Miles apart (Man × Man) ✔

11) g u a r d e d

When they entered the mansion from the doors, which were left ajar to let in the breezy night air, Miles was blinded by the flashing cameras. He was still seeing bright spots in the middle of his sight when a waiter handed him a glass of champagne. But as Anthony kept marching deeper into the already crowded hall, Miles had no other option than to follow after him.

Earlier that week one of his dad's workers had come to take his measurements for the suit, and he was still feeling uneasy about it. The uneasiness had followed him for days, reminding him of the medical examinations he had taken as a child, and how those had brought him a great deal of shame and anxiety.

Miles had been a chubby kid and although that softness was long gone from his fully developed body, there was still that same chubby child living inside of him. He had grown up hearing how bad and undesirable having extra weight was, which he knew now to be utter bullshit but still couldn't stop believing in somewhere deep down.

To Anthony Bardot, being fit was firmly tied to being rich and successful. He wanted no reminders of his poor living conditions back in Bordeaux, and that also meant he didn't want reminders of Miles being a chubby child. It was against the image he had for a perfect, successful life. Everything had to be polished, including his son.

Whereas for Miles those years back in France were the best time of his life. The memories of his early childhood was what he cherished the most, because his mom never made him feel like he wasn't good enough. To her, being successful in life meant being loved and cared for. She never cared about money, and maybe that was why she and Miles' dad couldn't stay together in the end.

Miles hated the galas, although it wasn't just because they bored him like he had told Ash. The truth was that he had always felt out of his element in situations like that. Being surrounded by strangers and speaking acquintantances, chatting about business and politics and trying not to grimace at the appetizers all the while trying to look presentable..

Privilege or not, it was hell.

The only things Miles could say he enjoyed was the champagne and vintage wines, so he usually downed quite a few glasses of those to get through the galas. His dad never forgot to mention how little he appreciated his behaviour, but Miles kept drinking all the same. All he had to do was to stay sharp enough to churn out lies about how great Anthony Bardot and Harold Madden were.

People came and went, leaving Miles with little memory of their pleasantries. His mind was elsewhere, like it had been for days already. No matter how much he tried to turn his focus on other things, it always returned to Ash like a boomerang. The entire week Miles had yearned to text to Ash and to pour out all the uneasiness and annoyment he had because of his dad.

Yet, every time the insecurity of not knowing where he and Ash stood after their date kept him from doing so. He wasn't sure if it had even been a date, and whether Ash would treat him like air when they next saw each other or if they could continue where they left. They had been drunk out of their minds, after all.

"Have you reconsidered that stock exchange offer?" One of Bardot Madden Co associates, a graying woman in a silky gown, leaned needlessly close to Miles. The flowery scent of her perfume attacked Miles' senses and he took a step back as discreetly as he could. The woman was a widow of some late congressman, if Miles remembered correctly. Anthony gave Miles a sharp glance, like he was expecting for Miles to make a fool of himself.

"It is a fair offer, Ms. Bowell." Miles paused, taking in a small gulp of air and praying he had guessed the name right, before continuing: "But I'm currently not looking to start investing."

"Well, then, I'll just have to ask again next time, young man." Ms. Bowell patted Miles' shoulder with her plump hand. They clinked glasses and then she disappeared into the crowd. Before Miles' dad could start nagging about his decision not to invest, Miles excused himself and left to find the men's room.

Miles hated wearing a tie, it made his neck feel claustrophobic and itchy. So, as soon as the men's room door swung shut behind him, he loosened the tie. The guy in an expensive, tailored suit and freshly cut hair staring back at Miles from the mirror didn't look like him. Yet again he got a feeling that he was an impostor, trying to live someone else's life, in someone else's clothes.

The stranger in the mirror picked up his phone and lifted it to his ear. Even as the phone beeped against Miles' ear, he wasn't entirely sure what he was doing. When he heard the familiar voice, its tone a mixture of gruffness and calm, picking up the call, he almost managed to drop the phone again.

"Hi." Miles whispered breathlessly and then supported his free hand against the wash basin counter.

"Having fun at the gala?" Ash asked, making Miles' lips curve into a delighted smile. He hadn't thought Ash would remember where he was going.

"Will I sound like an entitled brat if I tell you I hate it here?" Miles could feel warmth spreading inside his chest and the stress he had been carrying all week melted into that calming heat. Ash let out a sound that nearly counted as a chuckle.

"It depends." Ash said. He paused for a moment before continuing: "How has your dad been?"

"He's just waiting for me to make a fool of myself. Or even worse, of him." The champagne was doing something to Miles' tongue and the words just kept coming. "Oh, and I'm drinking too much, but how else am I going to keep my sanity while talking hours about politics and stock exchanges?"

"Sounds dreadful." Ash pointed out. He sounded genuine, like he wouldn't have wanted to be in Miles' shoes either. "When will the torture end?"

"By midnight, I hope." Miles sighed, leaned closer to the mirror and used his fingers as a comb to get an obstinate lock of hair back in order.

"Come by after?" Ash suggested.

"Are y—" Miles was cut short when the men's door swayed open.

"Miles?" Anthony demanded, arching an eyebrow while glaring at Miles, who was, judging by the smile on his lips, having too much fun avoiding his responsibilities.

"Yeah, dad, I'll be there in a minute." Miles promised, hoping he would get a moment of privacy to end the call. It was, of course, too much to ask when dealing with his dad. Instead he turned his back at Anthony, and whispered in the phone: "Sorry, I've gotta go. But yes — I'm in."

When Miles slipped his phone back into his pocket, his dad was leaning on the door frame and tapping the outer side of his thigh with his forefinger. Miles tried to hurry past him, but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder.

"So.." Anthony began. "You're seeing someone?" He didn't wait for Miles' answer before pushing forward: "Who is this.. girl?"

"He's nothing yet, okay?" Miles kept his tone even, not wanting to show any signs of nervousness.

"Hmph." Anthony agreed, not too happily, and guided Miles back into the crowd with the same firm hold of his shoulder. "There's someone I want you to meet. Yaroslav Novikoff is a rising name in the industry and I want you to.."

Miles let the rest of his dad's talk go in one ear and out the other, relieved his dad let the topic of he-who-is-nothing-yet slip. It would come back haunting him sooner or later, but maybe then he would have a better understanding of what he and Ash meant for each other.

The thought of getting to see Ash after the gala was what got Miles through the rest of it. All the introductions and names he was likely going to forget before the night was over, and all the sharp glances his dad kept giving him when he took another sip from his drink.

Miles could get through just about anything to get to see Ash again, which didn't exactly support his theory of Ash being nothing to him yet.