To say I had been shocked was an understatement. Leo and I have known each other for many years, but I wouldn’t have said we were friends until more recently. His brother is the king of Terengia, and whenever they or any members of the royal family visit Paris, they always stay at one of the hotels owned by my family. But about two years ago, when Leo had been in Paris, he had asked me to bring breakfast to a guest who was staying with him in his suite. I had also been asked to assist this guest, who had suffered an accident some years back and relied on a walking stick to move around, whenever he needed me.

This guest had been none other than Guillaume—Leo’s new husband as of today. Not that I suspected anything at the time. I had always thought that Leo was straight. I was very surprised when a picture of Leo kissing Guillaume appeared on all the gossip blogs a few weeks later. It didn’t seem like my gaydar had worked well on Leo.

But back to this wedding.

It seems by merely doing my job, I had played an important role in their love story—again, their words, not mine. Of course, I was only too happy to come to their wedding. Even if I am now a little bored.

I look around the beautifully decorated ballroom. Terengia may be a small country with barely five million inhabitants, but its royal palace is in no way inferior to that at Versailles. The wedding reception is taking place in the famous Hall of Mirrors, a room dominated by ten gigantic windows reaching from floor to ceiling directly opposite ten mirrors of the same size. They now reflect the twilight, which has slowly fallen over the baroque-style castle and its park like a fairy tale come true.

But the quiet evening atmosphere outside does not dampen the party within the castle walls. Golden chandeliers illuminate the room. And even if the original candles have been replaced by lightbulbs in recent decades, it doesn’t take away from the truly royal ambience. The entire hall is elaborately decorated with red roses. It’s almost a bit too cheesy for my taste. But if the rumors are true, roses are the two grooms’ favorite flowers.

Speaking of the grooms …

Leo and Guillaume are on the spacious dance floor, moving in a tight embrace to a quiet song played by the excellent big band. Heads tucked together, they exchange quiet words with each other. Words that are probably only meant for the two of them. They look so happy.

I’m so happy for them, but I can’t stop the sigh that escapes my lips. What wouldn’t I give to have what they have––a special someone at my side—right now? But after my last relationship ended a few months ago, there’s no one in my life that I would have wanted to bring to today’s celebration.

By coincidence, my eyes fall on the table where the two grooms were sitting. Leo’s best man stares at the happy dancing couple with a dark expression. Not only is his face tense, but his whole body is stiff, and yet it seems to vibrate with suppressed emotion at the same time. Now he lifts one of his fists and rubs his eyes roughly. He looks as if he doesn’t know whether he should throw a fit or burst into tears. Either way, this looks like trouble. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m already on my way to his table. My training in dealing with difficult guests and the years of experience I’ve had working in my family’s hotels make me react almost automatically. I’ve watched too many unpleasant scenes unfold at weddings not to intervene immediately, especially if I have the suspicion that something could get out of hand.

As soon as I reach the table, I let myself fall onto Leo’s chair. Even though this might seem pretty rude, Leo won’t care. He’s still busy gazing lovingly at his new husband—ugh! I’m so jealous. As I sit, Leo’s best man turns to me. His eyebrows rise as he looks down at me like I’m an irritating insect that’s landed on his nose. Good. I’ve eliminated the first danger––he’s distracted. I grin at him broadly and stretch out my hand.

“Frederick.”

And, as expected from someone who clearly grew up around a royal family, the manners this man’s been taught from an early age immediately kick in.

He takes my hand and replies, “Liam.”

Even though he is quite courteous, he can’t quite hide his confusion. At least that’s a step up from disgust. I can’t help smirking. When I say nothing more and only shake his hand, he allows the pause to lengthen only briefly before asking, “Are you a friend of Guillaume?”

Interesting. He apparently assumes he knows all of Leo’s friends and family. Although that does make sense. If he’s the best man, the two must be quite close friends.

I chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say so. We’ve only met twice.”

I refuse to offer any further information. My distraction tactic seems to be working because he hasn’t spared a glance in the grooms’ direction since I sat down. Instead, he’s looking at me more closely. A crease is forming on his forehead.

Cute.

I love men with expressive faces. All those poker faces that are in fashion right now get on my nerves. I mean, who wants to take someone with a face like a dead fish to bed with them?

“Are you a friend of Leo’s?” he asks cautiously and, I suspect, almost uncertainly.

Interesting.

Why is he so upset about not knowing a friend of Leo’s?

I laugh.

“‘Friend’ is perhaps too generous a term. I’m the concierge at the hotel in Paris where he always stays, or rather stayed, before he basically moved in with Guillaume.”

That may not be the exact truth, but it’s not a direct lie either. I do most of my work from the concierge desk. And I really don’t want to talk about my business here at the wedding.

The best man’s reaction is unexpected. It’s almost as if my words are a slap in the face. He flinches when I mention Guillaume’s name. And before I know what to make of his behavior, Liam loudly pushes back the lovingly restored chair he has been sitting on so forcefully it’s a wonder it doesn’t topple over.

“Please excuse me,” he mutters before hastily leaving the room.

Astonished, I look after him. Liam may have left the room, but he’s also left me wondering.

Should I wait to see if he returns, or should I follow him?

Liam

I cannot do this anymore.

I thought I could suppress my feelings. At least for this one day. I thought I could relax and be the good-natured wedding guest everyone expects.

But no.

I quickly hurry through the corridors of Terenberg Castle. Corridors that are flooded with memories. I have spent so many beautiful, funny, exciting hours within these old walls. We spent them here—Leo and me.

My best friend and me.

Tears well up in my eyes. I push myself a little harder. Speed up my steps a little more.

At last, I reach a door that opens directly into the large park that surrounds the castle. Although it is June, it is a cool evening. I shiver but keep walking. It only takes a minute for me to pass the magnificent Baroque gardens and enter the park proper. Only a few steps further is an old bench, somewhat hidden in the shade of some large trees. In the twilight, it is hardly visible, but I force myself to stop and sit down. My fingers immediately find the underneath of the front wooden slat. I feel for my name and Leo’s. We carved them there with the first pocketknife Leo got from his father. We must have been about eight or nine years old.

We lay on our backs under the park bench, giggling and feeling so daring and grown-up. It took hours before we were finally happy with the result. I can still feel the outline of the letters under my fingers, but I’m sure our names are no longer legible. No, they are probably as weathered as the bench itself.

I try to calm down a little. But I just can’t. This bench, these memories, this day …

My deep breaths turn into quiet sobs. I can’t stop them. At least no one can see or hear me here. Warm tears run down my cheeks as the truth settles into my soul.

I can’t believe it.

Leo—my Leo—is married!

And not to one of those women he seemed to pick up all the time. For years, I prepared myself for the fact that one day, he would find “the one.”

Then Guillaume showed up.

Oh, how I despise that man and his name. Not that he’s made it easy for me to hate him. Guillaume has behaved like a perfect gentleman toward me, not even trying to interfere with the friendship between Leo and me. Yet the anger inside me continues to grow. I feel like I’m on the verge of falling apart, like my soul is tearing itself away from my body.

As I pull my hand away from my eyes, I notice someone sitting down on the bench next to me. Irritated, I turn my head to the side and look at the person. I have to blink a few times to clear my vision—the darkness doesn’t help, nor my tears.

“Frederick. Do you remember?” he finally asks with a big grin on his face.

I could scream. What does he want now?

“So, you and Leo … you are best friends?” he says in a calm, almost bored tone. He looks completely relaxed. His voice, his whole posture, conveys nothing but ease. But even in the darkness, I do not miss the fact that he is watching me closely.

Without answering his question, I growl gruffly, “What do you want?”

Unimpressed, he shrugs. This man must have nerves of steel.

Even my expensive suit can’t hide my height of almost six foot three, the broad shoulders, and the mountains of muscle I have acquired through years of weightlifting. What can I say—I had to get rid of my energy and frustration somehow.

Most people avoid me. Although this may also be because I rarely smile—unless Leo is around.

“You don’t seem to like Guillaume very much,” remarks this virtual stranger. He not only seems determined to continue this unwelcome conversation but is now looking at me to gauge my reaction.

I take a deep breath.

This man—I could kill him!

I jump up from the bench and start pacing back and forth in front of it. If I don’t, there’s a chance I might do something I would regret.

Frederick

 This evening is getting more and more interesting.

Liam runs back and forth in front of the bench like a caged animal. A big, angry animal.

I lick my lips. Is it wrong that the scene arouses me? Probably. But I decide it doesn’t matter. It’s just the way I’m built. I’ve always had a weakness for men who are much taller than me. I also love riddles. And there’s no doubt this man is the most intriguing thing that’s happened to me tonight. I desperately want to know why he’s losing his cool.

I consider the best way to get him to talk.

“How long have you known Leo?” I try innocently.

“Kindergarten,” he replies with an almost incomprehensible grunt.

Okay. So far, so good. At least he’s talking.

“And when did you guys become best friends?” I ask, trying to get a clearer picture.

He shrugs and gives me an irritated glance. Jesus, Liam has the “brooding look” down to a fine art. I can barely suppress a groan of desire. This man is absolutely my type, but I force myself to concentrate.

“Forever, then?” I try to translate his nonverbal cues into speech.

He nods.

Could it be more than that? I wonder.

I decide to take a chance.

“But for you, it’s more than friendship?”

I hold my breath. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been slapped in the face for being curious.

But Liam surprises me.

He stops walking. He just stands there, completely stiff. Almost frozen.

Without turning to me, he whispers so softly that I can barely hear him over the rustling of the leaves in the light breeze, “How do you know?”

This time, I’m the one who shrugs. What can I say? Good guess?

He must be watching me, at least out of the corner of his eye, because after my gesture, he sighs dejectedly and rubs his hands firmly over his face. He then continues, “No one knows. But … I’ve loved him ever since I can remember.”

Tears stream down his face, but unlike before, when he sobbed loudly, now his tears are silent.

My heart breaks for him.

I hesitate for just a second. Then I stand up and hug him tightly, enjoying the feel of the strong muscles hidden beneath his suit.

At first, Liam tenses up even more. But after a few seconds, his body relaxes. He lets his head hang until it finally rests on my shoulder, and I gently stroke his back as he cries softly.

I don’t know how long we stand there. It doesn’t matter. It’s as if we’ve created a timeless bubble beyond the reach of the castle’s lights. Eventually, Liam calms down. He lifts his head from my shoulder and looks down at me.

Now that I’ve gotten used to the darkness, I can make out his features pretty clearly. He really is a stunning man. His current vulnerability doesn’t detract from his beauty—quite the opposite. Instead of the arrogant, self-confident asshole that had been standing in front of me, he’s now a real person, brimming with emotion.

I lift my hand from his back and gently caress his clean-shaven cheek. Tenderly, I brush aside the strands of hair that fell on his face. He closes his eyes and leans into my touch.

Should I dare? Should I take another chance tonight? Who am I kidding? I can’t resist.

My hand moves to the back of his neck. I stand on my tiptoes, raise my head, and my lips gently touch his. They’re surprisingly soft for a man who otherwise looks so rough——plump and velvety soft. I gently kiss away the slightly salty taste of his tears.

Once again, I seem to have caught Liam off guard, and I can barely suppress a giggle. As before, he tenses up, but this time, it only takes a few seconds for him to relax, and his strong, muscular body surrenders to my touch.

Liam

I feel completely drained. Totally wrung out. I can’t remember the last time I cried so much. Probably when my little brother died. I quickly push the thought away. The last thing I want to do right now is think about Hugo on top of everything else.

Frederick’s gentle touches ground me. They slowly pull me back down to earth. That crazy little man. I mean, he’s not really short. He’s probably close to five seven, but compared to me, almost everyone is short.

While my head is still stuck on that thought, I suddenly feel his lips on mine. Surprised, I open my eyes. When had I closed them? I wonder.

I hear a soft, mischievous giggle, and warmth spreads through my body. It feels like I’m sitting in front of the crackling log fire after a long, cold day in the snow.

Before my rational side has a chance to process what’s happening, my body instinctively takes over. I kiss him back.

Our kiss is tender. We let our lips gently brush each other’s, over and over again. But after a few moments, it’s no longer enough. I deepen the kiss. My tongue glides over his lips, and he immediately opens for me. I seize the opportunity and push my tongue deep into his mouth. It’s insane how good he tastes. It’s a mixture of red wine, chocolate, and a unique taste that seems to be all his own.

Our tongues dance around each other. Frederick doesn’t shy away from my demanding movements, but he does not try to take control either. He lets me set the pace.

As we gasp for air, I hear Frederick murmur, “Damn, you’re a great kisser.”

Ditto. But I don’t waste time answering him. Instead, I immediately close his mouth with mine again.

While we have left our hands where they were when we first kissed, I now let mine wander. I let them slide over Frederick’s arms, then back up and down his back. His body feels so great under my searching touch, firm and warm. As my hands discover his butt, I take the opportunity to press Frederick all the way against me so that there is barely anything separating us.

Oh my god, that feels so good.

Frederick’s long, stiff cock presses against my leg. It’s glorious, but I want more. I slide my thigh between his, and he willingly spreads his legs a little further apart. The way he responds perfectly to my touch drives me crazy. I knead his ass cheeks and try to pull him even closer to me, even though we are already touching from head to toe.

Frederick moans so loudly that I’m sure the two security guards at the entrance can hear it. I don’t care. Let them hear us. There’s no way I’m going to stop now.

But apparently, Frederick has other plans. He pulls his head back, interrupting our kiss.

No! I think, dismayed.

But then everything gets even hotter. When there’s some air between our lips, he breathes, “Fuck me.”

Hell, yes, I think, reignited.