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Chapter 2

“What’s your favorite pasta shape?”

Evan looked up from his plate—which was definitely not a pasta of any sort—to see Ben slipping into the adjacent chair, which Duncan had just vacated to dance with his partner.

“Linguine.” Evan set down his fork. “Why? Is there another course to be served before the cake?”

“No, thank God.” Ben set his phone on the table between them, then covered it with what looked like the run sheet for the reception. “I just wanted to ask a question that wouldn’t make you sad. So why linguine?”

Evan considered a suggestive answer involving the word mouthfeel , but didn’t want to lead Ben on. After the rush of their initial chemistry, he’d quickly come to his senses and faced reality.

He couldn’t hook up with Ben—couldn’t so much as have dinner with him—without having MI5 check his background first. Evan had seen colleagues get suspended, even sacked, for failing to follow this protocol. Ben seemed a law-abiding citizen, but if he had dodgy acquaintances or even innocent connections to a hostile foreign power, Evan could lose everything by getting close to him. He’d not made life-shattering sacrifices only to risk his career over a fleeting attraction in a moment of vulnerability.

“Linguine’s like spaghetti,” Evan said, “but with more integrity.”

“That’s the best answer I’ve ever heard.” Ben leaned close and spoke over the din of dance music. “Did you know ‘linguine’ is Italian for ‘little tongues’?”

Evan felt twin waves of heat move up the sides of his neck. “I didn’t know that.”

“Ziti’s my favorite.” Ben gave a coy shrug. “No profound reason—it just feels good in my mouth.”

Evan coughed and shifted in his seat. Must. Resist. But with Ben wearing that impish look and once again biting that delectable lower lip, resistance would take all his strength tonight. “My turn to ask you a question.”

“Yaaaas!” Ben pumped his fist. “Anything.”

“Promise not to turn it round and make it about me?”

“Whatever. I promise. Ask.”

“Why do you love weddings so much?”

“Apart from the kilts?”

“Apart from the kilts.” Evan picked up his glass of wine. “Take your time to think what you really want to say. I’ll wait.” As he sipped, he took the opportunity to scan the room, ensuring no one new and suspicious had arrived. Soon he’d give in to the urge to go out in the snow for a perimeter check.

“Weddings make the world a better place,” Ben said finally.

“How?”

“A better world comes from better people.” Ben folded Duncan’s discarded napkin as he spoke, the olive tone of his hands a warm complement to the ivory linen. “And love makes people better. I don’t mean just the couple who are marrying. The guests, too. Going to a good wedding, it sort of rejuvenates the soul, you know?”

Evan nodded, and not just out of politeness, for he actually agreed. As painful as this night had been, on another level it was…if not healing , at least restorative.

“At every wedding,” Ben said, “I see guests filing in wearing these cynical looks. Maybe they don’t like the couple, or they like one half but hate the other half and think the first half is making a terrible mistake. Or maybe they’re happy for the couple but unhappy in general for their own reasons.” He turned the napkin over and kept folding, his slim, graceful fingers moving faster than Evan could keep up with. “Maybe they’re feeling poorly or had a bad week at their job. Maybe they just got divorced. By my estimate, roughly 45% of wedding guests are miserable when they show up. My goal is to have 100% of them happy—or at least happi er —when the night is over.”

“One hundred percent? Is that realistic?”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Ben tucked the corners of the napkin into its fold. “I know I can’t singlehandedly save the world by laying the perfect table, but I believe the happiness generated in this room contributes to a larger, I don’t know, pool of planetary positivity.” He set down the completed napkin, in the form of a floppy-eared rabbit, and nudged it against Evan’s forearm.

Something flipped over inside Evan, and he was stabbed with a sudden sadness. This man was too kind, too pure a soul to suffer through life with a spy. Evan would only sully him, maybe one day break his heart as he’d broken Fergus’s.

Ben was too good for him.

“What about you?” Ben asked. “Do you save the world for a living?” He tilted his head, then removed his glasses and pulled out the scarlet handkerchief from his suit pocket. “What is your job, anyway? Something exciting, I’ll bet.”

The time for honesty was over. “I’m an architect, like Fergus. But mind on, you promised not to make the question about me.”

“I was hoping you forgot.” Ben carefully polished his lenses with the handkerchief. “I was only wondering whether you were one of those people who think making the world a better place is an irrelevant dream and that we should all just look after ourselves and our own.”

“I’m definitely not one of those people.” Evan paused. “Life would be easier if I was.” Then I could take what I wanted, which right now is you.

Ben’s phone bleeped. He looked at the run sheet. “That’s cake time. I need to go.” He paused. “You’ll be all right?”

Evan didn’t want to watch Fergus and John feed each other cake, because half of the guests would be watching him for his reaction, as they’d done during the first dance. “I’ll keep myself busy. Maybe I’ll shovel the snow between here and the nearest road. It’s only what, two miles?”

“Och, the snow!” Ben lurched to his feet, scraping the chair against the ancient stone floor. “I need to see about all these guests. They’ll need rooms, towels, toothbrushes—oh my God, there’s so much to remember.”

“I’ll do it.”

Ben stopped. “Why?”

“To help you. You’ve enough on your plate.” Also, Evan would feel safer knowing who every guest was and where they were staying. “I’ll get the list from Lord Andrew and sort it all with his parents.”

Ben’s shoulders slumped with relief. “You, sir, are a Christmas angel.”

“Six days late, but okay.”

“A Hogmanay angel, then.” Ben took a step away, then stopped again. “Be sure to come back by three o’clock to sing ‘Auld Lang Syne.’”

“I’ll be here.” Though he knew he shouldn’t, Evan wanted to see Ben one last time.

As he set out on his task, Evan made his first New Year’s resolution: He’d take his father’s advice to try and meet someone within MI5. There were no other gay men at the Glasgow regional office—total staff usually numbered around thirty—but next time he went to headquarters in London he’d seek out one of the lads who’d shown interest in the past.

After seeing Fergus and John marry, Evan knew one thing: He didn’t want to be alone anymore. And after meeting Ben, Evan knew another thing: He couldn’t risk ruining the life of another good man.

* * *

“Heard you got the best room in the castle,” Duncan told Ben as the reception neared the end. “Other than Fergus and John, obviously—but only just.”

“Who told you that?”

“Lord Andrew. Evan arranged it, said you deserved it for all the hard work you did.” Duncan bobbed his eyebrows. “Or maybe he’s hoping to stay there with you tonight.”

Two hours ago, Ben had hoped for that as well. But Evan had kept his distance ever since Ben had blethered on about weddings whilst folding that ridiculous bunny napkin. What an arse he’d made of himself. He should have kept to shallow flirtation.

But something about Evan pushed all of Ben’s Deep Thought buttons. He wanted to know this man—and be known by him—inside and out. The things he wanted to say and hear weren’t one-night stand material. They were more like first-date or even twentieth-date material. The thought of that terrified him for reasons he wasn’t ready to explore, not while there was still a reception to run.

Soon it came to an end, with the wedding party and guests forming a circle to sing “Auld Lang Syne,” per tradition. Ben searched for Evan, wanting to hold his hand even for just a minute, but Evan was already linking up with two women—a teammate and one of Fergus’s cousins. So Ben settled for standing directly across the circle from him, holding hands with Duncan and Lord Andrew.

“Should auld acquaintance be forgot

And never brought to mind?”

As they sang, Ben found his gaze drawn to Evan again and again. More often than not, Evan was looking back at him. His eyes held a sadness Ben couldn’t decipher. All he knew was that he wanted to wipe it away like a fingerprint on a crystal vase.

“We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,

For auld lang syne.”

When they reached the final verse, everyone crossed arms and moved to the center. As he and Evan came face to face, Ben heard his deep, sweet voice tremble a bit over the words “for auld lang syne.”

Then they parted, the entire circle twisting round to face out before processing back to where they started, this time looking out instead of in. Leaving the past behind, as if that was a thing one could ever truly do.

As the last note faded, Ben turned to look for Evan, who was already heading for the exit to the main part of the castle.

Ben sped through the crowd to catch up to him. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Away to bed,” Evan said without meeting his eyes.

“But there’s a football match on in the courtyard.”

Evan gestured to his suit. “I’m not dressed for football in the snow.”

“Nobody is. Some of them are playing in kilts! At least you’ve got trousers.” He tugged Evan’s sleeve. “’Mon, it’ll be a laugh.”

Evan shook his head. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yes, but we can all have a lie-in tomorrow.” Ben knew Evan wanted to be left alone, but he also knew it was the last thing Evan needed . He attempted a joke. “Would you really abandon your team when they need you most?”

Evan finally looked at him, this time in horror.

Ben put a hand to his mouth. “Oh God.” Abandoning his team was exactly what Evan had done last April, an act that clearly haunted him to this day. “I’m so sorry. I-I didn’t mean?—”

“I know. You weren’t there. You didn’t know me.” Evan turned away. “You don’t know me.”

“But I want to.” Ben stepped into his path. “Please. Isn’t it obvious?” He cringed inside at the desperation in his voice, but he kept his eyes on Evan’s face.

After a long moment, Evan glanced at the door to the courtyard. “Will you be playing?”

Ben barked out a laugh. “Me? I’m the exact opposite of an athlete, and besides, I despise that barbaric sport.”

“Goodnight, then.” Evan turned away again, this time with a hint of a smirk.

Ben stamped his foot. “Fine, I’ll play! If you’ll show me how.”

Ten minutes later, he was almost regretting it—almost. After his third tumble, his trousers were cold and wet from arse to ankle. But giving up wasn’t an option. As Evan taught him the basics, they’d picked up their banter from where they’d left off earlier, and Ben’s hopes began to…well, not soar, but at least take a tentative low-altitude test flight.

The game itself was a high-scoring one, as defending was impossible in the slippery snow. Ben got no goals, but he did manage to dribble halfway down the makeshift pitch before the ball got stuck in a drift. And he only lost his glasses once.

Soon everyone was soaked and shivering, so the game was called on account of widespread hypothermia.

“I heard you procured the best room for me,” Ben told Evan as they all made their way to the entrance of the larger, Victorian-era section of the castle.

“It’s the only one besides the honeymoon suite with a fireplace.” Evan ran a hand through his snow-damp hair, then looked round. “Don’t tell anybody, or they’ll all be wanting in.”

Ben was about to ask whether Evan was one of those “wanting in” when they stepped through the foyer into the Hall of the House. “Oh my God.”

Down the long corridor, a red carpet stretched beneath a series of white plaster arches, each featuring elaborate, elegant crown molding. Beneath their feet was the finest parquet floor Ben had ever seen.

They all made their way up the grand staircase, passing a twenty-foot-high stained-glass window. This wasn’t Ben’s first time staying in a castle—he and his mum had coordinated weddings at several across Scotland—but between the snow, the holiday, and the company, this one seemed downright magical.

Evan stood at the top of the stairs and helped Lord Andrew direct the guests to their rooms while Clive handed out towels, dressing gowns, and other necessities.

Ben held back, letting the others go first—partly out of wedding-planner courtesy but mostly so he could speak to Evan alone.

When it was Ben’s turn, Evan came to him and said, “You’re in the Stag suite, just over here.” Apparently each of the rooms was named after an animal, due to Lord and Lady Kirkross’s impassioned zoophilia.

“Stag sounds fun.” Ben followed him to a door not far from the stairway, noticing Evan hadn’t mentioned which room he himself was staying in.

Evan opened the door for him.

“Whaaaaaaat?” Ben exclaimed as he moved into the room, spinning round to take it all in. A king-size four-poster bed sat before a massive marble fireplace. Every fabric in sight held a sumptuous burgundy-and-gold pattern. Even the bed stairs were elegantly carved mahogany. “And there’s a sitting room, too. This is all for me?”

“You deserve it.”

“No doubt, but I ask again, is this all for me?” Ben slid his fingertips over the silky bedspread. “Seems a pity not to share.”

“Aye,” Evan said softly. He swept his gaze over the bed, then met Ben’s eyes. “Have you got a business card?”

That wasn’t the request Ben had expected, but he recovered quickly. “Why? You thinking of marrying soon?”

“Hmm.” Evan slipped his hands into his pockets and cocked his head. “I might do. One of Fergus’s cousins just came into a bit of money, and I rather fancy being a kept man.”

“Yes, you seem the sort who needs catered to. As am I.”

“Obviously.” Evan’s smirk morphed into a grin that weakened Ben’s knees.

In a move he hoped looked slick, Ben reached into his inside suit pocket and whipped out his sterling-silver business-card holder, a Christmas gift to himself.

Evan gave a low whistle. “Fancy.”

“Isn’t it just?” Ben slipped a card out and snapped the holder shut, then stepped close to Evan, who still smelled like snow. “Don’t lose it.” He reached out and gently took Evan’s right hand from his pocket, placed the card in his palm, then folded Evan’s fingers over it. “Okay?”

“Aye.” Evan’s thumb closed on the back of Ben’s fingers. It gave a single stroke, enough to send shock waves of desire down Ben’s spine.

This time, he couldn’t hide his shiver.

They shared an awkward laugh and let go. “Goodnight, then,” Ben said.

“Goodnight.” Evan crossed the threshold into the hallway, but when he reached back for the door, he hesitated. “Thanks, Ben.”

“For what?”

“For not believing the stories about me.”

“I don’t dis believe them, but I know they don’t tell the whole truth.” Ben went to the door and placed his hand just above Evan’s. “I believe there’s a whole other story. A story no one knows.” As he closed the door, he added, “Yet.”