Chapter Eleven
Darren
Darren watched Isaiah’s awestruck look as they climbed the central staircase. His mother had done an amazing job here, designing the interior and ensuring the grand house felt like a home.
“Did your parents build this house?”
“It was built in the late 1890s by Alexander Cassatt for one of his children.”
“Alexander who?” Isaiah asked.
“He’s not a household name outside of the Main Line. He helped make the Pennsylvania Railroad Company into a big deal around the turn of the twentieth century.”
“The place has history.”
“Mom said when they bought the place, it was a nightmare. A previous owner had ‘modernized it’ in the fifties and it ruined most of its charm. Mom spent years poring over the original plans to restore it. Most of the original woodwork and details were destroyed, though.”
“Still pretty cool.”
It was, actually, but he didn’t want to gush too much.
Isaiah scoped out the place while they climbed, his expression so dazed it evoked both a sense of pride in Darren and an edge of embarrassment. It was a lot of wealth to take in, and Darren didn’t want Isaiah feeling uncomfortable. Really, really didn’t want that.
He wanted Isaiah to look at him and see the guy behind the name, the normal guy who played soccer, worked his ass off for his classes, and loved music so hard he thought he could live off it.
He wanted Isaiah to look at him and like him.
Dammit. Those were thoughts best left at the door.
He was here this weekend for his dad. The dinner was a step toward proving he wasn’t a disappointment. That he was the same boy Dad had always loved.
Only difference, he didn’t like girls.
He liked guys.
He liked Isaiah—
Crap.
“Darren?”
Darren startled, and Isaiah smirked.
“Where to?”
Right. They’d reached the landing. He had to show Isaiah to his room.
Darren turned left. “Let me put my stuff down.” He waved Isaiah to follow. “This way you’ll know where to find me once you’ve settled in.”
“What’s on the second floor?” Isaiah asked. “I mean, if that’s not an off-limits topic.”
Darren turned and smiled. “Second floor is my parents’ room and some of the private living space. TV room, Dad’s home office, a study for Mom. When we were younger, the nursery and kids’ playroom.”
“And the first floor?”
“The public rooms. The library, dining room, kitchen, and the parlor/living room. If my parents have a party they use the great room to the left of the stairs. The rooms up here are for the family. And house guests like you.”
“House guests? Is that different from just guests?”
Darren stopped in front of the open door to his suite of rooms. “House guests are people who are invited to stay overnight. Guests are just visiting a few hours. So, like if mom has people over to discuss a fundraiser or charity event, they wouldn’t come up to the second floor. But if her friends from college or her siblings visit, they would use the family rooms on the second floor. They’re more what you’d expect in someone’s home. Not the formal rooms downstairs.”
Isaiah paused at the doorway, gaze scanning Darren’s room. “Should I wait here? And please let the answer be ‘come in,’ because I really want to come in.”
And there Isaiah went again, making his insides somersault. “Come in.”
Darren moved through the outer room and pointed toward a couch with an end table at one end. “I’d say you could watch TV or listen to music, but I really am just going to drop my bag on my bed and we’ll go.”
“No rush.” Isaiah put his bag down and looked around. “No rush at all.”
Darren dropped his stuff and came back into the room Isaiah was checking out. Isaiah stood in front of a bookshelf looking at things his mother had put there. It wasn’t really his space to do what he wanted. Even his bedroom had things his mother set out. But it was private, and he had the urge to shut the door and curl up in here with Isaiah until it was time to head back to Harrison.
Isaiah stretched to pluck a ribbon off a top shelf. His body extended, lithe and sexy, and Darren wanted to press into Isaiah, lock their fingers together against a shelf, and kiss his throat. He wanted Isaiah to lose himself in a moan, press back against him, make demands . . .
Darren scrubbed his face, forcing himself out of the sudden fantasy.
Keep it together.
“Holy shit, Darren. You’ve got a lot of trophies.” Isaiah turned, impressed.
“It’s not as impressive as it seems. I went to a small boarding school. If you could run without tripping over your feet, they ‘encouraged’ you to play sports. Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to field teams.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Isaiah pointed toward a large statuette with a red ribbon hanging over it. “This says you were second in the five thousand meters for the state. And this one,” he picked up a silver cup, “says you were the MVP of the league championship game last year, at Harrison. That isn’t just for showing up.”