Textual Confusion, page 23
Markus rolled his eyes. “I literally grew up here, Mom.”
“Still, you didn’t even comment on the new paint color in the lounge! Anyway, here we are. The last room down the east wing.”
That’s right. Their house had wings.
Maggie opened the door and ushered them inside what was a large bedroom. A big, four poster bed pushed up against the back wall took up the majority of the space, but there was also your typical bedroom furniture – a dresser, armoire, and pair of nightstands.
“This used to be Markus’s childhood bedroom,” Maggie explained. “Creature of habit that he is, he always insists upon staying here when he visits.”
Markus glowered. “I’m standing right here, Mom.”
“Anyway, Asher,” she said, ignoring her son, “now that you’ve seen where Markus is staying, I’ll show you to your room.”
Asher froze, taken off guard. He and Markus… were going to stay in separate rooms? Were Markus’s parents super religious and the man had forgotten to tell him? Or maybe they weren’t as accepting of gay relationships as Markus had made it seem.
He glanced at Markus, a bit of panic in his eyes.
Markus, however, wasn’t looking at him. He was too busy huffing at his mother. “Mom,” he complained, “stop teasing him.”
Maggie smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she patted Asher’s head. “Sorry, darling. I couldn’t resist. Of course, I expect you and Markus to room together. A little warning, though, this room in particular tends to get drafty at night. You might need to find creative ways to… keep each other warm,” she finished, winking at him.
Asher doubted staying warm would be an issue. After all, he was pretty sure the amount of heat radiating from his face at the moment was enough to rival a furnace.
Maggie spotted his splotchy cheeks and actually cooed at him, pinching one gently between her fingers. “Oh my gosh, Markus, do you see this? What an absolute doll.”
“Mom, give him some space, would you?” Markus ordered, sounding truly annoyed for the first time as he stepped between them, forcing her to release the hold she had on Asher.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she offered in succession, the second apology directed towards Asher as she peeked around her son’s shoulder. “I’m just so pleased that my son has brought home such a sweet young man for us to meet.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I’ll leave you two to get settled. We’ll eat in an hour or so.”
It wasn’t until after she waved goodbye and closed the door behind herself, that Asher felt the tension in his shoulders sag a little. As sweet as Markus’s mom seemed, she was also a lot, and Asher didn’t know her well enough to be completely comfortable in her presence yet.
“Still think my mom is nice?” Markus teased as Asher unpacked the various clothes and toiletries he’d thrown in his overnight bag for the weekend.
“She is nice,” Asher asserted, “I’m just… you know, not used to it.”
Markus’s eyebrows shot up to nearly his hairline. “You’re not used to people being nice to you? Who exactly do I need to have a chat with here? Your friends? Co-workers? Boss?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Asher denied, shaking his head. (Although the thought of Markus and Mr. Brittle having a confrontation was entertaining.) Asher just wasn’t used to mother figures, in particular, being nice to him. Sure, Danny’s mom had always been kind to him growing up, but she’d been sick for a while now and hardly recognized Danny most days, let alone Asher. Then there was Trent’s mother, who’d always held Asher at arm’s length, never really approving of his relationship with her son and treating Asher coldly because of it.
As for his own mother, well… she knew how to be nice to Asher when she wanted something from him, but that was about it.
“What did you mean then?” Markus demanded.
“Nothing,” Asher said quickly, hating the sight of the concerned wrinkle in Markus’s brow. “Don’t worry about it.”
It didn’t matter, anyway. It didn’t seem like Asher had anything to fret about when it came to Markus’s mother. Maggie practically exuded motherly energy, and she seemed genuinely happy and accepting of Asher’s relationship with her son.
Except, of course, there was no relationship. Not one outside of the sex-in-exchange-for-money equation, anyway. And Asher was lying to her about it.
Feeling suddenly sick to his stomach, Asher rubbed his tummy with one of his hands.
Markus, somehow able to sense his dismay, took Asher’s other hand into his own. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Asher managed to croak, ripping his hand out of Markus’s grip. “Just a stomachache. Is there an ensuite bathroom?”
Despite the frown pulling at the corners of his mouth, Markus gestured towards a door, and Asher hurried over to it.
Asher was used to fancy marble floors and enormous vanities with equally large mirrors from staying over at Markus’s penthouse so often, so he didn’t spare his extravagant surroundings a glance as he made his way over to the toilet. Instead, as soon as he was sitting on the lid, he pulled out his phone.
He wasn’t surprised to see a handful of missed texts from Sasha. She knew how nervous he’d been about meeting Markus’s parents and was probably checking up on him.
Sasha
So… how is meeting the parents going?
Is Big Daddy’s daddy as hot as he is?
Because I gotta admit, I see you rocking this sugar baby thing, and I’ve been considering giving it a go.
Asher snorted at his friend’s antics, appreciating the distraction from the nerves (and guilt) threatening to eat him alive.
I want to be a supportive friend and all, but there’s a teensy-weensy problem with your plan.
Ugh. Don’t tell me his dad’s got that weird hair that grows out of old people’s ears and noses. I can handle a beer belly and a butter face but not that.
I don’t know how Markus’s dad looks like! I was going to say you love Danny. That that’s the problem.
Pretty sure Danny would be okay with it for ten grand a week.
Hell, I’m pretty sure Danny would be down to fuck Big Daddy’s daddy for ten grand a week.
Well, I’m sorry to say you’ll have to give up the lurid fantasies you have of your boyfriend fucking my sugar daddy’s dad. I haven’t met him yet, but Markus’s mom is a total MILF. He’d be a fool to cheat on her.
Most men are fools. No offense. And, anyway, how would you know that she’s a MILF? You’re gay.
Just because I like dicks, doesn’t mean I can’t recognize when a woman is attractive!
Does that mean you think I’m attractive?
You’re beautiful, Sasha.
Right back at ya, babe.
Hey, you think Big Daddy’s mommy would be down to get herself a sugar baby?
I’m hanging up now.
But we’re not even actually talking!
Don’t care. The point stands.
You know I was just kidding about the sugar baby thing… right?
Mostly, anyway.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Everything okay in there?”
Asher’s eyes darted to the door.
“Be out in a second!” he called, stuffing his phone back into his pocket before flushing the toilet and washing his hands to make it seemed like he’d actually used the bathroom for its intended purpose.
He didn’t expect to be accosted by Markus the second he stepped out of the room, the man crowding him against the door and bracketing him between his arms. Asher blinked up at him in alarm. “Is everything alright?”
Markus was still frowning. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he said. “You don’t seem quite like yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Asher insisted. “Just, you know, a little nervous to be meeting your parents.”
Markus tilted his head to the side. “Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you?”
Asher pressed his lips together in an effort to stop himself from blabbing the truth.
That he hated they were lying to Markus’s family about being in a real relationship.
Lie all you want to the man’s parents, but don’t lie to yourself, Asher’s inner voice scolded. You’re not just upset because you’re lying to Markus’s parents about the authenticity of your relationship. You’re upset because you want to be in a real relationship with him.
Unreasonably nervous that Markus would somehow be able to read his thoughts by looking into his eyes, Asher’s gaze fell to the floor.
Markus didn’t allow that, however, a finger curling under Asher’s chin and forcing him to look back up at him. “Do you remember my number one rule?” he asked.
Asher nibbled on his bottom lip. They hadn’t really talked about their arrangement in terms of “rules” before. “That you’re in charge?” he guessed.
“No, my number one rule is honesty,” Markus corrected, plucking Asher’s lip away from his teeth with a thumb. “Lying to me, especially about something as important as your well-being, would be grounds for punishment.”
Asher swallowed. “I’m fine. I promise.”
Markus stared him down for a long minute. “Okay,” he said after a while, pressing a kiss to Asher’s mouth. “I believe you.”
Asher’s belly churned with guilt.
Great. Now, not only was he actively lying to Markus’s parents and himself, he was lying to Markus, too.
Pushing that thought away, Asher allowed Markus to lead him out of the bedroom and down the stairs. He forced some pep in his step and pasted a smile on his lips, hoping to ease some of Markus’s concerns by putting on a happy face.
When they arrived at their destination, which was apparently the dining room, Asher fought to keep the shock off his face as he took in the amount and variety of food on the table. There was roasted turkey and glazed ham, as well as over half a dozen sides: mashed potatoes and gravy, cheesy hash browns, macaroni and cheese, green bean casserole, creamed corn, broccoli and cauliflower salad, and cranberry sauce.
Everything looked and smelled delicious.
Asher turned his wide eyes onto Markus. “How many people are coming to dinner?” he asked.
“Just us.”
“Just us?” Asher repeated incredulously.
Markus pulled Asher to his side and squeezed. “I hope you enjoy leftovers.”
“Perfect timing!” Maggie exclaimed as she bustled into the room with yet more food. She placed the basket of dinner rolls she was holding on the table with the rest of the spread. “I was just going to call you two down to eat. Why don’t you have a seat while I fetch Abram?”
Like the rest of their home, the Kingston’s dining room was opulent. Sophisticated paintings lined the walls and the ornately carved table that served as the room’s center piece looked like it could easily seat ten or more people. As such, Asher had no idea where he was expected to sit.
Which is why he was relieved when Markus pulled a chair out and gestured for Asher to sit before taking the seat directly beside him.
Of course, he was hopping right back out of his seat a moment later when Markus’s mother reentered the room with her husband – Markus’s father – in tow.
“Hello, Sir,” Asher blurted, debating whether or not he should reach out to shake the man’s hand before deciding on an awkward bow instead. “I’m Asher. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Maggie cooed at him – again. “I told you he was a sweetheart,” she stage-whispered into her husband’s ear. As for Abram, Markus’s dad, he merely raised an eyebrow before turning to face Markus, who’d also risen from his seat. “I’m disappointed, son.”
Asher felt his stomach promptly fall out of his ass.
“What horrifying stories have you been telling this young man to make him so nervous to meet me?”
Markus snorted. “Nothing but the truth, I assure you.”
“Ignore him,” his father insisted, returning his attention to Asher, who was just relieved that man didn’t seem to hate him on first sight, after all. “It’s lovely to meet you, Asher. I’m looking forward to getting to know the person who’s managed to catch my son’s attention well enough to finally pull him away from work on occasion.”
Markus’s mother snorted. “As if you weren’t just as much of a workaholic when you were running the firm,” she scolded. “You’d have overworked yourself to death a decade ago if not for me.”
“Ah, yes, but I do have you,” Abram pointed out.
“And now I have Asher,” Markus declared, wrapping an arm around his waist.
“And we are tinkled pink about it,” Maggie assured. “Now, let’s sit and eat before the food gets cold.”
“Everything looks delicious, Maggie,” Asher offered as he once again took his seat.
She beamed at him. “Thank you, darling.”
“She didn’t make any of it,” Abram promptly revealed. “We have it catered every year.”
“I buttered the bread, I’ll have you know.”
Abram leaned towards Asher, like he was letting him in on a secret. “She can’t make toast without charring it. Nearly burned the house down once trying to make cookies. They weren’t even homemade, just the prepackaged ones.”
Maggie released an exaggerated gasp, holding a hand to her heart. “Betrayed by my own husband!”
Asher blinked. “Well, at least now I know who taught Markus how to cook.”
For a moment, it was silent, and Asher thought he may have overstepped. “I- I mean-”
Then they both burst into laughter.
“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Markus complained even as Maggie offered a “touché” and dabbed amused tears from the corners of her eyes.
“Yes, well, now that Asher knows we have Valerie’s Catering Services to thank for the lovely meal, let’s say a prayer and dig in, shall we?”
Maggie nodded, and Asher awkwardly bowed his head as Abram thanked God for the meal. When he was finished, he invited everyone to eat.
Asher looked over the spread of food as Markus’s parents began loading their plates. It seemed dumb, but he was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of it. Markus must have been able to sense his anxiety because a moment later, the man picked up his plate and began filling it for him.
Asher felt the tension drain from his shoulders.
He glanced over at the man’s parents, waiting for a comment, wondering if they thought it was weird, but Maggie merely pointed at the ham and insisted Markus make sure Asher try some. “I know that turkey is traditional, but the glazed ham is to die for.”
Markus set Asher’s plate in front of him.
“Thank you,” Asher murmured quietly.
Instead of verbally responding, Markus merely placed a hand on his thigh and gave it a comforting squeeze. He didn’t move the hand afterward.
Forcing himself to concentrate on the food on his plate and not the hand on his leg, Asher began to eat. Everything he put into his mouth was delicious, and he was content to sit quietly as Markus and his parents caught up.
But, of course, it wasn’t long until the conversation turned from small talk about the company and Maggie’s newest hobby – she’d taken up knitting, apparently – to Asher.
“Unfortunately, Markus hasn’t told us much about you, Asher,” Abram said bluntly. “He only mentioned you’ve been seeing each other for a month or so when he told us he’d be bringing you around for Thanksgiving. Tell us about yourself.”
Abram had been nothing but kind to Asher so far, and his tone was perfectly polite, but it was an order, and could be mistaken for nothing else. It was obvious that Markus’s father was a man who was used to being in charge, and if he was anything like his son, he tolerated nothing but respect and obedience from those around him.
“What would you like to know?” Asher asked, putting down his silverware to give the man his full attention.
“For starters, why don’t you tell us what do you do for a living?”
Asher stiffened. Now this was more like what he’d pictured when Markus had asked him to meet his parents. An interrogation.
“I’m a baker,” Asher said, keeping his face expressionless as he waited for Abram and Maggie’s reaction to the news. Asher wasn’t ashamed of his job. On the contrary, he loved baking and was proud of his ability to put a smile on someone’s face via sweet confections and desserts.
He just wasn’t sure a billionaire businessman would share the same sentiments.
“I work at a coffeeshop in downtown Seattle called Honeycomb Café. Plus, I cater on the side.” Asher added before pausing, unsure if he should include the next part considering he hadn’t even told Markus. “I hope to own my own storefront someday.”
“That’s very ambitious of you,” Abram commented.
To Asher’s relief, he didn’t ask how he planned on financing such a project. Mostly because the answer was having sex with his son for as long as Markus would have him.
He cleared his throat. “Thank you.”
“I think that’s lovely, dear,” Maggie added. “Baking is an art form if you ask me. And I would know, considering I’m a bit of an artist myself.”
“Really?” Asher asked, interest piqued. “What kind of art do you do?”
“She’s more of an art aficionado than an actual artist,” Abram cut in, waving a hand.
“Excuse me, but those ceramic vases I made during that pottery class last spring would beg to differ.”
Markus snorted. “Calling any of those aberrations a vase is a stretch,” he muttered.
Maggie glared at her son and husband alike before focusing her attention on Asher. “See what I have to put up with?” She shook her head. “Anyway, whether I’m good at it or not, I’ve always loved art. I’m actually part owner of The Connoisseur,” she added, gesturing at one of the paintings on the wall. “It’s where I commissioned this piece, and the ones in the piano room that you liked.”
