Magic Mansion by Jordan Price (best fiction books to read .txt) 📕

“Yes?” John’s trademark baritone was rusty from disuse…the morning had needed no words to complete it.

“Announcement in the ballroom in an hour. Semi-formal, no challenge.”

“All right. Thank you.”

“And, uh…maybe you could let Ricardo know?”

Ricardo smiled into the crook of John’s neck; John ran his fingers through Ricardo’s hair. “I believe he heard you.”

They listened as the assistant knocked on Bev’s door and gave her the same instructions, and then turned and walked back down the creaky hall. Once the aide was gone, Ricardo sighed, his breath tickling John’s shoulder. “I guess that means we’d better get ready. Plus I really need to talk to Sue, see how she’s holding up—”

“Ricardo.” John spoke the name softly, but with the gravity he usually reserved for the world behold.

Ricardo went quiet, and utterly still.

Once he was sure he had Ricardo’s attention, John went straight to the point. Perhaps he could wait, until they had more time, or at least more privacy. But John had made up his mind that there was nothing to gain by waiting, and potentially, everything to lose. In a world where no one lived forever, any chance at happiness needed to be seized before it was too late. John cleared his throat, and said, “On one hand, I can’t wait to get out of this place. But on the other…” he stroked the contour of Ricardo’s shoulder… “I regret that it’s almost over.”

“John….”

John placed his finger against Ricardo’s lower lip to quiet him. “Because I’ve found something here that I didn’t realize I was missing.”

Ricardo watched John for a long moment, and then finally whispered, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I…love you.”

They lay together for just another moment, gazing into one another’s eyes, to bask in their shared delight.

___

Ricardo supposed it would be obnoxious to strut too obviously as he headed back toward his room. But he wanted to. He should probably plan out what he was going to wear—but, really…who cared? In light of the fact that he was madly, crazily, hopelessly in love, and that John loved him too, who gave a damn about wardrobe?

He was smiling so hard his face hurt. The crew obviously noticed it too. On the trek from John’s room back to his own, Ricardo received his fair share of raised eyebrows and knowing looks. And he could barely contain himself from blurting out to everyone, “I know, isn’t it awesome?”

Though when he rounded the corner of the dorm hall, he felt his smile slip. Sue’s door was just a few feet away from his. He’d need to pass it to get to his own room and his own shower. It was only a door, the same as every other door in the hall. And yet, something about its quiet vigilance made Ricardo feel as if maybe he should have been there for Sue as she dealt with facing her first time on the chopping block. He was dying to tell her that John had broken the L-word barrier…though he supposed he would need to wait for a better time, now.

He paused, made sure he looked appropriately somber, and rapped on her door. “Who is it?” she called. Startled? Anxious? Crying? Hard to tell.

“Ricardo.”

“Hold on.” Shuffling, and then the door opened a crack. Sue pressed her face through the small gap and said, “Hey!”

“Hey.” She didn’t look like she’d been crying—at least, not recently. But she looked strange without any makeup on and her hair all in disarray. Young. But still cute. “So…how’re you doing?”

“I’m okay,” she said. “Uh…you?”

“Me? I’m fine. I’m not the one who has to go in front of Monty in an hour.”

Sue dropped her voice to a whisper. “What do you mean?”

“You know.” Ricardo put on a bad Australian accent, “And the magician going to the Final Four is….”

“Oh! Yeah. That.” Sue shrugged. “I’ll be fine, Ricardo. Whatever happens.”

“Okay….”

Before he could determine if she was actually fine, or if she was just really good at putting on a cheerful face, she said, “But I gotta get ready now. I’ll see you downstairs,” and closed the door.

Was she angry with him for disappearing after the last challenge and then waiting until an hour before taping to touch base? He hoped she wasn’t. She didn’t sound angry, though she did sound somehow…odd.

He went into his room and picked out tuxedo slacks, a vest, and a silk shirt with flowing sleeves, hung them by the shower so any wrinkles could steam out of them, and turned on the water…but he couldn’t stop thinking about how strange and distracted Sue had seemed.

She probably hadn’t meant for him to give up on talking to her so easily. Ricardo glanced at the clock. He still had plenty of time. He’d simply go knock again and….

Just as he opened his door, Sue opened hers. Or so he assumed. Until he realized it wasn’t Sue at all stepping through that door.

It was Monty Shaw.

He was wearing jeans (Ricardo had never seen him in jeans) and sandals (ditto) and a slinky burgundy T-shirt that made the shade of blue in his eyes sparkle like a sun-drenched sky—and his hair was wet, as if he’d just washed it. They locked gazes, both startled. Monty recovered first. He smiled shyly, and said, “G’day.”

“Hey.”

“Guess I’ll…see you downstairs, too.” With that, Monty closed Sue’s door carefully behind him, turned, and headed off to wardrobe.

Sue’d been acting weird, all right. What a relief it had nothing to do with him—and that it was good-weird.

Once Ricardo had dressed and the stylists were finished with him, he made his way to the ballroom. The tension there was thick enough to cut with a knife. The women, each of them up for elimination, sat quietly. Kevin Kazan paced by the window like he wanted to escape. Monty, in a snazzy gray Armani and his hair styled, was running lines with Iain. John was still in makeup. Although Ricardo didn’t want to make anybody cry into their foundation,