Page 37 of Paper Roses

“I would hope so. Either him or Mick.”

There’s a sudden horrid silence. My throat clicks when I swallow.

Jed gives a fixed smile, all his animation draining away. “Mick died a few years ago, Eric,” he says quietly.

The builder blanches. “Ohshit. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s absolutely fine,” Jed says, his smile kind. “Shall we go and look at the house?” He quickly walks inside.

Before following him, the builder groans quietly at me. “Me and my big mouth. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “You weren’t to know. It’s been a few years since it happened.”

He shakes his head. “Man, that’s so sad. I never saw a nicer couple.”

“So, I’ve heard.”

“They were absolutely devoted to each other. Made me smile whenever I saw them together. Jed must have been devastated.”

“He still is,” I say, wishing desperately to change the subject.

“Mick would definitely be a hard act to follow.”

His words hurt, but I stand there accepting them quietly. Footsteps sound, and I look up to find Jed returning. To my surprise, he slides his arm over my shoulder, drawing me to him. “So, you’ve met my husband?” he asks Eric.

Eric looks at me in shock and then grimaces. “I might have to have my foot surgically removed from my mouth today. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I say quickly.

Jed frowns and looks between us.

“No harm done,” I say. “Shall we look inside?”

When I reach the door, I look back. Jed is watching me intently. I offer him a smile and gesture. “Shall we get on with it?”

The sun goes behind a cloud and the wind blows a cool gust down my back, making me shiver. It seems like the weather is echoing my mood.

Jed is quiet for the rest of the day, but you wouldn’t notice unless you knew him well.

During our evening meal in the hotel restaurant, he makes conversation, smiles at my stilted small talk, and generally behaves like the gentleman he is. But I catalogue his sad eyes and the way his glass is being emptied far more than usual.

When we stand up to go back to the suite, he staggers and I edge next to him unobtrusively, helping him onto the lift and shoring up his balance in the car. When I look up, he’s watching me in the mirrored wall, his eyes mysterious and curiously intent.

“Little Artie,” he says, a slur in his voice. “My husband.” His grip slips on the rail, and he lists to one side.

I hurry to put my arm around him. He turns and we’re suddenly so close you couldn’t get a piece of paper between our bodies. “You’re always there to help me.”

I laugh nervously. “I do t-try.”

“And you succeed,” he says far too loudly. “Everytime. Why is that?” he says fractiously. “Why are you able to be what I need?”

“Luck,” I say softly.

He takes my chin gently in his fingers. “You are so beautiful.” I gasp as he slides his thumb over my lips. “And these,” he mutters, his voice dark. “The curve of these lips drives me mad when I’m alone in the dark.”

My heart thunders as he caresses my lip, his thumb dipping in to trace the wet interior. Without thinking, I draw it into my mouth, licking and sucking.

“Yes,” he says hoarsely, staring at me with glittering eyes. “I like that.”

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