Just as I expected, Mitch's father's house is quite a largish one. Set back within a no through road in the village of South Cerney, I look at it with casual curiosity. As first impressions go, it looks like a rather nice period property. However, it just seems to lack something in order for it to welcome in its visitors. There are no shrubs or pretty flowers outside, only a smart looking lawn and an asphalt driveway can be seen with the too-bright outside light that glares down upon them. The frontage of this house serves its purpose, I guess, but for me, it just looks dull and uninspiring.

As we are walking towards the front door, Mitch has his hand lovingly resting on my lower back. "Okay, let's do this." He mutters to me, eyeing the door with unfaltering determination. Pressing the doorbell, I feel Mitch begin to gently rub me, probably just to keep at least one of his hands busy while he's uneasily waiting for it to be answered.

"It's going to be okay." I quietly assure him with affectionate calmness.

Bringing my cool-to-the-touch hand up to the warmth of his down-turned mouth, his reply is rough with anxiety. "Maybe."

That's when the door swings open and what is to come now finally begins. "Mitch, how nice of you to take the time from out of your A list lifestyle to be here with us lesser-known mortals for dad's birthday." There in front of us, stands a man with nothing but sarcastic delight all over his face. "I'm just kidding, please, please do come in." In an instant, this guy is cheerfully backtracking. "Good to see you, Mitch." He mellowly says, holding out his hand to greet him with.

"You too, Marcus." Says Mitch, still looking and sounding a little on edge. He then leans slightly against me, tilting his face towards mine. "This is my girlfriend Rebecca." It's only then do I see the uneasiness temporarily slip from off Mitch's features. "Rebecca, this is my brother."

Stepping forwards, I address him with impartial warmth. "Lovely to meet you, Marcus."

"You too. Shall I take your coat?" He charmingly asks.

Turning, I allow him to help me remove my coat from off my shoulders, and I am quietly now intrigued by Marcus Heston while he carefully hooks it onto the Victorian hall stand before politely taking his brother's coat as well. You can certainly tell that he's from the Heston bloodline, for sure. Only, his hair is darker than Mitch's, as are his blue eyes; those are more of a steel shade of blue. But he has the same generous mouth and the same Roman nose as his brother. Much more mature looking, yet still classically handsome like Mitch so appealingly is.

"Thank you so much." Is what I gratefully say. I'll admit, when Marcus first opened the door to myself and Mitch, his sarcastic little dig about 'making A list time for lesser-mortals' did have me inwardly arming myself for the possibility of a tongue-lashing with him, but now that he's backtracked, I'm going to give him the benefit of my doubt. Besides, I'm here to keep Mitch calm and comfortable. So tongue-lashings of any kind are strictly not allowed.

"Father and his friends are in the drawing room." Marcus gestures for us to follow him, so with Mitch slipping his one arm around my waist, we do.

While we walk through the house, I am soaking in what I can see—exposed beams, a darkly lit hallway and staircase, lots of dark paintings on the walls and some ageing furniture—it truly has an old fashioned feel to it. As we approach the drawing room, music and people talking can clearly be heard. The music is classical, of the moody and morose kind. On occasion, I quite like the uplifting and energetic symphonic style, not the sullen sounds that I unfortunately now can hear. But for Mitch, I shall walk into that room with a wide and non-judgemental smile...despite the shite that's being depressingly played in the background.

Wrapping my arm around Mitch's, I stride into that drawing room with a pride-high chin. This house might be a little lacklustre and the music might make you cry if you listen to it for long enough, but that's not to say that the company won't be fun. "Ah, Mitch is here! Late, as usual, but he's finally here." Is loudly announced in boarding-school English, to the handful of guests here present in the drawing room. "Do come and join us. You won't find any celebrities here, Mitch, but I'm sure you'll enjoy many intellectual conversations that you probably don't get to enjoy now that you are residing in Los Angeles." Again, Mitch is welcomed with smile-cloaked sarcasm. In a very public way, this man is jovially ridiculing him.

"Please don't tell me that is your dad?" Is what I ask Mitch with a discreet whisper.

Moving his shoulders with a shrug of dismay, he then gives me my answer. "I wish I could." Then in a second, Mitch is standing tall and readying himself to meet with his father.

So that I'm not looking like I am hanging from off his arm, I simply link our one hand together as we approach. Never have I, or will I ever, be seen as a clingy girlfriend. "Happy birthday, Dad." Drawing me in closer to him, Mitch is now giving me a small and natural sideways smile. "And this is Rebecca."

"Good to meet you, young lady, I'm glad you could join us." In a very well spoken voice, I am offered a polite yet clipped welcome from the most senior Heston male in the room. He isn't exactly smiling in my direction, more like he is quietly scrutinising. But that's not what is inwardly now bothering me, what bothers me is the way in which he merely acknowledges Mitch with a curt nod of his head before addressing me.

"Thank you for the kind invitation to your birthday." I coolly remark, quite pleased with how nonchalant I sound. This man doesn't deserve being overly nice to, so I shan't be. Mitch has given me just a little insight into his relationship with his family, but for myself, I am now seeing the lack of a father-son fondness between the two of them. Their relationship is very distant and rigid, almost formal.

"Can I just introduce myself?" A jittery woman soon interrupts us. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mitch, it really is. I know I'm running the risk of sounding all fan-ish, but I have watched quite a few of your films and I rather enjoyed them." The soft-spoken woman, probably just shy of fifty, is sweetly now blushing with her hand flatly pressed against her chest.

"Thank you so much...and you are?" Mitch is openly smiling at the lady, charming her with each moment that passes.

"My name is Ellen, I work with Lance." She explains, turning her head slightly to look at Mitch's father.

Who, incidentally, now looks exceedingly unimpressed. "Do stop stroking my son's ego, Ellen, I'm sure he has women who are well over half your age to already do that for him." He grinds out his spiteful comment from between his teeth.

To which, I have to respond. "I think you'll find that women, and men, are not stroking Mitch's ego, they are simply admiring and appreciating his enormous talent."

Ellen grins, nodding enthusiastically. "Exactly, I couldn't have put it better myself, Rebecca."

Lance Heston is now staring, that scrutinising of me has just twisted up his thin mouth and his prominent eyebrows. It's only the warmth of Mitch's arm cuddling me even tighter, that cuts the cord of the staring duel that's silently happening between us. "Well Ellen, it's always nice to hear that people like what I do." Mitch almost throws his glance in his father's direction, and I just know that his comment is very much aimed at only him.

In that moment, the atmosphere in the room does become decidedly much cooler. With a drink in his hand, Mitch's father is wearing shadows of annoyance on his face, while Mitch himself stares at him with unsaid accusation. Time to call upon some of my girlfriend prowess, I think. "Shall we go and get ourselves a drink?" Caressing Mitch's arm, I try to get him to look only at me.

Which, of course, he attentively does. "Good idea." Then as if his face has been erased of all its accusation and its irritation, Mitch flashes the broadest of smiles. "Ellen? Dad? Do you both need a refill?"

"I've literally just topped up my Prosecco, but thank you anyway." Ellen gratefully grins across at both myself and Mitch.

All of us then wait for what Mitch's father will say. "No thank you, this is a fresh whiskey." Is his sternly given answer before running an exasperated hand through his greying dark hair. Maybe he's trying to release some of the cranial tension that now runs from the follicles and up to its thick and short lengths. The thing about this man, is that he could be quite the handsome silver fox, if it weren't for his dour and mirthless expression. Heston Sr holds himself with such well-groomed aloofness, he simply doesn't come across as a personable gent. He's uptight, coarse and almost as depressing as the music that's playing in the background.

As Mitch and I casually stroll away together, my gorgeous boyfriend whispers into my ear. "What did I tell you?...he's an asshole."

**

Before dinner, and under the watchful eyes of both Lance and Marcus Heston, we mingled with the handful of guests who had also been invited for the birthday dinner party. Most of the time, myself and Mitch socialised together, but there has been the odd occasion where one of us has been dragged away to be introduced, to then only become the focus of keen interest within that small group. Which, I am completely okay with. I'm a social chameleon. In my line of work, I have to be adaptable and confident to have many different conversations, with many different people. Tonight is just the same. With confident grace, I have been getting acquainted with the other dinner guests, who are indeed, all lecturers. They are articulate and knowledgeable. Egghead educators, who have a subtle air of intellectual snobbery wafting all around them, and yet, they are very friendly with it. Which I have to say, makes the evening pass by a whole lot easier. Money, status and intellect have never intimidated me, but it can be draining when you're in the very arrogant company of it. But none of the lecturers here are actually arrogant, all except Lance Heston, that is; he certainly is the only one currently wearing that crown. He teaches Forensic Science at the university, and his fellow professors hold him in such high esteem; which at this point, is the one and only positive thing that I can actually say about the man. Not once has he spoken with Mitch alone. Not once has he tried to be where Mitch is. And Marcus, well he has reluctantly done the polite thing, occasionally talking with his brother, but it's always been brief and their body language has expressed just how uncomfortable they have both felt about it. It's an odd kind of evening. Lots of disgruntled expressions being exchanged from across the drawing room and the distinct avoidance of one another from all of the Heston's. I just find it all so sad. They're family, yet they don't act like they are. To me, they all seem to have this misguided obligation to see one another. They do it, not because they really want to, more because they feel duty bound to do so. There's no bond between father and son. No connection between siblings. Just so sad to bear witness to, it really is.

"After dinner, we're getting out of here, okay?" Mitch has come back to rejoin me, he pulls me against his body, sighing hard as he does. "I've done my sonly bit." Trying to be the sociable, dutiful son, is clearly taking its toll on him. The dark shadows of his tiredness are visible all around his dull blue eyes. "Has my father spoken to you at all?"

With a pursed mouth, I shake my head just the once. "Nope!"

Squeezing me closer, I feel the tenseness of Mitch's body. "You and me both." A muscle in his jaw angrily begins to quiver, while a cold, congested expression settles on his entire face. "I honestly just want to get out of here."

His voice echoes my own longing. "We'll eat, then leave." Smiling at Mitch with a brittle smile, I'm studying his strained features, wondering why his father and brother can so easily cause all of that strain. "Can I ask you something, Mitch?" My question is asked so softly.

"Of course." His voice is calm, his gaze steady and attentive.

"What has happened between you, your father and brother?"

Mitch's hold on me loosens and his eyelids momentarily come down over his conflicted spheres. "It's a long story, Rebecca." Is quietly expelled from his mouth.

"Will you one day tell me about it?" I blink, focusing my curious gaze on him.

Gathering me against him, Mitch holds me tight and without actual care of who sees him doing it. "Of course I will." Then he kisses the top of my head, inhaling harshly. "I'm so glad you're here."

In his arms, in full view of everyone, something is twisting itself around my heart for Mitch. Being here, makes him unhappy and uneasy. Deeply gnawing away at me, is the way that both Lance and Marcus choose to treat the man that I love. I can't tell whether it's born out of disappointment, envy, jealousy or misunderstanding. So I hold onto Mitch. I hold onto him with love, with warm and protective love. "I'm glad I am here, too." Is what I lovingly tell him.

For someone truly needs to be.

Someone needs to be willing to stand up for Mitch....

....and that someone will be me.