Page 30 of Famous Last

“She is. She was my rock. Still is.”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” asked Marshall, turning to Spencer.

“Tell me about the real you, not the television version.”

Marshall gave Spencer a withering smile.

“For all the celebrity bullshit that goes with the job, I’m a private person. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I love the job, but I also cherish my privacy. Funny, really—when I was a news correspondent, I only got recognised in public now and then, which, at the time, was quite nice. Now with the regular television slot airing here and the US, I can’t go many places without being identified. I live in a flat in South Ken, which is my London base for when I’m working, and I own a converted coach house in the countryside on the outskirts of Cambridge. No doubt the bastards will be staking out both places. But if I’m going to be completely honest—and I feel I can be around you—I’m actually lonely a lot of the time. People say nice things about what I do and I get my fair share of fan mail, but none of it’s real. Sometimes I think my amazing job and being personally happyare different sides of the same coin, and you can only flip one, not both. My father definitely felt that way about his marriage.”

“That’s harsh,” said Spencer, nodding his understanding, even though he knew of many celebrities across the world who had found a perfect balance between the two. When he turned to check on Marshall, he found him lost in thought, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Don’t give up hope, Marshall.”

Marshall kept staring up but smiled at the words.

“Does your mother know about you?”

“That I’m gay?” Marshall laughed as though Spencer had said something hilarious—or naïve. “Of course she does. I think she suspected before I did, before I’d hit puberty. She never admitted as much, but I think she made the mistake of saying something to my father when I was around eight. That summer, instead of going abroad with them, my father shipped me off early to summer camp in the north of England. They ran the place like a military school with morning drills and assault courses and survival classes. And cold showers. Worst of all, the place was full of bullies. Not just among the other students, but the faculty members, too.”

“Sounds dreadful.”

“You have no idea. But I’m not the kind of person to back down from hard work, or to shy away from bullies. In fact I loved the outdoor activities, and quickly made friends. But, as usual, the few spoiled the stay for the many, constantly picking on us to do the tasks nobody else wanted, like cleaning the toilet block, or being on table kitchen duties after meals. They’d clearly singled out all of the new kids, the ones who hadn’t been there before. When my mother called to ask how things were going, I gave her a detailed account about what was happening. My father had booked me to stay for four weeks, but the next morning she came to pick me up. Honestly, I think she was more upset than me.Should have heard her screaming at the duty manager and then down the phone at my father.”

“Will she have read the papers?”

Marshall heaved out a deep sigh at that remark.

“Not sure they would have reached her yet. She will eventually, though. But she’s used to public scrutiny. My parents’ messy divorce was splashed all over the tabloids. I just hope I haven’t let her down.”

“Of course you haven’t. From what you tell me about her, she’ll see the article for the bullshit that it is.”

Marshall released a small laugh, then reached over and squeezed Spencer’s hand. Spencer held his breath and savoured the brief touch, and only breathed again when Marshall started talking.

“I should be used to this. In my field of work, I’ve been bombed, sworn at, shot at, spat at, hidden out in a school in Syria while a gang of terrorists passed nearby. You’d think I’d be immune to a bit of gutter press tittle-tattle.”

“None of those other things were personal.”

Marshall smiled gently again and softly shook his head.

“You can turn the light out now. I think I might be able to sleep.”

Spencer did as asked.

“I think I’m in good hands here. Although I want you to know the incredible restraint I’m exercising right at this moment, having you within such easy reach,” came the humoured voice in the darkness. Spencer almost rolled over and fell into his arms. He knew that one word from him and they would be doing things he had recently dreamt about. But apart from not wanting to be a rebound fling, Marshall deserved to be taken care of, deserved some rest.

And while over the next half-hour Spencer tried to keep his eyes closed, tried to slow his heartbeat despite having theworld’s sexiest man next to him in his bed, he heard Marshall’s breathing slow to a soft, steady purr.

Finally, the poor guy had found some peace.

Chapter Nine

Around six, both of them finally gave up trying to sleep any longer and decided to get up and get dressed. Of the three times Spencer had awoken during the night, twice Marshall had lain awake beside him, and both times Spencer had reached out to give his hand a squeeze before falling back to sleep again. On the third, not only had Marshall slotted his body in behind Spencer’s, along the length of his spine—a wholly wonderful and warming experience—but his soft, even breathing could only have meant that he was sleeping. Add to that the arm slung protectively across Spencer’s waist, and he had soon fallen back into a deep slumber. Most embarrassing of all, he had awoken roasting hot, with a rock-hard stiffie poking into his backside, and his own tenting the front of his sweatpants. Gently lifting Marshall’s arm, Spencer had leapt out of bed and run into the bathroom.

* * * *

“Here. Put these on,” said Spencer, much later. Marshall had returned from a shower in a fresh change of clothing, except for the tracksuit bottoms, which he had donned again, and the thick white socks he had sensibly chosen to keep wearing. Spencer handed over a pair of light-brown-framed glasses with a slight tint in the lens.

“Are they prescription?”

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