Page 44 of Finding Grey

TWENTY-TWO

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DANTE

I woke early, my front curled against Sean’s back. Warm and comfortable though I was, the previous evening’s events quickly intruded.

How did I not know Sean was Grey? Was I stupid, or just incredibly blind?

For years, I’d believed I would never meet Grey again. Surely fate wouldn’t be so kind as to grant us a second chance. I’d become so convinced of the impossibility of our reunion, that even when he stood right in front of me with his grey eyes and familiar features, I didn’t see him. Once the flawed assumption had been made, it never occurred to me to challenge it. And Sean, being the liar Grey had apparently become, took his sweet time correcting me.

So many little things made sense now. Moments when he’d stared at me too long or made comments that seemed out of place. I must have provided a great many laughs. Dante Sinclair—rock star and clueless moron.

Renewed anger made me fidgety and I climbed out of bed. Pausing only to gather my discarded clothing, I headed into the next room to dress. As I pulled on my shirt, my gaze snagged on the bookshelves and I recalled Sean’s discomfort at seeing me inspect them the first time I came in here. At the time, I’d suspected he was hiding something. Now I knew what that something was, I found my curiosity renewed.

Books took up most of the limited shelf space, although there were no paperbacks or textbooks. These were larger and uniform in shape. Pulling one off the shelf at random, I saw the embossed logo on the bottom right-hand corner of the cover.Visions by Grey.Swearing under my breath, I flipped through the pages. This was why Sean hadn’t wanted me to snoop into his books. They were his own personal portfolio. If I’d seen even one of them, I would have realised he wasn’t the amateur photographer he claimed, and he would have been caught out in one of his many lies.

One by one, I slid the photo books off the shelf and flipped through them. Some contained portraits of people and families, some were from weddings. The photos were beautiful, and I had no doubt they were treasured by Sean’s clients. Landscapes and other nature shots made up a thinner book. Sean preferred photographing people, it seemed.

I also found evidence of his earlier work, from the years when he travelled with his Dad. There were photos of bands who’d been headliners in their day, some still were. Casual closeups outside music venues, in backstage areas and dressing rooms, on tour buses. They were gritty and revealing, showcasing his natural talent. I’d never seen any of them before.I only take photos of the bands who know me. I send the photos directly to them.The words reached out to me from the past, reminding me of Sean’s innate professional integrity. It had been highly developed, even back when he was nothing more than a scrawny teenager.

If only his sense of honour had extended to his personal life, we wouldn’t have ended up in this mess. We could have celebrated our reunion, instead of struggling our way to it. If only…

Thin and black, the book containing Sean’s photos of me was jammed into the bottom shelf. I flipped through the well-thumbed pages without pausing for a closer inspection. There was no way I could look at forty-three pictures of myself, most of which were indistinguishable from each other, without dying of boredom. A young Sean, on the other hand, had apparently enjoyed the experience, if the suspicious marks on a number of the pages was any indication. Amusement curved my lips as I wished, as I always had, that I could go back to that night—and ask the beautiful boy I’d kissed for his name.

“Good morning.”

With a sigh, I closed the book and looked up. Sean stood in the doorway with the sheet wrapped around him. My eyes roamed his partially visible torso. He was still beautiful, everything I’d ever dreamed of wanting in a man. Dragging my gaze back to his face, I lifted one eyebrow. “Visions by Grey?”

He glanced at the bookshelf, then back to me. “I liked the name you gave me. When I started my business, it seemed the obvious choice. There isn’t much of a business left at the moment, but that will change soon enough.”

“Why is that?” I asked with surprise. “Are you leaving the retreat?”

He nodded. “It was never meant to be permanent. You’re my last guest.”

A snort sounded in the back of my throat. “At least I’m sending you off with a bang,” I muttered.

“You can’t take it back.” When I glanced up, his chin lifted in defiance. “The name, I mean. It belongs to me now.”

If I dared to look, I’d probably have trouble finding a part of me that didn’t belong to him.

Dropping the book onto the coffee table, I stood. “I’m going into the house to make us some coffee. Meet me in there when you’re dressed.” I tried not to think about his naked body under the sheet. If I allowed my mind to stray, we’d end up back in his bed. “We need to talk,” I added as I headed for the back door.

He joined me in less than five minutes, just as I finished making the coffee. We sat at the counter, side-by-side, eight-years’ worth of distance between us.

“What do you want to know?” he asked, taking a sip.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were when I got here?” It seemed the most fundamental question, and it gave us a place to start. “That was a little unfair, don’t you think? You knowing we had a history together while I stumbled around in the dark.” When he didn’t immediately reply, I pushed harder. “Were you pissed off when I didn’t recognise you?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

“Good, because eight years is a long time to remember a face I saw for all of half an hour, and you look different now.” He turned those grey eyes on me with a dubious expression. “Except for the obvious,” I added.

“I didn’t think our brief history mattered at first. I didn’t think you’d remember me.” He turned to face me, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you have any idea how embarrassing that would have been? Hey Dante, do you remember the skinny boy you kissed nearly a decade ago? No? Well, that was me, we totally had a relationship.” He barked out a laugh at the absurdity of the idea. “I do have some self-respect.”

“Not remember you?” I cried. “That skinny boy changed my life, Sean. Everything was different after you. And then, you up and disappeared. I didn’t even know your name.”

“I didn’t disappear, I went home—after your father tossed me out like a piece of trash.” His voice rose with each word. “And the reason you didn’t know my name was because you never bothered to ask.”