VincentThe door swung open.Miranda stood in the doorway, holding a sleek digital tablet displaying a Tuscan catering invoice, a bright, expectant smile on her face.The smile died instantly.The ambient light of the hallway spilled across the room, illuminating the scene in excruciating, unyielding detail. My hands were still cupping Olise’s face, my forehead pressed against his, our chests rising and falling in the same ragged rhythm. On the bed behind us lay two open, packed leather suitcases.There was no lie that could save us. No professional excuse could explain the way I held him, or the raw, undeniable intimacy filling the space between our bodies. It was not a stepfather comforting a troubled boy; it was a man hopelessly, recklessly devoted to his lover."Vincent?"Miranda’s voice was barely a whisper, completely stripped of its usual melodic, high-society charm. Her sharp eyes darted from my hands buried in her son's hair, down to Olise’s swollen, flush lips, and finally t
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