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I’d tried to apologize to him, but he’d reminded me that the old me either would have escaped the whole thing by blacking out or shutting down to the point that Vaughn would have been able to do anything he wanted to me. He’d said my behavior was more in line with what he would have expected to see.
It’d been a compliment of sorts, though I knew he hadn’t exactly meant it that way. But I’d seen it as me reacting to an extraordinary situation like a normal person instead of a freak who wasn’t in control of his own mind or body.
I hadn’t looked at any of the comments on the posts after that, and Vaughn had made sure none of the guys talked about specific posters and whether or not they were Stylianos if I was around.
The picture I’d had to take with Luca had been another really rough time. The mere act of kneeling at the man’s feet while he’d put his big hand on my head like I was a prized pet had made it really easy to not need to act for the camera. We’d gotten the image in one take and as soon as King had said it would work, Vaughn had told everyone to leave. Luca had already been on his feet, stopping only long enough to help me up. Then he’d been out the door like a shot. I’d stood numbly in Vaughn’s embrace for a while and then we’d gone for a long walk on the beach and he’d held my hand the entire time.
I’d never looked at the picture.
During the week, King and Con had come and gone and Luca had spent most of his time holed up in his office. Dinners were the only times they came together unless they needed to have a strategy meeting.
And while the lack of leads seemed to cause Luca to withdraw into himself more and more, he’d done something very unexpected on my third day at the house.
He’d had flowers delivered.
And not flower arrangements.
Actual flowers.
For me to arrange.
There’d been dozens of types and they’d kept coming each day, along with a slew of different kinds of vases and bases. I’d been shocked, but when I’d tried to thank him, he’d waved me off and told me to put the arrangements where I wanted to in the house. Vaughn had seemed stunned by the gesture as well but hadn’t said anything to Luca.
Most of my days were spent coming up with creative arrangements that incorporated things I found on the beach during my daily walks with Vaughn. And the nights found me wrapped in Vaughn’s arms. When I wasn’t with Vaughn, I was thinking about him.
Yeah, I was definitely addicted to him.
But I didn’t know what that meant when all of this was over.
“Don’t you agree, Aleks?”
The sound of my name drew me from my thoughts.
“What?” I asked. I looked down at the food on my plate and noticed I’d managed to eat quite a bit of it while I’d been lost in thoughts of Vaughn.
That was new too… my body was finally starting to look forward to eating.
Maybe it was all the exercise I was getting by walking on the beach every day?
And grinding against Vaughn’s hard body at night…
“Aleks…”
“What?”
I looked up and realized I’d zoned out again.
Con was the one trying to get my attention.
Jesus, I really needed to focus.
“Sorry, what?” I asked as I put a piece of meat into my mouth. It was some kind of lamb dish that Vaughn and Luca’s mother had made often and that Con had learned how to make. I’d learned recently that although Vidone Covello had been Italian, Theodora had been Greek.
“I said, don’t you think that if Vaughn’s going to wash his pajamas every night, he should invest in more than one pair? How dirty could he possibly be getting them that he’s gotta run to the laundry room every night?”
I began choking on the food at the question. Vaughn’s hand came up to slap me gently on the back. He had a big grin on his face. Con, for his part, seemed to be completely clueless about the loaded question he’d asked.
“Um…”
“Yeah, Aleks, why do you suppose I can’t keep my shorts clean?” Vaughn asked.
“Must be his newfound love of grits,” Luca suddenly said out of the blue.
“Since when do you like grits?” Con asked, still totally oblivious. “Isn’t Aleks the one who likes grits?”
I was still struggling to chew the piece of lamb well enough so I could get it down. Vaughn’s hand was on my back rubbing circles into it. “Yes, he is,” Vaughn murmured.
“Hmmm, guess I’ll need to make another go at making him grits,” Con said absently. “I’m a way better cook than you, Vaughn.”
“Keep your hands off his grits, Con,” Vaughn said as he shot his friend a dark look.
