After Cody and Luigi had
left them, Keith and Esmé and Jason had ordered another bottle of champagne and
proceeded to get tipsy.
Jason looked at the other
two and then kissed them each on the cheek, Esmé first and Keith afterwards,
leaning across the table to reach him.
With a catch in his voice, he said, “Thank you for being you, you
two. I’m so glad I met you.”
“I’m glad you walked in
through that door all those months ago.”
Keith was a little teary too, the news that Jason was going to stay
combined with the champagne, making him emotional. In his life he’d encountered so many
arseholes, so many selfish, narcissistic, cruel people, men who’d hurt him
during sex and had thought it their right to do so. They’d paid for it, hadn’t they? And here was Jason, a wealthy lord, the son
of a fucking duke for Chrissake, who loved him for him. For him. Not because he was handsome, or rich, or
sexy. Just because. He knew that Jason wasn’t in love with him, but that didn’t
matter. He was a true friend. Somebody he knew he could rely on. Somebody who wouldn’t judge him or betray
him.
Esmé felt again how
likable Jason was, and how fond she had become of him since she had met him
that first day. Some dam of sorrow broke
in her, and she felt its waters flow out of her into the ether, leaving her
feeling oddly drained but happy, not weighed down by the past, by her father’s
rapes and her mother’s cowardice and fear.
She was she; she had friends, and they were here. It didn’t matter that she was in love with
Keith and that he didn’t feel the same love for her. What mattered was that they were as fond of
her as she was of them.
She took Jason’s hand in
hers. His hands were big and strong,
with nice proportions and (she was glad to note) clean fingernails. Keith wasn’t exactly grubby—well, just a
bit—but his fingernails weren’t always pristine. Jason started to stroke her hand with his,
and she felt the connection between them spark a current which seemed to run
straight from her heart to her fingers and back again.
“Have you got to work
tonight?” he asked her, his finger tracing lines across her palm, again and
again, in a rhythm which hypnotized her with a dreamy mixture of lust and
affection.
“Yes. Well, I should. I have essays due. And stuff.”
He squeezed her hand then
let it go. “Pity.” His grin was like
that of a naughty boy, caught out in some prank; his blue eyes mischievous,
electric, and alive.
She smiled at him. Keith was watching this interaction, his
brown eyes knowing but kindly and warm, a small smile tickling his lips. He’d been through too much to judge, or
mock. He was willing to share. She lay her head on Jason’s shoulder, and
sighed, and he slipped his arm round her.
“Tous pour un,
un pour tous,” he said. “For ever.”
“D’accord!” replied Esmé.
