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elrhiarhodanTitle: Red Velvet - Part Nine of Nine
Notes: See Master Post - On LJ | On DW
London, May
“Byron painting that in July, 1977 – right after we had watched Harlem burn in the Blackout.”
Neal was standing with June in front of a large canvas that normally hung on the wall in the Ellington mansion’s second floor library. It was a scene depicting urban destruction. “We’d just moved into the house and it was still in terrible shape. Even before that night we had trouble with looters and vandals.”
“What did you do?” He asked.
“I sat outside the nursery and held onto a pump action shotgun – no one was going to get past me to my daughters. Byron and Ford waited downstairs with semi-automatics and as many fire extinguishers as they could get their hands on. It seemed like the world was going to end that night.” June clung to him. “But we were lucky and the worst of the violence passed us by.”
The moved on to look at the other paintings she had lent to the exhibit. There was an elderly bag lady pushing a shopping cart, her tiny dog looking out of at the viewer and wearing an expression far more sane than the one on its mistress’ face. A heroin addict pumping his veins full of poison in search of an unobtainable surcease from the intolerable pain of living. A pair of prostitutes – no older than twenty, but already ancient and worn out.
“Byron never glossed over human suffering – he didn’t believe in making his art pretty, but he always remembered that his subjects were human.”
“I hope that you said that for the exhibition catalog.”
“I most certainly did!” June had been delighted and terrified when the museum had asked her to contribute to the catalog’s text. “Sending Peter to London was the best idea I ever had – after taking you on as my tenant.”
Neal always understood why she never hold him about Peter’s past and the problems he’d had with Daniel, just as she hadn’t told Peter about his own relationships with women. She might have been unremittingly maternal, but they were adults and needed to live their lives without interference. Up to a point, apparently. He’d never called June – or Reese or Elizabeth for that matter – on her matchmaking, until now. “If I hadn’t decided to take Hale up on his offer to teach, would you have considered it?”
She shrugged. “Possibly. But I do like the idea of being your fairy godmother.”
“Just so you know, Peter and I had already resolved most of our differences before we came here.”
June zeroed in on the qualification. “Most, Neal? Not all?”
He sighed. “You can’t just wave your wand and make the past disappear. Peter and I had a lot of issues to work through. You know that.”
“And have you? Worked through them?”
“Yes, to a very great degree. And having this time – without the day-to-day pressures – has made a big difference. So, thank you.” Neal kissed June’s cheek.
They continued to wander through the galleries. It was opening night for “Twentieth Century American Urban Realism” and Byron Ellington’s paintings were the culmination of an exhibit that included The Ashcan School, George Bellows, Rockwell Kent and Edward Hopper. June, as the widow of the youngest artist represented in the showing and a witness to much of the history recorded in Byron’s works, was given special accord. Not only had she contributed to the show’s extensive catalog, but the organizers, on hearing her voice, begged her to record the audio guide.
Peter, naturally, agreed on her behalf – in exchange for a substantial donation to several New York art programs for troubled youth.
“If only Byron were here to see this. To be considered the equal to so many artists he admired.”
Neal hmmm’d in agreement. He was distracted by a familiar head of ginger hair and a pair of bright green eyes. Of all the people he’d expected to see at the opening, Sara Ellis wasn’t one of them.
He looked for Peter and wondered if they should make an early departure to avoid Sara. The two of them had come a very long way since the night Peter had stripped himself bare. But Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to put his partner’s hard-won peace of mind to the test.
June noticed his distraction and tightened her grip on his arm. “Don’t run, Neal.”
Even if she had let him go, even if he was able to find Peter and drag him out of the gallery, it was too late. Sara spotted him and was heading over to say hello.
She greeted June first, Continental-style – kisses on both cheeks. Even though they had only been together for a few months, she’d been a frequent visitor at his apartment and June had made it a point to get to know her. She had liked Sara – found her smart and funny – but had been quick to tell Neal that she wasn’t in it for long haul. And then June gave him a sharp looked and said that he wasn’t, either – at least not with Sara.
Sara didn’t know that, of course, and her eyes were warm and her arms welcoming as she hugged him and gave him a similar set of kisses.
“I can’t believe you’re here, Neal. I guess you travelled with June?”
“No, actually, I’ve been living in London for the last five months. I came over to teach a pastry course.”
“You’ve been in London all this time and you haven’t looked me up?” Sara pouted.
“I – ” Damn, he should have run.
But Sara swatted at him. “I’m teasing you. I’ve been living almost everywhere but London. Things really took off for me.”
Neal had no clue – he’d long since stopped paying attention to the fashion world. “I guess being Matthew Keller’s muse has worked out for you.”
“Oh, that creep is long gone from my life. I don’t know how you ever put up with him – he’s a talentless hack.”
Neal blinked. Not that he disagreed with that assessment, but he was just surprised to hear it from Sara. “So – if not Matthew, than who?”
“I have a contract with Laurent St. Martin – one of the real couturier houses in Paris. I’m not modeling any more. They’ve hired me to design a line.”
Neal remembered, vaguely, that Sara had ambitions in that area. “That’s marvelous.”
“But you’re thinking that it’s quite a leap, from cover girl to designer, right?”
Neal nodded.
She lifted her shoulders in an elegant gesture. “I know – and everyone probably thinks I’m nothing more than window dressing … but if Victoria Beckham can get respect from the fashion world, so can I.”
Neal listened to Sara with half an ear. June had gone off to talk with one of the museum’s more royal patrons. He was looking for Peter, hoping that Peter wouldn’t find him.
“So – what about you? We really didn’t get much of a chance to talk when I saw you at the Met.”
“I – uh – ” Peter was on the other side of the gallery, chatting with someone Neal thought he should recognize.
“Your boyfriend seemed a little intense, though.” Sara had always known the score regarding his sexuality.
“Peter’s a good man; we’re actually in London together. He’s been representing June’s interests in the show.”
“Ah – I was just a little, well, worried. Matthew behaved like such a fucking punk – ” Sara covered her mouth and looked around, hoping she wasn’t overheard. “Sorry. It really seemed like the shithead was out to cause problems that night. And there were some rumors … ” She trailed off.
“It’s okay. Peter and I, we’re good. Nothing to worry about.” Neal kept looking over Sara’s shoulder, at Peter. His heart stuttered a bit when Peter caught his eye. Neal gave him a quick, bright smile and decided that acting like he was doing something wrong was the worst possible behavior. “Come on; let me introduce you properly this time.”
Neal guided Sara through the glittering throngs, over to Peter. His partner had a surprised expression, but to Neal’s instant relief, he didn’t seem upset.
“You remember Sara Ellis?” Neal stepped closer to Peter and snaked an arm around his waist.
“Of course I do. We met last summer – at the Met Gala.” Peter gave her a casual smile.
Sara smiled back at Peter, “And you recognized me from a magazine cover.”
“Right. Are you still with – ” Peter snapped his fingers, as if he couldn’t remember a name “Keller? The designer?”
“Nah, like I told Neal, I dumped his untalented ass. He kept calling me fat.”
Both men blinked and simultaneously said, “Huh? You?”
“Yeah – and frankly – I’d been getting that from a few of the photographers, too.” She smoothed a hand over her hip that looked far too bony.
“Sara’s working for a designer house in Paris, now.” Neal informed Peter, who nodded gravely – as if this was the most important information he’d ever been given.
“I trust you have good legal and financial representation, Sara.”
Neal watched and listened as the two of them started talking about investments and taxes and pensions. Peter handed her his card, and she kissed both of them. But before she walked off, Sara turned to Neal, with an expression on her face that could best be called “puppy-dog eyes”.
“Neal? Would you…”
He knew just what she was going to ask. “A double chocolate fudge cake with hazelnut cream?”
She smiled fondly. “You remember my weakness. I’ve been good for so long, and now I don’t have to be, anymore.” She paused, a considering expression on her face, then added, “While you’re at it, maybe a small marzipan rainbow cake?”
Neal laughed, “For you, Sara, anything.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Even though he was a man who didn’t give into public displays of affection, he liked how Neal kept an arm around his waist while they talked to his ex-girlfriend.
Peter knew that Neal had been anxious about his reaction when he saw him talking with Sara Ellis. He knew that the anxiety was justified, and since he was in the mood to be honest with himself, he did have a slight – very slight – twinge of disquiet when he saw the two of them together. But it passed quickly, like a shadow of a bird in flight.
It was hard to believe that their time in London was almost done. Neal’s first efforts at teaching his craft had gotten off to a rocky start – the school that his old mentor, Hale, had started lacked both equipment and supplies. But Neal was resourceful and made arrangements with a former classmate from culinary school to use a hotel kitchen in exchange for his services as a pastry chef a few nights a week, at least until Hale could get his own kitchens finished and stocked.
If the classes weren’t as successful as they should have been, Neal had learned from the experience. He admitted to Peter that he liked teaching, but he preferred doing and couldn’t wait to get back to Desserts After Dark.
Peter had to ask, “Have you thought about opening up your own bakery again?”
“I have, but you know something, working for Elizabeth is better. I don’t have all the headaches of owning my own business, having to deal with the storefront and the special orders. Baker’s hours are really kind of awful, and I want a life with you.”
Peter had swallowed hard against the emotions that simple statement aroused in him. “I don’t de- ”
Neal cut him off. “You do, you deserve me, and I deserve you and we both deserve to be happy together. Got that?”
Now, standing in another museum, in another city, with Neal’s arm around his waist and exchanging meaningless pleasantries with Neal’s former girlfriend, Peter was awestruck by the distance he needed to travel to get to this point.
He watched Sara sashay off, a bemused smile on his lips.
“You okay?”
He looked at Neal, his own expression touched with concern. Peter gave him a wry smile, understanding perfectly. “I’m just fine.”
Neal held on to him as they made another complete circuit through the galleries housing the exhibition, stopping every few feet to greet friends, acknowledge bold-faced names, or actually admire the art. They walked with June for a while, until someone – an art critic, most likely – dragged her off to get her opinion on something.
“I’d say that this has been quite a successful evening, Mr. Burke.”
“I’d have to agree, Mr. Caffrey.”
“Shall we?” Neal tilted his head towards the exit.
“Why not?” They didn’t wait for June, who had decided she wanted and deserved a more luxurious stay this time and had taken a room at the Connaught Hotel in Mayfair. Peter had gently argued with her that after five months together, he and Neal really didn’t need the privacy she was giving them.
June had waved away Peter’s objections. “I love the place, but honestly – those Victorian era bathrooms aren’t a lot of fun for a woman my age. I want a little luxury and a lot of pampering.”
The museum wasn’t far from the house and the night was pleasantly warm. Peter couldn’t remember ever being this happy, this content. Walking side by side with the man he loved, living a life without excuses, without the constant expectation of disappointment and betrayal.
“It’s hard to believe that it’s been five months since we arrived here.” Peter had to comment.
“Harder to believe it’s almost been a year.”
“A year?” Peter cast his mind back. “Yeah – almost a year since you and Elizabeth came and did that very delicious dog and pony show. A lot has happened since then.”
“I don’t know if I’d change anything.”
Peter understood. “My heart still aches from the pain I caused you.”
“It was worth it, to end up here, with you now.” Neal took his hand.
The house was a few short blocks from the square, and they finished the walk in peaceful silence. Neal locked up and followed Peter up the narrow staircase to the bedroom they’d taken. Even though it was the biggest of the four in the house, by modern standards, it was cramped, barely large enough for the modern queen-sized bed.
“I will be happy to go home. I miss New York.”
“You miss your closet.” Peter joked. The vastness of Neal’s wardrobe never ceased to amaze him.
“My closet, certainly. My kitchen, too. The view out my window. I even miss that little fart machine, Bugsy.”
Peter laughed. “That he is. I wonder if June travels so much just to escape his gas.” He hung up his tuxedo jacket and pulled off the black silk bow tie before removing his cufflinks. Getting out of formalwear was as big a pain in the ass as putting it on. He struggled with the tiny buttons on the shirt, aggravated and impatient to be free of the heavily starched cotton.
“Stop, stop…” Neal shook his head. “I dress you, I undress you. I have to wonder how you manage to get out the door every day.” Neal’s own dress shirt was unbuttoned and pulled free from his trousers, giving Peter a tantalizing display of smooth ivory flesh.
He chuckled. “I know – I’m pretty damn helpless. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His tone was joking, but the words came from his heart.
Neal kissed him and stepped back. Peter thought maybe he was going to take them over to the bed – a most welcome destination. Instead, Neal took his hand and raised it to his lips. “I was going to wait until we got back home, were settled into a routine, but …” Neal paused and looked him in the eyes.
“But?” Peter had no idea where this conversation was going.
“PeterBurkewillyoumarryme?”
The words rushed out, barely intelligible and Neal’s hands, still holding his, had gone clammy. He wasn’t even sure he heard what he thought he heard. “Neal?”
“Will you marry me?” Neal repeated slowly. He stood there, his eyes filled with hope.
Peter didn’t think twice, he didn’t need to think at all. This was the question he’d wanted to ask but wasn’t sure if Neal was ready to take that step or if he even wanted to make such a commitment. “Yes, yes and yes.” He lifted Neal’s palm to his lips and kissed it. “I would be humbled and honored to be your husband.”
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Epilogue
Reese raised his glass in a toast to them, his face just a little flushed from the champagne and the moment. “To Peter and Neal, to their happiness.” The rest of the guests echoed those words.
Peter caught his old friend’s eye and they exchanged a knowing smile. Unlike Reese’s post-ceremony celebration, he wasn’t going to be able to drag his newly wedded spouse off to the bedroom and have his wicked way with him. There were far too many people here. Besides Reese and Elizabeth, Diana and Christie had been invited, so had Clinton and his own plus-one. There was no way he could even think of leaving the young man off the guest list. If not for his suggestion to make the firm’s client event a dessert party, Peter would never have met Neal. He might have loved his Friday night cupcakes, but Neal was his life.
Arthur and Elaine were here, too. They might have been his clients, but Peter had learned a very important lesson in the dark days after he’d almost destroyed everything, that they really were his friends, too. Elaine hadn’t been nearly as gentle with him as Elizabeth when she found out what happened, but she stood by him, steadfast in the face of rumor and innuendo. The wealthy moved in tight circles, like sharks.
June stood up and lifted her glass. “In a way, I feel like I’m the mother of both grooms. I’ve known Peter for nearly twenty years, which would mean we met when I was but a girl.”
Peter nodded in agreement. “And you still are.”
But Elizabeth, a little more than slightly tipsy, asked, “Hmm, I don’t think that’s possible. If you were a girl when you met Peter, how could you be his mother?”
June waved a hand at her. “Oh, hush – don’t be so logical in the face of my vanity.”
Everyone laughed and June continued. “As I was saying.” She looked around the room and asked, “What was I saying?”
Moz, who performed the ceremony for them, piped up. “You were reminiscing about your maternal feelings for both grooms.”
“Ah, yes. Neal is like a son to me, too. In a way, he’s more like Byron than like me, but that’s not a bad thing, is it?” June paused, blinking. Peter handed her his handkerchief, but she waved it off.
“Seeing these two men, watching them fall head over heels in love, then witnessing their struggles to find each other again – helping them when I could – reaffirms my faith that love is the truest strength of all.” She raised her glass. “To Peter and to Neal.”
“To Peter and to Neal!” The guests echoed the words again, to the bright ring of crystal as Peter touched his champagne flute to Neal’s. Neal leaned over and kissed him – nothing like the almost chaste kiss they’d exchanged at the end of the ceremony. This time, Neal kissed him with promise and intent and Peter wondered if maybe he could just growl at everyone and drag Neal upstairs.
He bit Neal’s lip, his own promise, and eased out of the kiss, just a little dazed. The guests – all of them – were laughing and clapping and tossing out vaguely obscene suggestions.
Neal squeezed his hand and whispered, “Just one more thing we have to do before you can go all caveman and carry me off.”
Before Peter could ask what that “one more thing” was, Blake, Neal’s apprentice baker, wheeled in a small cart with a not-so-small cake. With a flourish, he presented them with a long bladed knife.
Neal took the knife and Peter put his hand over Neal’s. They would cut the cake together. Looking down at their hands, he couldn’t help admiring his new wedding ring, the way it glimmered in the reflected light. Neal kissed him and they pressed the blade into the cake.
Neal was right when he had once told him that cutting into a cake was like having sex. They made the second cut and the piece of cake fell free.
It was perfect. It was red velvet.
FIN
Notes: See Master Post - On LJ | On DW
London, May
“Byron painting that in July, 1977 – right after we had watched Harlem burn in the Blackout.”
Neal was standing with June in front of a large canvas that normally hung on the wall in the Ellington mansion’s second floor library. It was a scene depicting urban destruction. “We’d just moved into the house and it was still in terrible shape. Even before that night we had trouble with looters and vandals.”
“What did you do?” He asked.
“I sat outside the nursery and held onto a pump action shotgun – no one was going to get past me to my daughters. Byron and Ford waited downstairs with semi-automatics and as many fire extinguishers as they could get their hands on. It seemed like the world was going to end that night.” June clung to him. “But we were lucky and the worst of the violence passed us by.”
The moved on to look at the other paintings she had lent to the exhibit. There was an elderly bag lady pushing a shopping cart, her tiny dog looking out of at the viewer and wearing an expression far more sane than the one on its mistress’ face. A heroin addict pumping his veins full of poison in search of an unobtainable surcease from the intolerable pain of living. A pair of prostitutes – no older than twenty, but already ancient and worn out.
“Byron never glossed over human suffering – he didn’t believe in making his art pretty, but he always remembered that his subjects were human.”
“I hope that you said that for the exhibition catalog.”
“I most certainly did!” June had been delighted and terrified when the museum had asked her to contribute to the catalog’s text. “Sending Peter to London was the best idea I ever had – after taking you on as my tenant.”
Neal always understood why she never hold him about Peter’s past and the problems he’d had with Daniel, just as she hadn’t told Peter about his own relationships with women. She might have been unremittingly maternal, but they were adults and needed to live their lives without interference. Up to a point, apparently. He’d never called June – or Reese or Elizabeth for that matter – on her matchmaking, until now. “If I hadn’t decided to take Hale up on his offer to teach, would you have considered it?”
She shrugged. “Possibly. But I do like the idea of being your fairy godmother.”
“Just so you know, Peter and I had already resolved most of our differences before we came here.”
June zeroed in on the qualification. “Most, Neal? Not all?”
He sighed. “You can’t just wave your wand and make the past disappear. Peter and I had a lot of issues to work through. You know that.”
“And have you? Worked through them?”
“Yes, to a very great degree. And having this time – without the day-to-day pressures – has made a big difference. So, thank you.” Neal kissed June’s cheek.
They continued to wander through the galleries. It was opening night for “Twentieth Century American Urban Realism” and Byron Ellington’s paintings were the culmination of an exhibit that included The Ashcan School, George Bellows, Rockwell Kent and Edward Hopper. June, as the widow of the youngest artist represented in the showing and a witness to much of the history recorded in Byron’s works, was given special accord. Not only had she contributed to the show’s extensive catalog, but the organizers, on hearing her voice, begged her to record the audio guide.
Peter, naturally, agreed on her behalf – in exchange for a substantial donation to several New York art programs for troubled youth.
“If only Byron were here to see this. To be considered the equal to so many artists he admired.”
Neal hmmm’d in agreement. He was distracted by a familiar head of ginger hair and a pair of bright green eyes. Of all the people he’d expected to see at the opening, Sara Ellis wasn’t one of them.
He looked for Peter and wondered if they should make an early departure to avoid Sara. The two of them had come a very long way since the night Peter had stripped himself bare. But Neal wasn’t sure he wanted to put his partner’s hard-won peace of mind to the test.
June noticed his distraction and tightened her grip on his arm. “Don’t run, Neal.”
Even if she had let him go, even if he was able to find Peter and drag him out of the gallery, it was too late. Sara spotted him and was heading over to say hello.
She greeted June first, Continental-style – kisses on both cheeks. Even though they had only been together for a few months, she’d been a frequent visitor at his apartment and June had made it a point to get to know her. She had liked Sara – found her smart and funny – but had been quick to tell Neal that she wasn’t in it for long haul. And then June gave him a sharp looked and said that he wasn’t, either – at least not with Sara.
Sara didn’t know that, of course, and her eyes were warm and her arms welcoming as she hugged him and gave him a similar set of kisses.
“I can’t believe you’re here, Neal. I guess you travelled with June?”
“No, actually, I’ve been living in London for the last five months. I came over to teach a pastry course.”
“You’ve been in London all this time and you haven’t looked me up?” Sara pouted.
“I – ” Damn, he should have run.
But Sara swatted at him. “I’m teasing you. I’ve been living almost everywhere but London. Things really took off for me.”
Neal had no clue – he’d long since stopped paying attention to the fashion world. “I guess being Matthew Keller’s muse has worked out for you.”
“Oh, that creep is long gone from my life. I don’t know how you ever put up with him – he’s a talentless hack.”
Neal blinked. Not that he disagreed with that assessment, but he was just surprised to hear it from Sara. “So – if not Matthew, than who?”
“I have a contract with Laurent St. Martin – one of the real couturier houses in Paris. I’m not modeling any more. They’ve hired me to design a line.”
Neal remembered, vaguely, that Sara had ambitions in that area. “That’s marvelous.”
“But you’re thinking that it’s quite a leap, from cover girl to designer, right?”
Neal nodded.
She lifted her shoulders in an elegant gesture. “I know – and everyone probably thinks I’m nothing more than window dressing … but if Victoria Beckham can get respect from the fashion world, so can I.”
Neal listened to Sara with half an ear. June had gone off to talk with one of the museum’s more royal patrons. He was looking for Peter, hoping that Peter wouldn’t find him.
“So – what about you? We really didn’t get much of a chance to talk when I saw you at the Met.”
“I – uh – ” Peter was on the other side of the gallery, chatting with someone Neal thought he should recognize.
“Your boyfriend seemed a little intense, though.” Sara had always known the score regarding his sexuality.
“Peter’s a good man; we’re actually in London together. He’s been representing June’s interests in the show.”
“Ah – I was just a little, well, worried. Matthew behaved like such a fucking punk – ” Sara covered her mouth and looked around, hoping she wasn’t overheard. “Sorry. It really seemed like the shithead was out to cause problems that night. And there were some rumors … ” She trailed off.
“It’s okay. Peter and I, we’re good. Nothing to worry about.” Neal kept looking over Sara’s shoulder, at Peter. His heart stuttered a bit when Peter caught his eye. Neal gave him a quick, bright smile and decided that acting like he was doing something wrong was the worst possible behavior. “Come on; let me introduce you properly this time.”
Neal guided Sara through the glittering throngs, over to Peter. His partner had a surprised expression, but to Neal’s instant relief, he didn’t seem upset.
“You remember Sara Ellis?” Neal stepped closer to Peter and snaked an arm around his waist.
“Of course I do. We met last summer – at the Met Gala.” Peter gave her a casual smile.
Sara smiled back at Peter, “And you recognized me from a magazine cover.”
“Right. Are you still with – ” Peter snapped his fingers, as if he couldn’t remember a name “Keller? The designer?”
“Nah, like I told Neal, I dumped his untalented ass. He kept calling me fat.”
Both men blinked and simultaneously said, “Huh? You?”
“Yeah – and frankly – I’d been getting that from a few of the photographers, too.” She smoothed a hand over her hip that looked far too bony.
“Sara’s working for a designer house in Paris, now.” Neal informed Peter, who nodded gravely – as if this was the most important information he’d ever been given.
“I trust you have good legal and financial representation, Sara.”
Neal watched and listened as the two of them started talking about investments and taxes and pensions. Peter handed her his card, and she kissed both of them. But before she walked off, Sara turned to Neal, with an expression on her face that could best be called “puppy-dog eyes”.
“Neal? Would you…”
He knew just what she was going to ask. “A double chocolate fudge cake with hazelnut cream?”
She smiled fondly. “You remember my weakness. I’ve been good for so long, and now I don’t have to be, anymore.” She paused, a considering expression on her face, then added, “While you’re at it, maybe a small marzipan rainbow cake?”
Neal laughed, “For you, Sara, anything.”
Even though he was a man who didn’t give into public displays of affection, he liked how Neal kept an arm around his waist while they talked to his ex-girlfriend.
Peter knew that Neal had been anxious about his reaction when he saw him talking with Sara Ellis. He knew that the anxiety was justified, and since he was in the mood to be honest with himself, he did have a slight – very slight – twinge of disquiet when he saw the two of them together. But it passed quickly, like a shadow of a bird in flight.
It was hard to believe that their time in London was almost done. Neal’s first efforts at teaching his craft had gotten off to a rocky start – the school that his old mentor, Hale, had started lacked both equipment and supplies. But Neal was resourceful and made arrangements with a former classmate from culinary school to use a hotel kitchen in exchange for his services as a pastry chef a few nights a week, at least until Hale could get his own kitchens finished and stocked.
If the classes weren’t as successful as they should have been, Neal had learned from the experience. He admitted to Peter that he liked teaching, but he preferred doing and couldn’t wait to get back to Desserts After Dark.
Peter had to ask, “Have you thought about opening up your own bakery again?”
“I have, but you know something, working for Elizabeth is better. I don’t have all the headaches of owning my own business, having to deal with the storefront and the special orders. Baker’s hours are really kind of awful, and I want a life with you.”
Peter had swallowed hard against the emotions that simple statement aroused in him. “I don’t de- ”
Neal cut him off. “You do, you deserve me, and I deserve you and we both deserve to be happy together. Got that?”
Now, standing in another museum, in another city, with Neal’s arm around his waist and exchanging meaningless pleasantries with Neal’s former girlfriend, Peter was awestruck by the distance he needed to travel to get to this point.
He watched Sara sashay off, a bemused smile on his lips.
“You okay?”
He looked at Neal, his own expression touched with concern. Peter gave him a wry smile, understanding perfectly. “I’m just fine.”
Neal held on to him as they made another complete circuit through the galleries housing the exhibition, stopping every few feet to greet friends, acknowledge bold-faced names, or actually admire the art. They walked with June for a while, until someone – an art critic, most likely – dragged her off to get her opinion on something.
“I’d say that this has been quite a successful evening, Mr. Burke.”
“I’d have to agree, Mr. Caffrey.”
“Shall we?” Neal tilted his head towards the exit.
“Why not?” They didn’t wait for June, who had decided she wanted and deserved a more luxurious stay this time and had taken a room at the Connaught Hotel in Mayfair. Peter had gently argued with her that after five months together, he and Neal really didn’t need the privacy she was giving them.
June had waved away Peter’s objections. “I love the place, but honestly – those Victorian era bathrooms aren’t a lot of fun for a woman my age. I want a little luxury and a lot of pampering.”
The museum wasn’t far from the house and the night was pleasantly warm. Peter couldn’t remember ever being this happy, this content. Walking side by side with the man he loved, living a life without excuses, without the constant expectation of disappointment and betrayal.
“It’s hard to believe that it’s been five months since we arrived here.” Peter had to comment.
“Harder to believe it’s almost been a year.”
“A year?” Peter cast his mind back. “Yeah – almost a year since you and Elizabeth came and did that very delicious dog and pony show. A lot has happened since then.”
“I don’t know if I’d change anything.”
Peter understood. “My heart still aches from the pain I caused you.”
“It was worth it, to end up here, with you now.” Neal took his hand.
The house was a few short blocks from the square, and they finished the walk in peaceful silence. Neal locked up and followed Peter up the narrow staircase to the bedroom they’d taken. Even though it was the biggest of the four in the house, by modern standards, it was cramped, barely large enough for the modern queen-sized bed.
“I will be happy to go home. I miss New York.”
“You miss your closet.” Peter joked. The vastness of Neal’s wardrobe never ceased to amaze him.
“My closet, certainly. My kitchen, too. The view out my window. I even miss that little fart machine, Bugsy.”
Peter laughed. “That he is. I wonder if June travels so much just to escape his gas.” He hung up his tuxedo jacket and pulled off the black silk bow tie before removing his cufflinks. Getting out of formalwear was as big a pain in the ass as putting it on. He struggled with the tiny buttons on the shirt, aggravated and impatient to be free of the heavily starched cotton.
“Stop, stop…” Neal shook his head. “I dress you, I undress you. I have to wonder how you manage to get out the door every day.” Neal’s own dress shirt was unbuttoned and pulled free from his trousers, giving Peter a tantalizing display of smooth ivory flesh.
He chuckled. “I know – I’m pretty damn helpless. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” His tone was joking, but the words came from his heart.
Neal kissed him and stepped back. Peter thought maybe he was going to take them over to the bed – a most welcome destination. Instead, Neal took his hand and raised it to his lips. “I was going to wait until we got back home, were settled into a routine, but …” Neal paused and looked him in the eyes.
“But?” Peter had no idea where this conversation was going.
“PeterBurkewillyoumarryme?”
The words rushed out, barely intelligible and Neal’s hands, still holding his, had gone clammy. He wasn’t even sure he heard what he thought he heard. “Neal?”
“Will you marry me?” Neal repeated slowly. He stood there, his eyes filled with hope.
Peter didn’t think twice, he didn’t need to think at all. This was the question he’d wanted to ask but wasn’t sure if Neal was ready to take that step or if he even wanted to make such a commitment. “Yes, yes and yes.” He lifted Neal’s palm to his lips and kissed it. “I would be humbled and honored to be your husband.”
Epilogue
Reese raised his glass in a toast to them, his face just a little flushed from the champagne and the moment. “To Peter and Neal, to their happiness.” The rest of the guests echoed those words.
Peter caught his old friend’s eye and they exchanged a knowing smile. Unlike Reese’s post-ceremony celebration, he wasn’t going to be able to drag his newly wedded spouse off to the bedroom and have his wicked way with him. There were far too many people here. Besides Reese and Elizabeth, Diana and Christie had been invited, so had Clinton and his own plus-one. There was no way he could even think of leaving the young man off the guest list. If not for his suggestion to make the firm’s client event a dessert party, Peter would never have met Neal. He might have loved his Friday night cupcakes, but Neal was his life.
Arthur and Elaine were here, too. They might have been his clients, but Peter had learned a very important lesson in the dark days after he’d almost destroyed everything, that they really were his friends, too. Elaine hadn’t been nearly as gentle with him as Elizabeth when she found out what happened, but she stood by him, steadfast in the face of rumor and innuendo. The wealthy moved in tight circles, like sharks.
June stood up and lifted her glass. “In a way, I feel like I’m the mother of both grooms. I’ve known Peter for nearly twenty years, which would mean we met when I was but a girl.”
Peter nodded in agreement. “And you still are.”
But Elizabeth, a little more than slightly tipsy, asked, “Hmm, I don’t think that’s possible. If you were a girl when you met Peter, how could you be his mother?”
June waved a hand at her. “Oh, hush – don’t be so logical in the face of my vanity.”
Everyone laughed and June continued. “As I was saying.” She looked around the room and asked, “What was I saying?”
Moz, who performed the ceremony for them, piped up. “You were reminiscing about your maternal feelings for both grooms.”
“Ah, yes. Neal is like a son to me, too. In a way, he’s more like Byron than like me, but that’s not a bad thing, is it?” June paused, blinking. Peter handed her his handkerchief, but she waved it off.
“Seeing these two men, watching them fall head over heels in love, then witnessing their struggles to find each other again – helping them when I could – reaffirms my faith that love is the truest strength of all.” She raised her glass. “To Peter and to Neal.”
“To Peter and to Neal!” The guests echoed the words again, to the bright ring of crystal as Peter touched his champagne flute to Neal’s. Neal leaned over and kissed him – nothing like the almost chaste kiss they’d exchanged at the end of the ceremony. This time, Neal kissed him with promise and intent and Peter wondered if maybe he could just growl at everyone and drag Neal upstairs.
He bit Neal’s lip, his own promise, and eased out of the kiss, just a little dazed. The guests – all of them – were laughing and clapping and tossing out vaguely obscene suggestions.
Neal squeezed his hand and whispered, “Just one more thing we have to do before you can go all caveman and carry me off.”
Before Peter could ask what that “one more thing” was, Blake, Neal’s apprentice baker, wheeled in a small cart with a not-so-small cake. With a flourish, he presented them with a long bladed knife.
Neal took the knife and Peter put his hand over Neal’s. They would cut the cake together. Looking down at their hands, he couldn’t help admiring his new wedding ring, the way it glimmered in the reflected light. Neal kissed him and they pressed the blade into the cake.
Neal was right when he had once told him that cutting into a cake was like having sex. They made the second cut and the piece of cake fell free.
It was perfect. It was red velvet.
Tags:
- character: clinton jones,
- character: diana berrigan,
- character: elizabeth burke,
- character: june ellington,
- character: matthew keller,
- character: mozzie,
- character: neal caffrey,
- character: ofc,
- character: omc,
- character: peter burke,
- character: reese hughes,
- character: sara ellis,
- genre: alternative universe,
- genre: angst,
- genre: domesticity,
- genre: fluff,
- genre: food,
- genre: friendship,
- genre: het,
- genre: hurt/comfort,
- genre: romance,
- genre: slash,
- pairing: elizabeth/mozzie,
- pairing: elizabeth/neal,
- pairing: elizabeth/reese,
- pairing: neal/kate,
- pairing: neal/keller,
- pairing: neal/sara,
- pairing: peter/neal,
- type: fan fiction,
- type: longfic,
- white collar,
- written for: wcbb,
- year: 2013
