The Worst Best Man

by M. J. O'Shea

  He was certain she knew about Christopher’s visit. It was more than a little embarrassing how many spectators there were to round two of the August and Christopher show. It had been bad enough the first time when the heartbreak had been mostly his to deal with alone.

  “I just wanted to say I was sorry for any confusion. I’ve talked our schedule over with Will, and I should be able to add your wedding back into my calendar. That is, unless you’d prefer Will.”

  “No, no,” she said quickly. “Will’s a darling, but I definitely want you back if I can have you.”

  “That’s fantastic. Sorry again for the mix-up. I’ll meet with Will and transfer the next scheduled appointment back to me.”

  “August….”

  “Yes?” he asked. He knew what was coming.

  “We all know it’s not about a schedule mix-up. Are you okay? Christopher told me what happened at the house.”

  He sighed. “I’m not sure. No. No, I’m not okay.” It felt good to say it out loud. Maybe telling everyone how big of a mess he was in would help him sleep at night. Wishful thinking, probably. He could barely close his eyes without reliving Christopher’s soft kiss.

  “Is there anything I can do about it?” she asked.

  “Actually yes. I need to talk to him, but we should do it in person. I can’t call and ask for his address. I can’t go over there knowing he’s waiting for me. I just….”

  “You want his address so you can think about if you’re going to go over there or not without him knowing?”

  “Basically.”

  Libby made a soft sound. “He’s been a wreck since Christmas. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah.” They were delving way too hard into the realm of not a professional relationship. “But I also know I barely survived the first time he decided he didn’t want me. I don’t know if I’d survive it again.”

  “He’s not the same as he was back then. We’ve all grown up. There’s been something missing for him for years. I just didn’t know what it was until recently. He’s not going to want to give you up again. He didn’t the first time.”

  “That doesn’t make me the same as you guys. I’ll never be a part of your world, and no matter how much Christopher and I might want to try this again, that won’t change.” Definitely delving way, way too far into the nonprofessional realm. He figured that ship had sailed the day she showed up at his office with Christopher in tow.

  Libby was silent for long moments. “I think you need to have this conversation with Christopher. I can only tell you that he adores you no matter what happened all those years ago. I’ve never seen his face look like it does when he’s talking about you. It’s like he’s a completely different person.”

  “Yeah.” August knew that. Neither one of them had been happier than when they were together. He didn’t know if it would make any difference, though.

  “Let me send you his address. You decide, but I know what I think you should do.”

  “Give him another chance.”

  “Yes. Or at least talk to him about it. You’ll never know if you two could be happy if you don’t try.” She sighed. “I love him, August. Like a brother. I want him to be happy. And I know you and I haven’t known each other very long, but I want you to be happy too. I think you two really need to talk. Dancing around each other hasn’t made anything better, has it?”

  It hadn’t, and they both knew it. Nearly three months of dancing and August was plain tired of it. Or just tired altogether.

  “Okay. I’m going to go over there before I lose my nerve. Can you send me the address before I decide to get on a train and just go home?”

  “Consider it done. And good luck, although you don’t need it.”

  “Thanks, Libby.” She really was a very nice person. August didn’t know how he’d have survived all this if she was like Edward and the royal mums.

  “Oh, and remember, I made an appointment with Will. I’d love to see him again at the next meeting, but I expect you to be there too.” Libby mock-scolded him.

  “I will. I promise.”

  After he hung up with Libby, he waited for her to text him Christopher’s address. His phone beeped after only minute or so. August opened the text.

  “Fuck me,” he whispered. He didn’t know why he was surprised—Longwick was practically a castle and Christopher’s family wasn’t the genteel poor type. The address Libby texted him had to be worth upward of ten million pounds, though. Jesus….

  Still, he had to do it, even with the huge outward sign of their differences staring him in the face. It was time to settle things with Christopher once and for all.

  CHRISTOPHER’S town house was about as ridiculously opulent as August would’ve assumed, based on the swanky address. It rose stately and white from a bed of black and white checkered entryway tiles and thick columns, practically daring someone like August to cross the threshold of the small front courtyard and knock on the huge cherry-red door. Despite his offices in posh Mayfair, he felt like he didn’t belong there. It was like something out of a movie, and not in a good way.

  He lifted his hand, which was shaking a hell of a lot more than he wished it would be, and rang the doorbell. It echoed in the vastness of Christopher’s entryway. August nearly turned and ran. But he didn’t.

  Panic or not, August had to talk to him. He couldn’t function through another day without settling something.

  IT took a few moments for the door to open, and August was surprised to find Christopher himself behind it—he would’ve expected a housekeeper, a butler, a whole army of downstairs help. But no, it was just Christopher and a very excitable Fergus.

  “August,” Christopher breathed. “What are you doing here?”

  His eyes were wide and hopeful. August had to keep himself from reaching out and touching. Christopher looked so soft, softer than he’d seen him since they’d met again. He had on jogging pants and an old Oxford T-shirt, and his dark hair fell over his forehead instead of being styled into a fashionable quiff. It kind of broke August’s heart.

  “Um, Libby gave me your address. I think we might need to talk.”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s talk. Come in.”

  He moved aside and tugged gently on Fergus’s collar so the dog wouldn’t jump up and slobber on August, not that August would’ve minded. A bit of a distraction would’ve been welcome, to tell the truth. Christopher’s house was a miniature version of Longwick—all old English charm, paneled walls, parquet floors, artwork, and expensive rugs. August lost a bit of his nerve when he saw Christopher’s own personal world.

  “Come in. Let’s sit in the kitchen. I was just about to make some tea,” Christopher said. “Um, this is Fergus, but you know him. My housekeeper’s on holiday for the week, but she left me some biscuits that she made, and they’re wonderful with tea—” Christopher broke off like he realized he was babbling. August smiled.

  “Show me the kitchen,” he said. “I’d love some tea.”

  Christopher nodded and headed down the main hallway toward the staircase at the back of the house. Fergus trotted excitedly behind him wagging his gingery tail. The whole scene felt awfully surreal to August. He was in Christopher’s house. Even after they’d started talking again, he never thought they’d make it to this place.

  Christopher’s kitchen had obviously been renovated from the old upstairs-downstairs days. It was still at the bottom of a tight set of stairs, but once down there, the space opened up into a bright, cheery daylight basement. The kitchen was a gorgeous mix of modern and antique, with high half-moon windows, professional chef appliances, and pale green glass tiles. It somehow looked exactly like something Christopher would have. There was a living space connected to it with rich wooden floors, squishy black leather furniture, more high windows, dark green paint, and a huge dark wood fireplace. There was a door to the outside in the far corner that led to the short outdoor staircase up to the sidewalk level. He supposed in years gone by it would’ve been the servants�
�� entrance, but it didn’t seem like Christopher used it that way.

  “This place is amazing. It kind of looks like the Slytherin common room, though, not going to lie.”

  Christopher looked around like he’d never really taken a look at it. “You know, you’re right.” He shrugged. “I still like it.”

  “I do too.”

  “Here, have a seat.” Christopher gestured to the black-leather-cushioned barstool seats that lined his island. He bustled around, starting a kettle, putting out a plate and biscuits. He looked about like August had felt for the past hour. “Sorry, I’m a mess.” Christopher laughed softly and shook his head. “I just can’t believe you’re here.”

  “I’m not sure how I got here, to be honest. If you’d have asked me a week ago….”

  “I know.” Christopher looked down. It was only the whistle of his old-fashioned stovetop kettle that made him look up. Another detail from the past. Christopher had never liked the plug-in kettles, always preferred what he called the real thing. “Is Yorkshire okay?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  Three years of mornings together, Yorkshire tea and scones before class. It all felt so familiar, with the exception of the luxurious kitchen in a ridiculously expensive London mansion.

  “So how far down does this place go? Are you one of the ones digging out pools and ballrooms beneath the London streets?” August asked. He’d heard about the mega rich trying to expand their already high-priced properties by tunneling down to add luxurious extras when they weren’t allowed to build up.

  “Not me, no. There is another level below this, but it was here when I bought the place. I wouldn’t do that. The last thing I need is an in-home cinema or a racquetball court.”

  “You aren’t supposed to do more than one level in Chelsea anyway, right?”

  August didn’t know why he was asking about building codes. Probably because it was a hell of a lot less scary than what they needed to talk about.

  “Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe?” Christopher shrugged.

  “What’s down there?”

  He looked a bit embarrassed. “A pool. I don’t use it very often. I’m not a big entertainer.”

  August took a long swallow of his tea and tried to picture late night swims and Christopher in trunks barely hanging on by his narrow hips.

  “I guess we need to talk about what happened at Longwick,” August finally said. “That’s why I came.”

  “I told you I wouldn’t interfere in the wedding anymore. Please take Libby back.”

  August smiled. “I did.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “I think she might have managed to wrangle having me and Will at her beck and call. It didn’t take much work, to be honest.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Christopher smiled into his tea. “Libby is very persuasive.”

  “That she is.” August looked at the collection of cookbooks on the shelf next to the oven. “You don’t have to stay out of the way. I’ve known the deal this whole time. You’re a big part of Libby’s life, and she wants your participation in her wedding. I’m not going to take part of the experience away from one of our best clients.”

  “Client….” Christopher sounded like he was testing out the word. He also looked like he didn’t like the thought of being seen as a client to August. “Where do we go from here, then?”

  “I don’t know.” August did know. At least he knew that he wanted to kiss Christopher in his posh kitchen and then maybe in his huge posh bed in his huge posh bedroom. He just didn’t know how to bridge the gap from awkward to much, much better. “I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s a pretty big problem.” He cracked a smile.

  “I haven’t stopped thinking of you since we were kids. I know all about that problem.”

  “What do you do when you’re not thinking about me?” August asked. “I don’t know anything about your life.”

  Christopher shrugged. “Nothing exciting. I do some investment work with a firm part time. I’m involved in a bunch of charities. Typical stuff, to be honest. I spent a few years on the international party circuit, trying to distract myself from the fact that I wasn’t happy without you, but I settled down a few years ago, got a dog, moved in near Libby and Edward. My life is pretty quiet.”

  “Quiet can be good.” Aside from his job and a few small groups of friends, August’s life was pretty quiet as well.

  They didn’t say anything for a long time after that. August realized he didn’t quite know what questions to ask or even where to start talking. They used to talk for hours, about everything under the stars and sun. Maybe they were too different now, after years apart and lives started in separate directions. Maybe—

  “I just want you to know I’m different. I mean, I’m still me, but not the me who left you like that. I’m the me who wanted my ring on your finger and three kids and a dog. I’d never leave you like that again. I barely want to let you out of my sight.”

  Okay, going for the serious stuff. Not awkward.

  “I get that, Christopher. I do. I just don’t know how we could make it work.”

  “Do you want to?” Christopher’s eyes were huge dark pools. The shell he’d been wearing most of the time since Christmas was dissolving quickly, and in its place was the Christopher August had known—hopeful, loving, sweet, and unsure.

  “For the record, yes. I would, but we have the same problems we always did.”

  “We don’t. I’d never do that to you again.” He clenched his jaw stubbornly.

  “You’re still involved with all the same people, though. You still have the same family.” August coughed. “I mean, not that I’m saying we’re going to do this, but if we did, the same problems are still right where we left them.”

  “I don’t see many of those people very often. I have my obligations, but we’re not close. I don’t really see my parents either.”

  “You said that back at Longwick.” But it was still his life, even if he’d spent years hiding from it.

  “It’s true.” Christopher put his tea down and rounded the island to look at August. “You’re here for a reason. We both know that we’re it for each other. Can we just… at least try to get to know each other again? I’m not going to ask more than that, but I think we should try.”

  “You think it’s a good idea?”

  “Have you been very happy without us?”

  “No.” He’d been content; he’d been pleased with his job and his apartment and friends, but happy? Glowing incandescently happy like he had been back in school? No.

  “I haven’t either. We need each other, babe. We always have.”

  “Yeah. I’m starting to think so too.”

  August didn’t stay long after that—it was too tempting to do something he’d probably regret, with Christopher dressed in that old T-shirt and soft tracksuit bottoms. They drank tea and talked for a bit longer, and he promised to let Christopher take him out and get to know him better, but then he left. With much protestation on Christopher’s behalf.

  By the time he got to the Maida Vale tube station, August’s grin had faded, but the warmth in his chest, the tentative hopeful warmth, hadn’t gone anywhere.

  Chapter Seven

  THEIR first date didn’t happen on purpose. They’d agreed to take things slow, and as much as Christopher wanted to show up at Helena Preston that morning with flowers and kisses, he’d only texted August once—after he admitted he’d added August’s number back on his phone minutes after he deleted it. August had texted back saying he was hungry, and Christopher, well, he couldn’t let that opportunity go. It felt like days since they’d talked in his kitchen, when really it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours. Christopher answered, asked August if he wanted to take a quick break for lunch, and then when he got an affirmative answer, he went to Pret and loaded up on sandwiches and cookies and drinks.

  August agreed to meet him at the office and walk in the surprisingly warm day to Hyde Park to eat. Christopher found a blanket in a shop, bought
it, and practically ran to August’s office. It wasn’t until he was there with a bag of food and a blanket in hand that he realized he hadn’t even thought to call his driver. Instead, he stood more nervous than he ever remembered being, in front of August’s building. He and August hadn’t ever had the nervous first date stage the first time. They’d just fallen into each other in the heady rush of new experiences.

  August poked his head out of the office. “Ready?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” Christopher wasn’t ready, but he hadn’t thought this moment would ever come, and he’d be damned if he lost it over nerves.

  August followed him out of the building, and they headed toward the park. It wasn’t a long walk, but it still felt really weird to just walk along the streets with no buffer of driver or valet or club. Christopher didn’t know how to just exist in London, even though he’d been there for a number of years. It had never sunk into his skin like it seemed to with Libby and Edward. Either he didn’t love cities in general, or this just wasn’t the one for him. At least it hadn’t been until August was in it. Then it became his favorite place on earth.

  “You okay?” August asked.

  “A little nervous, to tell the truth. I didn’t know it would feel like this.”

  “Hey. It’s fine. Just a little lunch, right?”

  Christopher looked over at him. He was so gorgeous all Christopher wanted to do was touch. Run his fingers over the flaming tips of August’s hair and see if they felt like warm silk still. He didn’t think he had the right to do that just yet, so he smiled. “Yes. Just a little bit of lunch.”

  “If it makes you feel better, I’m nervous too. It’s been a long time since I’ve even been on a date. And it’s… well, it’s you.”

  They used to be so comfortable together, like that favorite sweater or a nap on a rainy day—but exciting at the same time. All of the excitement was back, but the comfort wasn’t there yet. Probably because Christopher didn’t quite know how to act. His sophisticated rich-guy facade was the opposite of right, but the nervous shy reality underneath wasn’t exactly impressive either.