means that the terrible, beautiful, inevitable death of a star is responsible for the miraculous, beautiful inevitable birth of you.” He moved in close, and Julian could feel his next words pressed against his own lips. “That is how important you are. A star accepted its death to make sure you were standing here. With me. Right now.”
Julian kissed him. There was nothing else to do in that moment but kiss him. Every sense was overloaded and twisting and pulsing, and he had no other recourse but to take Will by the cheeks and try and explain everything rushing through his body in that single gesture.
It felt like it carried on for an eternity—for those millions of years it took for the ‘star stuff’ to get to where he was standing. He felt Will groan, and he became profoundly aware that they were being watched. He closed his eyes, letting his forehead fall against Will’s, and he breathed out. “Can we get out of here?”
“Yes,” Will said, and his voice sounded as rough and ragged as Julian’s felt in his throat. “Your dad…”
“He can catch a ride with Corinne.” Julian glanced over and saw his sister leaning in to whisper to him, so it was obvious he knew. “He’s aware we need to go.”
Will nodded, then pulled back, and again Julian caught a look in his eyes. There was something torn about it, something pained. “We still need to talk first, okay?”
“Okay,” Julian said, and this time he decided not to jump to conclusions. The dance had been for no one but him—the words were his. They weren’t a performance, and although Will was being paid for this, Julian allowed himself to believe some of it was real. And maybe that’s what Will needed—some tangible honesty.
They didn’t stop to talk to Fredric or Corinne, instead heading right for the exit, and as Julian fumbled for the valet ticket, he heard a voice calling across the distance. It was too far and too soft for him to make out what was said, but in the dimmed, yellow light of the awning, he saw the color drain from Will’s face.
It was only a second before someone approached—Bryce’s brother Kent. He was taller, darker haired, and not as unkind as Bryce, though they were cut from the same cloth. His smile was just as sharp, and his eyes were narrow as they looked Will up and down.
“Holy shit. How the hell do you two know each other?” Kent demanded with a wry grin.
Julian swallowed thickly. Terror rushed through his veins because if Kent knew Will, it also meant Kent knew what he did. And it meant…
“We’re dating,” Will said, taking Julian’s hand.
Julian glanced at him. “Um.”
“Didn’t you just get back from Paris? My sister’s firm is working with your brother for his next campaign and she said you only flew in like a week ago,” Kent said.
Julian let himself absorb those words. Sister’s firm—their sister was a PR agent. Mostly for state government, though Bryce had loudly bragged about her work on the previous presidential campaign. “You…your brother?”
Will swallowed thickly. “Yes I…we.” He cleared his throat. “It’s been a lot since I got back, so I’ve been trying to keep this all quiet.”
Kent laughed and slapped his arm. “You always were so fucking weird.” Kent turned to Julian and offered him a smile that looked half curious and half condescending with pity. “Archer and I went to college together.”
“Archer,” Julian said, tasting the name on his tongue. The first real hint of who this man was—and it was nothing like he imagined. Nothing. His head threatened to spin, and he squeezed Will—no, Archer’s hand.
“Listen, I better get in there. I’m sure Bryce has already had six tantrums about his best man. Never thought I’d be doing this again, right?” Then he stopped. “Shit. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Julian said, and let out a huge breath of relief when the car pulled up, and he tugged the other man with him. “I’ll see you tomorrow I’m sure.”
Kent gave him a mocking sort of salute, then he turned and left, hurrying into the lobby. The valet stood by the car with the keys in hand, and Julian stood there with a sweaty palm against his own, trying to reconcile what he’d known from all the things he hadn’t.
“We don’t have to go,” Archer said.
Archer. Archer.
Julian looked at him again and tried to paint him with that word—that identity. It fit, in the soft waves of his hair,