Summer Son (26 page)

“Yeah. We only went and got the marriage license a couple of days ago. The center gave us the space for free, and I managed to find a company willing to cater for us at the last minute.”

“So, last night….”

Naema was such a pervert.

“We came home and put our son to bed.” He was being coy. I liked that.

“Don’t be like that with me. You were limping for days after the first time he fucked you.”

Or maybe not.

“It was fucking incredible,” Zane said with a sigh. “Just… like… the last thing we had to do to make it real, you know?”

“Are you limping today?” she asked, and I could hear the fucking smirk in her voice.

“No. But it’s not easy to sit down. I usually try to be quiet because of waking the baby up, but… oh, fuck.”

“What?”

“The fucking baby monitor is on.”

“He’s listening to this?” Nae exclaimed.

“Probably. If the one in the bedroom is turned on as well.”

Nae snorted, then burst into laughter. With Harrison still sleeping on my chest, I tried not to laugh too hard in case I woke him up. It was actually pretty cute, that Zane had the sort of relationship with Nae that they gossiped about sex… and slightly weird that the gossip included the size of my cock. Still, if he was saying good things, I didn’t really mind.

A few moments later, the two of them appeared in the doorway to our room, looking like contrite little children.

“That was rather fascinating,” I said quietly.

“So… you heard us?”

“Crystal clear. These things really are excellent pieces of technology, aren’t they?”

“Are you mad?” Zane asked.

“Not at all. You can compliment my skills anytime you like, baby.”

He blushed then, which I thought was adorable. “Is he sleeping, still?”

“Mhmm.”

“Okay. We’ll go back into the living room.”

“Good idea,” I said with a smirk.

I
T
TURNED
out our apartment would become a hive of activity over the coming weekend as people stopped by to congratulate us in turn. We hosted Zane’s family for dinner, even though there was hardly enough room to cook and definitely not enough room for everyone to eat. That didn’t seem to matter, though. They were happy to sit at the breakfast bar, or with plates on their knees, or even standing, as we picked at the enormous buffet of food Zane had “just thrown together.”

A few minutes after the Hadlins left, Az turned up, and while he was eating more leftover cake, his sister arrived too. It was at that point that I threatened to replace our front door with one that revolved.

We woke on Monday morning to an envelope that had been pushed under the front door, which was strange, because our mail was delivered to a tiny metal box inside the main entrance to the building. Zane looked at me and shrugged, then pulled the flap open with his thumb.

It was a handwritten note.

Dear Mr. & Mr. Broad,

We wouldn’t dare go against your wishes, and donations have been made to the Harmony Center in lieu of wedding presents. However, we are all in agreement that we could not, in good conscience, ignore the fact that you haven’t had a honeymoon.

Much debate occurred last night while the two of you were making kissy-faces at each other, and we eventually agreed on something that will hopefully suit you all.

Therefore, we will be sending the three of you on a cruise for two weeks. It picks up from New York the weekend after Zane graduates and will take you around the Caribbean before returning home. We have found a company which has excellent childcare facilities, without resorting to the very real horror of a Disney Cruise liner.

(That means there’s plenty of time for SEX.)

There’s no need to thank us. We’re just modestly being the best friends you could ever ask for.

All our love,

Everyone you know
.

“I can’t believe them,” I said with a laugh, reading over Zane’s shoulder. “That’s so nice.”

“Meg’s handwriting?” he asked in an awed voice.

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never been on vacation before.”

“What? Not ever?”

“No. Wait—do school trips count?”

“Not really,” I said, rubbing my hand up and down his arm.

“Then no. Meg knows that too. I think I told her once that I always wanted to go on a cruise. I used to love boats when I was a kid.”

“She’s a pretty awesome friend.”

He turned and practically leaped into my arms. “We’re going on a honeymoon!”

“With Harrison,” I added and kissed him hard.

“That just makes it even better.”

“Yeah. It does.”

Z
ANE
’
S
FIRST
major art show was in Manhattan, and even though he was sharing it with a few other artists, it was a pretty big deal. I managed to round up most of our friends for the evening and dragged them into the city (kicking and pouting, in Meg’s case—she hated going into Manhattan) and to the big, scary white gallery.

My mom was watching Harrison for the night, not because I wanted to leave him out (I didn’t) but because it was likely to go on late, and I didn’t want to be dragged home early. Plus, art galleries weren’t really designed for babies.

Zane tried to talk me into wearing my suit. I knew him too well by now, though, and called Nae, who confirmed it was definitely not a suit-able occasion. I did put a shirt on, though, over a decent pair of jeans, and rolled the sleeves on my shirt up to my elbows since it was a warm night. Zane kept undoing the buttons when he kissed me. I had a feeling my chest hair was going to be on display for most of the evening.

He had spent a stupid amount of time at the gallery in the week leading up to the show, leaving the house early in the morning and not getting home until after Harrison had gone to bed. I knew he felt guilty about it, that he wasn’t getting the chance to spend the time with Harrison that they were both used to. I tried to talk him down from his freak-outs as gently as I could. The show was important, to all of us, and I wanted him to do whatever he needed to do to make it perfect.

He came home to eat and change, fidgeting the whole time until I dragged him through to the bedroom, stripped out of my carefully ironed clothes, and fucked him hard and fast on the bed, digging my fingers into his hips from behind until he screamed his release into my pillow.

By the time we were both clean and dressed we were running late and had to jog down the block to the subway to try and get there on time.

We arrived fashionably late and a little out of breath, and by the look on Naema’s face she knew exactly what we’d been up to. I didn’t care.

Zane threaded our fingers together and led me through the gallery to the area where his exhibition had been set up.

“It’s about fathers,” he said. “It started out as being about my own, the type of man he was and how that affected me and my brothers. Then it grew into being about you, and Harrison, and then how I became a father too. I only finished this yesterday.”

He pulled me to a stop in front of a framed piece, small in comparison with the others, a pen and ink sketch of the drawing I’d seen in his sketchbook. It was Harrison, sleeping, his lips puckered in a silent kiss.

I was no art critic, and probably biased because I loved everything. I could see his style. Even though it was clear he was experimenting with different media, there was something very
Zane
about it all.

The portrait of his mother caught my attention and that of most of the other people at the show too. Zane had painted her wearing a head scarf, something she didn’t wear all the time but had when she was still married to his father. It was a large, wide piece in bright acrylics and a hyperrealistic style that showcased his talent in all its glory. I had never asked about the dynamic of his parents’ relationship. It seemed to be something he’d tell me about when he was ready.

People wanted to talk to him, and I was fine with that, even if he did try to hang on to me while professors and critics talked through his process and his work. I managed to escape to one side with Nae, who was being a noncritical critic for the night.

“Allison,” she said, smiling as a woman in a terrifyingly sharp suit approached us. “This is Zane’s husband, Ellis. Ellis, this is Allison Witt, one of our lecturers.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking her hand.

“Likewise. I was hoping to run into you.”

Nae slipped away discreetly, even as I tried to beg her into staying with silent glares alone.

“Oh?” I asked, trying to be polite.

“Yes. I’ve been working with Zane on this project for some time,” Allison said and sipped daintily from her glass of wine with dark purple lips. “It’s changed considerably over the past six months.”

“Since we met.”

“Yes. I’m not sure if he told you this, but on the Monday morning after you were married, he came into my office with your marriage certificate and asked to change his name with the school. He wants to graduate as Zane Broad, not Zane Hadlin or even Zane Al-Jazari.”

“I didn’t ask him to take my name. It was something he insisted on.”

“Oh, that I don’t doubt, Mr. Broad. If you look around this space, the progress in Zane’s thought pattern is laid out for anyone to see. He started with that piece of his mother, which is very emotive. Then he spent a long time trying to come to terms with his relationship with his father and what it meant for his family after his father died. And there—you can see it—the moment you and your son came into his life.”

Her arm swept demonstratively around the small space, pointing things out in an order I hadn’t seen them in before.

“A few days ago Zane had something of a crisis of faith with this exhibition. He felt it unfinished, and I agreed. There was no time to do another full-size piece, and I directed him back to the sketchbooks he’d filled over the course of the semester. That image of your son seemed to capture where he is in his life now, a picture that represents Zane as a father himself.”

“He loves Harrison very much,” I said softly.

“Another thing I don’t doubt,” she said. “I’m showing you these things for a reason, Mr. Broad—”

“Ellis,” I said, interrupting her.

“Ellis. These are things that I think Zane wouldn’t tell you, but he wouldn’t mind you knowing. He is an extraordinarily talented young man.”

“Yes,” I said as Zane looked over at me, seemingly surprised to see me talking to his professor. “Thank you for your time, Professor Witt.”

“Allison,” she said. “And you’re welcome.”

Zane quietly slipped his hand into mine, smiled at Allison, then led me outside. “What were you talking to her about?” he asked as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, shook the loose tobacco from the end, and lit it with a small silver lighter.

“You,” I said, to tease him. “She was just telling me about the show, how you put it together. Stuff like that.”

“Oh.”

It wasn’t a lie. I was happy to let him think that for the time being, until we were ready to talk more. Right then I just wanted to kiss him.

Zane blew a long stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth, and I stepped up close, pulled the cigarette from his lips, and tossed it aside.

“Hey—” he started, then hummed as I pressed my lips to his.

The embers burned out on the New York sidewalk, stolen by the sultry summer evening, as my husband wrapped his hands around my neck and drew me down further into his kiss. The world continued around us, like it always had, and I kissed him until we saw stars.

About the Author

A
NNA
M
ARTIN
is from a picturesque seaside village in the south-west of England and now lives in the slightly arty, slightly quirky city of Bristol. After spending most of her childhood making up stories, she studied English Literature at university before attempting to turn her hand as a professional writer.

Apart from being physically dependent on her laptop, Anna is enthusiastic about writing and producing local grass-roots theater (especially at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, where she can be found every summer), going to visit friends in other countries, baking weird and wonderful sweets, learning to play the ukulele, and Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk.

Anna claims her entire career is due to the love, support, pre-reading, and creative ass kicking provided by her best friend Jennifer. Jennifer refuses to accept responsibility for anything Anna has written.

2nd place winner of the 2012 Goodreads M/M Romance Member’s Choice Award “Best Musician/Rockstars” for
Tattoos & Teacups
.

Website: http://annamartin-fiction.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/missannamartin
Tumblr: http://annamartinwrites.tumblr.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/annamartinfiction
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5251288.Anna_Martin

Another Way Series from
D
REAMSPINNER
P
RESS