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Mum made a high-pitched sound like air escaping from a balloon. “Leo…”
“Doctor Steve,” Tristan said, leaning towards him like a cat looking for affection. “I can call you Doctor Steve, can’t I? Or maybe you’d prefer—?” And suddenly he was out of his chair and perched on a startled Steve’s lap. “Daddy?”
“Oh, my God,” Mum said.
“Oh my God,” Dad said.
Steve laughed. “You little shit.”
Leo was not jealous. He was not. It was just that Steve was attractive, he wasn’t making any move to unseat Tristan, and Leo was finding it harder by the second not to take it personally. It’s all an act, he reminded himself.
It didn’t help much.
The waiter came over with the first course, which consisted of oysters on a half shell, garnished with lemon and displayed on a bed of rock salt. “Oooh, oysters! The food of love, or so they say. Shall I feed you yours, Daddy?” Tristan asked, trailing a fingertip down Steve’s arm.
Leo’s mum choked on her champagne.
“Don’t you think you’d better save that for your date…baby boy?” Steve said with a twinkle in his eye. He gave Tristan a gentle shove off his lap back into his own seat, then, catching Leo’s eye, he winked. Leo had never been so confused in his life. He wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but it seemed like Steve was somehow in on the whole Bad Boyfriend thing? Which, now he thought about it, was entirely possible. Tristan had all sorts of weird connections. That he’d called in a favour from a daddy-type who was also a dentist wasn’t that much of a stretch. Hell, maybe the guy was his actual dentist. Tristan did have an exceptionally perfect smile.
Tristan slid into Leo’s lap, straddling him, and whispered, “You didn’t tell me it was a Lillian Kingsbury event.”
“Should I have?” Leo murmured, distracted by the way Tristan was squirming against his dick. “Does it matter?”
“Not exactly, but it’s fucking hilarious,” Tristan breathed against the shell of his ear. “I’ll fill you in later.” Then he cupped Leo’s face and gave him a truly filthy kiss, which for some reason earned a smattering of applause from Kev. Tristan grinned and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Maybe Daddy Steve’s right. Maybe you’re the boy I want to share my oysters with,” he proclaimed loudly. “After all, he’s getting on. He won’t have half the stamina you do.” He rocked in Leo’s lap, and Leo tried, and failed, not to groan.
“Did you need to get a room, Tristan?” Kev asked with a smirk as Leo’s cheeks burned.
“Oh no, I’m fine here, thanks,” Tris said, blowing him a kiss.
“I don’t know what you were thinking, bringing this…this person here!” Leo’s mother burst out, obviously unable to hold back any longer. “He’s a disgrace! How could you possibly imagine we’d approve?”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Leo shot back. “And I wasn’t asking for your approval. After all, you’ve never given it to me before, so why would you start now?” The words were out before he could stop them, and Leo hadn’t meant to shout, but the sudden silence from the surrounding tables made him suspect he’d been louder than he’d intended. He waited for the usual sinking feeling in his gut he got when he’d overstepped with his parents. Instead, a lightness bubbled up in his chest, something like euphoria, and as his mother stared at him open-mouthed, Leo realised that it didn’t just feel good to stand his ground and say what he was thinking. It felt fan-fucking-tastic.
He only wished he’d found out earlier.
Chapter Nineteen
Tristan had done a lot of crazy things as a Bad Boyfriend, but sprawling across his father’s lap and calling him “Daddy”—something which had been a lot more wholesome when he’d last done it at around age five—was probably one of the craziest. How the hell hadn’t he put it together that this was one of Lillian Kingsbury’s events? Of course his dad would be here for that. Luckily, a lifetime of raising Tristan had given Steven Montague the patience of a saint and the sangfroid of a—well, a saint meeting a particularly gruesome end. So when Tristan had flung himself at him, he’d just rolled with it.
His dad really was cool. Tristan had always known that, but seeing Leo’s parents certainly brought it into sharp relief.
Up on the stage usually reserved for debutantes and charity auctions, a man tapped the microphone, drawing attention away from the drama happening at their table. Even Mrs. Fisher sank back into her seat, looking fraught and harried. Mr. Fisher waved his hand at a waiter for more booze. Tristan liked him the most, but it wasn’t as though he had a high bar to clear to be Leo’s nicer parent. And liking him the most didn’t mean he liked him much at all. He hadn’t exactly stood up for Leo, had he?
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the emcee said, his gaze landing on Tristan, “and ladies. Um, we do hope that you’re enjoying your dinner. All locally sourced, of course. And we also hope that you’re feeling generous with your chequebooks tonight.”
He paused for the expected tittering that filled the room.
“And now, please welcome tonight’s guest of honour, a lady who needs no introduction to the party faithful—Lillian Kingsbury.”
Leo’s mother clapped a little too hard, then stopped abruptly as though she’d suddenly remembered she didn’t want to draw attention to their table. Leo’s dad downed his third, or maybe fourth, flute of champagne. Tristan’s dad inclined his head at the woman walking out on stage.
“It’s Lillian!” Mrs. Fisher exclaimed, sitting up straighter, like the teacher’s pet when the teacher walked in. “Lillian Kingsbury!”
As though the whole room didn’t know it. As though the emcee hadn’t just said it. As though she wasn’t one of the most recognisable faces in state politics.
Lillian Kingsbury was one of those women who was clearly unapologetic about getting older. She wore her grey hair like a battle helmet, except it was more nicely styled in a sensible bob that, with just a little bit of product, Tristan was sure could be fun and funky. Like every other woman here—and Tristan—she was wearing a ball gown, but she was wearing it like she was one of Charlie’s Angels infiltrating an awards show, where if terrorists suddenly attacked, she’d knock over a table for cover, hitch up her satiny skirt, reveal her sidearm in a thigh holster and save everyone present. Yes, Tristan had recently rewatched the Charlie’s Angels movies with Leo, but he also had a lot of love for badass female characters in general .
“Good evening,” Lillian Kingsbury said. “What a wonderful turnout. It’s good to see so many faces, both old and new, turning out to support the party.” Some wag at the other end of the room called something out. Tristan didn’t hear him, but Lillian laughed. “Yes, Malcolm, some of us are older than others!”
