Bittersweet Truth (The Patricians Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  About Me

  Also By R.G. Angel

  Bittersweet Truth (The Patricians 2.5)

  By R.G Angel

  Copyright © 2020 R.G. Angel

  This book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people.

  If you’re reading this e-book and did not purchase it, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Cover: Red Leaf Book Design

  Editing: Writing Evolution

  Formatting: Pink Elephant Designs

  To Wayne, my gay boyfriend, who keeps saying this story is based on his life… In your dreams Sunshine.

  To my readers – Thank you for being part of this journey with me and making my dream a reality.

  Chapter One

  Today had been a shitty day. I had to go visit grand-mère in Neuilly. I had to listen to her endlessly go on about my mandatory attendance at the debutante ball in the spring. I would be choosing a conventional spouse then, she'd said. I was only twenty, but I was not dating enough for her. People talked and my grandmother wanted to shut them up.

  ‘Gays are abominations meant to populate hell,’ she had spat one day when one of the aristocrats close to our family had revealed his homosexuality. If anyone in my family was such a creature, they would be cut off from everything.

  I sighed again at the memory. That was the issue, wasn’t it? I was what she hated the most and ironically, I was her favorite grandson. I looked around my thousand square feet, state of the art apartment in one of the most prized neighborhoods of Paris. The problem was, I liked the money too much. I liked the easy life and nothing had yet come to trump that - even though keeping my secret was slowly killing me inside.

  I sat on the windowsill of my third floor, two-bedroom apartment on Boulevard St. Germain and looked at the busy Parisian street illuminated by tens of different colors. The cheerful Christmas lights almost managed to make me forget about the grayness of Paris in winter.

  I sighed, letting my eyes wander. A woman wearing a red coat pulled a reluctant child down the street as she dodged a crowd of people with their arms full of Christmas shopping.

  I shook my head. This was the masochist part of Christmas, whether here in France or back in the US. I was sure Tay was experiencing the same in England. People always waited until the last few weeks to do their shopping. Me? I did my shopping online because contrary to popular belief, I’ve never been a fan of crowds.

  As I took a sip of my midnight mint hot chocolate, my phone rang to the familiar tone of "Shake it Off." It was the ringtone assigned to Taylor Oppenheimer, my best friend, my favorite person, my soulmate in so many ways. The girl who did everything to help me, including having faked a relationship with me.

  I smiled. “Lover.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  I chuckled. “Not yet, no, but the night’s still young and I got double the dose of crème de menthe in my hot chocolate, so...one can hope.”

  “Long day?” she asked, concern in her voice.

  I rested my head against the wall and closed my eyes. “Yeah. The exams were harder than anticipated and I’m just tired.”

  “Okay.”

  I knew she didn't believe me, but she knew me well enough to know when she needed to quit.

  “I’m returning your missed call. Also, who does that? Cold call people? We text man! We’re not fifty.”

  I chuckled. “I've missed your voice.” I'd said it as a joke, but it was true. I knew a lot of people here. Actually, I was rarely alone, but I sometimes felt very lonely, terribly so. Taylor was one of the only people who saw past most of my walls and it made her so unique, so important to me. I loved her truly.

  “What do you need?” she asked as I heard her bounce on a bed.

  “Now that exams and classes are done, I was wondering when you’re planning on flying home, so I can take the same flight. Heathrow, right? So we can suffer traveling like paupers together.”

  She chuckled. “You know that travelling first class is not pauper, right?”

  I rolled my eyes. “But it’s not a long-haul private jet either, is it?”

  “I’m going back on the twenty-third. I’ve got an internship.”

  “Oh, do you? Is this internship called ‘avoiding Archibald Forbes’?”

  She was silent for so long on the other end of the line that I would have thought she’d hung up if it wasn’t for the soft music in the background.

  I took another sip of my now luke-warm chocolate and looked out of the window. A couple exited the brasserie across the street, hand in hand.

  “It’s been two years, Tay. You’ll have to face him one day.”

  “I have an internship,” she replied stubbornly, but I knew better. She had managed to dodge returning to Stonewood for the past two years. She’d convinced her family to come spend the holidays with her the year before, and subsequently, she’d spent the summer with them on a rented yacht touring the Greek Islands.

  “You’re full of shit.”

  She snorted. “Look who's talking.”

  I nodded. “Touché.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” she corrected almost immediately. “You do what you need to do, A. I’ll love you always.”

  “I know, babe, likewise.”

  She yawned and I smiled tenderly. I could picture her balled up on her king size bed, listening to some cheesy music like Redhead Sheeran.

  “Speak to you soon, lovely. Thanks for calling back,” I said.

  “Anytime.” She yawned again. “Love you.”

  “Love you too,” I replied softly, but the line was already dead.

  I spent the next couple of hours looking for flights home, but knowing that Tay would not be coming back with me left me unmotivated to really try. I’d seen my friends recently anyway. Caleb and Esme had stayed with me during the few days of their Thanksgiving break as Caleb had wanted to show her Paris. Archibald had come with, albeit really sullenly because every time he came, he failed to see Taylor.

  I sighed again, looking around my empty apartment. The silence and loneliness of the place was deafening…overbearing.

  Was this what my life was bound to become?

  “Fuck this shit!” I muttered, changing from my PJs into a pair of skinny jeans, a tight shirt, and leather jacket.

  Tonight I wouldn’t wallow in self-pity. No, tonight I was going out drinking and fucking in that order.

  And tomorrow? I couldn’t care less about tomorrow.

  Chapter Two

  “Surprise!” I shouted, only to immediately wince as Taylor opened the door. I wasn’t sure it had been the best idea to just jump onto the Eurostar without warning her first, but Taylor was Taylor. Surely, she wouldn’t mind...much.

  “What in the name of -” Tay's surprised look turned into a glare. “And why are you wearing sunglasses on a rainy day in a dark corridor? You look like the King of Douches.”

  “Well, I’m quite majestic, I can't deny that.” I pointed at my bag. “Are you going to let me in
? Or are you having hot sex in there? How big is he?” I put my hands about four inches apart from each other and pulled them back slowly. “Tell me when I get to the size.”

  She punched my arm.

  “Hey! That hurts!”

  She snorted. “You’re such a drama queen.” Moving from the door, she invited me in with a gesture of her hand.

  I looked around her living room, taking in the crumpled, fluffy blanket on the sofa, the cardboard box with a half-eaten pizza inside it on the coffee table, and Netflix, which was paused on a hot, shirtless guy in a lake.

  “I see someone knows how to party.” I grin, jerking my head toward the TV.

  “I’m sorry if I am not ready for visitors at ten thirty at night!” she huffed, pointing at the pajamas she was wearing.

  I grinned, looking her up and down. She was beyond adorable in her red flannel getup that had Santa dressed mice saying ‘Merry Christmouse’ printed all over it.

  “Oh no?" I teased. "Then who are you waiting for dressed like a sexy beast?”

  She flipped me off before sitting back down on the sofa and reaching for a pizza slice. “What are you even doing here? You never said you were intending to come when we spoke last night.”

  I sighed, taking a seat beside her on the sofa and grabbing a slice too.

  “Hey! I never said you could take one!”

  “Sharing is caring, babe, and you care.” I licked the slice. “You want it back?”

  She looked at me with incredulity, her mouth hanging open. “What are you, seven?”

  Ah, sometimes I wished I could be seven again, where I could live in a time when I was so blissfully unaware that I didn't fit into my own life, my own story.

  “To be fair, I’m not sure exactly why I've decided to come. After our chat last night, I went out and drank a little too much.”

  “Hence the sunglasses,” she guessed.

  I nodded. “That and also I love looking like a douche.”

  She snorted, but didn’t comment.

  “So I had a little too much to drink. I am not sure what the reasoning behind my actions was, but I thought it would be great to spend the week with you so we can fly back together. Next thing I know, I'm snoring my hangover away on the first-class wagon of the Eurostar.”

  “Cute story…” She rolled her eyes. “I was a drunken idea. Not the first time that's happened to me.”

  I shrugged. I would not bother with an answer; she knew better. She was my best friend and I wouldn't insult our love by replying to that.

  “Your parents won’t be happy,” she said.

  I threw her a knowing look. They would secretly be happy about not having their closeted son at home. And I was relieved I wouldn't have to fake it more than usual. “Actually, me spending the week with you will be a dream come true for them. They have hoped for the past two years that we would rekindle our romance.”

  She turned toward me, the previous irritation at my unannounced late arrival morphing into concern. “I'd do it, you know, if you need me to. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

  I leaned in and kissed her forehead. "No, I just need you in my life the way you are; it’s enough."

  She sighed. “Go put your bag in my bedroom and change into your PJs. I’ll leave you a couple of slices if you’re fast enough, and then we can lust on Uhtred together.”

  I wiggled my eyebrows. “What wouldn’t you do to sleep with all this?” I said, pulling my shirt up and revealing my abs. Actually, Taylor Oppenheimer had been the first person I'd shared a bed with - platonically speaking. My sexual encounters were usually quick fucks here and there, and they never involved sleeping afterwards.

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s that or the sofa and I don’t think Grayson would appreciate you hogging our living space.”

  “Ah, yes Grayson… The mysterious, artistic Grayson.” At first I'd thought he was a potential boyfriend and I’d been okay with that, but when she'd admitted he was gay, I'd felt a sting of jealously.

  Grayson, who was just as talented an artist as he was smart. Grayson, who'd had his paintings exposed in Whitewall Galleries before he was twenty. Grayson, who was now working toward a DPhil in Fine Art despite already being the prodigy of the Ruskin School of Art. Grayson, who on top of being smart and talented, had also turned down a spot on the national swim team. Grayson, Grayson, Grayson. But the nail in his coffin had happened six months ago when the talented Grayson had moved in with my girl.

  “Are you glaring behind those stupid glasses?” She grinned. “Remove them. I need to see your eyes, bloodshot or not.”

  I pouted as I took my glasses off. I knew she could read my insecurities. I’d never been loved for who I truly was before her and that made our relationship so much more special.

  “You’re my best friend, Antoine St-Vincent. I really like Grayson, but I love you.”

  “Where is the roommate extraordinaire anyway? I’ve yet to meet him,” I said.

  As if on cue, Grayson entered, and oh my fucking gods above, I almost jizzed in my fucking pants.

  This specimen was not just 'good looking' as Taylor had said. No, the thing before me was a work of art! Six foot one with wide shoulders and tapered hips, light brown hair, gray eyes, and just the right amount of stubble covering his square jaw. His black, form-fitting Henley revealed chiseled planes I wasn’t sure could be real. A thousand things I could do to him, with him flitted through my mind in a matter of seconds. The art piece met my eyes for only a second before turning toward Taylor. Saying I was offended was an understatement! He'd dismissed me with just one look... The fuck? I was fucking gorgeous! We all knew it.

  “I’m sorry, T, didn’t know you were on a date.” He smiled teasingly at her. “Also, I think we need to discuss your date's outfits.”

  She waved her hand dismissively at him. “Grayson, this is Antoine.”

  “Ah.” He looked at me again. “The infamous Antoine.”

  I gave him my flirty grin as I turned slightly toward him. I rested my arm on the sofa in what I hoped was a cool gesture. “Whatever she told you about me?” I nodded. “It’s probably true.”

  “Lord, save us all,” he deadpanned and I wasn't sure if he was joking or not. He looked at Taylor again and I cursed inwardly. How was it possible that he affected me so much and I didn't affect him, not at all?

  “Sorry, love,” he said to her. His British accent made the word sound like ‘luv’ and it went straight to my cock.

  Sorry, Taylor, babe, but I'm going to need to take the longest shower in history tonight. I need to have a tug of war with the cyclop before getting into bed with you or you’ll have that monster poking into your backside most of the night.

  “I got lost in my painting. Sorry I missed pizza night.” He rolled his shoulders and neck. “I’m knackered and sore, so I'll take a shower and call it a night. See you guys tomorrow.”

  I can massage your muscles if you want… I thought, following him with my eyes to the bedroom.

  “So…”

  “No.” Taylor pointed her index finger at me in warning.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “No. You don’t go there. You leave him be.”

  “He is fucking hot.”

  She grimaced. “I’m not blind, A! I know that!” She shook her head. “Don’t go around seducing him and breaking his heart like you always do. I like him,” she almost whined. “I don’t want to have to look for a new roommate.”

  “So... he’s single?”

  She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Have you listened to a word I said?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I won’t actively chase him, but if he offers...I won’t refuse.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Antoine…”

  “Also, how rich does he think we are? Just so I know how much I can reveal.”

  She looked heavenward before concentrating on me again. “We’re not rich - upper middle class at best, got it?”

  “So no date involving a pr
ivate jet rental and a dinner in Rome?”

  “I’m going to punch you in the dick. I swear I will.”

  And I knew she would; she'd done it before.

  I chuckled, kissing her forehead. “I’m messing with you!” I wrapped my arm around her shoulders. “Come on, babe, show me your hunky Viking.”

  She looked at me for a second before sighing and leaning against me, nestling her head in the crook of my neck.

  As she watched her show, my thoughts were consumed by the man I'd seen for a total of five minutes, a man who affected me like no one had before.

  I'd never had an interest in an encore or even a relationship with any of the guys I'd hooked up with, knowing that there was no tomorrow, but for a man that looked like him? Fuck, I might just try.

  Chapter Three

  My banging headache had the effect of a marching band inside my brain. Groaning, I turned around and squinted at the white ceiling of Taylor’s room. How could a hangover be worse on day two?

  Because you have not slept, moron, the taunting, little voice in my head chimed.

  I turned to Taylor's side, now empty and cold - proof that she was long gone. She was a morning person - a psychopath.

  She'd left a bottle of water and a couple of ibuprofens on her nightstand, along with a simple note.

  I’ll be back around four. Don’t be an asshole. Love you.

  I chuckled, then winced as I sat up on the bed. Fuck, I was twenty going on fifty today.

  Sighing, I took the meds like a good boy and then dragged myself into her ensuite, hoping that a cold shower would help me feel human again.

  When I went into the kitchen for breakfast, I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight of Taylor's roommate extraordinaire making himself some food. He was barefoot, but dressed in jeans and a long sleeve shirt. I detailed him. He was just as gorgeous in the daylight than he'd been to my slightly drunken brain last night. That ass in those tight jeans…