Page 53 of Sexted By Santa
Christian glanced at me ruefully. “I’m sorry about earlier too, if I offended you.”
I shook my head. “You don’t need to apologize for anything. As long as you’re honest with me, I can handle it.”
I realized as I said it that it was true. Perhaps my ego was slightly wounded that Christian didn’t jump into my arms. It’d been a long time since someone pulled away from me. But I was a grown-ass man, and I could handle a gentle rejection.
He hesitated. “Maybe I wasn’t completely honest about—”
A laugh cut through the room, interrupting him. There were a handful of people—mostly men—clustered on the far end of the room, wineglasses in their hands. I could hear their happy chatter from here; they were clearly a tightknit group.
“Maybe we should talk later,” I suggested, nodding toward them. “I’m guessing these are all your friends?”
“Yes,” Christian said, sounding relieved. “They’re like family, really. Aunt Henry is a bit of a foster mother to many of us. She’s never had any children of her own, never married. She was a professor at Hayworth for years, even the dean for a time.”
“Is she not really your aunt?”
“Oh, she is. My mother’s sister,” Christian said. “After she came to my rescue, she started taking others under her wing.”
“Your rescue?”
He grimaced. “My parents weren’t open to me being gay. They wanted to fix me. So…I had to choose between myself and them.” He shrugged. “I couldn’t stay.”
“I’m sorry. That sounds like the worst kind of betrayal.”
I’d been hurt by my mother, but Christian’s situation was on a whole other level. I couldn’t imagine the pain of being disowned by the very people who were supposed to love you unconditionally. I knew without a doubt that nothing, absolutelynothing, would ever sway me to treat Tori that way.
Christian waved a hand. “Ancient history. I’ve moved on. Anyway, Henry developed a soft spot for people who needed a surrogate family, whatever the reason. Hugh was the first; he’s the sandy-haired guy with Fynn, who you probably recognize as my ex. Hugh and I were good friends in college. Then Darius came along a few years later—he’s the one with the dark curly hair; Henry found him at a gay alliance support group. She adopted another guy there, too, Roger. He had to work tonight. Then there’s Lydia, the woman with the short greenish blue hair, who’s talking to Barry. Henry has become a source of support to all of them.”
“That’s remarkable. Henry is something special.”
“She is. Because of her, we’ve all become our own little merry family.” He lowered his voice. “Ex-husbands and all.”
“That must be difficult.”
Christian nodded. “Henry has this dinner party every year. I’ve avoided it the past couple of years.”
“That’s understandable.”
“If a bit cowardly.” Christian gave a self-deprecating smile.
I could sense he wasn’t ready to face the party just yet, so I cast my gaze around the room. “This house is something else. So much art.”
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
My eye was drawn to a massive painting over the fireplace that showed two nude men intertwined. It wasn’t lewd in the least; it was more romantic and intriguing. From one angle, they seemed as if they were upright, embracing or dancing. From another, it looked as if they were lying down, holding one another. My eyes kept flipping from one view to the other as my brain puzzled it out. “This painting is amazing.”
A cultured voice spoke from behind us. “It’s a Wellington, of course.”
I turned, recognizing Fynn immediately. His vibrant red hair and flawless skin made me feel scruffy and unkempt. He wore an orange paisley shirt under an emerald green blazer that should have looked garish and ostentatious but somehow appeared fashionable on him. The colors complemented his complexion, and the cut of the clothes accented his graceful form.
“You do know Wellington?” he asked. At my head shake, he turned to Christian, eyes sparkling with mirth. “Wherever did you find this one, Christian? Was there a discount sale at Walmart?”
I’d never been the subject of such a pointed insult before. I laughed, a little incredulous as Christian went rigid beside me.
“Fynn, don’t,” he warned.
“Don’t what?” Fynn glanced at me, a look of faux innocence on his face as he widened his eyes. “I was just making an observation.”
I smiled, amused by his cattiness. “Good try, but I actually shop at Target.”
