Hiss!
What’s that?
Opening my eyes and blinking in the morning light, I search for the source of the noise only to catch a delicious scent. A smile spreads across my face. My gorgeous fiancé is cooking breakfast.
How lucky am I? I’ve not only fallen in love with an extremely handsome, intelligent and loving man, but he’s also a whiz in the kitchen. I’m pretty sure the scent that’s wafted through to the bedroom is his delicious homemade hollandaise sauce, which can only mean eggs Benedict with all the trimmings. My mouth starts to water.
That kind of breakfast is the perfect antidote after a big night out.
The best kind of hangover breakfast …
The events of last night flood back. Back to the class reunion, where I faced my childhood bullies for the first time in twelve years. When I came out and officially introduced Jean as my fiancé and found that for the most part, people were positive. There were a few minor exceptions, but that was to be expected. Apparently, we don’t all grow up—not emotionally, anyway.
It feels great to finally close this painful chapter in my past. For the first time since I left secondary school, I can look back on that time and it no longer hurts. The term “closure” couldn’t be more appropriate for the experience. I have no idea where the expression comes from, but the word conjures a closed door in my mind’s eye. And that fits. I’m done with it. Those years and the memories they created no longer affect me or my life.
My mind wanders from thoughts of yesterday evening to the events of last night, and my grin grows even wider. Jean and I are getting married. For real now. It’s been a year since I proposed, but we—I—haven’t made a move to make the wedding a reality. The thought of my parents’ reaction—and the strong possibility that they’ll refuse to come—lies like lead in the pit of my stomach. But I have to move on. It is what it is. Even though I don’t have “closure” over my parents’ reaction and may never have, I won’t let that stop me from living my life in a way that makes me happy or that makes Jean happy.
Speak of the devil …
Whistling softly to himself, my beloved fiancé appears in the doorway. He’s dressed in his favorite clothes for cooking up a storm in the kitchen: tightly cut black boxer shorts covered by an apron for safety. My gaze glides greedily over the perfect body in front of me. I’ve always been quite muscular myself, and since I started going to the gym with our friend Liam over the last few months, I’m even more built. Jean, however, is tall and lean. He has the wiry build of a runner and the elegance of a dancer. I’d be happy to sit back and watch him move all day.
My gaze is then caught by the blue coffee cup Jean’s holding. It’s my favorite cup, one we brought back from our first trip to Sicily together.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur in a croaky morning voice as Jean holds out the cup to me. I can tell it’s filled with delicious-smelling coffee.
He replies with a wink, “I owe you an apology for waking you up so early.”
My gaze wanders to the old-fashioned alarm clock on Jean’s nightstand. Since he’s always afraid that his cell phone will let him down one day and make him late for his shift at the hospital, he uses this relic. The large digital numbers show 07:58.
It’s not really that early, not even for a Saturday like today when we’re both off duty. But when I think how late we got to bed last night, and the pleasant interruption during it, then I suppose it is early. I’m not complaining, though. That interrupted night’s sleep was not only extremely sexy, but it ended with a conversation that led to a surprising but very welcome development.
“I really wanted to have breakfast with you before I shoot off to the convention.”
Oh, that damn congress!
I had completely forgotten about it. The largest European orthopedic congress is currently taking place in Terenberg. It was the reason Jean was late for my class reunion yesterday, and of course, he’s going there this morning to participate in a panel discussion. The whole thing can’t be over too soon as far as I’m concerned!
My sigh echoes around the room.
“Don’t be like that,” Jean laughs at me. “You’re welcome to come.”
I grimace and sip my coffee. Jean has dragged me along to a congress like this before. That one was in Berlin. I felt like I was in a foreign world. The speakers might as well have been speaking Chinese. I barely understood two words while Jean enthusiastically took notes. There’s no way I would put myself through that again. Jean laughs even harder when he sees my expression.
“Come on, let’s at least have breakfast together.”
I take his hand and let him drag me up. As always, my heart beats faster when Jean pulls my body all the way into him, hugging me tightly and pressing a loving kiss on my lips.
Just two years ago I was firmly convinced that such deep feelings, such a profound connection, that love, couldn’t happen between two men. I had resigned myself to my fate, that I could enjoy having sex with men right now, but that someday I would marry my best friend, Elisa. I’ve never been more glad about anything than when I had to admit that I’d made the wrong call. What Jean and I share is so special, and I thank my lucky stars every day for having this man in my life.
I hold my coffee cup out to the side so that we don’t accidentally scald each other and press Jean tightly against me with my other arm. I bask for a moment in the solid mass of his body. He lovingly strokes my back. I have the impression he enjoys these hugs as much as I do.
Eventually, I let go of him.
“I’m going to disappear into the bathroom real quick.”
With a swift kiss on the nose, Jean takes the cup from my hand and walks toward our large kitchen.
“Hurry up,” he purrs over his shoulder as he goes.
And I do.
Little more than three minutes later, we’re sitting at the beautifully laid kitchen table. Jean has even pulled out our new creamy white cloth napkins that his mother gave us for Christmas.
The door to the small balcony is closed, and my beloved chestnut trees that line the street are still bare in the middle of March, although I like to convince myself I can see a few green buds sprouting here and there. It is a glorious morning. The sun shines in through the windows, brightening the room and the dining table.
Sessi, our little cat Princess, is lying on her back on a cushion right in front of the balcony door, letting the sun warm her well-filled belly. It looks like Jean has already fed her.
I can’t think of a better way to start the day.
I watch Elmar closely as he steps out of the bathroom. He’s wearing sweatpants and nothing else. He’s one of those hot-blooded people who walk around in next to nothing even in mid-winter. His bare feet make the old parquet floor of the apartment creak softly in places, and my eyes glide lazily over his contoured torso in total appreciation. He is such a sexy man!
As he sits down, he takes my hand briefly and squeezes it before focusing on his food. My grandmother always said that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and with Elmar, that’s definitely true.
I watch him for a moment, unable to start eating myself. I’m too nervous. Unspeakably nervous. Unreasonably nervous.
Elmar asked me to marry him over a year ago, and there’s nothing I’d rather do. But I always knew it was going to be a long engagement because Elmar loves his parents and they love him too. They are, however, not happy at all that he’s with me, and the chances of them coming to our wedding are tiny. Last night, Elmar said that he no longer cared. That he wants to celebrate our love—with or without his parents.
But this conversation triggered something in me. Elmar suggested the end of May or beginning of June for our wedding, only a few weeks away, and he meant it. At night. In our bed. With just the two of us there.
My concern is, in the full light of day, does he still want it? Especially when he considers all the difficulties and disappointments that will almost inevitably come with that choice.
A long-term engagement was fine by me, but since last night … I’m forced to admit my heart wants more, but I won’t allow myself to hope. Not quite yet.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Elmar’s ask, dragging me out of my thoughts.
“No, not really,” I say, sipping my coffee to distract myself.
He looks at me sharply, his brow furrowed. He doesn’t believe a word. I’ve never been a good liar, and Elmar can spot my evasions a mile off.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, putting down his fork.
I swallow hard and put the cup back on the table with a slightly trembling hand. How I managed to hide my anxiety so far this morning is a mystery to me. Elmar was probably still too sleepy to notice. It must be obvious by now.
“Did you mean what you said last night?” I ask, refusing to let my voice sound too hopeful.
The furrows on Elmar’s forehead deepen. “About what?”
“Well, that you wanted to get married in a few weeks.”
I hold my breath.
“Don’t you want to then?” asks Elmar, and his eyes lose a little of the cheerful sparkle that I love so much.
“Yes, I do!” I reply instantly, placing my hand reassuringly on his. “It’s just … There are the invites to consider and …”
Shit! This is hard. I usually call a spade a spade and don’t dance around a subject like this, but this man deserves the world and it breaks my heart that, this time, I can’t give it to him.
“My parents probably won’t come,” Elmar’s voice is surprisingly calm, unlike mine. “But that doesn’t matter. It’s about us and no one else.”
He pauses and takes a deep breath, then admits, “It’s sad that this is the way it’s going to be, but I’m not putting my life on hold waiting for a miracle to happen, and knowing that it won’t.”
Last night he was in tears when he talked about the probability that his parents won’t come to our wedding. This morning, he’s surprisingly composed. But a lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours, and while I’m not sure what triggered it, Elmar has made a decision and it’s clear he’s standing by it.
I bend down to him and kiss him gently. I’m so proud of him, and I can hardly wait to marry him. The knot in my stomach loosens, and I’m finally able to reach for the fork beside my plate.
“Okay, we have an approximate date. So, what are your thoughts on where you want to get married?”
Elmar takes another bite of his breakfast and shrugs. “I don’t really care where, but I’d like it to be here in Terengia. I know your parents would have to fly in specially, but Sheila and Kieran couldn’t afford to travel to France.” And I know what he means. Two of his younger siblings are still at college.
“I’d love the wedding to be in Terengia too,” I say, and I mean it. This small island state in the North Sea which I moved to two and a half years ago has a special place in my heart. And not just because of Elmar. I was originally only supposed to be here for a year on a doctor exchange program between my clinic in Paris and Terenberg University Hospital, but I love it here.
“Should we get married here in Terenberg?” I ask.
Elmar shrugs again. Then his eyes take on a far-away look. “How about the Terenberg mountains?”
I gasp. Memories of Leo and Guillaume’s gorgeous cottage in the mountains flood my mind. The wonderful views from the terrace looking down across the valley, over the vineyards in the distance until you glimpse the sea glittering on the horizon. The silence is only interrupted by the chirping of birds, and the air is always pleasantly cool, even in the height of summer. The refreshing scent of alpine herbs, which always reminds me of my grandma, is present in every breath.
I immediately fell in love with the beautiful area when we first visited our friends there, and because Elmar chose the cottage as the stage for his proposal, it holds a very special place in my heart.
“That’s perfect,” I announce.
Elmar beams at me. This man is something else.
The next moment, his expression turns thoughtful.
“Apart from Leo and Guillaume’s cottages, I don’t really know what else is up there. There must be some hotels that cater for weddings, right?”
I shrug my shoulders. I know as much as he does.
“Maybe we should call and ask them. They know the area better than we do.”
Elmar nods, but his eyes have that restrained look he always gets when it comes to Leo. No matter how many times we meet with him and his husband, Guillaume, Elmar just can’t get over the fact that he’s now friends with a prince, the brother of the king. He’s getting used to it, but he’s still a little shy when it comes to calling him. So, I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and tap Leo’s number.
“Hello, Jean,” Leo says, although his voice is slightly muffled.
“Leo!” shouts a second voice in the background. “Are you going to remember your table manners before our kids arrive? A prince should know not to talk with his mouth full.”
Elmar and I exchange an amused glance. As elegant and sophisticated as the prince appears in public, in private he’s a complete joker. Answering his phone with a mouthful was clearly intended to rile his better half a bit.
“But the croissants are so delicious,” he protests, “since you hired that French chef.”
“Hello!” I shout into the phone, knowing full well the two of them could continue this little game for hours if I don’t interrupt.
“Hello, Jean,” Guillaume replies this time. “How is my favorite doctor?”
“Good, good,” I say casually. “Elmar is here, too.”
“Good morning!” crows Leo cheerfully, this time without a mouthful of what I now know to be decidedly excellent croissants. I’ll have a bone to pick with Guillaume the next time we meet. How could he hire a French pâtissier and not share his delicious baked goods with me? As much as I love Terengia and even its bakeries, which interestingly have a kind of Mediterranean style, nothing beats a real French croissant. Or an apple tart. Or a mille-feuille. Or macarons, preferably chocolate or raspberry. Or …
Elmar seems to suspect the direction my brain has taken because he jumps into the conversation with, “We have news.”
Jean’s dreamy expression is a clear sign that his thoughts have wandered, and in what direction I have no doubt. How this man can maintain such a slim figure with such a sweet tooth is a mystery to me. Maybe standing in an operating room is more strenuous than it looks.
“What news?” Guillaume asks curiously, though I can also hear a trace of concern in the Prince Consort’s voice. They both know we were at my class reunion yesterday and that I had my doubts about how my coming out would go down there.
“We’re getting married!” announces Jean, beaming.
I can’t help but grin at him as I see the pure joy on his angular and otherwise often serious face.
“Tell us something new,” Leo says, sounding bored.
“Leo!” Guillaume sounds indignant.
Jean and I grin at each other. The two of them could start a comedy show together.
“We have a date,” I reveal.
“Really?” Two voices respond in harmony, with a bit of incredulity but a lot of joy, resonating in that one word.
“Yes, we’re planning to get married in late May or early June,” Jean begins.
I add, “By then Elisa’s baby will be a few weeks old, and there’ll be plenty of time before your twins are born.”
“Oh, wow! Congratulations! So, now you’ve made a decision, you’re going to do it right away, is that it?” Guillaume remarks.
That’s it exactly. I’ve wasted enough time already just because I couldn’t face certain hard facts. Jean takes my hand and squeezes it as if he knows instinctively what’s going on inside my head.
“I’m so happy for you guys.” And I believe Leo when he says it this time. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“That’s why we’re calling, actually,” Jean answers with a laugh. “We were just thinking that it would be a dream come true to get married in the Terenberg mountains. But other than your little cottage, we don’t know what venues might be available up there. Do you have any recommendations?”
For a moment, there’s silence on the line.
Then Guillaume says gently, “There are some fantastic hotels in the mountains. Only …” His voice tails off, and all I can think is: What’s the matter? Then he continues, “You do know that the end of May, beginning of June, is one of the most popular times to get married, right? I don’t think you’ll be able to book anything at such short notice, except maybe during the week.”
Taken aback, I look at Jean. His face reflects my own surprise. But, of course, Guillaume is absolutely right.
Disappointed, my mood sinks. It would also have been unbelievably beautiful. But maybe it wouldn’t be that much of an issue to married during the week. We have flexible working hours after all …
“Or …” Leo says, before breaking off, and I can visualize him exchanging a meaningful look with his husband. “Or you could just get married in our cottage.”
Surprised by the offer, I look at Jean.
“Obviously, you couldn’t have a big wedding there,” Guillaume points out. “The cottage only sleeps about eight guests, and the table in the living room would seat about 20. Unless you want to host everyone in the garden. That would give you a little more space—enough to invite around 50 or 60 people, at least.”
“Yes, but with outdoor weddings, the weather is always a bit of a risk,” Leo adds.
I barely take in what they’re saying. All I can see are Jean’s beaming eyes. No matter what negatives our friends throw at us, their house as our wedding venue is our idea of perfect.
I don’t need a big wedding. If my brothers and sisters and a handful of close friends can come, and Jean’s parents too, of course, that’s enough for me. We can throw a big bachelor party to celebrate with our work colleagues from the precinct and the hospital.
The more I think about it, the more I like this idea. Leo and Guillaume’s wonderful cottage has the perfect view over our island. Couple that with a small group of very special people celebrating this unique moment with us, a sunset and some beautiful fairy lights in the trees, what could be better?
“… or maybe you’d prefer Terenberg Castle or the royal summer residence …” Leo is still yakking.
As generous as our friend is, I stopped listening to him ages ago.
“What do you think?” I ask Jean quietly.
“It would be perfect!”