3. A Midnight Date

CHAPTER 3

A Midnight Date

Cedric

I tapped the fingertips of my left hand against my left thumb to calm the trembling. It was a trick I had discovered at the age of eight, having to stand in front of endless crowds of people while my parents addressed our nation. The nervousness of public appearances had never gotten easier on me, but it had also never presented itself when I was alone with a single, incredible human being like Tristan.

He was an adventurer of sorts, it seemed. He led the way down the street and away from Neon Nights. "Mama Viv, yeah," he explained after I had asked him about the drag queen who'd sung at the start of the party. "Her name's Roger when he's out of drag, which is less than you'd think. As Lady Vivien, she's pretty much everyone's cool aunt." He glanced at me as if waiting for something to happen or something to show itself. When I simply nodded, he went on. "She owns Neon Nights and sort of collects lost boys that came through."

"Collects?" I asked, chuckling.

Tristan nodded like it was self-explanatory. "If you need a place to stay, Mama Viv knows someone with a spare bed. If you need a job, Mama Viv will find a vacancy or make one if none exists. And if you just need a shoulder to cry on, she'll be that person." He glanced at me with a hint of sadness before looking away.

"It's very nice to have a person like that in your life," I said softly.

Tristan nodded and cleared his throat. "Yep. She's the rock holding this neighborhood together."

"Are neighborhoods always this self-sufficient?" I asked, switching the topic for Tristan's sake. Perhaps it was a little too early to dig through his past and find out exactly why his voice cracked when he spoke of crying. "I've never seen something like this other than in very small towns."

Tristan rolled his bare, round shoulders, and my heart leaped before I forced myself to focus on his words, not just his looks. "That's what you do in life, right? You make your village."

"You make your village," I echoed, thinking about it.

"It doesn't matter if it's a small town or a metropolis," he said with a bright smile as he gestured for us to cross the street. "It's a buffet, really. You pick your favorite bar, your hairdresser, your classes, your routes and shortcuts. You pick your favorite people. What else is there?"

A palace and a looming threat of an arranged marriage , I thought. "I think you might be right," I said. It was a sweet idea, though not the idea I could ever entertain with seriousness. A chance birth into a royal family had shackled me, defined me, and doomed me. élodie waited for me, and Alexander either pursued me or was about to start the chase.

"I didn't think this way before," Tristan said. "About having your village. I used to think you had to work with what you got. I thought that life was all about what you were given, and that was the end of the story."

"It can be that way," I said. It certainly matched my situation. "It depends on what you're given, I suppose."

Tristan gave me a significant look, but I replied with a simple smile that made him change the topic. "I really like your accent, Cedric," he said, leading me down a narrow, one-way street onto a wide avenue. Even near midnight, cars moved up and down the double lanes like it was the middle of the day. Tristan led us to the nearest pedestrian crossing. Just across the street, the Hudson River moved like a massive body of water that it was, and on the other side was a glimmering New Jersey skyline.

"And I like your way of thinking, Tristan," I said. It was unquestionably true, even if his thoughts didn't apply to me.

"Do you ‘just pass by' a lot?" he asked.

"Around here, no," I replied with a sneaky smile. He knew what he was doing. It was fair, I decided, that he should ask questions. I hadn't consumed the truth serum levels of alcohol to have to be on guard. "I've visited New York twice before, but I was too young to appreciate it the first time."

"And the second time?" Tristan asked.

The second time, it had been an official visit to the Museum of Renaissance Art when Verdumont lent out its incredible collection for an entire year while our museum was being reconstructed. Alexander led the visit, Maximilian and Sophia were here for the fun of it, and I had joined the trip as the only art history aficionado of the family. My studies revolved around the history of fine arts, especially the booming period from the Renaissance to early Cubism. "It was a work-related trip," I said lightly. "I didn't get a chance to walk the streets like this."

"If walking the streets is what you want, I can absolutely deliver," Tristan said cheerfully. "When you're a broke college dropout, you learn how to find entertainment on the cheaper side."

"Dropout?" I asked. I hadn't expected him to be so forward. Some small part of me felt pity, but I silenced it. A million people were a million unique stories; not all had to fit the expectations my family had placed on me.

Tristan waved it off. He didn't appear embarrassed about discussing it. "Business School," he said. "It took me a year to see it wasn't for me and another to work up the courage to tell my family. That's, erm, where things started going south." He forced a grin to his face, but his eyes no longer glimmered. "It's a long, boring story not fit for a random first date."

"Random first date? I like it," I said. We crossed the street and found ourselves facing a long pier filled with greenery and providing a breathtaking view of New Jersey's lights chasing away the night from its streets and sky .

"You don't do dates like this, I think," Tristan said.

"I don't get a chance," I admitted without explaining that being the third most recognizable face of a country made midnight dates with guys like Tristan a little too difficult. "My life's pretty…structured," I said. It was the only word I could think of using in place of admitting to having handlers lead me through every waking hour of my life. "And the structure doesn't precisely leave room for spontaneity."

Tristan blew a breath of air. "I wish I could have even a shred of structure."

"At the cost of this?" I asked.

He shook his head. "If I had to choose, then no. But believe me, I could use a schedule. Most of the time, I feel like I move around, and things just happen to me, taking me from one to the other. Before I know it, it's bedtime." He moved to a bench that looked over the Hudson River, and we sat down with a couple of feet of distance between us.

Just an hour ago, we had acted in a very familiar way with one another. It hadn't bothered me to feel his hand on my chest. It had been the greatest pleasure to run my hands down his muscled arms. Now, outside the small bubble of wild movement of the bar, it felt like we tried for a bit more control.

"What do you do to have your life so organized?" Tristan finally asked. "And how come you're just passing by?" He lifted one perfect eyebrow to tease me.

Even with the two feet of empty space, I felt his presence. He radiated something beyond heat or any other physical thing. It was his spirit that glimmered brightly and made me feel like I sat next to a furnace. "Oh, it's a family business," I said in an offhand manner. "I'm not sure I see myself doing this forever. So I'm wandering."

"How mysterious," Tristan said, leaning against the back of the bench, his gaze on me like the river and the city beyond it didn't even exist. They were admittedly dim in comparison with Tristan's fiery brown eyes.

I bounced the ball back at him. "So, business wasn't your thing. What is?"

Tristan smiled softly and looked at the starry sky high above us. "I like cooking."

"Really? I like eating. We're a perfect match." The words tumbled over my lips before I could consider their weight. When they were out, I regretted nothing.

Tristan laughed, making all the risks worthwhile. "I might cook for you, then."

"I would absolutely love that," I admitted, then asked him what it meant to him that he loved cooking. Was it a hobby? Was it an aspiration?

"I'm not sure," Tristan said. "Ideally, I see myself having some kind of restaurant, but that might just be another pipe dream."

"I thought you were more optimistic than that," I pointed out.

"The risky thing about optimism is that your heart breaks a little harder when things don't go your way," Tristan said bravely. "In this, I try to be rational. Starting a business like that is hard enough when you have the capital. But hey, if I get to work in a kitchen that lets me experiment, not just stuff buns with hot dogs, I'll consider it a success." He blinked once, his long, dark eyelashes framing his eyes beautifully. "What does your family do, then?"

"Management," I said, the lie forming in my head instantly. "Brand management of sorts."

"Like an agency?" Tristan asked.

"Yeah," I said, my throat tight and mouth bitter from lying. The thing about being a royal was that people treated you differently when they knew who you were. I had met guys who wanted me for whatever influence that would earn them, and I had met guys who were tempted to spit in my face simply for being born into wealth and outdated traditional structures.

Yet I hated the taste of lies on my own tongue.

And I hated that Tristan lived with my lie existing in his brain.

If I tell you now, you'll never give me another chance , I thought. He would rightfully leave and never look back after spending an entire evening with the version of me I had presented to him.

"Oh boy," Tristan said in an amused tone, "you really don't like talking about it, huh? Big trouble?"

I sucked my teeth. "To tell you the truth, they want me to do something that goes against my wishes."

"Something bad?" Tristan asked.

I nodded. Marrying a woman I could never love and denying her a chance at happiness was not exactly the kind of chivalry people sang about.

"Like brand management for an airline," Tristan proposed. "Obviously, you can't tell me the trade secrets." He touched the bridge of his nose conspiratorially, and I chuckled .

"Very well. It's like representing an airline," I agreed. "I don't dislike this airline, but I don't see myself, er, married, so to speak, to her. It. Except that my family has a long tradition of taking on clients in this manner. They want me to continue this tradition even if it goes against my instincts."

"Ah, I see," Tristan said, nodding carefully. "That's a real conundrum."

"I believe the word you're looking for is ‘clusterfuck,'" I supplied helpfully.

Tristan snapped his fingers and pointed at me. "Yes. Thank you. You're in a real clusterfuck."

"But I'm not here to talk about that," I said.

Tristan hopped off the bench happily. "Exactly. You're just passing by. You're here to forget about the family business troubles." His smile broadened with each word, his chest rising with bravado. "And I can definitely do something about that."

I didn't need to think about it. I didn't even need to ask. So I simply stood up and followed this happy adventurer to where he was willing to take me.

Tristan

To my surprise, Cedric didn't protest when I took us to the subway. He went along, making conversation about things that had nothing to do with his family and the airline client. We left that safely away from our agenda. Instead, he spoke about his previous visit to New York and the museum experience, revealing a profound love for museums. He had majored in history with a minor in art history. He spoke about it while we rode the subway between Hudson Burrow and the Empire State Building.

By the time we reached the observation deck, Cedric told me about his deep love for Goya's later works, the darkness that entered his life and was reflected clearly in his works. Up there, as the light wind chased away the summer heat and ruffled his hair as much as it did mine, we stopped talking. Cedric gazed out at the glimmering lights of New York City.

Cedric's full lips moved for a moment before he spoke. "It's beautiful, Tristan."

There were a few small groups and a few couples moving around the deck. Up here, there was never any true solitude so long as it was open for visits, but that didn't matter. We stepped toward the heavily secured railing that provided clear views of the city lights sprawling in all directions. Everywhere we stood and looked out, more of New York City took our breaths away. The East and Hudson Rivers reflected the shimmering of the city lights, and Central Park was a massive shadow with only a few lights compared to the streets and buildings around it, some parts of it even completely dark, others as shiny as any stretch of the city.

"Thank you, Tristan," Cedric said. "I never saw it from here."

A gust of wind made my skin prickle as I leaned against the railing and gazed out. "It makes you think. We forget how small we really are, how small all our problems are. "

"Everyone's problems are the biggest problems," Cedric joked. "But really, they're no less serious just because they're not life and death. If you don't have to worry about what you'll eat tomorrow, then choosing the right place to live and thrive is the biggest thing you need to tackle."

That made me feel better about complaining. I shot him a teasing look, remembering how badly I wanted this night to go on forever. "Keep saying nice things. You make me feel good."

Cedric smiled something that was almost a wolfish grin. There are so many ways I could make you feel good , his eyes said before he looked away, some hint of restraint returning to the set of his jaw. "What's your favorite cuisine to prepare?"

"To prepare or to eat?" I asked. "Because you can hardly beat Greek and Turkish flavors, but they're as much an art as a science."

"Shouldn't the same be true of most cuisines?" Cedric asked.

"Probably," I admitted. "And I suppose that's your answer."

"I couldn't agree more," he said, his hands wrapping around the railing, fists tightening and relaxing. "Have you ever been there?"

"No." The answer was curt, but it was cooler than how I spoke so far. I cleared my throat when Cedric allowed the silence to continue. "My family's not exactly wealthy, but they're not as broke as me, either. When I was little, they took us to all the big places here in the States. By the time we were old enough…ah, we just didn't." My throat tightened just as I hastily wrapped up the story .

Jen . I thought of Jen. It was like plunging deep into the icy water, all the way to the abyss of a frozen lake, and feeling every frosty needle stabbing me everywhere at once. Some things were simply beyond anything I could do, yet my mind loved replaying these things just to torture me.

"You're such a happy-looking guy, Tristan, but there's a sadness in you that I can't pretend I don't see," Cedric said softly, shifting to me. He faced me rather than gaze at one of the greatest cities on the planet. He looked at me with those knowing eyes, and I realized why he couldn't ignore my sadness. You knew it when you saw it, but you only saw it when you knew it. There was more that troubled this man than just some airline contract.

"And in you," I whispered. It was almost as though a bond formed between us when Cedric gave a single deep nod.

Few people knew my whole story. Roman knew, and Mama Viv guessed enough, but I kept it shut deep inside my soul. They only knew because they wore the same look in moments when they didn't know they were observed. That distant, wondering gaze of a lost soul that so uniquely said, "I don't want to talk about it. Or think about it."

Cedric licked his full lips and looked at me for an endless while.

I was perfectly content standing there with the most spectacular view of Cedric against an endless flickering background, but the compulsion to reach for him was stronger than I could control. "I want to know more about you," I said.

His eyebrows quirked for the briefest of moments.

"I'd like to know everything about you and that airline that sent you all the way across the world," I said, firmer. That was what I did. I knew it was so. There never was a stray kitten I didn't take to the nearest shelter or a failed food delivery I didn't volunteer to fix. "Because it must be a helluva contract if it sent you here to me."

"That it is," Cedric said with some hesitation.

"Then tell me, and I'll help you. Somehow, I'll find a way to help," I offered. Or demanded, more like.

Cedric took a step toward me. His body was only a few inches away from mine, his gaze cast down and locked onto my eyes. Those two inches he had on me were significant when we were this close, but I forgot all about it. All I knew was the heat of his body shielding me from the gust of wind coming from the north. "I think I'd rather…" He bit his lower lip softly.

"What?" I asked. Whatever it was, he could have it.

"I think I'd like to kiss you, Tristan," he said.

No way you don't normally do this , I thought, my knees weakening under his words. He had such an easy charm and effortless way of swiping me off my feet. Before I decided on it, I had already licked my lips and found myself rising to my toes.

After so much dancing and flirting in the safety of Mama Viv's blasting music, it felt like the most natural and important end to the night. You couldn't count the minutes down to midnight and not want the fireworks. The intimacy of floating our secrets and discovering camaraderie in one another's sadness was only the final confirmation that I liked this human.

Cedric didn't wait for me to speak my mind. He read it from my body, from the welling desire in my eyes, from my lips waiting to be kissed and my cheeks turning a shade redder. As he placed his hand on the back of my head, I found heaven. But even then, it was more than that. His lips pressed against mine with such thrilling heat that my body glimmered the same as the millions of lights that surrounded us.

Deep in me, some hidden, dormant volcano came to life. The meaningless hookups of my past crumbled into dust, and my blood filled with adrenaline. The urgency I experienced while our lips touched for the first time was such that I grabbed Cedric's shirt with my fists and pulled him close, his torso pressing against mine, his midsection rubbing mine. Whatever excitement I felt his body show was the same as mine, my cock swelling nearly instantly, bulging to press harder against him.

I hadn't realized how badly I needed to be kissed with such dedication until he showed it to me. Nobody had ever made me feel this significant, this unique, this worthy of undivided attention.

So I kissed him harder, proving to him just how welcome his advance had been.

A moan came from one of us, and I couldn't tell for sure which one. I rose higher on my toes, evening our heights and parting my lips so that his tongue could venture playfully into my mouth. I welcomed it for that split moment when our tongues touched.

His hand ran through the hair on the back of my head, and the other one moved all the way down my back until he touched my ass. My cock throbbed hard merely for the touch of his hand on my cheek. I thrust my hips forward, rubbing myself against him and discovering once again just how into me he really was. His cock was as hard as mine.

Cedric gasped the instant after pulling away from me. "That was…" He heaved a breath, his face awash with lust, hope, and a touch of fear.

Thoughts filled my head, but I struggled to translate them into words. I wanted to tell him that I lived with four roommates but that they could assure all the privacy we could need. I wanted to tell him it was only a quick ride back. I wanted to ask him if he wanted to spend the night with me.

Before any of these things left my mouth, Cedric picked one of the feelings to remain on his face. Fear. Pure and chilling, fear froze his features as he stepped back again. "I…I'm sorry, Tristan." He took another step back, shaking his head. Fear was not alone now but in the company of guilt. Was he feeling guilty for kissing me or for scaring me? "I can't do this. I'm sorry."

I didn't have enough time to process the meaning of his words. In the heartbeat that followed, Cedric faced away from me and retreated from the observation deck.

Shame filled me to the brim, and on the surface, there were angry tears blurring my vision. What had just happened? What on Earth could I have done wrong?

Run after him , something told me. Run and stop him. There must be an explanation . But I refused to listen to that trickster's voice. I wouldn't be so pathetic and desperate to chase after a guy who kissed and ran.

Except, as I stood on the deck and the wind made my bare arms prickle, hollowness entered me. Had my hope for something happening been so great that I couldn't feel a thing in its absence? Had I been so smitten by one pretty foreigner that I couldn't fathom not being wanted by him?

I couldn't answer any of those questions. My mind was buzzing with alarms. So I stood still, my hand searching the guardrail to hold on to something not for the fear of falling but for the lack of anything else to do. The sense of solitude came at me like an avalanche.