Page 91 of The Cartographer

A few weekslater finds us at another one of Elouisa’s soirees. She’s put on a speakeasy theme this time, and the people who work for her look darling in flapper dresses and twenties-style suits. Prohibition, you were adorable.

I’ve been taking Allie out more than usual. More parties, more clubs, “accidentally” running into Julian at more than one event and analyzing Allie’s response to him. The way Allie’s eyes linger on the places where Julian’s clean cut and bespoke suits hug his body… Matthew was right, and I’ll have to tell him so. Yes, Allie likes the look of Julian, and the feeling is mutual. If the devil himself looked more like an angel, he couldn’t be devising more wicked plans for a man than Julian is for Allie.

When we’ve not been in Julian’s presence, I’ve also made mention of the fact that Julian is trans. I wasn’t sure how Allie would react, given we’ve never discussed it, but after a momentary expression of surprise, he’d shrugged. “He’s hot.”

Yes, he is. And though I haven’t detailed what’s under Julian’s clothes—because I wouldn’t do that for any other potential partner, and Allie didn’t ask—I don’t think it will be an issue. If anything, I think Allie might delight in the idea of being able to have children with his partner without having to adopt. They’d be doting parents too, and the image has tugged more than once at my heartstrings.

Allie responds too to Julian’s teasing, his easy conversation. A bit nervous perhaps, looking to me for approval when they’re sitting next to each other, leaning in close to speak in each other’s ears because it had been too loud in the club to be heard otherwise. I like creating forced intimacy. And it’s working.

If that weren’t precisely my intention, I might be jealous. Or perhaps that’s what that creeping sour feeling at the back of my throat is. I take another sip of my cocktail to douse it because things are going precisely according to plan, and isn’t that what I like best of all? Getting my way? So I’ve claimed.

While I might have moments of wanting to keep Allie to myself, that’s not the natural order of things. I’d tire of him sooner or later, and it’s better this way. To make him feel cherished and precious the entire way through. To never have him doubt his worth or how fabulously alluring he is.

It’s better this way. It is.

Allie knows, when we’re at Elouisa’s, drinking’s allowed because there’ll be light if any play tonight, so when a waitress comes over with a dozen drinks in one of those trays an old-fashioned cigarette girl would carry, I caution him. “Only one.”

His eyes light up, and the corner of his mouth curls. It feels somehow as though his impish expression is connected to my stomach because it lurches. He thinks I’m promising something I have no intention of delivering. I try to assuage my guilt by telling myself Julian will give it to him. Julian is willing and able and, I daresay, downright keen.

“Then which one should I have?”

I like that he’s asked my opinion. Allie’s not much for cocktails, but his appreciation for them is growing. Given this is a twenties-themed fete, I make my best guesses about what the various concoctions are and get confirmations from the waitress.

“I’ll be having a sidecar, but for you? I’d say a Tuxedo #2 would be more to your liking.”

He nods because he trusts me to pick something he’ll like, to know his tastes, to want him to enjoy himself even if the thing looks a bit foufy. When I hand him the drink and he takes a sip, he smiles.

“It’s good.”

I hope he feels the same about Julian. As he takes another sip and grins at me, I start to feel more confident about my plan.

“No, seriously, this is really good. Think Matty could learn to make one?”

“For you, anything.”

A tentative bud of warmth starts to blossom in my belly alongside the cold cinders of disappointment. This is going to be okay. I only want the best for him, and he’s going to be able to see that. Hart’s a reasonable, if passionate, sort.

We’ve nearly circled the entire house, looking in on the various delights Elouisa’s provided for her guests, when I see Julian, doing a more than respectable Charleston with a female companion.

Why does my heart sink further into my stomach? Julian can dance too. That’s wonderful news. If I’d known, that would’ve been the clincher. When the song ends and he excuses himself from his partner with a dashing bow and kiss to her knuckles, he walks over, wiping a glimmer of sweat from his hairline with a big smile on his face.

“Rey. Hart. Fancy seeing you here.”

I hope Allie doesn’t see the wink Julian less-than-surreptitiously throws me. As it is, it makes me grind the teeth in the back of my mouth. Must have Matthew make me a dentist appointment, if he hasn’t already. I have to consciously slacken my jaw so I don’t grate out the words. “Yes, it’s a real shock, Davies. I see you’re enjoying yourself.”

“Very much so, yes. Elouisa’s a love, isn’t she?”

“Indeed she is.”

We talk for a while, and I watch Julian flirt with Allie, try and succeed to make him smile and laugh. When he manages to make Allie blush in that full-body way of his, that’s my cue. I should go and let this run its course. A course that will no doubt involve sweat and sex and pleading, finely controlled violence and loving, open-mouthed kisses. The start of a journey for them both, into a relationship that will get carried along like a leaf in a stream of inevitability because I’m really fucking good at this.

That’s what I should take comfort in as I extricate myself from this conversation, remove myself from this equation. What’s that called again? Simplifying? Math was never my particular strong suit. I’ll leave the numbers to Matthew. But yes, simplify. Neither Julian nor Allie are built for a long-term ménage, and while I don’t mind playing the third wheel—do it all the time, actually—it’s not a permanent solution.

So I withdraw bit by bit from the conversation. Watch their flirtatious conversation ping between them like a tennis ball between two evenly matched players. Attraction, check. Conversational compatibility, check. They study each other carefully, watching for the signs I taught them both to seek, and then I know it’s time to go.

I text Matthew on the sly, though it’s easy with Allie and Julian so distracted by each other, and wait the seconds it takes him to do as I’ve asked. My phone rings, and I excuse myself. The men barely acknowledge my departure, though Allie tracks me with his eyes. His attention is called back to his new golden god by a touch of Julian’s hand on his shoulder.

Placing my cell to my ear, I sigh. “How are you, Matthew?”

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