Chapter 38 I Really Do Cherish You
Cedric stared at the messages, water dripping from his hair onto the screen, leaving small spots that blurred the text. Your family. What did Marcus know about his family? What could he possibly know that Cedric hadn't already pieced together himself over the years?
He should call. Should find out what Marcus had discovered, what thread he'd pulled that was unraveling something Cedric thought he'd understood. Should maintain his cover and his options and all the smart, strategic things he'd stopped doing weeks ago when everything got complicated.
Instead, he typed: Can't talk tonight. Working. Text me what you need to tell me.
The response came immediately, as if Marcus had been waiting by his phone: Not over text. Too sensitive. Can you meet tomorrow?
Tomorrow. Saturday. The day his mother was coming to dinner. The day that had been sitting in his stomach like a stone for the past week.
No. Sunday maybe. I'll let you know.
Cedric....
He put the phone on silent and shoved it in his pocket. Whatever Marcus had to say could wait. Everything could wait until after tomorrow. He needed to get through one impossible thing before he could handle another.
By eight-thirty, he was dressed in his work clothes~the black pants and white button-down that had become like a uniform~and heading downstairs. Falcone was waiting in the foyer, also dressed now, though in dark jeans and a black button-down that made him look simultaneously casual and expensive. Like old money trying to pretend it wasn't, trying to blend in somewhere it never quite could.
"Ready?" Cedric asked, though he could see from Falcone's face that neither of them were.
"As I'll ever be." Falcone's attempt at a smile didn't quite reach his eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted, but the rest of his face stayed tense. "Though I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do at the club for four hours besides watch you work and spiral about tomorrow."
"You could actually work. Novel concept."
"My concentration is shot. I tried to review a contract earlier and read the same clause six times without comprehending a single word." He held the door open for Cedric, his hand trembling slightly as it gripped the handle. "I'm useless right now."
"Join the club."
Marco was waiting with the car, as always~a constant in a world that felt increasingly unstable. They climbed into the back seat, and Cedric immediately reached for Falcone's hand, lacing their fingers together. The gesture was becoming automatic now, something he did without thinking. Reaching for him when he was anxious, when he needed grounding, when the world felt too big and uncertain and like it might swallow him whole.
"Your mother," Falcone said suddenly as they pulled into traffic, the city lights beginning to flicker on around them, "what's her favorite flower?"
"I... don't know. Why?"
"The florist asked if there was anything specific she'd like. I realized I don't know." He looked genuinely distressed by this, his brow furrowed in a way that made him look younger, more vulnerable. "I should know. I've been planning this dinner for days and I don't know her favorite flower. What kind of...."
"Falcone....Gianni...it's okay. She's not going to care about the flowers."
"But what if..."
"Roses," Cedric interrupted, the memory surfacing unexpectedly. "She likes roses. The pink ones, not red. My dad used to bring her pink roses every anniversary. Said red was too obvious, that pink was softer. More her." The memory hurt in that distant way old wounds did, not sharp anymore but still there, still tender. "She hasn't gotten flowers in years. Anything you get her will be perfect."
Falcone pulled out his phone immediately, typing something with his free hand, his thumb moving quickly across the screen. Probably texting the florist. Adding pink roses to whatever elaborate arrangement he'd already ordered, probably something too expensive and carefully chosen.
"You're sweet when you're spiraling," Cedric said quietly.
"I'm not sweet. I'm panicking."
"You're both."
The club was already humming when they arrived, the bass line audible from the street, vibrating through the car doors. Friday night crowd, ready to blow off steam from the work week, to forget about deadlines and bosses and all the small indignities of corporate life. Cedric could see the line wrapped around the building~people hoping to get in, dressed in their best clothes, most of whom wouldn't make it past the velvet rope and the bored-looking doormen.
They went through the back entrance as always, Marco leading the way through the narrow alley that smelled faintly of garbage and expensive cologne. But instead of heading up to the VIP floor where Cedric usually worked, Falcone steered them toward his private office on the second floor~the one Cedric had only been to once, usually briefly.
It was smaller than his office at the mansion but no less impressive. Dark wood panels, leather furniture that looked both expensive and comfortable, a wet bar in the corner with crystal decanters. One wall was entirely taken up by security monitors showing different angles of the club in real-time. Cedric could see the main floor already filling up, the VIP sections being prepared, the bars lined with people ordering their first drinks of the night, even the back hallways where staff moved purposefully.
"That's a lot of cameras," he said, a little unnerved by how comprehensive the surveillance was.
"Security is important." Falcone moved to his desk, but instead of sitting, he just stood there looking lost, like he'd walked into a room and forgotten why. Like he'd forgotten what he usually did here, how he usually functioned.
Cedric crossed to him, taking his face in both hands, feeling the tension in his jaw. "Breathe. You need to breathe."
"I am breathing."
"You're hyperventilating. There's a difference." Cedric could feel his pulse racing under his fingertips, too fast, too shallow. He guided him to the leather couch against the wall. "Sit. I'm not leaving until you calm down."
"You have to work..."
"Alessandro can wait five minutes. The world won't end if I'm a few minutes late." Cedric's voice was firmer now. "Sit."
Falcone sat, and Cedric sat beside him, close enough that their thighs pressed together, close enough that he could feel the rapid rise and fall of Falcone's breathing. He kept one hand on Falcone's face, thumb stroking along his cheekbone in what he hoped was a soothing gesture, something to anchor him.
"Talk to me," Cedric said. "What's really going on? This isn't just about my mom anymore, is it?"
Falcone closed his eyes, leaning into Cedric's touch like he was seeking shelter there. "I keep thinking about all the things I've done. All the reasons she should hate me. All the ways I've hurt people, destroyed lives, made choices that—" He stopped, his breath hitching in his throat. "What if she looks at me and sees all of it? What if she can tell just by looking that I'm the kind of person who—"
"Who what?"
"Who ruins everything he touches." Falcone's eyes opened, and there was so much pain in them that Cedric's chest constricted, the air suddenly harder to pull in. "I ruined you. Your life, everything. I orchestrated the loan and now I'm sitting here terrified that your mother will see what I am and take you away from me. And the worst part is she'd be right to do it. She'd be completely justified."
"You didn't ruin me." Cedric said it firmly, leaving no room for argument, no space for Falcone to contradict him. "You gave me my life back. It looks different than I thought it would, nothing like what I planned, but it's mine. And I'm happy. Happier than I've been in years, maybe happier than I've ever been."
"You're happy because I destroyed all your other options."
"Maybe. Or maybe I'm happy because for the first time in my life, someone sees all of me....the good parts and the messy parts and the parts I'm not proud of....and wants me anyway." Cedric's other hand found Falcone's, squeezing tight, holding on. "You're not a good person. I'm not going to lie and say you are. You've done terrible things for terrible reasons, things I'm still trying to understand. But you're also the person who makes sure I eat breakfast and who loses sleep worrying about me and who's currently having a panic attack because he wants my mother to like him. That's not nothing."
"It's not enough."
"Maybe it is. Maybe it doesn't have to be perfect to be enough." Cedric leaned in, pressing his forehead to Falcone's, their breath mingling in the small space between them. "You keep trying to be something you're not. But I don't need you to be a good man. I just need you to be honest. To keep trying. To love me the way you do.....completely and terrifyingly and without apology."
"I told you…am not capable of love,but i cherish you ." Falcone's hands came up to grip Cedric's shirt, holding on like he was drowning, like Cedric was the only solid thing in a world that had turned to water. "So much that it scares me. So much that I don't know what I'd do if you left. I can't even imagine it."
"I'm not leaving."
"Tomorrow you might."
"Tomorrow I might introduce the man I love to my mother and we'll all have an awkward dinner where nobody knows quite what to say and we'll figure out how to make this work." Cedric kissed him softly, briefly. "That's all. Just dinner. Just conversation. Just three people trying to understand each other."
"Just." Falcone laughed, the sound brittle and broken, lacking any real humor. "You make it sound so simple."
"It is simple. We're just making it complicated because we're scared." Cedric pulled back enough to see his face properly, to read his expression. "Now. Are you okay? Or do I need to stay here and hold your hand all night?"
"I'm okay." Falcone's breathing was steadier now, the panic receding like a tide going out. "I'm sorry. I don't usually...." He gestured vaguely at himself, at his disheveled state, the vulnerability he was showing. "This isn't who I am."
"Maybe it should be. At least sometimes." Cedric stood, pulling Falcone with him, tugging him to his feet. "It's okay to be scared. It's okay to need reassurance. You don't have to be invincible all the time. You don't have to have all the answers."
"In my world, showing weakness gets you killed."
"I'm not your world. I'm different." Cedric smoothed down Falcone's shirt where he'd wrinkled it, his fingers lingering on the fabric. "With me, you get to be human. Messy and scared and imperfect. That's the deal."
Falcone pulled him close one more time, holding him tight, his face buried in Cedric's shoulder. "I don't deserve you."
"Probably not. But you have me anyway." Cedric kissed his jaw, feeling the slight stubble there. "Now I really do have to go to work. Alessandro's going to have my head if I'm late. But you...." He pointed at the couch. "You sit here and breathe and watch your security monitors. And if you start spiraling again, you text me. Got it?"
"Got it."
"Good." Cedric headed for the door, then stopped and turned back. "And Gianni?"
"Yes?"
"Tomorrow is going to be fine. I promise."
He left before Falcone could argue, before either of them could second-guess the promise he'd just made, making his way up to the VIP floor where Alessandro was indeed waiting with a stern expression and a clipboard clutched in his hand.