Suited

Thirty Two

My parents and Jessie were in the sunroom, overseeing the final preparations. Father actually asked what I thought of everything. It was perfect. Any excuse to have sweets before dinner was. There's cakes and fruit along with a few savory options to break things up a bit. The china matched the flowers in the central area where all of us would sit, but my favorite set, comprised of the fortune line from Wedgwood, was on the table in front of the antique corner loveseat with a gorgeous view of both the garden and the room. Only one of those cups was ever out at a time because I was the only one that ever used it, but it came with two and both of them were there atop their saucers with their side plates. The teapot was there too, next to the tiered cake stand that was piled high with more than just cakes. I couldn't be happier.

While Signore set two wrapped boxes on the designated gift table—which I hadn't expected at all; I thought the cuffs were my gift—Jessie bombarded him. Luckily, my parents and the other workers had stepped out, because the first thing out of his mouth was "Who puts an asthmatic with cardiac issues in a vac bed?!"

My dominant stopped fussing with the placement and replied, "I do. He said he enjoyed it."

I really did. We had a very in depth debrief over breakfast. I decided to speak up and ask, "Can I go in again on Saturday?"

He smirked and cut his eyes at Jessie as if to say he told him so. "Yes. Fifteen minutes."

I didn't hide the excitement in my voice. I loved that thing. "Thank you, Sir!"

Jessie sucked his teeth at Signore when he walked past him to sit with me. "You make me sick."

Signore filled both of our cups. I was surprised it was a sparkling drink. There wasn't alcohol. I think there was tea in it. He said as he poured, "Get well soon." I couldn't help but laugh and Jessie told me not to encourage him but Signore didn't need encouragement in that regard. He would say whatever he wanted and I wouldn't stop him. Jessie wouldn't either. Even if he pretended to be put off, he was more amused than anything. That changed when Signore said, "I'm surprised you didn't bring your project."

Jessie's face hardened. "I'd never bring him here and he is not a project."

"Yes he is. You're trying to fix him instead of just letting him rot."

"I—" He stopped himself. I took his pause as an opportunity to ask who they were talking about. "My client," he emphasized to Signore. Then to me, a bit more stable, "From church." CBT guy then. I nodded. Signore asked into his cup if he could still be considered a client if he was no longer invoicing him. The thought of Jessie handing someone an invoice with itemized charges for various non-sex sex acts was hilarious but I kept my mouth shut. "Just because I enjoy his company doesn't mean he's my boyfriend."

"I never said the word boyfriend and I'd imagine you're too old for his tastes anyway."

There was a vein popping out on the side of Jessie's head. "He's not—" He sighed and chose to walk away instead of continuing the conversation. The door shut behind him.

"Signore?"

"Yes?"

"What did you mean by that?"

He thought for a moment. Then he set down his mug. "Jessie asked me not to tell you because he doesn't want you to think differently of him. I owe him that privacy. Regardless of his choices, I still respect him to an extent."

How different could I think? I already knew he was gay. I stood. "I'll ask myself then. Thank you, Sir."

He didn't bother stopping me. Just said "Don't over exert yourself, amore."