He and Chef Salvatore had made a panettone, and Kevin couldn’t wait to surprise Sandro with the variety of cookies he’d prepared for them to munch on.
But Sandro wasn’t there.
Kevin knew Sandro was a busy man, but it still hurt to only receive a laconic message about Sandro being unsure when he was to arrive. It was in moments like these, when Kevin wanted to throw a fit and be angry at Daddy that he had to remind himself their relationship wasn’t real. That Sandro didn’t owe Kevin his time in any shape or form. Being available and flexible was what Kevin was paid for. And that hurt, because at this point Kevin thought of Sandro as his boyfriend and that was also how they treated each other, never mentioning the money.
They were exclusive, they talked for hours, they slept together whenever Daddy was back home, and Kevin hated to think about the expiration date on their relationship.
As the hours of Christmas Eve passed, Kevin mindlessly sketched ravens tearing up the decorations as he watched A Christmas Prince: The Royal Baby in the background. He didn’t believe Sandro was coming anymore, so he’d changed out of his elegant outfit into a plush reindeer onesie that was lately his go-to for lounging around. He didn’t even care if the fluffy mismatched socks made him unfuckable when there was no one here to—
A slamming of a door inside the house made Kevin drop his sketchbook and freeze on the sofa. His outfit was more than fitting for his deer-in-the-headlights look.
His first instinct was to call out to Sandro, but then the fear of the upstairs bathroom infected his brain, and he couldn’t force himself to speak as the most terrible home invasion scenarios galloped through his brain.
Kevin slipped off the sofa and walked over to the fireplace where flames cheerfully crackled over wood. He couldn’t care less if he seemed ridiculous when he grabbed the heavy metal poker, because, while this surely was Sandro, his life could be on the line.
He could’ve sworn he heard a door creak down the corridor, and the soft socks would be his advantage, since they cushioned his steps as he made his way down the hallway and peeked over the bend, to where the sound seemed to have originated.
He stiffened at the sight of the white door open wide.
The one pebble in his shoe. The splinter under his nail. The itch he couldn’t reach, and therefore never scratch. The door to the room where Sandro did god-knew-what.
Kevin was curious by nature, so to be denied something that lay in plain sight drove him crazy whenever he thought about it. Anything could be hiding in there. A secret BDSM dungeon Sandro wasn’t ready to show Kevin. Or an adult baby room that Sandro was priming Kevin for. A man pad where Sandro invited friends to play e-sports. An office where he held all his passwords, bank account details, and a sound proof room so no one could hear his business negotiations.
Or an inconsequential boring room that existed only to tease Kevin’s curiosity.
But then a man in a burgundy suit walked out, and Kevin froze. He’d earlier dismissed his anxiety as silliness, but now his whole body erupted with goosebumps at the sight of a stranger. In his house. The man laughed, holding the door open, but shut it before Kevin got to see what was on the other side.
Had he come here with Sandro?
Unless Kevin was gravely mistaken, burglars didn’t often wear suits as work attire, and the man’s casual stance suggested he wasn’t nervous about being here. That and the fact lights were on in the house, making it clear to everyone that there was someone home, made Kevin lower the poker. Had Sandro not told him about some employee coming over?
He took one deep breath and jumped out from behind the corner, pointing the poker at the man who was still a good twenty meters down the corridor.
“Who are you?” he asked, fighting the fear tightening its hands around his neck.
The stranger turned Kevin’s way, his expression one of surprise, but when he laid his eyes on Kevin, he strode his way at a leisurely pace. He was older than Sandro, with salt and pepper hair slicked back in a tidy fashion. With his hands in his pockets, staring straight at Kevin with a little smirk, he resembled a model walking down the catwalk to impress the editor of Vogue. Trim, tall, wide-shouldered, and with very symmetrical facial features, he looked more like someone who might have been Sandro’s colleague rather than a contractor hired to deal with minor repairs. His suit had dark green lapels, and he wore a striped tie in the same color, which stood out on the crisp white background of his shirt.