Page 63 of French Martini

Adopting that strange mellow smile again, he speaks. “One question at a time please.”

A young man dressed in slacks and a dress shirt, but with bright yellow hair steps forward. “Welcome back stateside, Lowen,” he says, and Lowen nods. “We’re excited to hear about your newest projects. Can you share anything with our readers now?”

“I’ve returned to my original passion of residential work, where I can focus on transforming individual rooms and improving the lives of those who inhabit the space.”

I try to keep my expression neutral, aware I’m being watched, but it’s so odd seeing Lowen morph into someone I barely recognize. Even his voice is clipped and almost accented, but there’s no inflection or excitement in his tone. It’s monotone and direct.

“Do you miss Paris?” a woman asks.

“No.” He doesn’t elaborate.

“There’s a rumor you opened a gay bar outside the city,” another man asks. “Is that true?”

Lowen tenses even more, but his expression doesn’t slip at all. “It’s not a rumor and it’s a queer bar. There’s a distinction there.”

His delivery makes it real clear he doesn’t plan to discuss it further.

“Who’s this handsome man beside you?” a different woman asks.

Lowen’s expression finally softens, his pretty blue gaze shifting to me and holding mine. “This is Oakley, my fiancé.”

The group titters with excitement, snapping photos of us, but Lowen keeps gazing at me and squeezing my hand.

“He’s made my transition back to the states…” Lowen pauses as his smile grows. “Better than I anticipated.”

The engagement may be fake, but those words aren’t.

“Do you have a date set?” someone asks.

Lowen shakes his head. “We’re very busy right now, but we’ll know when the time is right.” Then he neutralizes his expression, turning back to face the crowd. “It will be a private affair with only friends and family and there won’t be a single announcement about it.”

Fuck, he’s sexy commanding a group like this. It’s clear he’s had lots of practice too.

“Are you a designer too?” a woman asks me.

“I’m a contractor.”

“Ooh,” one of the men says.

Was that exciting news?

“If you’ll excuse us,” Lowen says. “We’d like to get settled in before the events begin.”

He tugs my hand and we walk in the opposite direction of the group to the elevator bank. Once we’re out of hearing distance, he exhales.

“I’m guessing the hotel allowed them to stay in the bar area as long as they don’t cause trouble.”

“That was something to witness.” I press the Up button. “You transformed before my eyes.”

“It’s my well-worn media shield. It’s the only positive thing Alain ever taught me. In my head, it’s as if I really do retreat behind an invisible wall where their intrusions don’t affect me.”

“It’s impressive.”

He scoffs as the doors open and he steps in. “I suppose. I admit I’m more than shocked that no one mentioned Alain. I couldn’t go half a day without hearing his name in Paris.”

“Maybe they got over it.”

“Unlikely. That particular group wasn’t brave enough, but someone will be.” Surprising me, he leans against me, resting his head on my shoulder. “I literally couldn’t do this without you, so thank you again.”

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