Page 46 of Painted

Rebecca shook her head and returned to the bed to pick through the shoes Early had selected from the clothes room, searching for a pair to match the outfit. “You’re the one who told me those were extenuating circumstances,” she said. “He’s in amuch better mood tonight. I saw him earlier and I can confirm that.”

Early wasn’t sure. They weren’t sure about anything. Wearing a dress in public was high on the list of things they were unsure about.

At the same time, they felt a deep sense that they had to at least try if they were ever going to discover whether it was right for them or not.

Half an hour later, they were dressed for The Chameleon Club, with heels, their hair done up by Rebecca in what they could only describe as a fancy-messy style, wearing a touch of make-up, which was a first for them, heading downstairs to the family entrance, where Rhys had texted he was waiting.

Everything seemed to tighten into the moment that Rhys turned and saw them coming. Fear and hope and every other emotion they’d ever felt hit Early as they waited for Rhys’s reaction. His face was too stunned to hint at what he was thinking at first.

Then he burst into a smile that had their body warming from the inside out.

“You look incredible,” Rhys said, stepping forward to take their hand.

Early was shaking and didn’t know if Rhys would kiss their hand, tug them outside to where the family cars were parked, or shake their hand in congratulations. They were surprised when Rhys lifted their hand, guiding them in a spin like a ballerina so he could get a look at all of them.

“That dress suits you perfectly,” Rhys said, joy in his voice instead of anger.

“Thanks,” Early said shyly, their head still spinning even though they were back to standing in one place. “I…I think it belonged to Raina. I hope you don’t mind.”

Rhys’s smile turned wistful, like he knew exactly why Early was asking. “I don’t mind at all. Let’s get going.”

Early turned briefly back to Rebecca as they followed Rhys outside. Rebecca gave them the thumbs up. It felt like an auspicious start to what was turning more and more into the most important night of Early’s life.

The ride into London felt like it took forever, and for more reasons than Friday evening traffic. Early didn’t know what to say, what sort of conversation they should be trying for on a night as important as the one they and Rhys had started off on. Fortunately, Rhys was prepared. They talked about the arts center and how everything was going with the new and prospective classes. It was a subject Early knew a lot about and could hold their own talking about for an hour.

The ride in was one thing. Once they actually reached The Chameleon Club, Early was completely speechless.

“I’ve only ever read about clubs like this in Victorian novels,” they said breathlessly once they’d passed the security checkpoint and walked into the amazing, marble foyer.

“The Chameleon Club has been around that long,” Rhys said, taking their hand and gently leading them on. “It was founded in the eighteen-thirties as the social club for The Brotherhood.”

“The Brotherhood existed back then?” Early asked, dragging their eyes away from the painted ceilings and honey-colored marble walls as they stepped up a few stairs and headed down a long, chandelier-lit corridor.

“It’s existed as an organization for gay men for longer than anyone is really certain about. They’ve always looked out for and supported its members,” Rhys said. “In the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, that involved a lot of legal help. In the eighties and nineties, they were instrumental in caring for anyone with HIV/AIDS and in lobbying for more care and protection for those who suffered.”

Early hummed, impressed, even though they thought Rhys was babbling a little to fill the nervous space between them. Their thoughts shot off in a different direction entirely as they turned a corner into an enormous ballroom that was set up like a banquet hall. The tables were all large and seated at least ten people, and wait staff circulated throughout the room like a restaurant. An empty space of floor stood at the far end of the room, and an actual orchestra, albeit a small one, was set up on a dais beyond that, playing light music.

The one terrifying thing about the scene was the sheer volume of people. For about three seconds, they worried people would stare at them and turn up their noses at the way they were dressed. They hated crowds in general, when they were dressed in what the world thought was a gender-appropriate way, but this was something else.

But just as they were close to imploding with anxiety, someone laughed loudly off to one side, and when they turned, they saw the most beautiful person in a drop-dead gorgeous dress with a scruffy beard and mustache. They looked perfectly comfortable just the way they were, as if what they were wearing and how they presented themself was the most normal thing in the world.

“You okay?” Rhys asked, squeezing their hand tighter.

“Yeah,” Early said breathlessly, not sure if that was a lie or not.

“Well if it isn’t Rhys Hawthorne and the intrepid Early Stevens,” a wizened voice called to them from one of the tables.

Early turned to find Benjamin Hollis, one of the wily old members of The Brotherhood who had swooped in at the last minute that summer to save Hawthorne House from Willoughby Entertainment, waving at them. George Plimpton, one of Hawthorne House’s other saviors was sitting with him.

“By Jove, it is them,” George said, pushing back his chair and standing with the shaky elegance of an elderly man who refused to admit his age. “Come and join us, you two. We were just telling this lot about our adventures at Hawthorne House.”

There were four other people at the table, all of whom seemed eager and interested as they glanced Early and Rhys’s way. There wasn’t a drop of judgment in any of their eyes, only a happy appreciation of their presence.

“Do you mind?” Rhys asked, leaning closer and murmuring in Early’s ear. “They don’t really have private tables at events like this, but we could find a quieter group if you want.”

“No, this is fine,” Early said, smiling, their heart racing and their head feeling a little light at the magic of everything around them. “I remember Mr. Hollis and Mr. Plimpton well.”

“Call me Benny,” Benny said, standing as well and taking Early’s hand in greeting to kiss it.

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