Seeds of Tyrone Box Set

by Debbie McGowan

  “He’s not here, Prudence.”

  Harrison had chatted, he’d eaten, he’d danced with men and women alike, and all the while he’d searched the sea of beautiful people for Paulo. But the grandfather clock in the foyer had already chimed eleven, and Paulo still hadn’t arrived.

  “They were going to fly out of Miami last night,” she said. “Maybe something happened and they couldn’t leave Florida until today. Or maybe his mother held him up with all her talk, talk, talk.”

  Grand.

  Paulo had done his best to keep Harrison from finding out how Gabriela Fernández truly felt about the assault and his role in it, but he couldn’t have known his mother would call Harrison up directly to tell him what she thought of his “rape” (her air quotes).

  He was certain if Gabi had her way, Paulo would never see Harrison again.

  Carefully, he adjusted his glasses, running his finger along the edge of the frame. They were so comforting, and they reminded him of the gentle Paulo he’d known, and the life they’d once shared—a life he’d hoped to return to someday. When Harrison wore his glasses, he could pretend he was still the man he’d been before the assault, and that Paulo was too. He could pretend it hadn’t all fallen apart.

  “H! You’re shaking,” Pru said, concerned. “Are you OK?”

  He looked down at his hands and saw they were shaking violently. Pre-second-attempt-at-recovery violently. He felt his chest tighten, and his eyes went blurry.

  “Panic…attack,” he whispered.

  Oh, Jesus, where the fuck was Paulo?

  “Let’s get you some air,” Pru said, pulling him toward an open side door that led out to the Bentley’s large garden maze. The towering, well-manicured walls of foliage were covered in silver and gold lights that twinkled on and off. It should have been beautiful, but instead they only made Harrison feel more on edge. He turned sharply from them, seeking the cool darkness, absent of any stimuli.

  “You lied to me, didn’t you Pru?” he said desperately. “Paulo wasn’t ever coming. He’s seeing someone else, isn’t he?”

  “Slow down. Breathe.” She rubbed a gentle circle against his back. “Paulo’s not seeing anyone else that I know of, H.”

  Eighteen months was a long time to have to wait. And how many times when they were still together had some waiter made flirty eyes at Paulo? He was so damn good looking, with his olive skin, dark eyes, and head of rich, brown curls. He always left home clean-shaven, but by five, he’d have stubble again. Harrison had loved the way it scratched his cheek.

  Whose cheek was it scratching now?

  Harrison doubled over, gasping for breath as Pru spoke softly to him. He couldn’t hear her over the noise in his own head.

  Paulo’s dating a diplomat’s son… Saw Paulo at the club, some drunk twink on his arm… Paulo? I think he’s with a model.

  No one had ever said it, but he’d imagined hearing those words a million times.

  Paulo was handsome, virile, desirable—and most important, available. Plus he was unrelentingly stubborn and angry, and Harrison had stood him up last year.

  Harrison bit down hard on the tears that threatened. No crying at the Christmas event of the year. Especially because there was whiskey to win!

  “Say it again,” he whispered to Pru, who helped him back into a standing position. She put her hands on his shoulders to steady him.

  “He’ll be here, H. Promise.”

  For a long moment, they held each other’s gaze, studying irises, Harrison seeking truth in her eyes, his breath finally slowing. There was something strange about Pru’s expression.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I just hate seeing the panic return is all.”

  “It’ll be fine, Pru. Once he’s here, everything will be fine.”

  The small crease that had formed between her brows did not ease.

  Chapter Four:

  Paulo in Cloak and Mask

  “The domino mask is a nice touch.”

  “Julian!” Paulo said, grinning and reaching out for his old friend. Julian Bentley stepped into the hug and slapped Paulo on the back. He’d known Julian since their days as boys at Bentley Elite Academy, back when Nikolai Bentley was still the Head of School. “How the hell are you, you old bastard?”

  “Old?” he laughed. “I’m younger than you.”

  People hovered nearby, far enough away to be polite, but near enough to swoop in the second the handsome young heir to the Bentley fortune was unencumbered by Paulo.

  “Are you here with Aurelie tonight?” Paulo asked.

  “She couldn’t make it. Runway show in Milan.”

  “And you’ve opted to come to this boring get-together?” Paulo teased. “Instead of snuggling up with Intimate’s Kitty of the Year?”

  “Two years running.” Julian’s grin was infectious. He was even more handsome than he’d been in their school years. “I suppose family traditions beat out pleasure.”

  Didn’t he know it.

  “So you’re quite incognito, Paulo. Hat, cape, mask— I know it said ‘flair’ on the invitation, but I wouldn’t have recognized you except Merritt pointed you out.”

  “She's a clever fox, your sister.”

  Julian sighed. “Nosy, loud, and determined to get Nikolai’s money if it means she has to kill me.”

  Paulo laughed again, grateful to have run into Julian. His stomach had been a tapestry of knots since before he’d left the hotel. Dressing for the party had somehow eased the stress a little, even if it meant driving through the city looking like a villain in a Broadway musical. But being here, with the live music and the mingling, and chatting up his old friend took a little more of the anxiety out of the situation.

  “So, who are you hiding from?” Julian asked, as clever a fox as his sister. He reached out and casually plucked a glass of champagne from a passing server’s tray and handed it to Paulo.

  “I’m not hiding per se,” Paulo said, feeling a little silly. He took a sip of his drink. He wasn’t the only one in a domino mask, and he wasn’t even the only one dressed up. There were at least three full Santa costumes, complete with white beards of various levels of authenticity. They may have been hired, but they could also have been guests. “But I might be expecting to bump into someone tonight. I’d prefer to see him before he sees me.”

  “Intriguing.”

  “Well, it’s not that intriguing.”

  “No, no, I understand completely. We’ve all got to get the drop on our enemies before they can shoot us cold at a stuffy Christmas party.”

  Paulo snorted. “Always liked that head of yours.”

  “And my face?” Julian asked with a friendly smile. “Remember asking me to the Winter Formal? Said you would whisk me off to Rio de Janeiro afterward if I said yes.”

  “I might have had the tiniest little crush on you.” Paulo agreed, playing off what had been intense teenage longing. “Damn you and your incurable case of straightness.”

  “Yes, but our doomed romance has worked out in both our favors, hasn’t it?” Julian asked. “I have my French supermodel and you’ve Harrison Miller, your enemy spy. Aren’t you thinking if all goes well, you might call a truce?”

  Damn good detective work. He wondered who told? His mother? “How the hell do you know about Ari?”

  “I told you. Merritt. She knows all.”

  He shook his head. Unbelievable. “So, is he here yet, Julian?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I’m sorry.”

  “Running the risk of sounding desperate, the party’s already in full swing! Even Pru wouldn’t be this ‘fashionably’ late. Even Pru high wouldn’t be this fashionably late.”

  “Nope, not our Pru,” Julian agreed. He patted Paulo’s shoulder. “Seems you two were trains passing in the night. Pru and Harrison were here for our ‘tier one’ theatrics.”

  “Wait, what?”

  Julian let out a long sigh. “Mother does love her theatrics.”

  “What are you talking
about?”

  “A few years ago, Winifred Bentley decided one night wasn’t enough to flaunt our grandeur. She wanted a multi-night event.” Julian’s expression turned cold about his family’s famous Christmas party. “We’re now the Gatsbys of the Christmas season.”

  “As if you weren’t before.” Paulo frowned. “How long does this party go exactly?”

  “The seventeenth until the twenty-third.”

  “Fuck.”

  “It’s the exclusivity Mother enjoys the most. Holding people’s invitations hostage when they’ve wronged her. Letting certain folks into the elite group while cutting others out. There’s a ‘privileged’ few guests on the list who are invited to stay with us the full week—she calls that one tier five. Those guests get to enjoy the entire party, others for part of it, some for only the one night. Of course, I’m required to attend every night. Ask me where I’d rather be.”

  “What ‘tier’ is tonight?”

  “Tier two. Like tier one except more extravagant. You know how my mother feels about your father. She doesn’t want him here longer than need be, but while he’s in our company, Lord, she wants to rub his face in it. If an apology from me would repair their relationship…”

  Julian trailed off, and both men laughed, knowing there was no way anything Julian Bentley said would clear up the years-old rift.

  “So Pru and Harrison were—”

  “Here yesterday, yes.”

  “This isn’t going anything like I’d imagined.” That was putting it mildly. He imagined Harrison standing on this dance floor, thinking Paulo had stood him up. Pru hadn’t called or texted, she probably thought so too. It made Paulo want to put his fist through the wall.

  “I’m sorry, friend.”

  “Well, if you see Winifred, let her know she’s fucked it for one Fernández man at least. Consider it a Christmas present for her.” He forced a laugh so as to not make things completely awkward with Julian. But honestly, who the hell had a seven-night party that wasn’t cruising to the Caribbean? And tiers? Really? “I’ve got to get ahold of him. Do you know where he and Pru are staying in town?”

  Julian shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “Oh, you’ll have to excuse me, Paulo, I think your mother’s just arrived, and I’m going to need another glass of champagne before I say hello.”

  Paulo glanced over his shoulder and saw Mamãe, her skirts in her hands, heading straight for him.

  Maybe if he pulled a well-dressed (tier-two) debutante into his arms and twirled her around the dance floor, or ducked behind one of the many opulent Christmas trees that towered miles above them all, he could avoid his mother. Hell, he’d climb into the branches even. He and his sister had done that once, at this very party, back when it was still a one-evening affair, and Nikolai gave a toast of good tidings. Of course, they were much younger then.

  He and Cátia had snuck away from their parents, creeping around the bottom of the tree decorated in twinkling lights and strings of multicolored garland and foil icicles. Cátia was the first to part the branches and climb inside, with Paulo quickly following. A few of the ornaments fell, one of them smashed, but the party was so noisy no one noticed. He and his sister hid and pretended they were in a secret Christmas land. He was the king and she was a mermaid (of course). They fell asleep, and hours later, when she realized she’d lost her children, his mother became hysterical. Neither he nor Cátia was allowed near the trees for years.

  But even if he weren’t now six foot two and all shoulders and muscle, his mother had already seen him. Running would only make it worse. Somehow, Julian Bentley had evaporated into the crowd.

  “Damn you, Jules,” Paulo muttered.

  “Paulo, you look ridiculous, take off the costume. Let everyone see your handsome face.”

  His mother had worn her favorite evening gown and one huge silk poinsettia at her temple. That was as much ‘flair’ as she could manage.

  “Did you come to critique fashion, Mamãe?”

  “No, I’ve come to introduce you to someone.” She grabbed his hand, patting it warmly. “He’s a little older than you, Paulo, but very handsome and well off.”

  “Really? At this party? How’d you find someone rich and handsome, Mamãe?”

  “Don’t be a smartass,” she snapped, but she winked at him.

  “Listen, I appreciate it, really.” Well, no, not really. He shouldn’t lie. He’d told her his plans to meet with Harrison, and she was going out of her way to interfere. But Gabriela had her ideas, didn’t she? “I’ve got to step outside and make a call.”

  “To who?”

  “Mother.” He could count on one hand the number of times he’d called her “mother.”

  “It’s only a question.”

  “I’m calling Pru.”

  “Prudence? Why?”

  “Harrison isn’t at the party. He and Pru had invitations for last night.”

  “Oh, pity.” If she was surprised about the tiers, it didn’t show on her face.

  “Mamãe, can’t you at least pretend to care what I want?”

  “I do care what you want, Paulo. But right now, you don’t seem to understand the difference between childish wants and healthy, adult needs. You need a man in your life who is secure, who you can build a partnership with, who will look good standing beside you.”

  “Now would this be physically or socially?”

  “Both.”

  “And Ari—”

  “No more talk of Harrison Miller. Consider it my Christmas present? Please, Paulo. Let me introduce you to Dr. Daniels instead.”

  <<< >>>

  Oh, Paulo was hammered. Schnockered. Shit faced. And it felt good, because fuck you, Winifred Bentley! And fuck you, Mamãe! And double for you, Dr. Daniels, who had asked if he wanted a hand job in the bathroom. Most of all, fuck you, Ms. Ashmore, for everything.

  Paulo hummed “Carol of the Bells” while dramatically conducting an invisible orchestra for an invisible audience on one of the many Bentley verandas that overlooked their expansive grounds. He had the phone pressed between his shoulder and his cheek, and he timed his musical performance with the ringing. After the voicemail said: S’Pru, leave me a message, he picked up where he’d left off the last time he got the recording.

  “Merry Merry Merry Merry Christmas! Merry Merry Merry Merry Christmas! Pru-dong, Pru-dong! Pru-dong, Pru-dong! O’re hill and dale, answer your phone! Gaily they ring, I’m gay as balls! Merrymerrymerrymerrymerry Christmas!”

  Her voicemail cut him off before he could finish, and he grumbled, yanking the mask off his face. That was his best rendition of “Carol of the Calls” so far.

  He’d called her phone ten times, and ten times it had gone to voicemail after two rings. Almost like he was being kicked. He didn’t know if she was pissed, or busy, or both, but if Pru and Harrison were still in Midday, he wanted to catch them.

  Screw all the romantic plans he’d built up in his head. So their first kiss in a year and a half would have been spectacular if they’d been standing near the large fireplace, or if they happened to be under the mistletoe, or after a waltz. But obviously fate had conspired against them. OK, fate, join the fuck you list. Paulo wasn’t a huge believer in fate anyway. He’d make his own and be damn happy doing it. Especially because Harrison’s number…

  He’d tried calling Harrison’s number only once, his heart tightening as he waited for the ring. He’d stood in front of an auditorium of a thousand marketing students and delivered a guest presentation in Italian, a language he was shaky on at best. It was the most nervous he’d ever been in his life. Until he’d called Harrison.

  And fuck his luck and a duck, the line was disconnected.

  We’re sorry, the party you’re trying to reach…

  Paulo didn’t try the number again. He didn’t need to. He could look at his call history and see that he had dialed it correctly. Even drunk he knew the number by heart. Had dialed it from work every day at lunch for three years, just be
cause he needed something more than a sandwich to fill his heart.

  “What are you doing?” he’d ask, knowing Ari was on his lunch break, too. Even on Harrison’s busiest day, the receptionist knew not to schedule patients between 12:15 and 12:35. Of course, that prudish woman had no idea that sometimes Paulo liked to use that twenty minutes to see if he could get a rise out of Ari by whispering wicked things into his ear.

  “Eating,” Harrison would always reply, his mouth full of last night’s leftovers. “What about you?”

  “Thinking about you naked, on top of my desk. You ever think about the wonderful things we could do with office supplies?”

  Silence would inevitably fall, and Paulo could practically feel the blush coming through the phone.

  “What if someone hears you!” Harrison would whisper.

  “Let ’em listen. I don’t mind the whole world knowing how much I want you. How much I love you.”

  So when had Harrison disconnected his cell phone? And why? They’d made plans to meet. It wasn’t over. Not really. So why would he have disconnected his phone and not let Paulo know?

  Disappointment surged inside him and that’s when Paulo began to call Pru. He dialed her again—call number eleven. As it kicked to voicemail, confusion and disappointment lost the battle to that familiar friend, anger.

  He’d been out on this same veranda last year, too—a canopy of green and red lights glowing overhead. He’d waited for Ari to show, waited for his chance to sweep his lover into his arms. But Harrison didn’t come to the party, and it wasn’t because he’d been “scheduled” on a different day last year. Paulo knew this because he’d seen Pru, who offered her apologies for Harrison’s absence.

  “It’s a bad time,” she’d said in that obnoxiously flippant way of hers.

  Paulo took a steadying breath, clenching and unclenching his hands. His anger was directed at no one and everyone all at once, the worst sort of impotent rage.