“I don’t know. I never found out,” Mason said, his voice hollow.
My mind was trying to shift to disbelief; making the image of Reese I had in my head somehow fit the version of Reese Mason was telling me about was painful.
“How did you find out?” I asked breathlessly, hungry for details. “How did the media not find out?”
“Well, I found out like I told you. When we were together, I went over to his house one day to surprise him. He wasn’t home and it was our three-month anniversary…”
His face curled up into a half-smile as he poked at the tiramisu gelato.
“I heard a noise in the basement. For a bit, I thought it was Reese, so I went down to investigate. Then I heard the noise again, and it sounded like it was coming from a closet.”
“He had guys in his closet? How many?” I asked, my eyebrow rising.
“Well that’s the thing,” Mason said, leaning in further. “I parted some clothes that were hanging there, and there was a secret door behind them.”
I put my hand to my mouth as my eyes went wide.
“Yeah. And I opened the door to find five dudes, all looking like they were eighteen, staring at me.”
“No way,” I said breathlessly.
“Yes way,” Mason said. “Anyway, that was enough for me to put two and two together. He was obviously cheating on me.”
“What was his side of the story?” I asked.
Mason narrowed his eyes at me. “You’re willing to give him the benefit of the doubt?! You don’t believe me?”
Mason stood up, the chair screeching the floor as it jutted out behind him.
“No one believed me!” he hissed.
My eyes were wide, surprised at his sudden outburst.
“No, I just want to know the whole story,” I said, watching him carefully.
“Well. You’ll just have to ask Ree— Ross for that!” he said with a frown.
And just like that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the gelato place.
The waiter brought another flight of gelato out while I was stunned. He asked me something in Italian— I’m sure it was something about asking if Mason was going to come back. I didn’t know how to tell him no.
The green lump was melting around Mason’s spoon.
For some reason, I felt an overpowering sensation to talk to Oliver about all of this. I longed for that feeling of camaraderie between us when we shared drinks at the secret bar…
I pulled out my phone and composed a message to Oliver.
“Take a break from work and meet me at the gelato place,” I said.
I half-expected him to ignore me, but the gray bubble popped up almost instantly.
“Not in the mood,” he said.
“But I have gelato. Lots of it. I need you to help me eat it,” I typed back.
“Have to work,” he typed back.
I paused, thinking. Then I typed, “I have tea.”
“You better mean the good kind,” he said.
“It’s extra spicy,” I typed back.
Five minutes later, Oliver was sitting in the chair across from me and digging a tiny spoon into the creme brûlée gelato.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, his green eyes boring into me.
“That’s what he said!” I urged. “Did you know anything about this? You always seem to know what’s going on…”
Oliver sat up a little taller. “The only thing I knew about this was that Reese’s lawyer paid off some guy to keep quiet about something. I knew there were some younger guys involved, and Reese said it was a party or whatever. But that whole thing about Mason finding them in a closet? That’s just weird.”
“I thought so, too.” I agreed.
Oliver finished the creme brûlée, then stared off into the distance.
“You still thinking about work?” I guessed, trying to tiptoe around him asking me to leave last night.
“How did you know?” he asked, returning his attention to me. “Someone keeps taking my time away from it.”
I frowned, feeling that same pain of rejection as when he asked me to get out of his bed. Instead, I crossed my legs and changed the subject. “I saw the scene between Lady Bryn and Princess Valentine today. Their dresses looked stunning.”
His cheek muscles twitched as he fought back a prideful smile. “I’m glad you think so, but they only took me two days to make, each. They’re probably my worst work, but I wouldn’t expect you to know good from bad, Farm Boy,” he said.
I scowled, but softened when I recognized the mischievous glint in his eye.
We were back to banter.
“At least I know that the kind of fabric both actresses were wearing were far too heavy to be believable,” I fired back.
Oliver put his hand to his heart and looked at me in a scandalized way.
“You should have known that this scene took place in Kabrae in the book which is described to have a hot, Mediterranean climate,” I finished, digging the knife in as I popped a spoonful of tiramisu gelato into my mouth. “Not realistic for them to be wearing literal drapes.”
“It’s fantasy!” Oliver declared, but there was a glint of respect in his eye. “What do you know about fabric, anyway?”
“I’m a stylist, remember? That includes more things than hair,” I winked. Secretly, I was referring to the few summers when I’d briefly attended college that I spent working at Macy’s, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Well well well, looks like the Farm Boy has some class,” Oliver muttered, drumming his fingers on his arm. “But you still have no work ethic. Which is surprising since you come from some middle-of-nowhere town in the midwest. Aren’t you guys supposed to be known by your silly workaholic ways?”
A twinge of annoyance flickered within me. My father had gotten on my ass throughout my teenage years for “work ethic,” which in his mind meant insane hours. According to him, if you weren’t spending every moment of your life toiling away on something in the most difficult possible way, you weren’t working hard enough.
“I don’t have a job right now,” I faltered.
“Oh, that’s
