“Is this a joke?”

Andrew needed a deep, steadying breath at the sound of Colin’s voice on the phone. “Firstly, hello. Secondly, how are you?” Tucking the phone against his bare shoulder, he finished tying his yoga pants and toed open the door to one of his bedroom’s walk-in wardrobes. “Thirdly, is what a joke?”

“Yeah, hi. I’m fine. This invite your family sent. Have you seen what it says?”

“I’ve received my invitation,” Andrew said, “but I’ve not opened it, as I already know the details.”

“Read it.”

“Now? I’m putting away the dry cleaning.” From his bed Andrew picked up the shirt he’d worn to Dunleven Castle last week, checking to see the salsa romesco stain had been removed.

“You haven’t got people for that?”

“No one enters my home save a handful of trusted friends. I clean the rooms myself.”

Colin chuckled. “Such sacrifice. You deserve a medal.”

“Only a small one, as I do have a laundry service.” Ah, how he’d missed their banter.

“Right. So, phone me back when you’ve got that invitation read.”

“I’ll do it now,” Andrew said with a melodramatic sigh as he floated out into the reception room, where the invitation waited on the dining table. Colin’s call had made him vastly more giddy than he could have predicted.

“I wanted to say—” Colin cleared his throat. “See, I’m sorry I fucked off home that morning in Edinburgh. It was a shit thing to do.”

Andrew smiled as he opened the envelope. “I forgive you.”

“Thanks.” Colin let out a deep breath that made Andrew’s toes curl, remembering how it had felt against his ear. “I guess I was a wee bit overwhelmed by it all. The hotel, the plague doctor, the games we played—”

“Mm-hm.” Andrew pulled out the invitation, frowning at its gilded edges (a tad gauche, really) and began to read.

“—but I was a total coward, so I hope—”

Andrew burst out laughing.

“Are you laughing at me?” Colin asked in a wounded voice.

“No, no. I’m sorry. I was listening to you, but the wording on this invitation, my God. ‘Lord and Lady Kirkross request the pleasure of your company at a reeling party on Saturday, 27th of September, to celebrate Scotland’s wise decision to remain part of the Union.’ Incredibly cheeky of Mum.”

“That’s one word for it. I cannae wait to see her face when we win independence.”

Andrew spun around, pumping his fist. Got you. “So you’ll attend the party, then.”

Colin hesitated. “I didnae say that.”

“It’s the only occasion you’re likely to see her face.” He reminded himself not to spook Colin. “No need to decide this instant. Take some time and think about it.”

“Okay.”

“Though you should know, John and Fergus are attending, so it’ll be a chance to impress your captain.” Andrew spun the invitation on the table’s smooth glass top. “If that sort of thing is important to you.”

Colin sighed. “It says ‘evening dress.’ That’s white tie?”

“Yes, a reeling party is basically a ball. But I’ll see to your formalwear, of course.” Andrew licked his lips at the thought of Colin in a tuxedo kilt. “It’s my invitation, it’s only fair.”

“Why do you want me at this party? You trying to prove something to your family?”

Andrew admired Colin’s wary astuteness. “It’s got nothing to do with them and everything to do with you.”

“Gonnae no try to clean me up and pass me off as a toff. Like some kinda Pygmalion thing.”

“Please, I’m no Henry Higgins.” Andrew strolled back to his bedroom. “I like you the way you are.”

Colin was silent a few moments. “It still feels like a trick.”

Andrew should have been exasperated. Instead, he felt sad at Colin’s inability to trust. “Look, I abandoned you, then you abandoned me. Can we call it a draw and begin again?”

“How?”

“For starters…” He sank onto the cool white cotton duvet atop his queen-size bed. “Where are you and what are you wearing?”

“I—erm, I’m in my bedroom, still in my kit from practice.”

“I like the sound of that.” Andrew stretched out on his back, imagining Colin’s football shirt, stained with grass and mud. “Are you all sweaty?”

“Not anymore, I’m—oh. I mean, aye. Lots of sweat,” he finished in a whisper. “I should take off this shirt.”

“Don’t you dare remove a thing. I like picturing you in full kit. Boots and all.” He slid a hand over his bare chest, thumb toying with his right nipple. “I bet those studs could tear a hole in this bedroom rug.”

Colin groaned. “I cannae do this just now. Everyone’s awake, and the walls here are thin.”

“The walls here are thick.” Andrew’s tongue eased out the last word, slow and heavy. “Would you care to test them?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m inviting you over.” He reached down to palm the awakening bulge within his yoga trousers. “Now.”

“You’ll give me your secret home address?”

“No, I’ll have you collected in a car with tinted windows, where you’ll be tied up wearing a blindfold and noise-reduction headphones.” Andrew gave himself a leisurely stroke, waiting for Colin to laugh, which he didn’t. “Yes, of course I’ll give you my address. But only if you agree to come.”

Colin made a pained noise. “Not tonight. I promised my dad I’d-I’d help him with something.”

Andrew dropped his hand to the side. “Tomorrow, then. I’ll make dinner.”

“You cook?”

“I’m an aristocrat, not an infant. Bring a bottle of white. Nineteen thirty?”

“I doubt I can afford a wine that old.”

Andrew laughed. “No, silly. The time, nineteen thirty. Half seven in the evening?”

“Oh! God, I’m an eejit. Yeah. Right. What shall I wear?”

“Whatever’s easiest to remove. Goodnight.”

He hung up before Colin could ask further questions. The lad’s nerves were contagious. Andrew felt his stomach flutter at the thought of Colin in his flat. In his bed.

But he’d learned long ago, when something frightens you, the worst thing to do is flee. Better to grab hold of it with both hands.

Andrew’s street wasn’t as posh as Colin had imagined it would be. The postal code, G1, was one of the wealthiest in Glasgow, but during the short walk from the High Street train station, Colin had seen no boutiques, no spas, no fancy ladies walking even fancier dogs. It wasn’t until he reached Andrew’s building, situated across from a sprawling construction site owned by University of Strathclyde, that he noticed one luxurious detail—a private underground garage.

Of course. Andrew would be insane to leave his Tesla roadster parked on the street.

After being buzzed in, Colin went up a flight of stairs and found Andrew’s door. As he knocked, he did a last-minute check of his outfit—a wine-colored, long-sleeve button-down shirt; a diagonally striped tie of the same color, plus black; and a pair of dark-gray trousers. Not exactly fashionable summer wear, but they were the best he had.

The door was opened by a man he’d never seen. Not Lord Andrew, second son of the Marquess of Kirkross. Not Adam Smith, world sexiest’s hipster.

Just…Andrew.

“Welcome!” His eyes and mouth popped wide when he saw Colin, as if his arrival were a happy surprise. He took the bottle of Chardonnay offered. “Lovely choice. Thank you.” Andrew gave him a kiss on the cheek, so close to the corner of his lips it made Colin’s mouth water. Then he spun away. “Come in, come in. You look wonderful.”

Colin followed him down the hall, his mind already hazy from Andrew’s cologne. “Sorry I’m way overdressed,” he said, eyeing Andrew’s soft white cotton shirt, pale-khaki cropped trousers, and tan slip-on boat shoes.

“The faux pas is all mine. I was viciously vague.” He beamed at Colin as he stopped at a white wooden door covered in square glass panes. “By making an effort, you honor me as a host, and for that I thank you.” He cast an approving gaze down, then up Colin’s body. “A lot.”

Colin couldn’t help smiling back.

Andrew ushered him into a large, bright reception room, with the kitchen to the right and the living area to the left. Windows covered nearly all of one of the far walls and half of the other. The living-room ceiling slanted up high, but the kitchen ceiling was flat and unusually low. Colin quickly realized why—a spiral wooden staircase led up out of the kitchen to a second level.

A flat with an upstairs and a downstairs. Fancy.

“We’ll let this chill for dinner and just have cocktails with the first course.” Andrew set the wine on the gray kitchen worktop, then started filling an ice bucket from the refrigerator’s dispenser. “Mojitos all right?” he shouted over the din of the falling cubes.

Colin nodded, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets, hoping it looked a casual move.

While Andrew blethered about his meal-planning “decision tree,” Colin sipped his mojito and tried to examine his surroundings without appearing paranoid or impressed. The floors were gleaming hardwood and the appliances stainless steel, but the oval table was plain glass and the living room furniture a simple black wood and leather. Other than the enormous aquarium against the dining-area wall, the decor was minimalist—a single Italian-café art print over the television and a clear-crystal chime-looking thing dangling beside the column holding up the staircase.

Colin had expected nauseating opulence, but this place felt…real. He could breathe here.

As long as he didn’t look at Andrew, that is. The last he’d seen of him was in a video sent late last night through an application called Wickr, which Andrew claimed had military-level encryption and never stored users’ information, unlike Snapchat. The video had featured a caption saying, This is what your voice made me do, along with the last thirty seconds of Andrew having a hearty wank. Colin had watched it lying in bed, his head on the luxurious hotel pillowcase that had once held Andrew’s warm, sharp scent.

At the moment of orgasm, Andrew’s face lost its self-conscious smugness. He’d looked vulnerable. Human.

And then his video had vanished, with Colin too transfixed to take a screen-grab.

“Pardon me.” With a hand on Colin’s lower back, Andrew gently guided him aside so he could place the first course on the table. “Please, sit. I’m terrified of serving cold food.”

“Okay, but first—” Unable to wait another moment, Colin stepped forward and kissed him. Their lips were chilled and minty from the mojitos, but turned warm as they lingered together.

Finally Andrew pulled away and let out a sigh of relief. “I needed that.” He tugged out Colin’s chair. “Now let me feed you.”

As he ate, Colin was vaguely aware the broiled scallops and mango puree were delicious, as was the salad with fresh berries and bleu cheese, but he was so preoccupied with holding his flatware properly, he barely noticed the flavors.

“I hope you don’t mind seafood as a main course as well,” Andrew said. “I’m a pescetarian.”

“A what?”

“Someone who eats seafood but no other meat.”

“Is that a health thing or because of the animals?”

“Both,” Andrew said, “and yes, I know, I’m probably a hypocrite, but the fact is, fish don’t feel fear the way cows and chickens and pigs do. Their nervous systems aren’t as developed.”

“You sure? A fish on a hook tries hard as fuck to get away.” Not that Colin would know, as he’d never fished.

“Their struggle is pure instinct.”

“It’s not pure instinct for a cow?”

“Have you ever looked a cow in the eye?”

Colin paused before shaking his head, though he didn’t need to think about it.

“Try it some time. Mammals and birds, their eyes have a…spark.” Andrew glanced away and rubbed his neck, looking embarrassed. “Ugh, you probably think I’m one of those mad toffs who loves animals more than people.”

“Not at all,” Colin lied. “My sister’s got asthma, so the only pet we’ve had was a fish, for about a week.” Colin glanced over his shoulder at the aquarium. “Will you show me yours?”

“Yes!” Andrew leapt up from his chair, making its feet squonk on the hardwood floor. “I’m ridiculously proud of them.”

The long, rectangular aquarium was illuminated from above by a bright fluorescent light, which showed crystal-clear water flowing over rocks and corals spanning every shade of blue, purple, brown, and green. “It’s so beautiful,” Colin said, “it almost hurts to look at.”

“That was my exact thought the first time I went snorkeling in the Caribbean. I wanted to recreate that feeling here. Also, I was a bit stressed out when I moved house, and they say watching fish lowers one’s blood pressure.”

“But what’s it do to the fish’s blood pressure to be watched?”

Andrew started to answer, then tilted his head. “Excellent question.”

Colin saw a pair of orange-and-white-striped fish shrink back into the tentacles of a sea anemone. “Clownfish! I wanted those so bad after I saw Finding Nemo.” He bit his lip, anticipating an eyeroll from Andrew. “Though I suppose every kid did. They were dead trendy for a while, weren’t they?”

“For good reason. They’re amazing creatures. I call these two Pepe and Raphaël. The blue damselfish, see them? That’s Luka and Toni.” Andrew leaned close, fingers brushing Colin’s waist. “There’s also a pair of fire fish somewh—ah, there’s one.” He pointed to a fish with a long, spiky back fin, whose body started turquoise at the head and turned deep orange by the tail. “That’s Marcelo, and Álvaro is somewhere about. Oh, and here’s my absolute faaaavorite.” His voice pitched up with pride as he indicated a graceful white fish with golden stripes and an eye-like spot on its tail. “My copperband butterfly. Colin, meet Cristiano.”

“Wait.” Colin straightened up. “You named your fish after Real Madrid players?”

“Mm-hm. This flame angelfish here,” he said, indicating a blazing orange beauty, “is called Ángel—I know, overly obvious, right?—but there’s talk of Di María going to Manchester United, in which case I’ll rename it after our new transfer acquisition, James.” He used the Spanish pronunciation, HAH-mays.

“As in Rodríguez.” Colin shook his head. “Why am I not surprised you’re a Real fan?”

“Because you think me a fascist, so of course I’d love a football club supported so passionately by Generalissimo Franco. It would have nothing to do with the fact they’re the best team in the world, no.”

Colin rolled his eyes. “Just when I was thinking you a softie for your love of animals.”

“And which team do you support?” Andrew asked.

At the risk of being judged, Colin told the truth. “I was a lifelong Manchester City fan, but—”

“But then they were bought by a billionaire oil tycoon and it feels less noble now.”

“Aye.”

“Even though they’re winning, and you like winning.”

“Erm…pretty much, exactly.” It unnerved Colin how clearly Andrew saw him. Was he that transparent, or was he foolishly revealing himself to the one person who could hurt him most?

Looking for a diversion, Colin moved toward the spiral staircase. “What’s up here?”

“Nothing!” Andrew leapt to intercept him. “Just a storage area.”

Colin craned his neck to see the upper level. “What do you store up there, dead bodies?”

“Not anymore. The smell, you know.” Andrew laughed, but kept blocking the stairway. “It’s private, all right? A space just for myself.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Colin turned to face the window. “I’ll just enjoy the view.”

“And I’ll braise the Asian sea bass, who shall remain nameless.”

Colin looked out over a murky-skied Glasgow, where the weather had returned to form, as if it knew there were no more Commonwealth Games tourists to impress. He put his hand to the glass to gauge the outside temperature.

“Careful!” Andrew called from the kitchen.

Colin jerked his hand back. “What’s wrong?”

“The window’s alarmed.” He poured a green creamy sauce into a frying pan, then raised his voice over the sizzling. “You can open it, but don’t lean on it. It’s pressure-sensitive.”

Colin remembered Andrew’s precarious security situation. “You leave these blinds open all the time?”

“Of course. It’s a lovely view, especially at sunset.” Andrew laid a pair of white fish filets in the sauce. “No buildings directly across the street to block the skyline.”

“Yeah, but someone way over there at Uni Strathclyde could spy on you with binoculars.” Colin wandered into the kitchen. “With all those death threats you get, I’d think you’d be more careful.”

“I could lower my blinds and make my home feel despondently dark and small, to grant myself the illusion of safety.” He shifted the fish in the pan, making the sauce hiss. “I could worry about a sniper’s bullet piercing my brain, or prying eyes seeing me cook or watch television or feed my fish. But I don’t.” He shrugged, adjusting the strap of his well-worn black denim apron. “I can’t live in fear.”

Colin was now close behind him. “Why not? Everyone else does.”

Andrew startled, lifting his eyes to Colin’s. He didn’t look ready with a retort or insult. He just…looked. As if trying to understand.

“What are you afraid of?” Andrew asked him. It seemed a sincere question, like he really wanted to know.

“Lots of things.” Colin wanted to break their gaze, but didn’t. “Anyone who says they’re fearless is a liar.”

“But what are you afraid of most?”

Colin considered deflecting with a joke like, I’m afraid you’re burning the fish, but anything less than the truth would be cowardly.

“Being at the mercy of people like you.”

Andrew’s brows dipped together, and Colin could swear his eyes grew wet, but that might have been from the pan’s smoke and spices. His lower lip tugged down, then up, like he wanted to speak but had misplaced the words.

So Colin kissed him again, to taste that lip and its companion, and to show that despite all his fears, he was here.

“You have to Instagram every course?” Colin asked as he returned from the loo.

“My followers expect it.” Andrew carefully positioned his phone over his plate of Asian sea bass in curry sauce, wondering whether he should have used a different garnish. There was far too much green.

“It looks delicious.”

“I know.” He snapped a shot, quickly chose a flattering filter, then uploaded the photo with the caption He said it looks delicious! Wish me luck. :) Then he placed the phone over on the coffee table so he wouldn’t be tempted to check his notifications while they ate.

“Found my toothbrush in your bathroom,” Colin said as he took his seat across from Andrew. “The one I left at the hotel?”

“I hoped you’d notice.” Andrew lifted his wine for a toast. “Here’s to you staying long enough to use it again. Because as delicious as my dinners are, they pale in comparison to my breakfasts.”

Colin toasted with him, looking more relaxed already. Andrew was relieved. It was one thing to invite a man for dinner and quite another to ask him to stay over before they’d even reached the bedroom. But Colin seemed to need that security, to know his welcome wasn’t conditional on him saying or doing the proper thing at every moment. Andrew wanted him here, no matter what. Tonight, tomorrow…and perhaps even beyond.

The western clouds cleared in time for sunset. The sky turned a glorious scarlet and tangerine as Colin and Andrew took their espresso and mini chocolate soufflés—which Andrew did not Instagram—to the living room, where they sat on small cushions beside the coffee table.

“That’s fucking gorgeous,” Colin said, gaping up at the windows.

“Thank you. I ordered the sky especially for tonight. Cost a fortune.”

Colin laughed out loud, nearly spilling his espresso. He set the cup and saucer on the table, then, picking up his spoon, he regarded Andrew from the corner of his eye. Andrew found it adorable Colin was watching him to see how to properly eat each course.

Colin took a bite, then uttered a blissful noise that made Andrew’s mouth water more than the chocolate itself.

Letting out a deep breath, Colin scanned the room again. “Your place is all right, you know. I expected some sort of mini-mansion, not a two-bedroom flat.”

“It meets my needs.” Andrew slipped off his shoes and sat cross-legged. “Which, sadly, include three walk-in wardrobes. Four, if you include the one in the second bedroom. But I like to leave most of it for my guests.”

“‘Most of it.’” Colin shook his head, smiling, then peered through the coffee table’s glass top to its shelf beneath. “What’s all these magazines? Toff Weekly?”

“Toff Monthly, actually. It’s my collection of unread Tatlers. My mother would have my head if she knew I wasn’t devouring each one the moment it came in the post.” Of course he always immediately checked out the Bystander pages’ photo spreads to see if he was in them, and to see who’d been to which parties wearing what.

“Can I look at them? Then I’ll have something to talk to her about at the reeling party.”

Andrew’s heart leapt. “So you’re coming?”

“Maybe.” Colin pulled the stack onto his lap, the July issue on top. “Ooh! ‘You too can have a killer butt.’” He angled a glance at Andrew. “Is that how you got yours? I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“Hardly.” Andrew caressed his own arse, an act he rather enjoyed. “I’ve been working on this masterpiece for years.”

“I can tell.” Colin set aside July, then mock-squealed at the June issue. “‘Your own Kate fashion doll, free inside’! So is she naked and you dress her? Better yet, is her brother-in-law naked?”

“Ah, so you’re a Harry fan.”

“It’s purely sexual.” Colin jerked his head to look at him. “Have you met Prince Harry?”

“Just the once.”

“Are you a slut?”

Andrew blinked hard, his face heating. “Sorry?”

Colin pointed to the cover. “‘Are you a slut?’ it says. ‘Ten surefire signs.’”

“Oh.” Relieved, he grabbed a pair of pens from the coffee table. “Let’s find out.”

They each took the quiz and came out positive, Andrew much more severely so. The chocolate and caffeine, together with the wine they’d shared, stoked their silliness until Andrew felt weak with laughter. He could sense the moment was approaching when they’d take this jovial mood into the bedroom.

Unfortunately, that was when Colin found the August issue. “‘Great Scots: The Toffs, the Tartans, the Castles.’ Are you in this?”

“No, it’s a stupid article.” Andrew tried to snatch the magazine, but Colin swiftly stood up.

“Thought you said you’d not read these.”

“I’ve skimmed.” He cursed himself for not hiding the Tatlers before Colin’s arrival. This article could destroy their tenuous peace.

“I want to see what they say about Scotland.” He sat on the sofa and opened the magazine.

“Just remember that like all of Tatler, that article is meant to be tongue-in-cheek. Our sort likes to mock ourselves.”

“Have you got a castle like this?”

Andrew sat beside him and glanced at the page. “No.” His family’s was larger, but he knew better than to mention that now.

Colin began to read. “‘The buggers are out to get us!’” He looked at Andrew. “That’s what you people think of the independence referendum? That it’s all about youse? It’s not the Russian fucking Revolution.” He read on in a high-pitched, mock-posh voice. “‘What if Salmond imposes a mansion tax? We’re done for.’ Aww, ya poor wee babes, how will you ever survive?”

Andrew rubbed his eyes, annoyance overcoming patience. “We’ll survive fine. It’s people like you who’ll be hurt when an independent Scotland’s economy collapses.”

Colin shut the magazine. “So you agree with those who say we’re ‘too poor, too wee, too stupid’ to govern ourselves?”

Andrew hesitated. “I don’t think we’re too stupid.” He held up a hand. “Listen, I’m a proud Scot, but—”

“Och, here we go. The ‘I’m a proud Scot, but’ line. Heard it a million times from people who finish that sentence by insulting Scotland.”

“I was going to say, I’m a proud Scot but I think much of our strength comes from being part of the United Kingdom.” When Colin rolled his eyes, Andrew said, “The Yes campaign has all the passion, but reality is on our side.”

Colin cocked his head at Andrew, his expression turning from disgust to intrigue. “You really want to do this? Cos I’m not afraid of a debate. In fact, let’s make it official. No prep, no audience, just the two of us, right now. Loser helps the winner campaign for one full day of the winner’s choosing.”

Andrew despised the thought of campaigning on either side, but he couldn’t resist a challenge. “Agreed. And to make things more interesting…” He reached out and drew his fingers down Colin’s wine-and-black-striped tie. “For each point I score, you remove an article of clothing. And vice versa.”

Colin’s eyes sparked. “Strip-debating the referendum? I love it.” He yanked his tie out of Andrew’s hand. “But I’m wearing lots more clothes than you.”

“I can afford to give you a head start. Not only because I’ve the superior arguments, but because in addition to being captain of the diving team at Fettes, I also led the debate team.”

“You’re lying.” Colin drifted his hand over Andrew’s thigh, awakening every nerve in his body. “There never was any diving team at Fettes.”

“Oh dear.” Andrew slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. “First point to you.”