on my arm…”
“I hate them. I hate them for convincing you that you’re not so much more,” Ilan said quietly.
Julian leaned into his touch and closed his eyes. “It’s…it’s normally not this bad, but with the wedding…”
“And seeing Bryce,” Ilan offered, and Julian nodded.
“This isn’t going to work. Bryce isn’t going to care.”
“He will. There’s no way he doesn’t already regret leaving you. Ashton is an obnoxious, spoiled brat and always has been.” Ilan reached over and cupped his cheek. “Yes, you’re abrasive, and you don’t smile a lot. And yes, you’re the epitome of a grumpy English teacher. But you’re kind, and you are good looking. And I’m willing to pay a stupid amount to make Bryce choke to death on his regret.”
Julian stared at him. “I thought you said it wasn’t that much.”
“I meant not that much for rich assholes like us,” he said with a small smirk.
If Julian hadn’t been against violence—and if he hadn’t been well aware Ilan could kick his ass without even trying—he might have punched him. “I’m not paying for an escort.”
“Well that’s good, because I’ve already agreed to pay him,” Ilan said, primly, picking at his thumbnail.
Julian gave in and did hit him, though it fell useless and limp against Ilan’s impossibly hard bicep. “You’re a dick.”
“But you love me. A lot. Because I found a guy that is going to make Bryce hate every single second of his wedding.”
Julian sat back and covered his face with his hand, sighing quietly to himself. “Great.”
His tone was flat, a little broken, and Ilan reached out to tug his arm down away from his eyes. “Talk to me. Why is this the worst idea in the world?”
“Because it’s not real,” Julian told him, his heart twisting a little. “It’s too much to ask for Bryce to regret leaving me because I was a good husband—and I know this. Because he’s a superficial, shallow waste of space. It just hurts a little to know that I have to hire a hot guy to come with me just to make my ex feel even a second of regret.”
Ilan’s eyes softened with sympathy and he immediately drew Julian into his embrace. “You know, we’d solve a lot of problems if we could fall in love.”
Julian laughed. “We tried that, remember? We were twelve and you gagged for like half an hour after you kissed me.”
Ilan shuddered. “Yes, because it felt wrong. And neither of us were any good at it. I was young and foolish. But listen, you have the hottest dad in the entire world…”
Julian groaned loudly, but it didn’t deter his friend.
“And I see that in you. And your dad isn’t hot just because his body is fucking bangin’. He’s hot because he’s kind and he’s good—and you have all of those things too.”
“He’s also not a goddamn neurotic mess who gave up the potential for a good career to teach asshole teenagers how to hate Shakespeare with a particular virulence.”
“You also use words like virulence in everyday speech, and that’s kind of hot,” Ilan told him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Bryce will always be a fucking moron, and there will be one day when he realizes what he gave up for real. He’ll end his life miserable—and maybe rich, but very alone. And you won’t.”
Julian sighed and desperately wanted to believe that, but he knew it was unlikely. Things inside him were twisted and warped into funny, unrecognizable shapes. Every single day was a chore, every thought process like running a marathon. He wanted, just once, to feel normal. But hiring an escort would not make that happen.
“Either they’re going to look at you with pity when you show up to the wedding alone, or they’re going to look at you with suspicion and envy when you show up with a guy they don’t think you could have.” Ilan dragged his fingers through Julian’s hair gently. “The only reason I don’t hate this idea is because I know a man like Will…”
“Wait, what’s his real name?” Julian asked.
Ilan chuckled. “I don’t ah…actually know? It was late and I forgot to ask.”
“Oh my god,” Julian whispered.
Ilan held him a bit tighter. “As I was saying, I don’t hate this idea because I know a man like Will—hot, charming, sweet—he could fall for a man like you. Without cash between you. And someone like him will, okay? Maybe not this week. Maybe not for this sham of a wedding that will