The Art of Being a Gentleman

Chapter 8

The 24th day of October is the most gorgeous day of the month. The sun is beating down on the water-logged artificial grass of the Styles estate, the bright red and light brown leaves of the trees surrounding the area fall gracefully down to the ground, and the distant chirping of birds fills the sweet silence of the slightly windy air. However, the beauty outside the manor is no match for the ugliness within it.

Right now, in Carter's study, Harry is sitting on a plush chair, which is not so comfortable at the moment, avoiding the eyes of his parents. Carter is sitting behind his desk, his eyes devoid of any emotion as he stares at his youngest son, and Gwendoline is standing right beside his chair, her hand resting on the back of it. Margaret, Preston, and Eli are all outside the office, eagerly pressing their ears against the door to enjoy the fruits of their labor.

Carter's right eye occasionally twitches as if he's on the verge of a mental breakdown. Last night was the most embarrassing night of his life. While Gwendoline was upstairs, he was still in the ballroom, facing the humiliation of being stared at by a sea of judgmental eyes, attempting to calmly inform everyone that it was time for them to go home, and that picture, the only picture he managed to look at, is still making his stomach turn. He has it crumpled up in his desk drawer, waiting for the perfect moment to use it. Harry's foot is incessantly tapping on the ground as his anxiety builds up. He hates the silence.

"I don't know what to say to you," Carter says, his voice rough from exhaustion. "I just don't know what to say. Was this an act of rebellion or-"

"Wait a second," Harry interrupts, facing his parents for the first time today. "You can't possibly believe that I did this. Do you honestly think that I would put myself in this position?"

Carter is silent for a moment before he sighs and shakes his head. "I don't know, Harry. I would think not, but I obviously don't know who you really are."

"Father," Harry forces out, his voice cracking on the last syllable. "I-I'm your son. That's who I am, and that's who I've always been."

Carter shakes his head. "Harry... we've been here before. I thought we were pass this phase, but obviously we're not. I don't understand the thought behind your actions. You are a man. A man is supposed to desire the tender touch of a woman, not..." he trails off as he opens the desk drawer and pulls out the crumpled photo. Without looking at it, he flattens it out in his palm and slams it in front of Harry, causing him to flinch. "This!"

Hesitantly, Harry looks down at the picture and takes a sharp intake of breath at what he sees. There he is, in full, vibrant color, amorously holding Louis and dipping him in the lake. Louis, with crinkly eyes and a bright smile, has his head tossed back, immersing his hair in the water. Harry is staring down at him as if he's the key to every problem that plagues the earth. Harry remembers this specific moment so clearly, and the only thing he currently desires is to live in it for the rest of his life. Getting over Louis will not be an easy feat.

"So this is what you want," Carter sneers, disgusted by the longing expression on Harry's face. "What on earth has this man told you? What promises did he make? What lies did he spew?" his voice increases in volume as he rises from his seat. "I don't know what fairytales he filled your head with, but none of them can ever be reality. You know that, right? You can't seriously be under the impression that this man, who probably has his legs open more times than not, is in love with you!"

"Don't!" Harry bellows, shooting up from his seat. "Don't you dare speak poorly of him in my presence!"

"Look at you," Carter chuckles condescendingly. "Acting tough, talking back to your father like a spoiled brat."

Harry and Carter stand with their shoulders squared as they stare each other down, their eyes saying things that are far more hostile than anything that could come out of their mouths. Gwendoline, already getting sick of the fruitless arguing, slams her fist against the desk, causing the two men to flinch.