Rory’s gaze lingered on Arthur and the way his arms filled out the jacket. “Giant’s not an insult,” he said, with feeling. “But what’s Ace gonna do for a tux, then?”

Arthur sighed. “I may be able to find a tailor. I used to know at least three here in Paris who could suit me.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, his pale skin stubbled with jet black. “I’ll need a barber too.”

“If you can clean up for tonight and get your ticket,” said Gwen, “we’ll handle the rest.”

Arthur stiffened. “You want me to separate from Rory?” he said, looking at Jade.

“Do you see any other way?” she said softly. “It’s already past eight and the show starts at six.”

Rory furrowed his brow. “You don’t think the seller will take the siphon into his box at the show?”

Gwen shook her head. “He’s been paranoid the entire time. I suspect he won’t trust Arthur not to show up with an army; he’ll probably have it close but under guard.”

“If we want to search backstage, pretending to be part of the show is our best option,” Ellis added.

Rory looked over at Arthur. The tables were all full and crowded now, and as much as Arthur had said this wasn’t America, Rory was pretty sure he still didn’t get to kiss Arthur in the middle of a sidewalk café, no matter how nervous all of this made him.

Rory held Arthur’s gaze. “I’m only gonna do it if you promise to be careful.”

“That’s my line,” Arthur said softly.

They returned to the cabaret, where most of the others went to look for costumes. But Rory found himself corralled by Arthur into the single bathroom on their floor, which had blue-and-white-striped wallpaper and ashtrays on every surface.

Arthur pinned him up against the sink, the porcelain pressing into Rory’s lower back. Rory ached for the closeness too; this plan put Arthur in too much danger.

Their bodies were close enough Rory could feel Arthur’s body heat through his suit. Arthur bent his head and brushed his jaw along Rory’s. “If you’re going to paint yourself like a mime, you have to shave.”

Rory made a face. “Barely worth it,” he protested, snaking his hand up between their bodies to run it over the light stubble on his own face.

“Sorry, I have no sympathy.” Arthur held up a shaving kit. “There’s a safety razor in here if you’d rather that than the straight blade. I’m personally stopping at the barber’s, if you’d prefer a professional—”

“Nah,” Rory said hastily. “I don’t know how you let some other fella shave you. I’m doing it myself.”

Arthur darted in close again. “Let me do it some time,” he whispered, breath against Rory’s ear, low voice rumbling across his skin.