Page 112 of A Matter of Fact

“I still don’t know why.”

“Like all things, you’ve got something I want, darling.”

“And what’s that?” he rasped.

The server returned to the table with the bottle of wine for tasting, and Rhys waved him off, but Sebastian and Remington returned at the same time, a bundle of energy that Beckett could feel as much as see.

“What?” he repeated, suddenly so full of doubt and uncertainty.

It was easy to believe that he was it for Rhys when they were alone, but sometimes he got these glimpses of the man Rhys had been, or the man he’d been meant to be, and Beckett struggled to fight back his own self-doubt. If his own sister didn’t even want him, why would a man like Rhys? Why would any one of his class or his friends tolerate an interloper like Beckett in their ranks?

Rhys moved swiftly, flattening his hand against Beckett’s chest, just left of center.

“This,” he said, so only Beckett could hear.

Beneath Rhys’s hand, Beckett’s heart skipped a beat.

“Are we good?” Sebastian asked, settling himself back at the table and making as much noise as humanly possible.

Beckett inhaled a shaking breath and glanced down at the sure way Rhys’s fingers spread against his chest and looked up at Sebastian, then to Rhys.

“Yes,” he answered, actually believing the confirmation. “We’re good.”

CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE

RHYS’S PLANS FALL APART

Dinner was fine. It was fine, and it was nice, and Rhys was desperate to get Beckett home and peel him out of those three hundred dollar wool slacks he’d finally let Rhys buy him. But their drinks were empty and Remington would not stop talking, and the damn gold band was burning a hole in his pocket.

He was ashamed to admit he’d been carrying it around for four days, waiting for the right time. Proposing to Beckett was the one thing in his life he refused to plan. The promises he wanted to make to Beckett weren’t anything he could control or orchestrate. He had faith that when the time was right, he would know, and Beckett’s answer would be yes.

“This was nice,” Beckett said, looping his arm through the crook of Rhys’s elbow. “We should do it again.”

He studied Beckett quietly, his posture and composure far more relaxed than when they’d sat down for dinner two hours before. He was happy to have been proven right, that Beckett would adapt with time, and he knew the longer they were together, the easier it would become. Together, they’d both compromised, they’d both sacrificed, they’d both grown. Though Rhys had, on more than one occasion bit back the desire to do something lavish and extravagant to demonstrate his feelings for Beckett. Unlike the past, he knew he didn’t have to. He knew, in his heart, that Beckett wasn’t after his money and had no interest in his name. Beckett wanted him. Beckett loved him. And that made Rhys want to do it all the more.

“We have movie night on Fridays with Jace and Callahan,” Remington said.

“We don’t want to go to that.” Rhys wrinkled his nose. “Don’t worry.”

“Maybe a dinner on Saturday here and there would be good,” Sebastian suggested, shooting Rhys a meaningful look.

“Saturdays are good.”

Beckett leaned into him, swaying on his feet.

“With that…” Rhys gestured away.

“Have a good night,” Beckett told Sebastian and Remington. “And thank you again, for everything before.”

“Water under the bridge.” Sebastian waved him off and headed to the parking lot with Remington’s arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“Are you ready?” Rhys whispered against Beckett’s ear, and Beckett nodded.

Gene was close by and Rhys walked them to the car, helping Beckett into the back seat with barely a struggle.

“Are you drunk, darling?” Rhys asked once they were settled in the back of the town car. He stroked his fingers down the length of Beckett’s thigh to his knee and back again.

“Buzzed,” Beckett mumbled. “And sleepy.”