THE week leading up to the New York opening had been hectic. Marcus also had to sign off on plans for the Birmingham refit back in England, ensure the restaurant roster in London was sorted for his time away, and get the results of his medical—something the US investors had insisted upon—which fortunately came back all clear. Apart from work, he and Tom had managed to get together three steamy times; twice in Marcus’s apartment over lunch, and another whole night together on Tom’s “Friday night with the boys” pub night. And even though Marcus enjoyed their time together—especially the overnights—he was looking forward to doing regular things with Tom and the girls, to being with them together in New York.
Everything had been settled by the time they needed to leave. Tom had managed to get time off work but would need to attend one or two meetings via a web video chat program. Marcus would, of course, be called upon to talk to the press and make appearances in the restaurant whenever requested. But apart from that, they were set to go. Tina’s travel agent had arranged four economy seats together on their transatlantic flight flying out that Saturday morning. Although Marcus had to sacrifice his usual business-class luxuries, the payoff was well worth it. Tom and Marcus sat on each of the aisle seats with the girls in between. Both girls behaved perfectly, mesmerized by the airline’s entertainment system and cartoon films. Then, as arranged, a car picked them up from JFK and whisked them off to the luxury apartment for the beginning of their seven-night stay.
Everything went perfectly—until they reached the apartment.
“I am not sharing a bed with Charlie, Daddy. I want my own bed. You know what happened last time we went on holiday. She kicked me three times in her sleep and then pulled the covers off the bed.”
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not!”
“How would you know, anyway, stupid? You were asleep.”
“Stop it, the pair of you!”
Tom rubbed at the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. He had made the suggestion to Marcus at Gatwick airport that the two of them share the bedroom with the single beds and the girls could take the super king-size in the other. That way, once the girls were fast asleep, Tom might be able to sneak over during the night for a chat—or whatever.
Until Little Miss Cockblock had decided to scupper their plans.
“This bed is huge, Katie. Charlie’s going to be way over the other side.”
They all stood in the doorway to the master bedroom, cases still unpacked until the decision was made.
“I don’t care. She won’t stay there. You know what Granny calls her. Miss Fidget-pot Kickboxer.”
“Katie—” began Tom.
“Tom, it’s fine. Let the girls have the single beds. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Neither of us could fit on that thing. Your legs will be dangling over the end, and if I took it, my feet would be touching the floor.”
Tom had a point. Funnily enough, Marcus remembered the couch being bigger. But then he’d never had to sleep on the thing. Charlotte didn’t help matters by bursting into giggles at the image of Tom or Marcus’s feet hanging over the end.
“How about you sleep in here with me, then?” Tom asked Katie.
“I want my own bed,” said Katie, hands on her hips. “This is so stupid. Why can’t you and Uncle Marcus share the big bed? It’s made for grown-ups, not for us kids.”
For a moment Marcus couldn’t believe his ears. He looked eagerly over the girls’ heads to Tom, just as Tom spun his gaze around with as much keenness.
“No, I want to sleep with Daddy in the big bed,” said Charlotte out of the blue. “Can I, Daddy? Can I?”
Tom sighed and smiled down at his daughter before catching Marcus’s gaze and giving him an apologetic shrug that said “we’re not going to win this one.”
“Of course you can, princess. Okay, now that’s settled, let’s all get unpacked.”
Later that evening, with both girls asleep in their separate bedrooms, Tom and Marcus shared some adult time on the couch. But a kiss and cuddle was about all they were going to be allowed.
“I’m really sorry about this, Marcus,” said Tom, smoothing his thumb along Marcus’s bottom lip, a little habit of Tom’s that Marcus had warmed to.
“Not your fault. It’s their holiday too. Don’t let it spoil things.”
“Still,” said Tom.
ON Tuesday and Wednesday, the day before and the day of the launch, Marcus had to spend the whole day in the restaurant. Twice Marcus had opened restaurants, so he knew that things rarely went to plan and he needed to be ready to face challenges. Last-minute alterations had to be made to some of the furniture—if there was one thing Marcus couldn’t stand, it was tables that wobbled even slightly whenever anything was placed on them—tablecloths and napkins had not been delivered, pictures had yet to be hung on walls. In the kitchen, however, everything seemed to be going well. Kurt had recruited expertly, and the people around Marcus already felt like family, working with and around one another seamlessly, like a well-oiled machine.
By six o’clock on opening day, with all staff—kitchen and front of house—assembled out front, not only had Marcus cooked a range of the menu dishes and specials for all the staff to sample so that they could advise customers on choices with complete and expert authority, but he also gave his customary rousing speech.
At seven o’clock, with everyone at their stations, the doors opened and a steady stream of people entered. In his London restaurants, although most of the tables would be available for booking, he always made sure the remainder were left free for walk-ins. No such luck in New York. Demand had been off the scale, and Kurt had been keen to get bums on seats. Which, of course, meant that the kitchen was soon buzzing with activity. At around nine thirty, Kurt came into the kitchen to find him.
“Marcus,” he said, “come on, buddy. Your presence is required. It’s showtime.”
When Marcus stepped out from the kitchen in his kitchen whites, he was not only met with camera flashes and huge applause, but a couple of people actually rose from their seats to give him a standing ovation. Now that had never happened in either of his other openings—perhaps this was an American cousin thing—and he instantly felt himself blushing.
After he had spoken to and thanked the many guests and had any number of photos taken with them, he finally made his way over to the table where Tom and the girls sat. Kurt had reserved them one of the booths, which they shared with another couple and their son, a boy around the same age as Katie.
“Uncle Marcus. Are you famous now?” said Charlotte as he approached.
“Is he really your uncle?” asked the boy, aghast, staring at Katie. “Really?”
“Yes, and he cooks for us at home sometimes,” said Charlotte proudly. “He went to school with our mummy, but she died. And he’s our godfather.”
“That is way cool,” said the boy.
Marcus came up and gave Charlotte a kiss on the cheek and then Katie. Once finished, he nodded to Tom and shook hands with the two other adults.
“Larry and Karen Flynn,” said the man, enthusiastically pumping Marcus’s hand. “And this is our son, Bradley. It’s an honor to meet you, sir. That was one darned fine meal. My grandmother came from Ireland, and she made a fish pie just like the one you served up today.”
“Thank you for those kind words. And that looks suspiciously like my signature carrot cake, Mr. Bradford.”
“You know I can’t resist,” said Tom with a wink. “Larry and Karen are up from Jacksonville. Karen’s brother’s in The Lion King on Broadway. They’ve been giving us some tips on where to visit while we’re here. We’ve arranged to go up the Empire State together tomorrow. Are you still going to be working?”
Marcus looked around the restaurant and let out a sigh. “Looks like it. Sorry, Tom. We’re open for lunch as well tomorrow, so I need to show my face, at least.”
ON their last full day, Friday, Marcus finally managed to get some time off, but had agreed to remain in the apartment in case he was required on short notice. Tom and the girls had gone out with the Flynns again, this time to finally ride the Staten Island Ferry. But Tom had warned Marcus that he needed to get back at midday to take an online video call with his client and partner back in the UK early in the afternoon. Marcus could see that they had really warmed to the Flynns and was not surprised when they all came back to the apartment, looking wet and bedraggled.
“Hello, you guys,” said Marcus, coming around the bar of the small kitchen. “How was it? I think some of you could use a hot drink, yes?”
A general murmur of assent came from the adults in the group.
“Started off great,” said Tom, grimacing. “Until the heavens opened.”
“It was brilliant,” said Katie, kicking off her boots. “We got lots of photos.”
While the clan went about getting out of wet coats, Marcus prepared pots of hot tea with honey and lemon for the kids, mugs of his Kenyan brew coffee for himself and the Flynns, and a mug of strong black tea for Tom.
As they sat around warming their hands on the coffee mugs, each took turns telling him about their morning adventure. Katie especially had fulfilled one of her dreams and also seemed to have made a good friend of young Brad. After a whispered conversation with her husband, Karen, who had noticed Tom glance at his watch a couple of times, chipped into the conversation.
“Tom, the offer’s still on. My brother’s confirmed as many free tickets as we want to see him in the matinee today. It starts in about an hour’s time. Perfect antidote for this weather. I know you said you had to do your work thing, but I wondered if you’d thought any more about letting us take the girls to see the show?”
Tom faltered for a minute, but both Katie and Charlotte pounced on the idea.
“Yes, Daddy,” said Katie eagerly, her hands on his knees. “Please say yes.”
“We’ll have them back by five,” said Karen. “And I might even be able to get them backstage to meet my brother and the rest of the cast.”
“Pleeeaaaasssseee, Daddy,” said Charlotte, pulling on his trouser leg.
“If you’re absolutely sure,” said Tom. “I’d join you too, but I’ve got this call with the UK—”
“I know,” said Larry sympathetically. “But it’s their last day and all. And not only would they keep our Brad company, but I’m sure the last thing you need is having bored kids under your feet while you’re trying to do business.”
“Good point,” said Tom before turning to Marcus, a hint of a smile on his face. “And of course they can go.”
All of the kids began jumping up and down, yelping for joy. Even though the noise was deafening, Marcus’s look of surprise had Tom grinning broadly. Had he planned the whole thing so that they could be alone?
“But don’t you want to join them, Marcus?” asked Tom, milking the situation. “I mean, you’ve barely had any fun time at all.”
“No can do, mate,” said Marcus, returning a mock grimace. “I’m on call. Could be needed at a moment’s notice. So I’m afraid you’re going to be stuck with me for the afternoon.”
“That’s settled, then,” said Karen, rising from her seat. “We’ll all fit in one cab—if we can get one in this weather—and be in there in fifteen minutes. I’ll text my brother and tell him we’re on our way.”
As soon as the door closed on them, Marcus threw his arms around Tom’s neck and pecked him on the lips. “You crafty so-and-so. You orchestrated that, didn’t you?”
“Maybe,” said Tom, nuzzling Marcus’s neck. “Seemed only fair that we finally get some time to ourselves. Agreed?”
“I so agree.”
“Good. So let me get this conference call out of the way and then I’m all yours. Just give me a couple of minutes,” said Tom, releasing Marcus and disappearing into the main bedroom.
Marcus could not believe their luck. Whistling to himself, he kept busy by collecting the cups and mugs around the room and filling the sink with soapy water. While washing up, he sent up a silent prayer that Kurt would not call, that he and Tom could have some private time. When the bedroom door opened, Marcus continued cleaning.
“Marcus” came Tom’s deep voice.
When Marcus glanced around, Tom Bradford leaned against the doorjamb, naked except for a pair of brand-new white Calvin Klein briefs—an extremely well-loaded pair of briefs. Marcus dropped the mug he had been rinsing, his mouth falling open. Tom looked incredible, better than any model Marcus had ever seen—would have even given Fereddique a run for his money.
“Come on, baby. We’re on the clock,” said Tom, beckoning with his forefinger and backing into the bedroom.
“What about your conference call?” said Marcus, unbuttoning his jeans as he headed toward the bedroom.
“Canceled,” said Tom, pushing Marcus onto the bed and pulling the jeans off him. “We managed to cover everything yesterday. We’ve won another contract, so I’m celebrating too. Gonna be a shedload of work for the next six months, but at least we get to keep all our guys busy. Now get the hell naked, will you?”
As Marcus pulled the sweatshirt over his head, he noticed that Tom had already placed condoms and lube on the nightstand. Not that long since their first sexual encounter and Marcus already had Tom well trained. Tom had been about to pull down his own underpants, but Marcus swatted his hands away.
“My job,” said Marcus, slowly rolling them down Tom’s large hairy thighs, until Tom’s cock bounced out, fully engorged and ready for action.
Sitting on the side of the bed with Tom standing in front of him, Marcus took Tom in his mouth, wrapping a hand around the girth. In the short time they had been together, Marcus had learned a lot about Tom, what he enjoyed in bed and what really got his motor running. Above him, Tom’s breathing became raspy and—yes—when Marcus moved his hand up to Tom’s chest, his nipple was already as stiff as a metal bolt. After sucking both balls into his mouth and pumping the girth a couple of times, Marcus knew Tom would soon take the lead.
Today Marcus sensed an urgency in Tom, a hunger for gratification. Because of their short bursts of time together, this had become something mutual, but even so, Tom was not a selfish lover; he always made sure that Marcus came with him all the way. But today Marcus shared Tom’s need. Until Tom did something completely unexpected. Taking Marcus under the arms and lifting him back onto the bed, he climbed on top and straddled Marcus.
“Tom, what are you doing?” said Marcus.
“I want this. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. Sometimes I lie awake at night, use some lube, and put my fingers in there, wondering just how you’d feel inside me. Why? Don’t you want to?”
“Fuck, yes. Of course I want to. I just need to know you’re comfortable doing it.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Tom went quiet then, and Marcus glanced up into his lustful gaze. Before the man changed his mind, Marcus grabbed a condom, ripped open the foil, and rolled the latex onto himself. Above him, Tom prepared himself with generous amounts of lube. This was going to happen, Marcus told himself.
“Come on, then,” said Marcus. “You’re in charge. Take your time.”
Tom lowered himself onto Marcus, far quicker and surer than Marcus would have believed. Sweat glistened on his brow, but eventually he felt himself fully inside Tom, with Tom’s still-erect cock resting on his stomach. With that, Tom leaned forward, placed his large hands on either side of Marcus’s head, and kissed him leisurely.
“Tom,” said Marcus after a few moments, “you need to start moving.”
Tom complied immediately, after a while bouncing up and down on Marcus, each time his huge member slapping Marcus on the stomach. Eventually Marcus could hold on no longer and cried out Tom’s name as he shot into the condom.
When they lay next to each other, both panting, Marcus swung his head to examine Tom.
“And?” he asked.
“Interesting,” said Tom, who had not climaxed. “Might take a bit of getting used to. Maybe preparing myself better beforehand.”
“Let’s save that for an overnighter. I can help out there.”
“Yes?” said Tom, his eyes lighting.
“Fuck yeah,” said Marcus, chuckling. “I would be honored.”
“In the meantime,” said Tom, reaching out for a condom, “any chance of a fuck?”
Since that first time, Marcus had eagerly looked forward to being fucked by Tom. Something had happened that he’d never experienced before, like trying a type of cuisine you’d never considered before but which now gave you an insatiable appetite. Marcus also let Tom lube him up, loved watching Tom’s eagerness.
Before long they rocked into their comfortable rhythm until Tom’s pumping motion sped up, becoming more erratic. In Marcus, the electricity built, growing stronger until release overcame him. Orgasms with Tom inside him were so incredibly intense. Next time he had the chance to fuck Tom, he needed make the experience better.
For the next half hour, they lay holding each other, spent. Strange, too, because Marcus had never been a cuddler. Usually after sex, he’d be the first one out of the door. In small ways, Tom was changing him. Intimacy was becoming his friend.
The one to notice the late time, Tom roused them both. Marcus sighed at the inequality of their short time together. But this session had been a first, Tom giving himself to Marcus. Marcus needed to reciprocate, to give something in return.
Tom sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his trousers. For some reason Marcus felt an overwhelming apprehension, but he knew he had to finally tell Tom what he knew about Damian Stone.
“Tom,” said Marcus.
Marcus had only uttered that one word, but Tom must have sensed Marcus’s seriousness, because he stopped what he was doing and turned his way.
“Do you remember that policeman friend of mine? From the water park.”
Tom said nothing, but his gaze became dark. Whatever he was thinking was probably way off the mark, but Marcus had to keep going now.
“Well, I asked him to do me a favor and try to find out about Damian Stone.”
“And?”
“And we found out where he lived. I went there with him to see if we could find anything out. Turns out Damian Stone did go to the same yoga class as Raine. He was also in a committed relationship with another man.”
That remark managed to get Tom’s full attention. “He was gay?”
“Yup. We spoke to his partner. Damian Stone also moonlighted, a bit of catering on the side. The reason why Raine was in his car that day—at least this is what I assume from everything else I know—is that they were heading down to Chipping Norton to check out a venue for a party.”
Tom was staring at the wall now. “Whose party?”
“That’s the thing. I still have no idea. The woman at the venue said Raine was arranging a seventieth birthday party, but I don’t know anyone—”
Tom had dropped his head into his hands, and Marcus could see his shoulders shaking and hear a soft sobbing. Marcus got up immediately and went to him, put his arm around his shoulders. “Tom?”
“All this time” came Tom’s muffled voice.
“I know. But you didn’t have all the information.”
“How long have you known?”
“Not long. A couple of months. But I didn’t have all the facts. I’ve still no idea who the party was for. Not John or Moira, that’s clear.”
“You seriously don’t know?”
Marcus shook his head and then looked curiously at Tom. “No. Do you?”
“Pretty bloody obvious. The answer’s here in this room. The year she died, you were about to turn thirty and—”
“You were turning forty. Shit. You mean the surprise party was for the two of us?”
“And all this time I’ve had a nagging doubt that maybe, just maybe, she’d betrayed me. When right now, it feels like it’s the other way around.”
“Don’t say that, Tom.”
“I asked you to leave this alone, Marcus. I told you I didn’t want to know.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
They spent their final evening in New York together at an Italian restaurant with the Flynns and then, after promising to keep in touch, headed back to the apartment. Although Tom remained friendly and civil around the Flynns, he became quiet in Marcus’s company.
Even on the flight home the next morning, Tom remained sad and sullen. Despite the success of the New York opening, Tom’s reaction to Marcus’s admission had tarnished Marcus’s jubilation. Should he have kept quiet? Not said anything? But the answer to that was clear. He had a duty to his late best friend and to Tom to set the record straight, even if that meant losing everything he had only recently gained.