Something Fabulous (Something Fabulous, #1)

by Alexis Hall

“Not for me. Because,” Tarleton repeated in unnecessarily strident tones, “I don’t fall in love with women.” “You can’t know—” “I fall in love with gentlemen.” Valentine nearly swallowed his peach stone. “Well, I say gentlemen,” Tarleton went on, “but I more mean men in general. I had a rather delightful assignation with a gorgeous young redcoat once. And he wasn’t gentle at all.” Very carefully, Valentine sat up. It felt quite important he be sitting up in that moment. “I . . . what are you telling me?” “I’m answering your question.”

“Because Peggy sometimes likes to dress as a boy. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it earlier.”

“Is it Surrey?” Valentine wondered. Bonny’s gaze flicked his way impatiently. “Surrey?” “Making you like this.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Valentine was feeling aggrieved again. Aggrieved and increasingly exhausted, in a way that was only partially connected to a day spent running around pointlessly in a curricle. “Men who want to marry men, and women who don’t want to marry dukes, and girls who like to dress as boys.” “Yes,” said Bonny decidedly. “It’s Surrey. It’s the mushrooms here. They make us true to who we are.” “M-mushrooms?” “I’m joking, flower. This is just . . . life.”

“But what can you possibly know of life? You’ve spent twenty years inventing stories about it.” “And yet”—here Bonny patted his knee—“it’s still infinitely less confusing to me than it is you.”

“Do you remember”—Miss Evan twined an arm about the other woman’s waist—“when we ran away?” That drew a soft laugh from Miss Fairfax. “I do indeed. My parents found us in a barn and dragged me home.” “But it didn’t stop us running away again.” “No,” agreed Miss Fairfax. “And again.” “No.” “And again.” Miss Fairfax was smiling her secret smile. “I would have run away with you a thousand times. A million. I would have run away with you every day and every night.” And then she leaned in and kissed her companion full on the lips.

There was only Bonny who stood apart, gilded by the firelight, his hair drying in wild curls. He was oddly still, and small for someone given to such extravagances, the look on his face unexpectedly sorrowful, full of naked longing. The moment he realised Valentine was watching, he turned away. And suddenly Valentine didn’t care about rain or hunger or being tied to a chair. All he wanted was for Bonny to smile. To smile forever. To smile for him.

“It was both a comfort and torment to me. I sought closeness with fictional characters because I felt incapable of it with anyone else. After all, if someone isn’t real, there are no expectations, no chance of loss. No discovery of something lacking in yourself. Are you satisfied now?”

“There is nothing lacking in you, Valentine,” Bonny told him fiercely. “Not in how you feel or what you like or the way you have sex. You are perfect.” “I am very far from perfect.” Bonny smiled up at him, his eyes shining and his mouth like the promise of a kiss. “Then you are perfect for me. Especially now that you’ve admitted you read. Oh my God.”

Valentine met his own eyes—searching for something he recognised in the reflected man who had abandoned himself so freely, so fearlessly, in the arms of another. The Duke of Malvern: all undone.

“See.” Bonny straightened, drawing Valentine’s legs more firmly about his waist. “See who you are. That beautiful, passionate, generous man who’s all mine.” “Yes,” said Valentine. “Yes.”

“Say you’re mine. Valentine, say you’re mine.” “I’m yours.” It echoed through every reflection. Every Valentine and every Bonny. And then everything Valentine was feeling—everything he saw—everything Bonny had given him—coalesced into starlight: sharp and silver and eternal, shining inside him and through him. Until he shattered. And even the breaking was beautiful.

For some reason, however, despite being thoroughly exhausted, he was having trouble finding his own peace. The problem was he was happier than he had ever been in his life. And the longer he dwelled in happiness, the darker the shadow cast by the uncertainties of the future. As much as he might want to, he could not stay here forever, pretending his arm was worse than it was, and Bonny must have known that too. What they had was strong and real; Valentine truly believed that. It could survive his dukedom, it could survive the world; Bonny had said himself that Miss Tarleton would understand. So why couldn’t Valentine sleep? Why, when he had everything to hope for, was dread twisting like a cobra in his gut? It was still twisting in the colourless no-time before dawn and the chalky grey hours that followed. It twisted through the buttercup yellow of the early morning and looked set to twist through the deepening gold of noon, all while Bonny slept the easy sleep of the utterly unconcerned. Valentine couldn’t bear it. “Bonny.” He nudged him gently. “Bonny.” Nothing. “Bonny.” A mostly still unconscious nuzzle. “Bonny.” Bonny’s eyes shot open. “Wh-what?” “Bonny, I’ve been think—” “What’s happening? What time is it?” “I don’t know. But, listen”—Valentine had the oddest sense of forcing a horse to a jump he knew it would refuse—“I’ve been thinking we should probably visit your sister.” Half sitting up, Bonny pushed the hair out of his face and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Um...