Page 62 of Hide and Keep

“Absolutely.” He attempts to whisk Crue away. “If you’d allow me, Mr. Brantley.”

But Crue stays rooted, his arms now folded over his chest.

“It’s Crue, and no, I don’t allow you. Ever?”

He said it again. My name.

I can’t keep the smile off my face as I say, “Yes?”

“This isn’t…” His arms fall limp. “I don’t need…”

“You’re going to be by my side for the…” Just because he believes this assignment is for the next three years doesn’t mean it will be. “Foreseeable future, correct?”

He gives a stiff nod.

“Then I need you dressing the part. Besides, my father already gave his approval,” I say while waving my phone at him, its screen blank, its history completely void of any such communication.

Father should’ve given Crue a clothing allowance anyway. His own valet wears sixteen-hundred-dollar Valentino poplin shirts to putter around the manor. If Crue’s to acclimate to my lifestyle, accompany me to all aspects of it, then he can at least look like he belongs in it.

Goddess knows he doesn’t act like it.

All out of objections, he’s ushered toward the back of the store, allowing me to grab things I think will look good on him. He’s so handsome, and could probably pull off literally anything, that I end up with several armfuls of options for him to try on.

I meet the manager outside the dressing rooms.

“When you say entire wardrobe…”

“I mean entire wardrobe, down to his underwear.”

“Any preferences on style?”

“What’s wrong with the ones I’m wearing?” Crue asks from behind a partially closed curtain.

“If they’re anything like the pair I saw you in, they’re fraying at the edges, baggy, and faded.” I truly loathe boxers. They reveal nothing.

Lowering my voice, I tell Thierry, “Boxer briefs. Dark. No visible branding.”

The fifty-year-old trying to look thirty gives a knowing head bob, his glossy lips puckered. “Understated, yet sophisticated.”

“Exactly. Classic. In addition to the everyday staples I grabbed, he’ll also need several suits. Two-button, single-breasted. Black,possiblynavy. Nothing flashy or colorful. No brown.”

“I have him trying on one right now you might like. The only thing I wasn’t sure of is if you’d want a tie or bowtie.”

“I don’t know how to tie either,” Crue says as he yanks the curtain to one side.

Both Thierry and I press a hand to our chests.

I barely hear him mutter an aghast, “Those are basic skills every man should possess.”

In a black suit and crisp white undershirt, Crue looks like he could waltz right into any ball, festival, or luncheon, no questions asked. He has a timeless quality about him. Drop him in any era and he’d fit right in. The fifties, nineties, today…he just fits.

Without looking away from him, I tell Thierry, “I can show him how.”

“If he’s going to wear a jacket, a semi-cutaway will sit properly with or without a tie.”

The invisible line between me and Crue grows tighter, drawing me closer to him even though I’m completely immobile, unable to move anything other than my head as I nod to Thierry.

“I’ll need an actual coat, too. Ever, can you pick one out?” Crue asks, causing my eyebrow to rise. I’m picking everything out.

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