Ben felt like Cinderella.

He wasn’t wearing a ball gown or high heels, and he’d spent the day working on his dissertation and bingeing on Better Call Saul rather than cleaning ashes from a hearth.

But he was pulling up to a castle (of sorts) in a carriage (of sorts) summoned by his own Prince Charming. A prince who was right now striding over from the castle’s front entrance.

For a moment, Ben wondered if he’d been mistaken about “Gunnar.” Evan moved down the front stairs with an easy grace, his posture holding none of the reticence of the allegedly Norwegian server. His blond waves gleamed in the streetlight, rippling in the breeze without the gel that had steamrolled Gunnar’s hair. And his cheeks and chin were so smooth, Ben already longed to reach out and stroke them.

“How much, mate?” he asked the taxi driver.

The driver waved his hand. “It’s been seen to.”

Evan opened the cab’s back door. Ben slid out of the car, keeping his eyes on his companion’s face. The smile was the same he remembered from Fergus and John’s wedding, but it held none of the sadness it had contained that night.

“It’s good to see you again,” Evan said.

“You too. Thanks for the ride.” To stop himself staring at Evan for clues, Ben looked up at the front of the Sherbrooke Castle Hotel. Its turrets were draped in fresh snow, which glowed with the hotel’s warm floodlights and the blue haze of dusk. “I’ve never seen this place so beautiful.”

“You’ve been here before?”

“Just for weddings my mum and I did.”

Evan looked chagrined, and the doubt in his eyes mirrored Gunnar’s expression when asked to help with the vases.

It was you.

“We could go somewhere else that doesn’t remind you of work,” Evan said.

“That would eliminate every fine establishment in the West of Scotland. Besides, it’s Valentine’s Day—we’d never find a table.” Ben threw an admiring gaze over Evan’s dark-blue suit, which was smarter than the one he’d worn to Fergus and John’s wedding. “Not anywhere we wouldn’t look out of place.”

They entered the lush lobby and crossed the red-and-green-plaid carpet beneath the bright brass chandelier.

“This venue has an in-house wedding coordinator,” Ben told Evan as they approached the grand central staircase flanked by enormous white-and-pink-rose displays. “So when Mum and I’ve done weddings here, it’s mostly emotional rather than logistical—” Ben stopped in front of the sign at the foot of the staircase. “Oh my God, the Gallagher-Black wedding. That’s one of ours.”

“Were you meant to work tonight?”

“No, my mum and I—” Ben shrugged, trying to shake the urge to hide. “Forget it. I’d hate to ruin your appetite by moaning about my family issues.”

“I played football in a snowstorm today. Literally nothing could ruin my appetite.” Evan took Ben’s shoulders and turned him toward the adjacent dining room. “Besides, there’s a fireside table with a bottle of Shiraz awaiting us.”

Evan smelled amazing, and Ben wanted to step closer and press his nose against his neck. “I’m starving too.”

They entered the hotel’s restaurant and settled into plush chairs at a table by the roaring fire. As Ben explained the rift with his mother and his decision to stop handling same-sex weddings, Evan sipped his wine and listened sympathetically.

When Ben was finished, Evan asked, “If your mum accepts you for who you are, why is she so opposed to marriage equality?”

Ben’s first instinct was to demur, as he didn’t usually discuss religion with someone he’d just met. But something about this man made him want to open up.

“Because she’s Bahá’í,” Ben said. “We both are. Or at least I was. No, I still am. I don’t know.” He finally took a sip of wine, partly to be polite and partly…to rebel? He wasn’t sure.

“Bahá’í—is that a sect of Islam?”

“No more than Christianity is a sect of Judaism. It was started in Persia by people who were originally Muslim. The Bahá’í Faith is less than two hundred years old, so our beliefs are pretty modern.”

“For instance…”

“We see men and women as inherently equal. We fight for racial equality and encourage interracial marriage. We see other religions as different expressions of the same faith rather than as threats to eradicate.”

“Sounds peaceful,” Evan said.

“It is,” Ben said with a sigh, wishing it was that simple. “We’re all about unity and harmony and respecting differences. But we don’t condone sex outside marriage, or same-sex relationships at all. And by ‘we,’ I mean the Faith as a whole. Obviously I condone those things.” Or at least I engage in them, which makes me a hypocrite. “Many Bahá’ís I’ve met are the same way.”

“Like Catholics who use birth control?”

“Exactly. There’s edicts, and then there’s real life.” Ben decided to leave it at that so as not to ruin his own dinner or scare Evan away.

“What will you do after you finish uni, if not weddings?” Evan asked. “You’re studying geography, right?”

“I am.” Ben was impressed Evan had remembered this fact six weeks after learning it. “Contrary to popular belief, geography’s not about looking at maps or memorizing capitals. It’s the study of humanity’s relationship with the earth. Which is fascinating, but in reality, most geography students end up working for oil companies.”

“And you don’t want to work for an oil company.”

“God, no. Not since my third-year lecture course on climate change.”

“What about clean energy? There’s loads of marine-power research going on in Orkney, for one.”

“Yes, but…it’s deeper than that.” Ben adjusted his glasses on his nose. Evan’s reaction to his next words would reveal their chances for a second date. “Knowing climate change is going to turn the world into an absolute hellhole—it’s beyond depressing. But helping people get married? That lets me believe in the future, just for one day.”

Evan’s eyes softened. “I get it. Everyone should have work that means something to them.” He brushed his fingertips over the back of Ben’s hand. “And you deserve to be happy.”

Ben’s head swam for a moment, as though he’d gulped his entire glass of wine instead of taking a single sip. “You don’t think I’m selfish?”

“I don’t know you very well yet, but I doubt there’s a selfish bone in your body.”

“Ha.” Ben’s face warmed, and not just on the side nearest the fireplace. He reached for his wine glass. “Or maybe I just like working in the world’s most kilt-intensive industry.”

Their starters arrived then, interrupting their flirtation.

“Sorry our reservation is unfashionably early,” Evan said as they tucked in. “We’ve got tickets for something at half past eight.”

“What sort of something?”

“It’s a surprise.”

Ben waved his tiny fork. “Yas, I love surprises!”

“I sensed you were the adventurous sort.”

“I am, I am.” He ate a mussel, closing his eyes with bliss at the perfect aioli sauce. “What about you?”

Evan paused as he placed a bit of gravlax onto his ciabatta wedge. “I’ve had a few misadventures, which tend to make one crave a humdrum life.”

Ben paused with his napkin halfway to his mouth. Evan’s tone had turned grave, matching his expression but providing an odd counterpoint to his rippling, upbeat Orkney accent.

Then Evan’s lips twitched up at one corner. “But not for long.”

Their eyes met, and Ben returned Evan’s smile. He wanted this lad badly, for more than his delicious physique and heart-stopping face. He wanted to unravel the mystery inside Evan’s mind, discern whether he was man or monster or both. To do that, he had to play it cool.

But Ben’s own curiosity was a force even he couldn’t resist. “Tell me about Fergus.”

“The hardest part of this job,” Evan’s father had once told him, “is not the secrecy, the sacrifice, or even the risk to life and limb. It’s letting people believe you’re boring.”

But Dad was wrong. The hardest part was seeing hatred and mistrust in the eyes of people who mattered. To Evan, telling himself he’d done the right thing by leaving Fergus was like taking aspirin for an amputated arm.

He sat back in his chair. “What do you want to know?” Obviously he couldn’t tell Ben everything, but he needed to seem forthcoming. It wasn’t honesty which set people at ease, but rather the appearance of honesty. It let people tell themselves the story they wanted to believe.

Ben clearly wanted to believe Evan was a good man.

“Why did you leave Fergus?” he asked. “Were you in love with this Belgian fellow?”

Evan mentally replaced this Belgian fellow with MI5 so he could be as truthful as possible. “I struggled with the decision for weeks. In the end, deep down, I saw no other option. Following my heart meant betraying the man I—the man I’d loved for years. Which is no excuse, of course, for the pain I caused.”

Ben examined him for a moment, then helped himself to another steamed mussel. “Had you outgrown Fergus?”

“We’d grown away from each other. Once I graduated and Fergus continued for his Master’s, we had less in common. I wasn’t happy in my first architectural job, and it spilled over into our relationship.”

“This job you hated, are you still in it?”

Evan kept his expression neutral, wondering whether Ben had recognized him as Gunnar last weekend. They’d stood so close together as they’d rescued Trent. On the other hand, it had been dark in that alleyway.

“No, I found another position in civil service. Working for the government sounds tedious, but I love my job.” This was true. “My colleagues are good folk, and the projects are challenging.” This was also true. “Fergus, though, he saw it as a step down.” Not that he ever asked me about my job, which made it tragically easy to become a spy.

“He didn’t respect your work.”

“Why should he? He’s an artistic genius. I’m a toddler stacking blocks.”

Ben tilted his head. “Is that a direct quote? Did Fergus call you that?”

Evan looked away, scanning and cataloging details of the restaurant even as he wrestled with how to present his past to Ben. “I won’t run Fergus down. I’ve betrayed him enough as it is.”

This was the truest statement of all. Merely joining MI5 had been a disloyalty; Fergus hated the agency for its support role during the Troubles in Northern Ireland. In a cruel twist, MI5 had assigned Evan to T Branch, the section now fully in charge of Northern Irish–terrorism intelligence.

“Enough talk of heartbreaks.” Ben cast a sly glance over the restaurant. “Let’s guess which of these couples followed the ‘Fuck First’ rule.”

Evan nearly choked on his wine. “Sorry?”

“The relationship guru Dan Savage, he says that on romantically pressured holidays—Valentine’s, anniversaries—couples should have sex before going to dinner. Otherwise they’ll be so full of food and drink they won’t be up for it later. Then everyone feels a failure, maybe even thinking their lack of rumpy-pumpy on an artificial holiday means they shouldn’t be together.”

Still coughing, Evan wiped his eyes with his cloth napkin. “Brilliant advice. As for who’s taken it, definitely the blue dress and black suit at your nine o’clock.”

Ben squinted at the sixty-something couple sitting ten feet away. “Why do you say that?”

“They keep touching each other—hands stroking, feet brushing beneath the table.”

“Maybe they’re horny.”

“Horniness is all about tension. Those two are basking.” Evan extracted another mussel from its shell. “Postures relaxed, eyes soft. They look like they could be on holiday. Don’t stare at them, by the way.”

Ben jerked his head back. “Maybe they’re simply drunk.”

“They’re still on their first glass of wine.”

“They could’ve been drinking at the bar whilst waiting for their table.”

“No.” Evan kept his voice low. “When they sat down, she still had snow in her hair.”

Ben stared at him. “When did you notice all this?”

“Not sure, I just…remember what I see.” Evan adjusted the maroon cloth napkin in his lap. Try and act human, he told himself. The Sherlock Holmes routine is making him suspicious, not swoony.

“Have you heard anything I said tonight?” Ben asked.

“Every word.”

“Then what’s my mum’s name?”

Evan nearly blurted out the answer before remembering he’d learned it from his father. “I don’t think you told me.”

“Oh.” Ben bit his lip. “I can never keep track of the things I say. I open my mouth and words just pop out, whether I want them to or not.”

“It’s the Glaswegian in you. Where I’m from, people can be maddeningly reserved.” From the corner of his eye, he saw their server approaching with the main course. He picked up the bottle of Shiraz to keep her from filling his glass. “More wine?”

“Nah, thanks.” Ben covered his own glass, which was still half full.

Giving himself a small, unwanted refill, Evan wondered whether Ben abstained from alcohol, like most Bahá’ís. He’d considered not ordering wine—he’d had enough booze in Belfast to last a lifetime—but thought it might seem odd. Evan needed to play the role of a man who knew nothing about Ben, and play it so well that he believed it himself.

It was exhausting, this pretending not to be a pretender. No wonder he’d not dated or even hooked up with anyone since returning to Glasgow seven months ago. It was easier just to be alone.

As the server laid out their course, Evan reviewed his surroundings, noting who had departed and who had arrived. He hated not having his back to the wall, but at least the dark window beyond his dinner companion would reflect any movement behind him.

Ben made a rapturous noise. “This tortellini is astounding. You must try a bit before you fry your taste buds with the chili glaze on that duck.” He speared a tortellini, then made a circle in the air with the end of his fork. “Best close your eyes for full sensory awesomeness.”

Evan parted his lips, but his eyes wouldn’t shut. The thought of descending into darkness amidst all these people…

“Too late.” Ben popped the tortellini into his own mouth, then released another orgasmic sound.

“Tease.”

“You wouldn’t close your eyes.”

“Okay, okay.” Evan took a calming breath, then squeezed his eyes shut. Immediately his pulse accelerated. “Hurry, my duck’s getting co—” The pasta cut him off with its sweet creaminess. He emitted his own moan of pleasure, keeping his eyes closed to savor the taste.

When he opened them again, Ben was smiling. And just like that, Evan knew he would go on pretending, no matter how it drained him. He would go on layering lies upon truths upon lies, in the desperate wish that someday he could be real with this man.

He only hoped that if that day came, Ben wouldn’t hate him for what he was.