Caleb sighed and peered through the partially open bedroom door at his sleeping lover. “You may know what sells, but I know what will send Mason running. If people make this into a big deal, he’s out of here. He won’t stand for his family’s reputation being hurt by our relationship, and I’m not such a glory hound that I would ask him to. The answer is no. Make this story go away.”
Gregoire responded glumly, “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I have to go. He’s waking up. Call me back with an update.”
Caleb ended the call and tiptoed into the bedroom as Mason rolled over and blinked sleepily. “Who was on the phone?”
“My agent. Vido Charles is trying to compete with me over on the East Coast. No surprises there. Did you sleep well?” Caleb smiled and stroked his face. Mason stretched and groaned.
“Yeah, but I feel like I ran a marathon.”
“Because you’re insatiable.”
Mason blushed and eased the cover over his face. “How many times did we do it last night?”
“Three…Want to go for round four?” he teased.
“I don’t think I can survive it,” Mason chuckled. He dragged the cover away and sat up. “I have to get in touch with my agent and the travel mag. My two weeks are almost up here. I need to tell them I’m staying.”
Caleb grinned as his heart beat faster. “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
Mason pushed his hair out of his face and met his gaze. “I’m okay with giving up the travel magazine job. The biggest benefit with that one was that they covered a lot of my expenses. I can still use the three months of experience with them on my resume, and I can write my book from here. We’ll ride out your season. After that, we can go anywhere.”
“These stolen moments are starting to stretch out. What if—like I said—we discover we’re more attracted to the danger of discovery than to anything else? What if this is nothing more than infatuation?” Caleb shifted uneasily, the thought of their cover being blown weighing heavy in mind. He prayed that story had not gone far.
“It’s not infatuation for me.”
“No, not for me, either,” Caleb assured him, leaning forward to buss his lips. “Call your agent and then get ready for breakfast with me. I want to take you out.”
Mason found his phone and debated whether to talk to his agent or his editor first. Sighing, he dialed his agent. He might be able to convince him to get in contact with the magazine and save him the trouble. Ross answered on the second ring in his characteristic gravelly New York voice. “We have a problem, Mr. Sinclair.”
“With the magazine? Look, I know I haven’t been in touch with them in a few days, but that’s pretty much standard when I’m on assignment. Did they complain or something? I was calling you to talk about them anyway,” Mason rambled as he got out of bed and got his things together for a shower.
“Let me ask you something. What exactly are you doing out there in the Bay Area?”
“I, I’m covering the art scene,” Mason stammered.
“Humph! According to your editor, you just committed the cardinal sin of journalism. You made the story about you, buddy, and folks over at Traveler’s Heights ain’t happy about it. Society Pages got a source saying you’re in a secret gay relationship with an artist out there. Firstly, let me tell you, it’s the twenty-first century, which I remind you of because being a gay, diverse writer happens to hit so many targets! What the hell is wrong with you, keeping that a secret?” Ross chuckled.
Mason blanched. “What are you talking about, Ross?”
“I’m talking about your spread in the biggest gossip rag in town. Here, let me find my glasses so I can give you a line or two. Let’s see. Where to start? Ah! Smut gold: ‘M. Sinclair dazzled viewers of Mr. O’Hara’s electric new collection Twenty-One and Counting: The Experiences of Age; he is featured on all twenty-one canvases, a level of obsession that has many wondering exactly what is the relationship between the artist and the muse.’ Interesting. Should I go on?”
“That’s enough,” Mason whispered in horror. “This is on a popular, wide-circulation website?”
“Widespread enough. So, I’m gonna ask you again. What exactly are you doing out there in the Bay Area?”
“I’m with a friend.”
“The artist? Well, if you don’t want this story to grow, then I would recommend you pick another playground. I convinced Traveler’s Heights to give you a little break. Take a month off and go home until this dies down.”
“I’ll call you back, Ross. I need to talk to Caleb.”
“I’m about to text you a link to the article so you can see it for yourself and make your decision.”
“Yeah. Talk to you later.” Mason ended the call and dropped his clothes on the bed. “Caleb! Have you heard about this?” Mason fumbled with his phone to open the text from his agent. He shoved the phone at Caleb who was in the kitchen, making coffee.
“What is it?”
“There’s an article about me.”
“Oh,” Caleb sighed. “Fuck.”
Mason’s eyebrows winged skyward at his less than surprised reaction. “You knew about this?”
“I just—I talked to Gregoire, and he mentioned it to me, but I have him doing damage control. You should have nothing to worry about.” Caleb put up his hands to calm him down, but Mason shook his head and backed away.
“Damage control?” he retorted. “I called my agent to let him know about my decision to stay here, only to find out my boss at the travel magazine I’m working for is livid because I’m the day’s big scoop! I’m supposed to be out here covering the art scene. Now everyone knows that you and I are in a relationship. Some damage control.”
“I warned you,” Caleb muttered tightly.
“We were discreet.”
Caleb sidled closer and cupped his chin, drawing his lips up for a soft kiss. “Don’t let it upset you. I’ll take care of it. I’m sorry the news leaked, but it’ll be old news by this afternoon. Get dressed and let me take you to breakfast like I promised.”
Mason stared at the floor with a frown. “Caleb, my agent got the travel mag to give me a month off. He wants me to go home to help kill this story,” he said quietly.
Caleb backed away. “So…you’re leaving?”
Mason met his gaze and blew out a breath. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m overreacting.”
“It can’t be that bad,” Caleb said with a shrug.
“We’ll see,” Mason murmured. For the first time since his arrival, he was nervous about going out. His cellphone buzzed with a text message. Mason opened the text and read it with growing uneasiness. “It’s from my brother. He made it back from his honeymoon yesterday and says a reporter just dropped by the house.”
“This is exactly what I was worried would happen,” Mason continued over breakfast.
Caleb shook his head. “I’m doing everything in my power to kill it, but it’s taking on a life of its own. If your parents told them anything about me staying there—even innocently mentioning it—then, they’ll run with the story. Gregoire thinks it’s good publicity. He thinks the romance will drive interest.”
“So, you want this?”
“Of course not!” Caleb growled. “I would much rather people talk about the artwork itself. The muse is supposed to be secondary.” He locked eyes with Mason. “Not like that. You know what I mean.”
“I’m stealing your spotlight,” Mason sighed.
“No. Mason, let’s just keep doing things like we’ve done them while you’ve been here. It doesn’t have to get complicated. We keep a low profile.”
“My assignment is almost up. I won’t have a legitimate reason for being here, and the minute people find out who I am to you, they’ll focus more on that than your artwork. Not only will I put my career in danger by being here, but yours as well. Look, that’s not what I came to do, and I’m not sticking around for it.”
Caleb put down his fork. “What are you saying?”
“You know what? You’re right. Go home to your parents! Explain it to them. Tell them you were just trying this out like you’re just trying out writing. Tell them I’m another gap year for you. Tell them you’ll get back in line and straighten up your act. Do what comes naturally to you, Mason. Conform.”
“Caleb, I’m not like you! I’m not a rebel without a cause. You gave up your millionaire lifestyle to live in a goddamned attic apartment to feel like a starving artist. You’re slumming it, you haven’t risked anything! You never gave up anything for this!”
“Is that what you think?” Caleb scoffed. He rose and threw down his napkin, leaning across the table so they were eye to eye. “I was never a millionaire, Mason. The money I paid you to sit for me was my last. It was meant to buy back my childhood home so I could have a connection to my mother. Don’t tell me what I have or haven’t risked or given up.”
He stormed out of the diner, and people stared after him. Mason called his name, but Caleb continued out the door to the parking lot. He was Mason’s ride home. He sat in the Jeep and struggled with his emotions. He was worried about the impact the scandal would have on his art, but that was in fact the least of his concerns. Caleb had no idea how he would recover from losing Mason again. He gripped the steering wheel and powered on the engine as Mason climbed into the vehicle.
“Excuse me!” a young lady flagged them down before they pulled off.
Caleb rolled down the passenger window. “Can we help you?”
“Well, I saw you guys in the diner.” The woman approached his car with a friendly smile. “Hey, aren’t you Caleb O’Hara? I was at your gallery opening a few weeks ago.”
Caleb nodded. “I am, but I’m sorry but I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“Oh, that’s okay.” She hurriedly raised her cellphone and took a picture. Caleb blinked and pulled back. “I just wanted this.” She shook the camera and smiled.
“Drive,” Mason mumbled as he powered up the window.
“Shit!” Caleb put the car in gear and drove off.
“I apologize. For my assumptions and for my selfishness. I had no idea, and I wish I would have known. I wouldn’t have taken your money,” Mason said. “I’ll pay you back with my first advance.”
“It doesn’t matter. I don’t want the money. It’s done. All of it is over and done. When are you leaving?”
“I think I should go tonight.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” Mason asked. “Look, I’m not running home to cover my own ass. I’m doing this for you. I recognize how much work you put into rejuvenating your art career. You’re thinking about us but, you’re not thinking about what you’ll be giving up. Make this collection a success so you can get back to where you belong in your world.”
“A week ago, when we were in the sex club together, I felt so incredibly free. I pictured…I pictured us getting old together. I very briefly forgot these are stolen moments. If there’s anything to pay back, it’s time. Go back to your world, Mason. I’ll stay here in mine where I belong. It’s time for the fantasy to end”
Chapter 18
“Mom, Dad…I need to talk to you,” Mason said.
Desmond and Yoo Jin shared a look. “What about?” Mr. Sinclair asked.
Mason pushed his hands in his pockets and shook his hair out of his eyes. “The reporter who came here.”
“About Mr. O’Hara,” Mrs. Sinclair nodded knowingly. Her eyes darted to her husband again.
“About us. We were together. In a relationship,” Mason clarified. “I wanted to be the first to tell you, but the truth is coming out sooner than I expected because his art is doing so well. I have no control over exactly what information is released and I know you’ve had your suspicions for a while.”
“Oh, I had more than suspicions, Mason,” his dad interjected. “I saw the chemistry between the two of you. I wanted to nip it in the bud before it got out of hand. I did not want you to get involved with him.”
Mason forced himself to continue with the confession. “I never meant to disrespect you, Appa. I’m sorry that this is reaching the press. I know it will cause you some embarrassment. I want you to know Caleb is doing what he can to minimize the spread of the story.”
Mr. Sinclair interjected, “Embarrassment? Humph! You think you’re a pioneer in the taboo love arena. How do you think your mother and I wound up here?” Mason’s brow furrowed.
Mrs. Sinclair grabbed her son’s hand as they strolled along. “Oh, Mason. It’s clear you think we don’t understand, but we do. In Seoul, we were made to feel very bad for our love. I was shunned by both friends and family for choosing an outsider. In America, your father dealt with criticism for marrying a foreigner. It taught us to understand how powerful the heart is.”
“Then, why did you try to keep us apart?”
His father replied, “I knew there would come a point when Caleb O’Hara returned to the lifestyle he was accustomed to, and that would leave you to pick up the pieces on your own. Listen, all I’ve ever wanted for you was happiness and stability and he was never going to provide either. Why would a man like him give up everything he had accomplished for a relationship with a dreamer like you?”
Mason asked boldly, “Why did you? If what you’re saying is true, it suddenly makes sense why you had to leave Seoul so quickly. That had to wreak havoc with your career.”
“Because it was more than a crush,” Desmond Sinclair insisted. “You’ll understand it better when you get older, son. At twenty-one, there’s no way you have the experience to know the difference between infatuation and love. He made you feel something you never felt before. So what? It’s all a part of growing and learning who we are and what we want.”
Mason squeezed his fist and sighed. “But it doesn’t matter. Caleb and I are no longer together. I’m here on break for a month, and then I’ll get back to my gap year, back to my writing.”
“Have you considered calling it a wrap and getting on the right path?” Mr. Sinclair pressed.
“Like you said…this is all a part of growing and learning what we want. I know that I don’t want to be a financial analyst. I don’t want to work in one of the stuffy offices in the city. I don’t want to be stuck in one place. I’m sorry, but that is just the way it is.”
Mr. Sinclair sighed with regret. “Well, it’s your life, and you have to live it for yourself.”
Mrs. Sinclair nudged him and smiled. “Don’t pretend you haven’t enjoyed every minute of his travels. I can’t get you to stop telling people about our brilliant writer son. Mason, no matter what your father says, he is proud of you, and so am I. Don’t worry about the gossip. Above all things, family takes care of family.”
“While we’re at it, I wish I could see some of the artwork,” Mr. Sinclair said.
Mason grinned. “You’re in luck. My assignment in San Francisco was to cover the art scene. I have plenty of photos. I didn’t send them for fear of your reaction.”
They returned to the cozy New England house on its bluff above the Atlantic, and Mason proudly spread his photographs on the coffee table in the living room. He sat at the piano, playing a gentle tune, while his parents surveyed his work. His body was present, but his mind was far away. He sighed and played the chords of one of his favorite songs, occasionally adding the words.
Mr. Sinclair held up a photograph and caught his attention. “I might have been wrong. This painting captures you so completely.”
Mrs. Sinclair laid her hands over her husband’s. “I do believe you’re seeing him through the eyes of someone who loves him in a different way than us. Someone who, in their own way, loves him with all his heart and soul.” She met Mason’s gaze. “Are you sure this is where you’re supposed to be, Mason?”
Caleb slammed the door of his Jeep as Gregoire continued rambling in his ear. “I have three venues begging to have you shown here. San Francisco has had you lo
ng enough,” his agent complained.
“And the minute I push those pictures on the East Coast, the gossip rags will explode. Have you seen what they’re already saying?”
“Yes. Thankfully, PR is on top of the story now. They’re carefully spinning this as a friendship that expanded and led to enlightenment and inspiration. Ross tells me the buzz could be good for Mason, too. He hasn’t spoken to him about it yet, but I’m sure at least one of you will realize how this will help your career.”
“Gregoire, as soon as I’ve fulfilled my end of the contract, I’m retiring,” Caleb stated, breezing along the familiar Portsmouth sidewalk.
“What the hell do you mean, you’re retiring?”
“I’d like to sell the rights to some of my older stuff to generate a steady stream of income. I’ll do some commissioned pieces to pad my account, too, but I’m done with this. I want my life back.”
“Caleb, you’re talking in riddles.”
“Look, when I was nineteen, all I thought about was succeeding and I accomplished what I set out to do. I had no goals after that.”
Gregoire hesitated. “But, you do now. You want him back.”
Caleb had stopped by the Sinclair house and he had expected to have to fight to get information on where Mason was. Instead, they had freely directed him to the bistro that he was now outside of. Mason was meeting with Riesling and his cousin, Tae. Caleb hated to interrupt the reunion, but he had to see him. He stared through the plate glass window and spotted Riesling’s familiar white-blonde hair.
“It’s been a month since he left, a month since the story about us broke. I let him go, didn’t even put up a fight, and I’ll never stop regretting that.”
“Jesus Christ. You’re really in love, aren’t you?”
“Call it whatever you like, but let me call you back.”
He ended the phone call without waiting for his agent to say goodbye, and walked into the bistro. Several people looked his way, but not Mason. Caleb straightened his shoulders, wondering what exactly to say to the man who had turned him down not once, but twice. How could he convince Mason that they belonged together?
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