Macarons at Midnight (27 page)

His stomach felt queasy when he woke up. Henry had obviously come home and slid into the bed behind him. Henry’s wiry arms, strong from hours and weeks and years of working with dough and heavy pots and pans, were wound around Tristan’s midsection, and he felt the gentle puff of Henry’s breath against his neck. It was only six. They still had two more hours until the party started. Tristan covered Henry’s hand with his own and tried to relax.

“Hey,” Henry muttered. “You awake?”

“It’s okay, babe. You don’t have to get up yet. We still have a while.”

“Good. I was going to try to stay up. Get some accounting done. Your nap was contagious.”

Tristan chuckled around the weird pit in his belly. “I’m sorry I pulled you away from your work. Hey, if you have too much to do, we can stay home tonight. I can always say you felt poorly on Monday.”

Henry squeezed Tristan’s belly. “No, it’s okay. I know this party is important for you. I’m going.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Tristan said. He was about a half a second away from insisting they stayed home. The lump in his belly wouldn’t let him relax.

“I would. Can we sleep a little longer, though? I’m beat.”

“Yeah. We can get another hour. Close your eyes. I’ll set an alarm.”

Tristan felt Henry slowly relax around him. He closed his eyes too and didn’t bother to set an alarm. If they managed to sleep through the entire party? Oh, well. That was quite alright with him.

H
ENRY
JERKED
awake when he realized it was dark. “Shit! What time
is it?”

“Mmph?” Tristan asked.

“I thought you were setting an alarm. The party starts in ten minutes.”

“We can skip it. It’s just work.”

“No way.” Henry shoved at Tristan’s shoulder. “We’re not skipping the party. Get your adorable ass in the shower.”

H
ENRY
DIDN
’
T
understand Blanchard and Starr. No, that wasn’t true. He understood the world just fine. What he didn’t understand was Tristan in it. The room was filled with designer clothes and expensive accessories, probably bought on consignment just to show who was best. Everyone measured each other with glances and calculating stares. Who had the best clothes, the best position in the room, who was the closest to the most desirable guests. Henry knew exactly what was going on. He’d lived it for more years than he wanted to count. Blanchard and Starr was its own little Upper East Side, and the name of the game was power and opportunity. The oddest part was that the opportunity seemed to be him.

More than once, while he was wandering around with Tristan, and even more noticeably since Tristan went to get them more drinks, he noticed people sidling up to him, trying to get closer. He’d gotten a few awkward conversation starters, smiles more brilliant than necessary for a junior ad guy’s nobody date. Henry was starting to get suspicious.

“Are you enjoying yourself?”

There was another one. Expensive suit, barely but just a touch ill fitting, shiny shoes that almost went perfectly, gelled-back hair, smarmy smile. This guy would be eaten alive by Trixie’s friends. Here, he most likely slipped by on slick smiles and slimy charm.

“I am. The office is lovely.”

“Lovely.” He smiled. “Let me guess, you’ve been hanging out with Tristan?”

Henry nodded. “I have. I’m here with him.”

“And that would make you Henry Livingston.”

That would also explain an awful lot about the brilliant smiles and the attempts to draw him in. They knew who he was. All of them. And his status as the Upper East Side prince in a Soho office made him the biggest social catch in the room. Henry wanted to grab Tristan and get the hell out. He’d spent enough years as Ophelia Livingston’s prime catch of a son before he came out. He didn’t want to be that ever again. It wouldn’t pay to be rude, though.

“Yes, I’m Henry. Nice to meet you….”

“Jordan.”

Jordan. The name sounded somewhat familiar. He knew Tristan wasn’t overly fond of a lot of the people in his office. But he vaguely remembered hearing about him going to eat with someone named Jordan. Maybe this guy wasn’t as sleazy as he seemed.

“Are you having a nice night?” Henry asked. He had to be polite.

“Of course, it’s great. Thank you so much for coming. This is a huge coup for Blanchard and Starr.”

“Excuse me?” Henry was confused. Mostly he just wanted to get Tristan and get out of there. Enough party, already.

“Oh, like I said, getting a meeting with Livingston’s is a huge deal for a firm our size. We were all really impressed when Tristan told us he’d been working on setting up a contact in your company for a month or so. Took a lot of initiative for the kid. He’s so new.”

Working on… contact… Livingston’s?
But Tristan had seemed so sincere. He’d acted like he had no idea who Henry was. How was it even possible? “That’s not possible.”

“What do you mean?” Jordan looked perplexed. Confused. “He came to your bakery to talk to you about the account, didn’t he?”

“N-no. Yes.” Henry didn’t even know how to answer.
Tristan
. He wanted to find a wall and collapse against it.

He saw a tall, sandy-haired body coming their way. The mound of hors d’oeuvres in his stomach coagulated in an instant. Tristan had been using him. Fucking hell. He’d thought Tristan was different, he’d thought
they
were different. How could he have been so wrong? Tristan smiled from a distance and waved a little, even with his full glass of champagne. Reflexively, Henry nearly smiled back. But then he remembered. Tristan’s smile faltered slowly as he drew nearer.

“Are you okay?” he asked when he got to where Henry was standing. Henry noticed Jordan shrug and walk away. He wouldn’t want to be involved in whatever was about to happen either.

“Did you plan this? Did you plan this whole thing to get to my father?” Henry gestured at the room around them. He felt sicker than sick but he couldn’t put it off.

Tristan’s pale English cheeks bloomed red. He looked at the ground. He all of a sudden seemed so… guilty? Henry couldn’t believe it. No. Impossible. But then he remembered how Tristan had wanted them to stay back earlier. Had he been feeling guilty about it for a moment?

Tristan nodded and Henry felt like he was going to die. “Yes. I did it. I’m so—”

“Seriously? All of it?”

Henry wanted the moment to be over, the party to be over. He wanted to pull Tristan close to him and have Tristan tell him it was all nothing like it looked.
Please. Please tell me you’re not that guy.
He’d trusted him. He’d told him he
loved
him. Sort of, at least, if a “me too” counted. How could he have been so wrong?

“Did you do this to get me here for a
job
?”

“Yes,” Tristan forced out. His voice was a hoarse whisper. Henry had given him two chances to deny it. He hadn’t.

Fuck.

Henry didn’t say another word. He just turned and walked away into the crowded room, feeling like the biggest asshole on the planet. He had to get out and never,
ever
come back.

Crunchy, with a mild licorice flavor. Delicious with milk or tea.

• 2 cups white sugar
  
• 1 cup softened butter
  
• 4 eggs
  
• 4½ cups all-purpose flour
  
• 4 teaspoons baking powder
  
• ¾ teaspoon salt
  
• ⅓
  cup brandy
  
• 1½ teaspoons anise extract
  
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
  
• 1 cup almonds
  
• 2 tablespoons anise seed
  

Preheat oven to 350°F and line baking sheets with parchment paper.

Beat sugar and butter. Add your eggs one at a time, beating well after each is added.

You’ll want to combine remaining wet ingredients in a small bowl and dry ingredients in another.

Carefully fold a spoonful of dry ingredients into the butter and sugar mixture, then a spoonful of the wet ingredients. Repeat until all are well combined. Mix thoroughly but carefully.

Drop spoonfuls of the dough onto the baking sheets and then push together so it forms two long loaves. Smooth the dough with a damp finger. Bake for 20 to 30 minutes and allow to cool completely.

Cut each long cookie on the diagonal into ¾-inch-thick slices (it helps to use a serrated knife). Reduce oven temperature to 300
°F
and place the cookies on fresh baking sheets, baking again for another 20 minutes until the cookies are dry and slightly brown.

H
ENRY
WAS
gone.
Gone
.

He wasn’t in the main floor of the office, he wasn’t in any of the restrooms, he wasn’t outside. He was gone. Tristan felt like an idiot. He was standing there with two flutes of champagne he didn’t even want, and no date. Not even an angry one. He should’ve known how it would turn out if he did this. Henry didn’t like dealing with his father’s business. Tristan should’ve
known
. He had known, if he was honest with himself. He’d known from the start.

He’d felt queasy about this party for hours. Probably longer than that. Probably since the moment it had been brought up at the meeting and he was too big of a chicken to speak up and say no. Too worried what people he didn’t care about thought. He wished he’d been able to talk Henry out of going. It had been an awful idea. Tristan decided the moment he found Henry, they were out. He’d take him home and spend hours showing him he didn’t care at all what Henry could get him at work, that it had been an awful idea and he was more sorry than he’d ever been about anything.

Tristan decided to go to the left first instead of the right, like Henry had gone. Maybe he’d just run into him, make him stop. Tell him everything. He wouldn’t have
left
left, would he? Henry had to be aroun—

Ooof.
Of course. Instead of bumping into Henry, he’d run full stop into Jordan, even sloshing his stupid sodding champagne all over both of them. How was he still standing there? Hadn’t he caused enough problems in Tristan’s life already?
Go the fuck away. Now.

“You looking for your friend?” Jordan asked.

No. Of course not. Nothing like that. I’m just hanging about looking panicked for no reason.

There was something about Jordan’s smarmy voice that got under Tristan’s skin, something about his smug face. He knew more about what had happened then he let on. He knew something or, no, he’d
done
something. Tristan had known better than to trust their new mini-truce completely, but he hadn’t thought Jordan was up to his old tricks again. He should’ve been smarter than to think otherwise.

Tristan grated his teeth. “My
boyfriend
.
Yes. Henry. Have you seen him?”

“You mean since that big scene a few minutes ago? You really think he’s going to stick around after he found out you used him the whole time just to get to his father?”

Tristan nearly answered before he realized what Jordan had just said. “Wait. What did you say?”

“You used Henry to get to his father. That’s why you were dating him, isn’t it? Or was it more of a fucking with benefits thing?”

Tristan had to physically hold himself against the wall to keep from pounding Jordan to the ground.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t even know who Henry’s father was until a week or two ago. I’ve been seeing him for
months
.”

“Oh, really?” Jordan asked. “Oops.”

“Is that what you told him? You let him…. You know what? I’m leaving.”

Tristan’s throat felt tight, his eyes heavy and watery. Was that seriously what Henry believed? Tristan didn’t want to deal with anything other than finding Henry and explaining what had happened, he couldn’t deal with anything else.

He grabbed his coat from the coat check at the front door and took off for the corner at a run. Tristan grabbed the first taxi he came across, which thankfully was quicker than usual. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of Henry’s building, key in hand. His fingers were shaking and he nearly dropped it. Only a short hour before, they’d left the flat together hand-in-hand, sleepy but smiling and laughing. Now he had to tell the guy he loved that he had used him for work, but it wasn’t as bad as Henry thought. Was there a good way to say that?

Tristan used his key to open the front door of the building. He trudged up the stairs to the third-floor entry to the flat. He already felt better, in the place where he belonged, but it wouldn’t be completely better until he had Henry in his arms and he could
explain
that he hadn’t really meant any harm. It probably seemed like he’d pimped him out—well, more than, probably—but it was stupid, and Tristan would make it up to him. There wouldn’t be a meeting; he had been stupid to think that was a good idea. There would only be him and Henry.