Two weeks were already over with out of twelve. While some would say that two weeks was not enough time to feel like you knew someone, their situation was a bit different. They were, practically, with each other all the time. Two weeks was more than enough time to get a bit familiar.
At the beginning of the third week, they had yet another inn room to get used to. Sage sat on the edge of the bed, rolling up a pair of white socks that stopped a few centimeters after his ankle. He flicked down the pant legs of his slacks and stood up, reaching for the designer shirt. It consisted of long, wide sleeves and short frills around the neck collar and was a deep shade of blue. On the sides were open stitches, revealing some skin beyond threads crossed over. He hid his tiredness behind eyeliner in the outer corners of his eyes and even applied a small dab of a dark blue eyeshadow from a small palette of colors that Liwayway had given him. Again, he let his hair down, feeling he had no reason to keep it out of the way.
For a second time, Sage felt strange, because he thought he really did look kind of pretty.
"Why are you frowning at yourself in the mirror?"
Sage leaned back and turned, paused with his finger in the air, the tip of it covered in a thin layer of the deep blue eyeshadow. He spotted Rowan by the doorway casually leaning against it and watching him.
As he had thought previously, Rowan cleaned up well when he put some effort into it. He wore a simple outfit of slacks, a white button up, and a black blazer on top of it, but he still alluded to a different presence than he normally did. Sage couldn't quite place how it made him feel. Still, he offered him a sarcastic reply: "Probably because some freak is watching me get ready."
It was Rowan's turn to frown. "Come on, Sweetie Sage, hurry up. You're taking the title of wife too seriously. You should've gotten up earlier to dress up. You're killing the clock."
"You are not seriously going to keep with that name," Sage groaned, wiping his fingers clean on a cloth set on the counter. He glared at Rowan, but the other had an amused grin on his face.
"I think it's cute." He nodded his head toward the door and said, "Come on, Doctor."
On the drive, Rowan explained to Sage the account. Their client, Devon, was struggling in his company to cover billing. His books were messy and out of order. Rowan planned on meeting with them in their corporate office to speak about getting his finances together. Devon had managed to overpay someone twice and underpay someone four times. Something had to be done.
"I don't see why I need to come with you," Sage muttered. "I know nothing about finances."
"His wife wanted you to come."
"Huh?" Sage turned his head to Rowan. While driving, he could only spare a small second to turn his head and glance at Sage. "Why?" Sage asked.
"I have no idea. Guess you'll have to ask her when we get there."
"Did she say my name?"
Rowan shook his head lightly, his bangs shifted. He gave his head a small shake to move it from his field of view. "No. Devon had said 'my wife asked for your husband to come as well' so I agreed. Sorry. I should have asked you."
"It's fine," Sage muttered. It was why he was there anyhow. There was no need for Rowan to apologize. "Just strange. What do I have to do with anything?"
Again, Rowan could only answer "No clue." and the rest of the ride went quiet.
Considering Devon's wife wanted Sage to come with Rowan specifically, he felt a strange sense of nervousness in him. He followed Rowan closely.
The business they arrived at was a law firm. What a place to screw up the payroll of employees. They would be incredibly good at suing Devon. No wonder the businessman was so afraid. Anything he paid Rowan's company for would be less expensive than the lawsuit that would come his way.
Devon was a younger guy, but his wife was older. Sage looked at the two as they stood side by side and welcomed the pair of them into the back hallways of the building. As a doctor, Sage was good at eyeballing people's ages. He could determine the gap between them was quite large.
Sage could see that his wife, Claudia, was a pretty woman, but she was also old. His educated guess was in her late sixties, with her slow movement and wrinkles at the corners of her eyes. Though many people would guess mid-forties, Sage knew better. There were subtle signs to clue him in. Posture, manner of speaking, tone, et cetera. Meanwhile, Devon was someone who was their age in his mid-thirties. The way he introduced himself and his posture—it matched Rowan. As they were both businessmen, it was easy to determine that if their mannerisms were so similar, their ages most likely were as well.
The hallway was long with very few doors which meant that the separate rooms were most likely quite large. Devon waved for them to follow, so they began walking. Sage did not want to go off on his own. He understood nothing in the building. So, he already felt very dumb and small, and it irritated him greatly.
Rowan always made sure to compliment Sage when he gave a dull look around, so he preferred to stick next to someone who could notice his behavior and pick him back up—as pathetic as it sounded. As long as he did not admit it out loud, he could accept it.
But a cold hand grabbed him and prevented him from following. He went to speak out to get Rowan to stop walking, notice that Sage had been brought to a halt, and save him, but empty words came out and another voice cut him off.
"Let them talk, let them talk." Mrs. Claudia held his wrist and pulled him the other way. "I requested to speak with you for a reason, Mayle, come speak with me in another room. There's no need for us to speak on business."
Sage was in trouble.
Mrs. Claudia was an elderly woman in her late sixties. Sage was a man in his mid-thirties. What could they possibly have to talk about!?
No, he didn't remember when things were only a few coins! No, he wasn't in the loop of the increase of youth taking over jobs! Old people can't work as swiftly as young people! Why do you think he was considered a successful young doctor?!
Sage was going to piss this lady off.
The building design was very modern and sleek. The sofas were sleek black with a type of memory foam to sink into. There was a comfortable seating arrangement in the room that Mrs. Claudia dragged Sage to sit down at. Two three-seaters, two one-seaters, and four other women sitting and waiting. What?! Sage swallowed hard as she guided him to sit on one of the recliner chairs. While he felt physically safe, he felt in danger mentally.
A glass table sat in the middle of the crowded furniture. There was a golden tea set sat in the center with puffs of white spilling from the spout. It smelled of sweet honey. The scent was the only thing that calmed him down, and that hardly made a change.
Sage took a seat, feeling more nervous than he ever felt in his entire life. He had cut into the bodies of people and operated on their beating hearts, and Sage still found that he was more nervous in that moment than he had been ten years ago as a young surgeon with a life on the table.
"Your skin is so fair," Mrs. Claudia said, caressing the back of Sage's hand.
"Treat her like a patient." His temple bobbed as he swallowed.
"How do you keep looking so young?" she asked Sage.
"How old do you think I am? I'm not as old as you…" but Sage cleared his throat and replied, "The
Misses compliments too much."
Mrs. Claudia laughed and said, "Nonsense! Spill! What are your secrets?"
"It wouldn't be much of a secret if I told you."
Sage was certain that would work. A secret would not be a secret if spread. He thought that he played his cards smartly. That was until the old woman spoke again.
"Secrets between women stay secrets as long as they do not fall to the ears of men. Come. This is Girl Talk."
Oh, he was utterly fucked. How did he get in this situation?! Could he say "Fuck", or would that be impolite? He managed to choke out, "Ah, don't be confused. I'm a man too, Mrs. Claudia." The words felt strange and thick on his tongue, but it was the only thing he could think to say to get her off his back.
"We know! But you…" she trailed off, her face getting a little red. "You know."
"??? No, I don't know!? What should I know!?" and like an idiot he nodded in agreement, curling his bottom lip nervously and biting down.
Sage was sitting on a couch surrounded by women, mostly women in their late thirties and up, all pestering him with questions about his 'young beauty.' He made sure they knew that he was only in his mid-thirties, but they all insisted that they never looked good at that age. So, he sighed. All he could think to do was plug his sister-in-law's beauty line business. That he only used high-end products of only her brand. "Mira owes me money for this advertisement… My suffering will not be free."
Then they moved onto more personal things.
Sage knew the signs of an upcoming heart attack, or stroke, or panic attack. He should have faked at least one of them. But before he figured to pull such a move, it was too late. Each time he was too late.
"So, Mr. Mayle—"
Sage flinched every time he heard it, so he said, "Just call me Sage." 'Mr.' made Sage feel like he was a fifty-three-year-old businessman since he had always been referred to with the title 'Dr' and never 'Mr.' Meanwhile 'Mayle' made Sage feel… he was unsure. It made his stomach jump, which he considered was his gut instinct denying the intimate title.
"Then Sage, tell us, tell us," Mrs. Claudia said with excitement in her eyes. "What is He like?"
"He?"
Rowan better not leave him alone like this again. When they got back to the inn, he would most certainly chew him out for this. He should have tugged him by his side, attached him to his hip, put a child-leash on him—anything!
"Mr. Mayle, your husband, Rowan, of course," one of the women said. She snickered lightly, which gave Sage the chills, and kept her voice lowered. Actually, all the women leaned in close and spoke in whispers as if it was completely taboo to speak of. "How is he?"
"I, what do you mean?" Sage was confused. He? What was Rowan like? "I mean, he's nice, and kind, and thoughtful, if that's what you're asking." Sage carefully listed off a few traits of Rowan's personality hoping it would satisfy the women for whatever reason. However, it did not. They shook their heads and clicked their tongues. "What?" he asked, still stuck on their meaning. If not his personality, what could the question be asking?
"How is he?" one of them emphasized. "He's so young. I'm sure he's filled with such energy."
"He goes to work every day?" Sage's answer came out almost like a question. He was still lost on their point. What did it matter that he was young and had energy? Rowan was a perfectly healthy man in his mid-thirties. Why wouldn't he have energy? He was in his prime. If he wasn't, something medical most certainly would be wrong. Were there rumors that Rowan was ill? Should Sage offer him a physical? Was there something Sage didn't know about? Was Rowan dying or something? Is that why he left his wife, to try and spare her of the sorrow of his inevitable death?
"No, no, no, no, no, Sage. Not that, not that," another one spoke up. She reached forward and grabbed Sage's hand, softly patting the back of it. "You don't need to be shy. It is only us women.
Tell us. How is he in bed?"
"?!"
This was what girl talk was?!