The next day, Cole stumbled down the stairs with his hands clutching his forehead, following the rich, tawny aroma of coffee. As he had been the day before, Gideon was already at work. He left a note that morning, written in elegant cursive on a plain yellow sticky note. For your head. An arrow pointed to a bottle of ibuprofen and a tall glass of water. You can pick a book from the library or use my swim trunks again. If you want to go out, the keys for the Audi are hanging in the key box in the garage. I'll be home for dinner tonight.

Cole blinked in shock. His worry about being stuck out here in the suburbs and anxiety over eventually asking Gideon to use a car turned out to be unfounded.

"Home for dinner?" he muttered to himself, stroking a finger down the note, pinning the bottom of it to the countertop. When he took his finger away, it flipped back up in the scandalous way that sticky notes do.

"He was home for dinner last night, too." Andre set a mug of coffee in front of him with a tap. "Mr. Barta does not usually come home between his jobs, but he told me to have dinner prepared last night and all nights in the future. Except weekends. I don't work weekends."

Cole frowned at Andre and tried to parse out the meaning between his words. His lips were pressed together, and his brows raised as if he were urging Cole to understand something. But Cole once again had a hangover pounding against the inside of his skull, so he could not think. He picked up the ibuprofen and took a few. It had been nice of Gideon to make sure he could easily find them.

"There are leftovers from last night if you'd like them for lunch."

"Oh, thank you." Cole smiled. "I'm sorry for missing dinner."

"Just enjoy the leftovers. Do you want any breakfast?"

He honestly did not, so he shook his head. "I'm going to go back to bed."

Andre did not care one way or another. Cole smoothed his fingers over the note again, eyes trailing along the loopy script. Gideon was the type of man to write notes in cursive before he left for work and got upset when Cole came home with bloody hands despite having blood on his own clothes a couple of nights before. Cole squirreled these facts away like they were precious. He did not know much about Gideon yet, but he was learning little by little. He peeled the sticky note from the counter and pinched it gently between two fingers as he wandered back out of the kitchen, coffee in his other hand.

Instead of going upstairs, he got distracted by the books on the shelves that flanked the entrance to the great room. Then he padded past the looming landscapes and austere portraits inside the huge room and went to poke around in the study. He scanned the bookshelves there, too, searching not for any particular title or genre but for the spine that seemed the most cracked. He wanted to find Gideon's most beloved book, which had pages falling out and notes in the margins - his fingerprints all over it. He looked over every single bookshelf, then came back to a thin copy of Catch-22, bookended by Shakespeare and some obscure Encyclopedia. Gideon apparently did not care much for organizing his titles.

The spine was creased, and while no pages fell out, they were marked up with notes and highlights. The inside of the cover was stamped with the name of a high school, perhaps where Gideon had gone, or maybe simply where the book had lived its previous life before he picked it up. Cole held the sticky note next to one of the notes in the margins and saw they were written in the same loopy cursive. He tucked the sticky note between the cover and the first page, then took the book and the coffee out onto the back patio to sit in the chair where Gideon had sat two days ago.

Sitting out here was just as peaceful as it had been that day. The sun warmed the pebbly patio beneath his feet. Chris passed by with a squeaky wheelbarrow and nodded at Cole when Cole waved to him. Birds sang in the woods around the house. Cole hoped the mild weather would continue to hold out. He opened to the first page and sipped his coffee.

That was where Gideon found him when he came home. The empty coffee mug sat on the table beside where he lay back in the chair, the book crushed against his chest by a heavy hand. His face was turned out of the sun, drool darkening the cushion behind his head. He had slept straight through Andre's leftovers for lunch and into the afternoon. The sun hung low amongst the crowns of the trees. Cole looked around, surprised.

"Did you rest well?" Gideon asked, smirking because he saw the angle of Cole's neck as he slept and knew there had to be a crick in it now. He still wore his black suit and tie, including the little brass clip.

"I never slept so much in my entire life as I have the last few days," Cole told him. He set the book aside and watched Gideon's eyes track it, but no comment about his choice of reading material was forthcoming. "I'm famished. Slept straight through lunch. Is dinner ready?"

"In a few minutes," Gideon told him. "Why don't you come inside? Since you don't like to talk over food, I have something I need to tell you before Andre brings the meal out."

This was not a casual conversation, then. Cole wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and took a deep breath around the bubble of anxiety expanding in his chest. He followed Gideon through the great room and into the dining room.

"Don't worry," Gideon said when he saw Cole's expression. Then his lips twisted like maybe that was not true. Maybe Cole should worry. "It's not...the worst news, all things considered. My family just wants to have dinner with you."

Cole stared at him. "What?"

"My other brother and sister want to meet you." Gideon sat at the table and put his forearms on it, fingers tapping across the surface. Cole furrowed his brow and sat beside him.

"They know that we are not really married, right?" he asked.

"Well, technically we are."

Cole rubbed the skin over his eyebrow. His hangover headache never really went away, probably because all he had today was a few sips of coffee and that water. "Will James be there?"

"Most likely."

Cole blew out a harsh breath.

Gideon pressed his lips together and looked as unhappy as Cole had ever seen him. "I'd like to be able to tell you that it won't be bad, but it will be a shit show. Unfortunately, it's going to happen one way or another. They'll just show up here if I don't bring you to them. At least this way, we can leave if they are intolerable."

"Why do they want to meet me?" Cole asked.

"They're just a bunch of busybodies." Gideon shook his head as if this character flaw was the worst possible one.

Eating with the Bartas sounded absolutely nuts, like going down to hell to dine with Hades or something. Cole was not excited to face James again. But he was good at marching into uncomfy situations while pretending to be cool as a cucumber. And Gideon already seemed big upset over it, so Cole descending into hysterics certainly was not going to help anybody.

Cole shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay." They just wanted to get a look at him. It was not like he was inexperienced with being ogled at. If they were curious, fine. "What kind of behavior do you want me to be on? Best behavior? Pissing everyone off?"

Gideon sat back in his chair with a frown. "You aren't taking this seriously."

"I mean, it's your family, so I'm shaking in my boots, but," he pulled out the big guns, "you'll be there, right? So, everything will be okay."

"Yeah, of course." Gideon rubbed his forehead. "You'll be fine. We'll be fine. I just wanted to warn you."

Gideon glanced over Cole's shoulder as Andre came in with two plates of baked salmon. "It's on Saturday. You should use the credit card to buy yourself something nice to wear tomorrow."

"So, best behavior then?" Cole asked after thanking Andre.

"Sure," Gideon told him. And that was the end of the conversation. Cole tried to get a few more details out of him, but he was tight-lipped. He was acting as if he had just told Cole that on Saturday, they would be standing before the firing squad. Despite working with them, he did not get along with his family. This was obvious, given that Cole's whole purpose in Gideon's life was for them to fuck with him. Dinner was probably an extension of that. Some kind of flex on their part masked by a fake polite curiosity to get to know Cole. So, he let the subject drop and poked at his food silently.

For the first time, he wondered if Gideon was happy working for his mafia family, living in his grand house, and paying strippers for sex. There was lots of power and money. But Gideon did not seem to care too much about all of that, except when it let him do things like buy Cole on Valentine's Day or punch Logan without repercussions. But at what cost when his family treated him the way they did? Besides, all Cole had really seen him do so far was work himself to death and sit at home reading.

Gideon was in a terrible mood for every moment after telling Cole about the dinner. The next morning, he left another note, this time accompanied by the Audi keys, encouraging Cole to use it. He was supposed to go buy a nice outfit for dinner. He tucked this note into the front of Catch-22 and noticed that, compared to the one from yesterday, the script seemed choppy and rushed, as though he had already woken up stressed about something.

Cole decided not to worry about it. He looked up an outlet not too far away and drove the Audi over, feeling like a three-year-old sitting behind the wheel of his parent's car. He picked something out, then guiltily swiped Gideon's credit card and loaded the bags into the back of Gideon's car.

He needed to think about getting a job soon, but for now, he was enjoying not having to do much of anything. The rest of the day, he spent reading more of Catch-22 and running out into the yard to pester Chris with questions when he saw him pruning some of the ornamental trees. They turned out to be actual fruiting cherry trees. When Gideon returned for dinner, Cole was on the step ladder, loppers in hand, while Chris coached him from below about what angle and where to cut the branches.

Gideon was obviously in a terrible mood as they ate together. There was a constant line between his brows and harshness to his movements, which had all the alarm bells going off in Cole's mind and a pit of anxiety swirling in his gut. But he made no moves to take his distress out on Cole, instead smiling warmly and asking how his day had been. Cole slowly relaxed and reported on buying the clothes.

Then the conversation died when Gideon did not offer any details about how his day had gone. Something guarded in his eyes discouraged Cole from asking. They ate another silent meal.

Gideon had to go out that evening. He changed into a more casual pair of jeans and a black sweatshirt before hopping down the front steps, his keyring glinting in the porch light as it spun around his finger. Cole watched from the dining room window as the Jag rumbled down the driveway, then stepped away and looked around. Never had he been gifted with so much free time in all his life. He did not feel like reading anymore, so he found himself drawn to the couch in the master bedroom, where he wrapped himself up in the throw blanket and watched TV until Gideon got home.

This time, when Gideon returned, he did not come immediately to his bedroom. Cole was dozing contentedly in front of the flashing light of the TV when a sound from somewhere in the house roused him. If took a couple of seconds for him to realize what he was hearing.

A piano.

He leapt off the couch. The blanket tangled around his feet, and he had to pause to wrap it around his shoulders better. Then he crept down the hallway and peered into the Great Room. It was dark. Only the light from a partial moon glowed through the back windows. Gideon sat at the piano, practically a silhouette against the soft light, fingers trailing across the keys.

It was very beautiful, not like an actual classical piece, but like a song that Cole had heard somewhere but could not recognize just based on the melody played by piano alone. He took a few steps into the room, entranced.

The music stopped, and before the notes had faded, Gideon twisted on the piano bench and pulled a handgun out. The black length of the barrel stared Cole right in the eye. He dropped with a squeak of surprise to crouch on the balls of his feet.

There was a beat of shocked silence.

Gideon immediately lowered the gun when he saw Cole crouching on the ground, wrapped up in the throw blanket and staring up at him with wide eyes, and said, "Fuck."

"I'm so sorry," Cole rushed out. "I shouldn't have snuck up on you."

Gideon sighed. "No, I'm sorry. I'm a little too jumpy right now. Forgot there was someone else in the house." He rubbed his fingers over his frown, then set the gun down on top of the piano with a loud clack. "I should have probably slept at the office tonight."

Cole rose to his feet and perched on the arm of the chair closest to the piano. Gideon looked worn out, even in the dim light. There were heavy bags beneath his eyes. They followed Cole's movements with the same guarded expression he'd worn all day, a little crease between his brows. Perhaps he had a hard day at work on top of being upset about his family. It was hard to tell in the shadows, but Cole did not think he saw any blood on his clothes.

Trying to clear the awkwardness from the air, he gestured at the piano. "I didn't know you played."

"Only a little." Gideon looked back down at the keys, one finger tracing absently along the rim of wood below them. "Did I wake you up?"

"It's okay. I was passed out in front of the TV again, so I needed to get up anyway."

Gideon just stared at the piano keys some more. Cole should probably just go to bed, but he found himself asking, "Will you play something for me?"

Without looking up, Gideon moved his hands to the keys and began playing again. This time, it was something classical and, from the sound of it, very difficult. The notes built and tripped over each other in a melody that captivated Cole as he watched Gideon's fingers dance. He put his whole body into playing, feet on the pedals beneath the piano and torso swaying with the music and motions of his arms.

When he finished, his hands dropped into his lap, and he twisted to face Cole with a raised brow. Cole clapped enthusiastically.

"You only play a little," he scoffed, shaking his head.

Gideon only shrugged, although, from the smirk on his face, he knew damn well that his skill was far beyond chopsticks and jingle bells. "I just play around. It helps me relax."

"That was an actual classical piece you just played, though, wasn't it."

"It was." Gideon played a couple more chords of something different, slower, and more melancholy. Cole listened for a while. His eyelids grew heavy, and he slid down from the arm of the chair to its cushion. He wished he knew the right thing to make Gideon feel better when he was so obviously upset.

"Whatever happens on Saturday is whatever," Cole assured Gideon sleepily, even though it was Gideon's family, and he would know better whether it would be terrible. But he was trying to make Gideon feel a little better, so he added, "No matter what, I have had such a nice time staying in your house the past few days."

Gideon's evil siblings could not take that away from him.

He received no answer, but Gideon kept playing—something soft now that made Cole's head nod to the side. He should have gone to bed, but he snuggled down in the armchair so he could listen as he drifted off. 

...

A/N: Gideon is stressing, poor baby. Do you guys think Cole should be more worried or will everything be okay because Gideon will be there to protect him?