12. The Phonecall

CHAPTER 12

The Phonecall

Cedric

Passing up the Christopher Street from Marsha Johnson Memorial Fountain, I noticed the Rashid store where Mama Viv sourced her fresh produce. It was in a two-story building, with the ground floor built for the business and the upper floor remaining residential. The faded red awning extended to cast shade across the sidewalk, protecting the few crates of produce still in front. Windows of the shop revealed that the store offered much more than fruits and vegetables. It was cluttered with shelves and aisles, freezers and refrigerators.

The young man sweeping the sidewalk wore a black apron over a white T-shirt and olive cargo pants. His back was turned to me as he worked, but I recognized the mop of black curls instantly. "Hi, Zain," I said, clearing my throat. Passing here had been a fortunate accident, sparking a brilliant idea for my date with Tristan.

My boyfriend was becoming very fond of Apollo, so I figured we might burn some incense and read a few poems on the seventh. September had rolled in already, but it felt like I had spent a lifetime in Hudson Burrow.

"Cedric," Zain said. "Hullo." He was a soft-spoken young man with big, brown eyes and caramel skin of his mixed heritage. Mama Viv, who knew everyone's story in Hudson Burrow, had told me about Zain's parents; his father, a Lebanese man named Amar, had immigrated some thirty years ago, setting up the shop by himself and setting the foundations for a better life. After meeting a Mexican American woman in the city, the two got married. Mama Viv said she had never seen a more harmonious couple in her life. "Look at Rafael and Luke, darling," she had compared. "They are two lovebirds that fought like hell for one another, but even they disagree more than the Rashids."

"How are you?" I asked Zain, who had directed his full attention to me.

"Sweeping," he said with a shrug. His shoulders were broad, I realized, although the T-shirt was a size too big to show it off. "And you?"

"I'm great. I could use your help, actually," I said. "Do you have any sort of incense I could buy?"

"Oh, sure," he said and rested the broom against the wall. "Come in."

We entered the shop, triggering the bell above the door, and I greeted the person behind the cash register. He was a slender man of middle years with a thick, black mustache and black hair. He had a kindly look in his eyes, although his features struck me as stern just as much .

"I was hoping to find some for a date," I said cheekily to Zain.

"And how is your friend?" Zain asked as he slipped between the aisles.

A frown touched my eyebrows. "We're b…"

"I know," Zain interrupted lightly. "Is he okay?"

I held a breath for a moment, processing his words and his hopeful, innocent smile. "He's perfect," I assured Zain. "We wish you'd stay for drinks sometimes."

Zain nodded jerkily as he paused before a shelf containing various specialty items. There were natural home fragrances, burners, incense holders, essential oils, and trinkets of many different shapes and sizes. I could have browsed through this for the rest of the day.

"I have to help around," Zain explained. "Maybe some other time."

My gaze moved over the incense. "If you ever have free time, consider this an open invitation to hang out with us."

"I know where to find you," Zain said with slightly wider eyes, dark and warm, perfect white teeth sinking into his lower lip. "Help yourself," he said hurriedly and smoothed his features before pulling away from the aisle.

I picked out a few things I would need. Apollo was a fairly big deal for gay men, almost like a patron of homosexuals in the present day. I liked him. I liked feeling a sort of connection to the idea of Apollo. It was something that Tristan was beginning to understand; these gods weren't actually watching over us, and they didn't need to. They were stories, as man-made as any deity in my eyes, but they represented certain qualities, embodied traits and concepts and aspirations. Apollo protected athletes and artists, poets and painters and sculptors, and he was the symbol of light and all that was good in the world. Who could dislike that?

Leaving Rashid's, I waved goodbye to Zain. The incense, burner, and a scented candle, just for good measure, were packed in a paper bag. As I stepped around the corner of Christopher Street and Washington Street, where Neon Nights and Tristan's apartment were facing one another, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Wearing a thin summer blouse and a pair of jeans, the woman with a tight ponytail and a nondescript face hardened by tough training stood still as if unsure where to go. Her gaze landed on me. Unlike every time in the last three or four weeks, she did not slip away.

I grabbed the dead phone from my pocket and pressed the ON button with such angry force that I could have shattered the device into dust. It vibrated in my hand as I forced my feet to carry me closer to the woman. She didn't run. She stood still, acting neither surprised nor interested. "Hey," I said.

She stared at me.

My thumb slipped over the screen, opening the camera app, and she noticed it. Taking a step as if to turn away from me, I lifted my phone and snapped a shot of her. "Hey, you! Hey!" I photographed her as she turned around and hurried down the street.

A moment later, the floodgates broke, and the queue of undelivered messages and calls set my phone on fire. It vibrated with messages from my valet, my security contacts, my younger siblings, the official representatives from the palace, and, of course, Alexander himself.

I didn't read a single line of text he had sent. Instead, I attached the image of the stalker and sent it to my brother.

As the white heat of rage cleared from my burning face and faded vision, hollowness opened in the pit of my stomach. Fuck . But it was too late to consider all the options. It was too late to do anything else.

My phone vibrated, and Alexander's private number flashed on my screen.

My throat tightened. The hollowness in my stomach was filling quickly, and it felt as if I'd swallowed a rock. My guts twisted, my blood chilled, and hairs rose along the back of my neck.

I knew I couldn't argue with my brother. There were no views of the world that we shared. Proving anything to him had always been impossible, so I postponed it. I put it off. I waited for some other time when I would be ready for this, as if it could ever end any other way.

I wish I had more time , I thought before I pressed the green button on my screen and lifted the phone to my ear.

"Cedric. You live," Alexander said calmly. He was so stiff that even his mouth barely moved.

"Like you don't know that already," I said, my voice tight with anger and edged with fear. I hated myself for revealing the latter.

Alexander was quiet for a short time. "Are you ready to return?" Before I could answer, almost as if he could hear me frowning, Alexander continued. "You've had your adventure. It's time to come home."

"Don't…" I choked up and hissed through clenched teeth. "Don't talk to me like this."

"How am I speaking to you, Cedric?" he asked .

"As if I were a child," I accused.

Alexander let a beat pass, allowing me to understand the trap I had entered. "If you wish to be spoken to as an adult, then act like one."

"I wish you'd leave me alone," I said.

Alexander sighed. "Why are you so hostile, Cedric? Do you not understand that I have placed security near you for your own good? However much you wish to pretend otherwise, you are not like everyone else."

"Oh, is that so? I've been doing just fine," I lied.

"Scraping pots and scrubbing floors? It is almost as if you wish to create a scandal. You always were eccentric." Alexander's tone hardly changed from its flat, deliberate way of speaking. "This is not the first time you ran away, and I highly doubt it will be the last. Unless you force my hand, brother. In such case, I will have no options but to assure you remain here."

I barked out a bitter laugh. "You'd imprison me?"

"Life at the palace can hardly be equated with imprisonment, Cedric. You play out your fantasies in some run-down bar, but you know so little of the way the world works," he accused. "It's time to come back before there are consequences."

"Is that a threat?" I asked.

"Nothing of the sort," Alexander said flatly. "You are to be engaged, Cedric, but not even the Marquis de Beaumont will wait much longer. Any disasters that come from this will be entirely of your own doing."

I snapped my mouth shut and let a wave of anger thunder through me. I had been rash enough. It was time to be smart, even if the mention of that ridiculous engagement felt like someone prodding an open wound with a muddy stick. "If you know where I live and what I do, then you know about him."

"He is irrelevant," Alexander said. There was no insult in his tone and none in his mind. He simply spoke a fact the way he saw it.

"He is not irrelevant," I shouted. "Don't you dare say that again."

Alexander held his tongue for a moment or two. "Your little affair will not affect our plans negatively."

Same shit , I thought but held back the words. "If you think you're convincing me of anything, you will make a poor diplomat."

"Brother, you misunderstand the nature of this conversation," Alexander replied coolly. "I am not trying to convince you of anything. As far as everyone is concerned, there is nothing more to discuss. This is plain courtesy that I am informing you of what comes next. If you wish, you may pretend you have a freedom of choice."

I laughed and shook my head. "You are rich. Do you know that? I don't have to do anything you tell me."

Alexander waited. It was a particularly potent trick he had. Whenever he didn't speak immediately, he made me question the things I had said. Did I really not have to do anything I was told?

Sighing, my brother stopped me from thinking too deeply about my freedoms. "If you wish to be that way, let me make some things clear. Your latest infatuation is irrelevant to the agreements we have in place. The Marchioness de Beaumont is unlikely to protest your extramarital activities, considering they bring nothing but their name and her good image into this relationship. We need an engagement, but élodie needs the marriage to secure her family's position."

"Madeleine must be so happy," I squeezed through clenched teeth.

"It will surprise you, Cedric," Alexander said. "I am not as heartless as you imagine, but that is beside the point."

"Have you ever loved anyone other than your duty?" I snapped. The fact that I was getting nowhere in this conversation cornered me and made me desperate.

"What does it matter if I love or not?" Alexander asked, genuinely exasperated. "If you must know, I love Madeleine, but I fail to see how that is relevant."

"Because it just is," I practically shouted.

"Mm." Alexander dismissed me so lightly. "Very well. You think you are in love. And what of him?"

"What do you mean?" I asked. Something clenched my heart and tightened my chest. Some ominous feeling shadowed my soul. He wouldn't hurt Tristan. Even if he was as evil as that—which he wasn't, not like that—he wouldn't risk the outrage.

"Do you really think a common chef has a place in our world?" Alexander asked. It filled me with rage, but he spoke calmly and without a pause. "You might be willing to throw away your royal duties for this…Tristan, but what about his future? Think about it. Once the media gets wind of your affair, Tristan will become the target of endless scrutiny. Every mistake he's ever made, every private detail of his life will be dragged into the spotlight. His career will be over before it even begins. No restaurant will hire him; no cu linary school will accept him. He will be hounded by paparazzi and ridiculed by the public, and his dreams will be shattered all because of you. Do you want to ruin the life of the man you claim to be in love with? Do you want his name to be synonymous with scandal and disgrace? End it now, Cedric, before it's too late. Protect him by letting him go."

"That wouldn't happen," I whispered, the horror unfolding clearly before my eyes. "Do you think people here care about us? They don't even know we exist."

"Imagine if they found out," Alexander said flatly, but it sounded far more threatening this time.

"You would destroy someone's life to put me to heel?" I demanded, a sob welling in me so quickly and so hugely that I feared I would explode.

"The question is, would you destroy someone's life because you couldn't let them go." Alexander let the line stay open for another heartbeat, then hung up. He didn't need to say more. The game was set. The pieces were all in place. I had far fewer moves left, and Alexander had every advantage.

My eyes were wet before I realized. My vision blurred, and my mouth opened, but no sound came.

Exactly one minute later, a text message appeared on my screen. It simply said that Agent Duval would have the car ready at the intersection of Washington Street and Perry Street.

Rage boiled in me, but I tightened the lid. I wouldn't let it spill, even if it consumed me instead.

A storm raged through my mind, wiping out every possibility of a clear thought. I hated myself. I hated my brother. I hated the wretched life I was born into, and I hated the man I would be tomorrow.

I squeezed my eyes shut and leaned against the brick-and-mortar wall of the building behind me. I dropped the paper bag containing the gifts, dropped my phone on the sidewalk, and let the weight of it all push me down until I sat on the ground, dirty and devastated, holding my legs tightly together, my head pressing hard against my knees.

I can't do this , I thought. I can't just go back. I can't. I won't.

But the future was clear. In the hell of emotions that existed inside my head and heart, I could see our lives perfectly. Everyone loved a good scandal. If the paparazzi got a whiff of a dirty story, they wouldn't care that I was a spare prince of an unknown country. They wouldn't care that my family was nobody to their readers. They'd make us infamous, and Tristan would be at the heart of that storm.