He swallowed in the silence that followed and listened to the mechanical clicks of hot water pouring. Kiem turned with a coffee cup in either hand. They didn’t match, as if he’d inherited bits and pieces from different people; one was heavy and deep brown, the other was army issue from a division Jainan didn’t recognize. He glanced up, attempting to read Kiem’s face, then wished he hadn’t. The easy smile wasn’t there anymore.
Kiem put the larger cup down in front of Jainan. “Okay,” he said. “I think something needs to be said.”
Jainan didn’t touch the coffee. He stared at the table beside it. “Yes?”
“There’s only so far we need to go with this wedding night thing,” Kiem said.
He sat down heavily beside Jainan. “I mean, we can’t get you separate rooms.
Press Office has pretty effectively vetoed that, since they say it will get out to the newslogs. But we’re in private here.”
“You don’t want to sleep together,” Jainan said. His lips felt numb.
Kiem’s arm jerked, spilling his coffee on the table. “No! I didn’t say—damn.”
He put the cup back gingerly, his elbow brushing Jainan’s. “It’s not that I don’t want to. But it’s—you’re—this is obviously not the best situation, and I can’t imagine you, uh. We don’t have to do anything, is what I mean. I can sleep on the couch.”
Realization hit Jainan like a fist to the gut. He had failed so badly to communicate that Kiem assumed he was rejecting him, assumed Jainan was not even going to try to make the marriage work. Jainan was going to doom this from the start by being too cold, too stiff, too uptight.
He turned to Kiem beside him and put his hand on the back of Kiem’s neck, trying to remember how to do this properly, and kissed him.
Chapter 5
After a heart-stopping moment, Kiem responded. Jainan’s heart was hammering so hard it sent a wave of dizziness to his head: he couldn’t tell if it was the relief or the kiss. Concentrate. He didn’t have to be terrible at this. He was focusing so hard that he almost missed the little pleased noise Kiem made when they broke apart, and Jainan stopped in shock when he realized what it was.
Luckily, it didn’t seem to matter. Kiem took a breath and bent his head, kissing Jainan’s neck. It was good—of course it was good, Kiem knew what he was doing—and for a peculiar moment, the constant tension in Jainan’s head disappeared. It was replaced by an odd sense of openness, like light flooding in through a window. Was that the alcohol? Jainan didn’t care. He opened the first few buttons of Kiem’s shirt, shaky with relief. It was working.