A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

An Aristocratic Upbringing

Zayn slowly lifted his face from Harry's fragrant hair and tipped his chin up. "Ridgemont, Pennsylvania."

"And?" Harry prompted, confused by his odd impression that Zayn felt a special significance in answering that question.

"And," Zayn said, looking into his puzzled eyes, "the Stanhopes own a large manufacturing company there that has been the economic backbone of Ridgemont and several surrounding communities for nearly a century."

Harry shook his head in disgust. "You were rich! All those stories about you growing up on your own, no family, living on the rodeo circuit—that's completely dishonest. My brothers believed that stuff!"

"I apologize for misleading your brothers," Zayn said, chuckling at his indignant look. "The truth is, I didn't know what the publicity department had invented about me until I read it in the magazines myself, and then it was too late to raise hell—not that it would have done me any good in those days, anyway. At any rate, I did leave Ridgemont before I was nineteen, and I was on my own after that."

Harry wanted to ask why he'd left home, but he stuck to basics for the moment. "Do you have brothers and sisters?"

"I had two brothers and a sister."

"What do you mean 'had'?"

"I mean a lot of things, I suppose," he said with a sigh, leaning his head back against the sofa again, feeling Harry shift and return to their former position with their legs stretched out on the table.

"If you would rather not talk about this for some reason," Harry said, sensitive to his changing mood, "there's no need to do it."

Zayn knew he was going to tell Harry all of it, but he didn't want to examine the myriad feelings that were compelling him to do it. He'd never felt the need or desire to answer these same questions from Rachel. But then he'd never trusted her or anyone else with anything that might bring him pain. Perhaps because Harry had already given him so much, he felt he owed his answers. He tightened his arm around Harry and he moved closer, his face partially on Zayn's chest. "I've never talked about any of this with anyone before, although God knows I've been asked about it, thousands of times. It isn't that long or interesting a story, but if I sound strange, it's because it's very unpleasant for me and because I feel a little odd discussing it for the first time in seventeen years."

Harry kept silent, stunned and flattered that he was going to tell him.

"My parents died in a car wreck when I was ten," he began, "and my two brothers, my sister, and I were raised by our grandparents—when we weren't away at boarding schools, that is. We were all a year apart in age; Justin was oldest, I was next, then Elizabeth, then Alex. Justin was—" Zayn paused, trying to think of the right words and couldn't. "He was a great sailor, and unlike most older brothers, he was always willing to let me tag along with him wherever he went. He was—kind. Gentle. He committed suicide when he was eighteen."

Harry couldn't stop his horrified intake of breath. "My God, but why?"

Zayn's chest lifted beneath his cheek as Zayn drew in his breath and slowly expelled it. "He was gay. No one knew it. Except me. He told me less than an hour before he blew his brains out."

When he fell silent, Harry said, "Couldn't he have talked to someone—gotten some support from his family?"

Zayn gave a short, grim laugh. "My grandmother was a Harrison and came from a long line of rigidly upright people with impossibly high standards for themselves and everyone else. They'd have regarded Justin as a pervert, a freak, and turned their backs on him publicly if he didn't recant at once. The Stanhopes, on the other hand, have always been the complete opposite—reckless, irresponsible, charming, fun-loving, and weak. But their most outstanding trait, one that has bred truest throughout the male line, is that Stanhope men are womanizers. Always. Their lechery is legendary in that part of Pennsylvania, and it is a trait of which they have all been extremely proud. Including, and especially, my grandfather. I'm not sure the Kennedy men had anything on the Stanhope men when it came to wanting women. To give you a non-offensive example, when my brothers and I each turned twelve, my grandfather gave us a hooker for a birthday present. He had a little private birthday party at the house, and the hooker he'd selected was brought there to attend the party and then go upstairs with the birthday boy."