him.” Michael wanted to toss his Latin textbook to the floor and jump up and down on his bed, but he sat still and didn’t say a word. “I’m going to try to stop rambling now. But I’m not really sure if I can stop, so it might be best if you could say something.” Michael loved how he looked right now, more boy than man. “Please?”
Michael looked at Ronan’s face, and for the first time he looked at him not as a stranger, not as someone he just met, not as someone he could dream about, but as someone he was going to have a relationship with, someone who was going to become his boyfriend. “I like you too.”
A smile ignited Ronan’s face. He couldn’t conceal it even though other thoughts were filling up his mind, thoughts that caused him concern and worry, but for now he was going to push them away, squelch their sound, and concentrate on what Michael just said. “Really?”
“Yes, Ronan,” Michael replied, thrilled that he had the power to bring Ronan such obvious pleasure. “Really.”
“Blimey! That’s good,” Ronan said, sitting on Michael’s bed. “That’s really good.”
“It is good,” Michael said, his eyes darting all over his room, not confident enough to just settle on Ronan’s face. “Really, um, really good.”
Good for now, until he finds out everything, Ronan thought. No, please, please don’t make me think of all that; just allow me a bit of time, some happiness. “I think I liked you, Michael, from the moment I laid eyes on you.”
Find the courage, Michael; just look him right in the eye and tell him. “I know. That’s how I felt the first time I saw you outside the cathedral. Ever since then …” Don’t say too much. Oh, why not? Just tell him. “Ever since that night, you’re all I can think about.” There, it was in the open. It felt invigorating not to keep secrets hidden. They reached out and their hands found each other.
“Oh,” Michael said. “I didn’t thank you.”
Ronan’s thumb stroked the softness of Michael’s hand. It’s not my cheek, Michael thought, but it’s a start. “For the drawing that you made. The Picture of Michael Howard.”
Ronan held Michael’s hand tighter, his cheeks getting back some of the rosy glow they had lost. “Oh, well, I’m not a very good artist.”
“I think it’s beautiful.”
This was absolutely effortless, Michael thought. All the years spent worrying and being frightened that he would never be able to just sit with another boy and hold his hand and talk to him were washed away. Because here he was. And here was Ronan. And they were together, sitting, smiling at each other, their fingers intertwined, knowing what they wanted to do next. Unfortunately, that would have to wait, for at that moment, there was a knock at the door.
“Knock knock, is anybody home?”
It was Brania.
And just like that, Ronan’s bad feeling returned.
chapter 10
At the same time, Michael and Ronan asked the same question, “What are you doing here?” And then two seconds later, they both let go of the other’s hand.
“You know her?” Ronan asked Michael.
“Um, yeah,” Michael said, then added incredulously, “You know her too?”
Ronan looked at Brania, who had already come into the room, closed the door behind her, and was sitting with them on the bed. She clearly didn’t need an invitation to make herself at home.
“Of course Ronan knows me,” Brania said. “We’re childhood friends.”
Michael wasn’t sure what disappointed him more, that pronouncement or the fact that he and Ronan were no longer holding hands. When their dinner date—so thoughtfully arranged by his father—had ended, he thought that was the last he would see of this girl, but now here she was, unexpected and unrequested, sitting on his bed, next to the boy whose hand he wanted to hold and whose mouth he longed to kiss. Why in the world was she here? And if this was the way Ronan reacted when he saw a childhood friend, Michael didn’t want to know what he looked like when he saw an enemy.
When Ronan spoke again, Michael noticed that his voice was lower, more serious. He sounded the same way he did when he was outside St. Joshua’s standing next to Ciaran. “How do you know her?”
“We met at my father’s hotel for dinner,” Michael explained. “Our fathers are business associates.”
“Such a tiny, tiny world,” Brania said. “Isn’t it, Ronan?”
If possible, Ronan’s voice sounded even more serious when he spoke again. “What are you doing here?” But what concerned Michael more was his expression; it was grave. To look at him, it appeared that there was bad blood between these two, but one look at Brania dispelled that theory. She looked relaxed and downright playful. Stretched out on Michael’s bed, she lay on her side, her slender neck resting in the palm of her right hand, her left knee bent so she looked very much like a fully dressed centerfold. “Now, is that any way to make a lady feel welcome?”
Before Ronan answered he stood up, almost as if he were backing away from her. “Is that any way to answer a question?” Michael was confused. Ronan’s voice was confrontational, harsh, and yet his body language was hesitant, uneasy.
Brania’s body language was anything but. Smiling, quite seductively, she rolled over onto her back with her knees bent so her skirt fell and covered only a few inches of her thigh. It was funny, Michael thought, millions of guys, teenaged and several years older, would kill to have a girl as beautiful as Brania lounge on their bed, half exposed, but he just wanted her to leave so he could be alone with Ronan. He was not going to get his wish.
Brania closed her eyes and moved her hands fluidly in the air as if following the current of some unheard music. Her slim, manicured hands floated and curled to the silent rhythm as her knees rubbed together softly. What was she doing? And why was she doing it in his bed? Michael thought, “Um, Brania?”
“Sshh,” she replied softly, not opening her eyes and holding up her index finger as if that gesture alone would stifle any further queries. And it did. Michael remained silent and watched her as she listened to her imaginary music. He didn’t feel any longing whatsoever to touch her, but she was absolutely compelling to watch. He glanced over at Ronan to try and get a sense of what he thought of the whole scene, but Ronan was acting as if Michael weren’t even in the room. He was standing in the corner, his back against the wall, eyes riveted on this strange girl. And there was something about the way Ronan looked at her that frightened him. His teeth were clenched, his brow furrowed, and Michael felt the same rush of sudden fear as he had sitting across from Nakano at the lunchroom table. He couldn’t explain it then and he couldn’t explain it now. The two boys looked nothing alike, the situations were completely different, but both times Michael was consumed with the same irrational feeling. And once again the feeling ended as quickly as it arose.
“Song’s over,” she announced, sitting back up and smiling at them both. “Now, did someone ask me a question?”
It was apparent by the way Ronan still looked that he wasn’t going to be able to speak, so Michael spoke for them. “We were, um, just wondering why you’re here?”
She ran a hand through her luxuriant hair, making it bounce a little. “I had such a wonderful time with you at dinner, I just wanted to say hi. How do you like it here at Archangel, Michael?” She reached out and a few of her sharp, red-painted fingernails touched Michael’s arm, scraping his skin. He didn’t mean to react so abruptly, but he did, standing up and crossing his arms across his chest.
Maintain some control, Michael. This girl is teasing you, trying to get the upper hand; it’s what girls do. Michael uncrossed his arms and placed them on his hips, trying to adopt a more relaxed pose, but he felt and knew he looked just as uncomfortable. “We kind of had this conversation the other night at my father’s hotel?”
Now Brania repositioned herself and sat cross-legged on Michael’s bed as if she were about to practice yoga. Did she ever sit still? Michael couldn’t believe this girl who was behaving so oddly was the same well- mannered guest at his father’s hotel. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think it was her evil twin or something. “Michael, you know as well as I do that what took place in your father’s hotel room was polite talk designed to put
