unwanted; it’s unforgivable. A wrong I committed against our friendship that can never be undone or forgotten. I shake my head. “I don't want to talk about this anymore.” It hurts too much. I've wanted Jaime since the first moment I saw him and as I’d gotten to know him, it hadn't taken long for want to turn into love. It was just bad luck that every time I was single, he was in a relationship and vice versa. This is the first time we’ve both single at the same time in years, and I needed to tell him how I felt. The last time I’d waited for the perfect moment to tell him, and it came and went without me even realizing it. He met Scott and spent the last three years with him. Their relationship had almost killed me, and now that Scott, that cheating bastard, is gone and Jaime seems to have overcome the deep sadness Scott left him with, I can’t hide what I feel anymore.
“Christ, the two of you really chap my ass.” Toby rakes his hand through his auburn curls, forgetting about his crown of golden leaves. Dislodged, it tumbles to the floor. “I've never seen two people more ridiculously in love with each other. Why the pair of you just can't get out of your own damn way, I don't know.”
I stare at him. “Are you drunk? Because I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Because you’re being totally oblivious,” Toby shoots back. “I've watched the two of you dance around each other for years, and to be honest, what the two of you feel for each other is so obvious it's embarrassing.” He takes a deep breath visibly trying to calm down. “Aidan, you've never liked any of Jaime's boyfriends. Have you never wondered why he's never liked yours either?”
I have wondered that. I hated Jaime's boyfriends because I was jealous. I've never considered that Jaime might have despised mine for the same reason.
Could Toby be right? The thought worms its way into my head. Ruthlessly, I squish it. “You've never liked them either,” I point out. “Does that mean you're in love with us too?”
It's a challenge, a gauntlet thrown at Toby's feet—pick it up or back the fuck off. Because the last thing I need is hope and that's what his words are trying to kindle in me. A spark of hope that keeps trying to sputter to life in my chest, warming my chilled heart. A spark I want to smother because I can't keep doing this to myself.
But Toby picks the gauntlet back up and slaps me right round the face with it. He looks me right in the eye and says, “Fool that I am, I love you both.” The flecks of gold in his hazel eyes glimmer like tiny flames. “Which is why this whole situation is killing me.”
Shock ripples through me. He can't actually mean that the way it sounds, can he? He loves us as friends, right? Why is my heart suddenly beating faster?
I shake my head. I can't think about this right now.
Fixing a smile to my face, I blatantly dodge his statement and ask, “How do I look?”
He narrows his eyes at me, knowing I'm avoiding what he said but letting me get away with it. He looks me up and down, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Good,” he says. “Apart from one thing.” Stepping forward, Toby lifts his hands and ruffles my hair, messing up the slicked back waves. He laughs at my disgruntled expression. “Much better,” he says, stepping back. “Now, you're truly perfect.”
His warm words and the appreciative gleam in his eyes brings a flush to my cheeks. He can always make me blush with just a word or a look. I don’t know how he does it. Not even Jaime can get under my skin so easily. Once I’d wondered if that meant something, but I think it’s just Toby’s gift. He can even do it to Jaime.
To hide the hot color of my cheeks, I bend over to pick up his crown and set it on top of his head. “How come you get a crown?” I ask.
Toby smirks, adjusting the circle of golden leaves into a more rakish tilt. “Because I'm the King of Saturnalia, and for tonight, everything I say goes.”
That doesn’t sound ominous, at all.
He leads me out of the conference room and the first thing I see is Jaime. My breath hitches, sticking in my suddenly dry throat.
Beside me, Toby whispers, “Damn. Maybe we should make togas part of the office dress code. Toga Tuesdays.”
I'll never give him the satisfaction of saying it out loud, but I am in absolute agreement.
The fine fabric of the toga skims down Jaime's lean body, the white brilliant against his tan skin. In the subdued lighting, that smooth skin gleams an inviting shade of soft gold. Like mine, his toga leaves one of his shoulders bare, skimming diagonally across his chest, revealing muscles and just a hint of one small, pink-brown nipple. The breath leaves me in a ragged sigh of pure longing. Jaime couldn’t be mistaken for a Roman god—his Chinese ancestry is stamped too clearly on his features for that—but he still looks divine.
From across the room, dark eyes snap up to meet mine. It feels like an electrical charge crackles through the space between us. My hands clench, fingernails digging into my palms. I force my mouth to curve into a smile—I hope it looks more convincing than the one on Jaime's face. A hint of a blush colors his cheekbones and annoyance flashes across his face. Smoothing his expression to one of bland interest, he pointedly returns his attention to the woman talking to him.
“Ass.”
I turn my head to look at Toby. “What?”
He shakes his head. “It doesn't matter.” He grins at me. “Come on. It's time to have some fun.”
I watch in amazement as Toby darts forward and leaps on top of an unoccupied dais, his toga floating up to reveal his legs all the way to his muscled thighs. A few of our female staff and some of the male ones as well, let out wolf-whistles that widen Toby's grin. He blows kisses to a couple of his admirers and I chuckle at the way they all turn toward him, flowers bending toward the sun.
“Charming bastard,” I mutter to myself with an appreciative smile.
“Okay, now that everyone's here and properly attired—” He pauses to give Jaime and I an exasperated look. “It's time to go over the rules for the evening. Don't worry,” he says when a couple of people boo. “There's really only the one. Obey the King! And as you can see,” he says, pointing at his crown of golden leaves. “That king is me.” He strikes a dramatic pose like an actor in a Shakespearean play, one hand on his hip and the other raised, elbow cocked and palm to the ceiling. “I am the King of Saturnalia, the Lord of Misrule, and I order you, my loyal and devoted subjects for this night, to cast off your troubles of the past year and be joyful in the face of the new. Io Saturnalia!”
Everyone cheers. Well, everyone except for me and Jaime. They shout the phrase back to him, the noise so loud I wince and hope security doesn't come running. There's a wildness to the sound, the heady relief of pressure finally released.
> Toby was right. Over the past year, our staff has worked their asses off for us, helping us to set up the company and securing new clients. They desperately need to shrug off the pressures and responsibilities we’ve heaped on their shoulders. More than that, they deserve to. I add my cheers to theirs.
After making an elaborate bow, Toby leaps down from the dais and bounces back to me. He claps me on the shoulder. “Just in case you were wondering, the rules apply to you, too.”
I roll my eyes. “Yes, your highness. Is any of this historically accurate?”
Toby laughs. “Not even remotely.” He threads his arm through mine, pulling me toward the refreshments. “Come on, let’s get you a drink.”
'A drink' is a glass cup of the punch straight from the cherub’s dick. It’s so strong it steals my breath as it kicks me in the gut.
“Christ,” I wheeze. “What's in this?”
Toby winks at me over the rim of his own glass. “Fuel, baby. Pure fuel.”
From the way it lights up my insides, I believe him. I down it anyway and while I'm gasping for breath, hold my cup under the cherub's tinkling stream for another. Toby laughs, delighted.
The next few hours pass in a pleasant alcoholic fuzziness. As much as getting sloppy drunk seems like an awesome idea right now, I limit myself to only one more cup of punch and then drink juice after that. The last thing I need is to let the alcohol get the best of me, loosening my tongue so that I spill my guts to some poor random employee.
I never thought it would happen, but I actually have a good time. I forget that we're all wearing ridiculous togas that belong more at a frat party rather than ancient Rome. I forget that I should be miserable. I forget that my relationship with Jaime might be ruined. The tension that has been knotting my muscles eases. Faced with such good company and under the influence of Toby's excellent punch, I finally relax.
Our staff does, too. They let loose with eager abandon, throwing off the stresses and pressures of the last year to dive headfirst into a good time.
Even Jaime seems to be enjoying himself. I try not to look at him, I really do, but he looks too damn good and somehow more vivid than everyone else. Although that last has always been true. No matter how hard I try to stop, my gaze always seems to find its way back to him. In the end I just give up trying to resist and sneak little peeks at him. Every time I do, the set of his shoulders is more relaxed, his dark eyes brighter, his smile wider and more genuine. I can hear him laugh—he sounds happy, carefree, as if the last few days have never happened. It makes me smile even as my heart suffers a pang of hurt. I want Jaime to be happy. I just wish he could be happy with me.
It's almost one in the morning when the party starts to wind down. By the time our last employees stagger out to go home, I'm pleasantly buzzing from both the alcohol in my system and the unexpected enjoyment of the evening. It's a good thing Toby arranged for a car service for them—none of them are in a fit state to get themselves home. Most of them leave still wearing their togas under their coats.
“I think even you have to admit that went well,” Toby says to Jaime after the three of us wave the last stragglers out the door.
Jaime scowls, but I know him well enough to know the flush on his cheeks is from pleasure and not drunkenness; Jaime has a strict two-drink limit. “It was fun.”
Toby laughs and my lips twitch at Jaime’s grumpy, grudging tone. Throwing his arms around Jaime from behind, Toby swings him from side to side as he hugs him. “Just like a doughnut—crusty on the outside, soft and yummy on the inside, and sweet all over.”
“Get off of me,” Jaime snaps, but his surliness is softened by the smile trying to break across his face, the repressed laughter feathering his words.
Toby leans his head over Jaime's shoulder and smacks a kiss on his cheek. “Aww, stop it. I know you love me.” He pauses. “And I know you love Aidan, too.”
I freeze. My amusement at Toby's antics evaporates, shock clearing away the soft alcoholic haze from my brain. Jaime flinches, bucking in Toby's arms.
“Let me go.” This time there's nothing to mitigate the brusqueness of Jaime's demand. The color on his cheeks deepens to the harsher red of anger.
Toby refuses, the muscles in his arms bunching as he bands them tight around Jaime's stiff body. “I don't know why you just can't admit it,” he whispers into Jaime's ear just loud enough for me to hear him too. “I've seen the way you look at him when you think no one is watching.” His voice dips even lower, a seductive murmur. His eyes meet mine over Jaime's shoulder. “You want him, don't you?”
I don't think I'm even breathing. I want to tell Toby to stop, but my lips refuse to move. Need strangles me, stopping my voice in my throat. The need to hear Jaime's answer. The need to know once and for all if that little, persistent voice in my head that keeps telling me he kissed me back that night is right. Dizziness fuzzes my head. My stomach feels like it’s going to float up and out of my mouth. I feel like I'm poised on the brink of a moment that could change my life forever.
Jaime's head turns to me, his black eyes meeting mine. An emotion moves through them, too quick for me to catch. He opens his mouth, but he doesn't make a sound.
Please, I beg him silently. If it's true, if Toby is right, tell me, please. Or deny it, tell us it's all bullshit. Just don't leave me feeling like this.
Jaime closes his mouth, his lips tightening to a thin, trembling line. He looks away.
Heat prickles along the edges of my eyes. I turn my head away, squeezing my eyes shut until the urge to cry dissipates.
Toby tuts. “Hey now, none of that. I'm the King of Saturnalia, remember, and whatever I say goes.”
“The party is over,” Jaime points out with a growl.
Toby shakes his head, his cheek rubbing against Jaime's hair. “The party's not quite over, is it? We're still here, aren't we? Now, stop being a dick and tell Aidan the truth. You're breaking his heart.”
Okay, that's enough. We were not talking about the state of my heart. “Stop it, Toby,” I say, taking an emphatic step forward. “Let him go.”
“You're not the King. I am. And I think it's time that Jaime was honest with us. I'm not going to let you go until you are,” he says to him. “You might be a stubborn bastard, but so am I.”
I rake a hand through my hair, tugging on the strands until pain shoots over my scalp. I don't want or need to hear any of this. “Look, I'm tired. I'm going home.”
“You're not going anywhere,” Toby says. “We're going to sort this out, once and for all.”
“This has got nothing to do with you,” Jaime snaps.
“It's got everything to do with me, you jackass,” Toby retorts. “You're my best friends and you're hurting. You're hurting Aidan, Jaime.”
I wince, muttering, “Thanks for that, buddy.” I hate that my pain is so obvious, especially to these two people who mean the world to me.
“And you're hurting yourself, too,” Toby goes on as if I hadn't spoken. “I know breaking up with Scott messed you up, but you can't let what that asshole did to you ruin your chance to be happy, and I know that being with Aidan will make you happy.”
Jaime's eyebrows snap together in a sharp vee. Uh-oh.
“I don't think you should have brought up S.C.O.T.T.,” I hiss. The subject of Jaime's ex-boyfriend is strictly off-limits. They split up nearly a year ago and Jaime still refuses to talk about him. It’s a shame—there have been so many times I would have loved to tell him what a self-serving, cheating fucker Scott is.
“Well, how is he ever going to get over it if he never talks about it?” Toby asks.
I glare at him. “Not by you holding him prisoner and demanding that he does what you want him to do. Jaime has to want to talk about it. If he doesn't, you can't just make him, Toby.”
“Stop talking about me like I'm not here, you assholes,” Jaime seethes. He looks furious, his eyes glittering and his cheeks flushed. “If I want to talk about Scott, I'll talk about him. If I want t
o tell Aidan I love him, I'll tell h—” Jaime's lips slam shut, the color draining out of his face.
I stare at him.
Toby cranes his neck so that he can stare at him too. His arms loosen their grip on Jaime and fall away.
Color surges back into Jaime's face. “Um, I— I don't—”
“You love me?” My voice cracks, pain and hope and need leaking through.
Jaime winces. Clasping a hand around the back of his neck, he rubs at his nape. His feet shift restlessly. Cool, collected, unflappable Jaime is nervous. He's never nervous.
That tiny spark of hope that has been struggling to kindle in my heart catches, flares into a small flame. I step forward, approaching him like he's a wild animal I don't want to startle. He tenses, but he doesn't run.
“Jaime,” I murmur, holding his gaze with my own. “Do you love me?”
He doesn't say anything, his lower lip caught between his teeth. To stop an answer he doesn't want to give?
Enough fucking around.
Reaching up, I brush my thumb against Jaime’s bottom lip, freeing it from the ruthless clutch of his teeth. I stroke along the smooth line of his jaw, feeling how rigid it is beneath my touch, and cup his cheek. “Talk to me, Jaime. Please. Tell me what's going on with you.”
For a moment, I think he's going to refuse. But then he sighs, the tension slipping out of him on a choppily exhaled breath. He presses his cheek against my palm. Something in his eyes, the wall he's kept raised against me ever since I kissed him, tumbles down and I see his heart.
“Scott fucked me up,” he whispers, his breath hot against my wrist. “So badly.” The pain in his eyes guts me. “I want you. I do. I've wanted you for so long it feels branded onto my heart.” My heart soars at his admission even as the anxiety in his black eyes kills me. “But I'm scared, Aidan,” he whispers. “So scared. If it all goes wrong, I won't just lose a lover. I'll lose my best friend.”