trying to stir the shit. I have no say over what Ivo does with his work.”
“Yes, you do,” Ivo says steadily. “You always will.”
“No, I won’t,” I say sharply. “You’re a grown man and your own person.” I swallow hard. “If you felt that you wanted to do this, that it would make you happy, I would never fucking stand in your way ever.” I stare at him. “I will wait for you. I told you that two years ago. I mean it now, just as much as I did then. You have to know that.”
He looks at me searchingly, his face drawn in lines of intense concentration, and then incredibly he smiles. “I do know that, but my answer’s the same as it was then. I don’t want to do that anymore. I want more of the life you’ve given me now, Henry. You should never try to go back to the past, and I don’t want to.”
I look up and find Max’s eyes on me, dark and intense. I expect to see anger, but what I see is a strange yearning.
“You’re a lucky man, Ivo,” he says steadily. His face suddenly breaks into a smile as if he’s seen the answer to something that’s been puzzling him for a while. “I wish I had a Henry at home.”
Ivo wraps his arm around me and ruffles my hair. “Get your own. It took me a long time to get this one. I’m not sharing it.”
“I’m not a truffle,” I say crossly, but he and Max break into laughter, and I settle back into my seat feeling inexplicably comfortable. I look up, and Max smiles at me. A real smile with none of his former caution. He raises his glass in a toast, and I raise my own back, feeling warmth hit me.
The next day I stand at the window of our hotel room looking down at Stow-on-the-Wold’s high street.
“Well, I must say you seem a lot happier,” Ivo says smugly.
I let the curtain fall and turn back to him. He’s lying on the huge four-poster bed, a study in relaxed man. He’s wearing jeans, an old white T-shirt with a stretched neck, and a black jumper. He kicked off his shoes and socks as soon as we got into the room, and I swallow hard because I love his bare feet. I don’t know why. Maybe because it means he’s all mine for a while, or just that no one else gets to see them. Whatever the reason, he’s at his sexiest when he’s rumpled, sleepy, and barefoot.
He crosses his ankles and stares at me. “I must say, I feel a bit like the last piece of steak in Waitrose.”
I laugh. “Not that either of us would have any idea what to do with that.”
Ivo chuckles. “Well, I’m happy to report that we’re eating at the hotel.”
“Oh, thank God,” I breathe and grin. “It’s probably for the best.”
He nods solemnly. “They’ve won awards for their food. I know how fucking picky you are about food.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t wrong when I pointed out that I didn’t think the omelettes you cooked should have eggshell in them. Please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”
He laughs. “I don’t think Dylan quite appreciated how bad we were until you made him cheese on toast the other day, and then you had to stand outside for an hour until the smoke cleared.”
I shake my head. “He appreciated the fire engine though. I must say I think I should have roomed with Dylan rather than his lover when we were at uni. Gabe was remarkably unsympathetic when the halls tried to vote me out.”
“Sleep deprivation brought on by fire alarms because some imbecile can’t cook tends to make even students militant.”
I laugh and wander around the room. It might be out in the countryside, but he’s picked a beautiful hotel. It’s a former coaching inn made from old Cotswold stone and it’s been superbly renovated. Our room is lovely with a wide four-poster bed and large mullioned windows looking down on the high street with its mix of restaurants, pubs, and antique shops.
I turn back to Ivo who’s watching me with a smile tipping the corner of his mouth.
“What?” I ask.
When his smile forms fully, I recognise it as my smile. The one he gives only to me. Warm and intimate like we’re in a club with two members and only we know the rules. In the past, it also