The Congressman's Whore

by Clancy Nacht

  “We talk sometimes. He’s given me advice along the way about being an out politician.” Upton turned to Sloan. “He’s the ambassador to Spain. He can give you tips.”

  Sighing, Candice nodded. “Fine, ask him. Maybe that young husband of his can be your ringbearer.”

  “Mom!” Upton kicked in her direction.

  Well, then. Was that... Upton had mentioned wanting to maybe marry an older ambassador and...

  With his dad’s best friend?

  Ha. Who was Sloan to judge?

  How sad for Upton. Sloan didn’t belong here next to him, didn’t have a place in this family, not a deserved one. But here he was, and whatever Upton really wanted was out of his reach.

  Sloan raised his eyebrows and looked between Candice and Upton and then smiled as politely as he could. “I think I’m going to need a drink if we’re going to keep this up.”

  Honestly, just thinking about getting married made him want a drink, even without the byzantine drama. Adopting a teasing tone, he squeezed Upton and asked, “Who knew planning a rushed, politically necessary, international wedding of convenience would be so inconvenient?”

  Upton tilted his head but gave a slight smile. Once Sloan was up and moving, Keith moved in next to Upton, taking a seat on the arm of the couch since there wasn’t anywhere to sit on the other side of Upton otherwise.

  Was Keith going to be a problem? Upton didn’t even seem to notice him as he turned back to Candice to chat.

  Sloan stood at the well-appointed bar cart at the edge of the living area, watching the tableau unfold as he mixed a cocktail, buying time. What was going on with Upton? He’d seemed simple enough in his virginal propriety, his unexplored depths. A lonely man too busy and repressed to seek answers to his needs. A public gay so busy trying to be inoffensive that he was as sexless and bland and safe as a eunuch.

  There was more to him than that. Winston. Keith. Who else belonged to Upton’s past and might resent Sloan’s incursion into his present and future?

  If Upton meant safety and stability to Sloan, who else might have pinned their hopes on what he represented? The advancement and wealth he offered?

  In the end, though Sloan knew Upton from a lifetime lived in the public eye, ultimately, he knew nothing about the private man, the one who navigated these private waters Sloan had been plunged into.

  Chapter 8

  If Upton worried his mom would skimp on his fake wedding, that thought had vanished when she showed him pictures of Villa del Balbianello. Even now, arriving by boat to the ornate venue, Upton was filled with a sense of unreality. Even the trees were as delicately manicured as if fashioned and imagined by Edward Scissorhands.

  Lake water sprayed in a fine mist over him as he stood, watching the scene unfold. Alongside him in the boat, his coterie included his mom, Winnie and his husband Ross, and Keith.

  Oh Keith. He kept asking after Upton’s feelings, trying to get him to open up. Was his solicitousness born of actual interest or Mom’s prodding? Not that it mattered. Upton was marrying Sloan, and while he appreciated someone asking, it was Winnie that Upton confided in.

  He turned back and grinned at Winnie, who stood, rocking the boat. Winnie was a big bear of a man, almost as wide as he was tall. There was more gray in his hair and beard now, but it just made him more comforting.

  Winnie balanced next to Upton. “You look nervous.”

  “I am. Aren’t you supposed to be nervous on your wedding day?” Upton looked down at his tux, feeling strange and a little hopeless. He’d only seen Sloan in fits and starts the past few months. Sloan had finals; Upton had business. They’d engaged in a few staged romantic dinners and even shopped pointedly for a bigger bed, but they hadn’t picked out curtains or anything. They weren’t really any nearer to Sloan making a mark on what was to be their shared home.

  When Upton met Sierra, Sloan requested he fake an urgent call so as not to spend too much time with her. They’d played their parts, but Upton felt no closer to Sloan than he had that day on the bed.

  That was what, ten minutes?

  Sloan could be so amazing when he wanted to be, but Upton could hardly ask more of him than he was already. He couldn’t ask Sloan to be “on” all the time just for him. Maybe it would’ve been nice if Sloan had shown interest in developing more of a bond, but they’d both been busy, right?

  Winnie patted Upton’s back and leaned in to whisper, “You know this isn’t what I intended you to do when I gave you Zane’s information.”

  “Intentions are often thwarted by reality.” Upton forced himself to smile.

  He didn’t blame Winnie, who’d only been trying to help. Candice was suspicious of Winnie for some reason, but he’d been the only one Upton could confide in—someone who’d paved the way for being gay in public life. Apparently, Winnie had never been quite as awkward about sex as Upton. His solution had been seeing a professional.

  Upton glanced at Winnie and then back to the villa. “I suppose you could take credit for introducing us.”

  Winnie chuckled. “That’s not something I wish to be part of my legacy, if it’s all the same to you.”

  Upton nodded and sighed. He hadn’t told his mom that part. Not even Sloan knew how Upton got his information. “Thank you for standing up with me. It means a lot.”

  “Of course. I know you wish your father could be here.” Winnie frowned, gray brows swooping in over his broad nose.

  “You know he’d laugh and say the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Not in front of Mom, of course.”

  They both cut eyes at his mom, and she glared back as if she wanted to bore a hole into Winnie’s head.

  “She knows I’m a bad influence.”

  Chuckling, Upton closed his eyes to enjoy the last moments of wind and spray before he had to get off the boat.

  The place really was a wonderland, perfect for weddings with its ivy and sumptuous statues. The villa was nearly at capacity with guests from around the world, most people Upton didn’t know personally. The good thing about it, beyond how gorgeous it was, and the wonderful lake view, was that it would be very difficult for paparazzi to intrude. Whatever photos ran would be released by them, which gave them control of the message.

  Making his way up to the villa, Upton shook hands, smiled and played politician. In that way, this was like any other political social function, so he tried to compartmentalize his feelings. This was like going to church to appease his constituents. It didn’t have to mean anything.

  Yet, Upton longed for someone to be close to. He wanted to be really married, to be something to someone. That wasn’t going to happen for at least another five years now. No sex. No love. No real intimacy. Just tastes of it that happened in front of cameras or whatever crumbs Sloan offered when the mood struck him.

  As if it wasn’t socially crippling enough Upton hadn’t dated in high school—the time when most young people learned how to relate—because of too much media scrutiny and the depression that came with losing his father. Through college he’d felt too broken, too shaky, to reach out or go to parties. Even when he did socialize, he had to be careful not to drink too much or be seen near drugs. Every misstep rippled through the tabloid press as if he was a troubled teen rather than a young man dealing with his father’s death and public scrutiny.

  Upton’s only release had been debate club. Serious scholarship. And so he grew to be the social misfit he was today. He hadn’t followed anything being written about him, only taken direction from his mom on what steps to take.

  Since the scandal broke, Upton had watched clips of Sloan’s family and seethed. No wonder Sloan could be so icy. He had to be.

  Upton felt a brotherhood with him in some respects. He still hoped they would have at least a warm friendship, though it seemed as if at any break in conversation, Sloan would steal away to be by himself and Upton would stand awkwardly alone.

  They always said in politics, if you want a friend, get a dog. Maybe after the honeymoon he
could get a puppy.

  As Sloan’s boat began to dock, one of the staff ushered Upton through the villa and to his mark. Apparently, it was bad luck for the groom to see the groom, though they were more or less wearing the same thing. Upton stood smiling pleasantly at people as they moved to their seats, letting the practiced expression cover for everything going on beneath.

  Soon movement drew Upton’s gaze, and he turned to see Sloan approaching with Sierra on his arm. She wore a sleek black dress that looked like the feminine counterpart to Sloan’s immaculate tuxedo, and she was laughing at something Sloan had said, beaming up at him with obvious pride. He was gazing back at her, that brilliant, beautiful smile on his face, and then he looked up and met Upton’s gaze. His smile softened, went from wide and bright to intimate, heated, and his dark eyes seemed to take Upton in from head to toe.

  Sierra disengaged from Sloan, breezed past Upton with a little smile, and went to stand at the altar opposite Winnie. Sloan approached more slowly, moving with gravitas, as if he’d absorbed Mom’s insistence he force the guests to take him seriously. When he reached his mark, he held out his hand.

  Upton took it, and Sloan twined their fingers, stepped closer, and drew Upton’s hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle and gazing into his eyes. The guests craned their necks to see them, some aww’ing and others staring openly.

  The musicians started to play, the strings swelling and floating across a lake breeze perfumed by fresh cut flowers. Under that cover, Sloan leaned in, his lips brushing Upton’s ear as he whispered, “We’ve got this, honey.”

  Then he straightened and gave Upton another blinding, heartbreaking smile. With a squeeze of Upton’s hand, Sloan started forward on their cue, seeming to ignore everyone but Upton, watching him with a besotted look as they walked up the aisle.

  Oh, how Upton wished someday someone would look at him like that for real. He tried to cast that aside and live in the moment, to let himself believe a man like Sloan would be interested in a nerd like Upton. He flashed his performance smile at the crowd, then focused on Sloan, thinking about when he asked Sloan to marry him, how nervous and vulnerable he’d felt.

  He’d needed to have that moment as a touchstone, where their relationship felt real and less like actors putting on a play. Then his thoughts flitted to thumbing bills out of his wallet and Upton nearly tripped on his own two feet. Fortunately, they were at the front and the officiant came out to give the preliminary speech.

  Upton watched her mouth moving, but he didn’t completely comprehend what she said. It was a speech about love and acceptance. Finding the one, she said. Your perfect match. Tears filled Upton’s eyes.

  Why? Was he sad? Embarrassed?

  Because he wished he felt what she was talking about?

  He looked at Sloan as they turned toward one another. A ring bearer—son of a donor—came up, holding the two shiny, golden rings. Upton took his gently and gazed into Sloan’s deep, dark eyes. He made his vows reverently, pitched to be heard above the soft crying of someone in the background who was overwhelmed with the moment.

  Once he finished, he slid the ring tenderly on Sloan’s finger, giving it an extra caress of his thumb over the ring as he sealed his commitment. Whatever this was, Upton was serious about keeping up his end, beyond what Sloan had signed away in the prenup.

  Sloan’s eyes shimmered with moisture, and he bit his lip as he gazed into Upton’s eyes. Then he took Upton’s left hand in his right and brought it to his cheek, pressing into it and then kissing Upton’s palm. He made his vows in that deep, mellow voice that soothed Upton’s nerves, sounding just as sincere as Upton had felt. As he lowered Upton’s hand again and slipped the ring onto his finger, Upton fought a wave of confusing emotion.

  Like Sloan had said, the love was fake but the marriage was real. This was real life, happening to him.

  As the minister said, “I now pronounce you wedded husbands, bound by law and by love,” Sloan beamed and took a half step closer, holding Upton’s hand tightly. A ripple of indulgent laughter flowed through the guests, and Sloan ducked his head as if embarrassed, that “aw, shucks” country boy thing he did. The minister smiled at them as if she’d never seen more adorable grooms and held up her arms. “Now,” she emphasized, “you may kiss your husband.”

  Before Upton could brace for it, Sloan stepped in, his arms around Upton, one at the small of his back and one hand at his nape. Sloan’s lips brushed against his, soft and hot and demanding. Upton surrendered, taking in his scent, the softness of his hair, the light scratch of stubble. He caressed the side of Sloan’s face as they broke the kiss and gazed into his eyes with their foreheads together.

  “So proud to call you husband,” Upton whispered, and then they turned together as they were presented to the crowd of strangers, family and friends.

  They walked down the aisle together only to be directed down a hallway where they would wait while everyone else was ushered to the reception.

  Giddiness overwhelmed Upton, a strange elation that he was married, married to Sloan. He wanted desperately to kiss him again. Was that appropriate? He eyed Sloan’s mouth, tried to suppress the urge, then turned back and left a quick peck on the upturned corner of Sloan’s lips.

  Sloan tensed at the contact, as if Upton caught him off guard. For a moment, Upton feared he’d fucked up, but then Sloan smiled at him and leaned in to caress their lips together, taking his time, lingering in the touches and playing with the short hairs at Upton’s nape. Then he pulled back, still smiling, and looked around as if expecting someone watching.

  Oh god. Sloan must’ve thought Upton was performing for someone.

  Upton blushed and looked down. “Sorry, I just got caught up in the…” How humiliating. Upton glared at his feet, berating himself. “Sorry.”

  Sloan frowned and stroked Upton’s cheek. “Hey, no, it’s okay.” He slid his fingers back into Upton’s hair and drew him in closer, the other arm wrapping around Upton in a embrace. Sloan hugged him tight and whispered in his ear, “I’m your husband now, Upton. It’s all right. We’re good, okay?”

  Upton crossed his arms over Sloan’s back and rested his chin on his shoulder, hoping Sloan didn’t mind a little clinging. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I always dreamed of marrying a handsome man and being in love. It’s an exciting day. I know this isn’t real, but I do feel lucky it’s you I’m with. That I could be there when you needed, and you’re here now with me on this crazy ride.”

  Releasing Sloan, Upton stroked his hair and gave a faint smile. “Maybe on our anniversaries, we can try to take a week off, visit each country where you’ve learned the language. Then at the end of it, at least you can say you got to see more of the world?”

  “Hey.” Sloan frowned and stepped closer, moving back into Upton’s space and looking into his eyes, troubled. “This is a real marriage, Upton. The feelings aren’t there, but they don’t have to be. All of human history is based on weddings between virtual strangers. It’s never made those marriages less real.”

  Then he smiled and leaned in, resting his temple against Upton’s. “But anniversary trips sound good. Incentive to keep mastering new languages. You’re a real sweetheart, you know that?”

  “So people keep telling me.” Upton wrapped his arm around Sloan, relieved by his optimism. “I mean, no one in Congress, but… And, Sloan, I care, all right? I want to make this good for both of us.”

  Upton wanted to say more, about the dignity and respect Sloan wasn’t afforded by the people who’d raised him, but he didn’t want to bring down the moment. For all he knew, if he made it too personal, Sloan would withdraw again. Upton couldn’t handle that. It was so good when Sloan let him in, even a little bit, and he couldn’t risk losing this.

  Then the door opened. Attendants swept in and rushed Upton and Sloan down another hall to make a grand entrance into the reception. Everyone stood, awaiting them to take their seat at the head table.

  Sloan slipped his arm
around Upton’s waist and escorted him there, grinning broadly. Everything looked beautiful beyond reason, the details perfect. In the diminishing light as the sun set, every table glistened with crystal and silver, adorned with abundant fresh flowers. Faces unknown and familiar were turned toward them, taking in every movement, and the well-vetted photographer Mom had hired dogged their steps, taking picture after picture.

  The musicians played across the room, a slow, sweet tune that accompanied them to their seats, where Sloan paused at the front of the room, pulled Upton close, and kissed him again in front of everyone. Applause and a nearby whistle that had to be Sierra’s washed over him, making him even more flushed than Sloan’s hungry kiss inspired.

  Sloan’s cheeks were red when he pulled away, and Upton felt a surge of pride that he was affected, that it wasn’t just Upton. Then Sloan stepped to the side of his chair and looked to Upton, timing it so they sat at the same moment. As they settled in, Sloan reached out to take Upton’s hand, resting their joined grasp atop the table where everyone could see it.

  Upton was so pleased, he didn’t even have to act. The seat next to him was empty, reserved for Mom, who was schmoozing the crowd and directing the photographer. She caught Upton’s eye and smiled.

  Sierra sat on Sloan’s other side, and Upton turned to grin at her.

  “Hi!” Sierra waved furiously at Upton, leaning past Sloan to look at him. “Oh my god, I’m so happy right now. That was so beautiful!” She hugged Sloan’s arm and then reached behind him to squeeze Upton’s shoulder.

  Waitstaff moved through the gathering with champagne and appetizers. Sierra settled down long enough to take a flute of champagne and then beamed at Sloan and Upton, lifting it toward them before sipping it down.

  “Take it easy, sugar,” Sloan teased, but even as he addressed her, he flexed his fingers around Upton’s, refusing to relinquish his hand even with their glasses at hand.