6. Lies and Truths

CHAPTER 6

Lies and Truths

Cedric

Days blurred in my memory. However much I tried to remember the sequence of events, it only took three or four days for my mind to mash all of it together. If I couldn't be sure what day it was, I could very well be certain of how tired I was throughout.

My sleep at night had never been more guaranteed. There never was any room for insomnia. My body craved the bed at the Henriette Hotel, and my head seemed to always beg for the pillow.

Mornings always came too early. Spending another minute in bed was always the most precious commodity I had in life. Many moments started to feel more important than they ever had before. Within the first week of plunging into the thick of it at Neon Nights, I moved from total certainty that the work would kill me to appreciating the minutes of calm and quiet that had once reeked of boredom. I valued my breaks and didn't cry when Mama Viv put me to scrubbing floors or hauling crates of beer.

In morning shifts, breakfasts were as hellish as that devastating Burger Bash had been, but Millie was a feisty chef with a sharp tongue and no mercy. She also had a knack for motivating the staff. They all relegated the simpler tasks to me, but the trick was that the simpler ones were usually the same ones that involved carrying heavy things from one place to the other.

Zain Amari delivered fresh produce first thing in the morning. He was younger than any of us working at Neon Nights and had the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen. Perhaps it was the poorly concealed wonder at seeing the glitter that made the bar into what it was. Perhaps he was just a very easily dazzled person. Either way, Zain never lingered for longer than he had to, and there was a shyness to him that added a skip to his stride when he was on his way back to his father's traditional produce store a few blocks away.

Zain's arrival always signaled the beginning of my work. The produce he brought needed to be stacked in the particular ways the chef insisted on. If I ran out of things to do in the back, then I helped Bradley or one of the other servers to clear out the empty kegs, wash the tubes and taps, and bring in the new batches of the many beers Mama Viv served.

"Darling, you're a far tougher nut than I'd given you credit," the formidable drag queen told me one morning after the breakfast rush. "I owe you an apology."

I waved my hand and shook my head. "Not at all. I owe you thanks for giving me a chance. "

"I find it odd," Mama Viv said pointedly just as I thought the conversation was over. "You don't look like someone who would blend in so easily and do everything they ask you to do."

"Looks can be deceiving, Mama Viv," I said. A drag queen should know. Mama Viv nodded deeply. Pride told me to insist that I could do more, but the truth was that my legs ached in that sweet, tired way that begged for bed and promised a sense of satisfaction at the end of a long day.

The only real trouble in my life was the looming threat of Alexander coming through the doors one day and finding me sweeping the floors. But I hadn't turned my phone on even for a second, and I hadn't used my card. I spent what I made, thinning the little wad of remaining savings on prolonging my stay at the Henriette. It was not a wise decision, and Mama Viv never failed to remind me that I was living beyond my means. If only you knew how far below the means I lived , I would always think and never move to withdraw more cash.

The thing I had once said to Tristan seemed to become truer with every new day. I could be independent if it came to that. I could survive without playing by my family's rules and the centuries of tradition built by those who couldn't have imagined what the world would look like today.

I had a point to prove to myself and my older brother. I'd include my parents in that statement had I imagined they cared enough.

Roman Lowe was one of the workers who swept in every so often to do a shift for a few dollar bills. He wore cuts and bruises the way other people wore jewelry. Scruffy and wiry, he was unmistakably defined under his tight clothes, and he bristled on occasion to scare others away, but he was generally a lighthearted, fun-loving guy. And from what I gathered, he was the closest to Tristan among them all. So when Roman had a sudden interest in how exactly I was doing, I suspected Tristan was behind it.

"Seriously, dude," Roman said on one occasion. "If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask me. I know everyone around here."

It's either that, or he's selling drugs , I decided, but the latter hardly fit with the justice warrior and near vigilante that he was when he clocked out.

The only odd thing about it was Tristan's absence.

When I had taken Mama Viv's offer, I had prepared myself for having to live with Tristan. My impression had been that Tristan used Neon Nights as his second home or that he didn't make a distinction between the two whatsoever. I had even convinced myself of all the upsides to that. You get to apologize and make sure he knows it's not him , I'd told myself. And then he never showed up again.

And for that reason alone, it was a surprise to see Tristan march in on Friday morning. He wore a loose, sleeveless shirt and tight shorts, visibly ready for a run. The last time I had seen him, he had been standing practically naked, and it had taken me all my strength not to fall apart right there and then. He had been gorgeous. So this morning's look only spiced the image that lived in my memory.

"Hey," Tristan said as soon as I turned to face him. He waved at Bradley behind the bar, but he very visibly marched toward the stage that I had been sweeping. "Got a minute? "

I blinked at him, then looked at the remaining work. "A minute," I said.

Tristan gestured at the door leading to the hidden terrace between Neon Nights and two other buildings that closed around it.

I was reluctant to follow. Mama Viv employed me, so I could respect her telling me what to do and where to go. Tristan, however, presumed a lot. He strode away, and I found myself following while complaining about it quietly.

As I followed Tristan out of Neon Nights, I ran a mental checklist of things I needed to do. I had already accepted Zain's delivery, stocked the fridges, swept most of the floor, and needed to wipe the tables and make sure chairs were all clean before the crowds arrived for breakfast.

Crossing my arms on my chest, I waited for Tristan to turn around. The last time I had seen him, he had sent me away to wash the dishes. I inhaled the air I needed to apologize to him properly. If he wasn't interested in my apology, I wasn't entirely sure I was interested in what he had to say.

"Listen," he began.

Before I could make up my mind, words broke through my sealed lips. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't have a friend spy on me. We're not in seventh grade, Tristan." Regret followed those words very quickly, but I clamped my mouth shut and lifted my head regally.

Tristan's features grew still. I might have been speaking to a rock. "Alright. If that's how you want to be."

A pout formed on my lips before I could stop it.

Tristan inhaled after a moment of silence. "And Rome's not spying on you. I told him you were new here and that maybe you could use someone to watch your back." He shrugged. "Whatever he offered was genuine."

"How touching," I said, fully aware that sarcasm was the lowest form of comedy and yet unable to stop myself. "Then I guess there's nothing to talk about. I should get back to the dishes." If he didn't understand it, it would have surprised me. But this guy saw way more than his face betrayed. It was in his eyes, this depth of knowledge and this skill of observation. He knew I was lashing out, and it only made me feel more petulant.

Angry with myself far more than I could be angry with Tristan, I turned on my heels and stalked off, leaving him behind before he could say whatever he had come to say.

I hadn't known this about myself any more than I had known I could be truly hardworking and enjoy it. It appeared I was a spiteful prick. He hadn't let me apologize, so I refused to be roped into a situation when I might be tempted to try again.

It would have been easy to lean against the rusting bring-and-mortar wall and lose myself in his warm, brown gaze. It would have been all too easy to lean in and inhale the fresh scent of mountain dew and peak of spring that seemed to follow him everywhere. And what then? What would happen on the day Alexander found me here? What would happen when I opened myself a little more to Tristan and found myself utterly consumed by him, only to have to return to Verdumont and marry élodie?

For my own sake and his, I needed to put Tristan out of my mind.

Tristan

"He's infuriating," I grumbled to Roman over the dinner table after Lane and Oakley took their feud into their shared room. "And he's not my boyfriend." That bit, I growled at my friend. Where did he even get that idea from? "I told you. He kissed me and freaked out. That's not a mess I'm willing to touch with a stick."

Roman snorted. "And yet, I need to watch his back."

I narrowed my eyes at my friend. "You don't have to do anything."

"Tsk. Don't be like that, Tris. It doesn't suit you." He got up and began collecting the tableware. He shot me a mischievous look. "I don't mind keeping an eye on him, buddy. I'm just stating the obvious."

"Yeah, well, it's not obvious to me," I muttered, getting up to help with the dishes.

Roman put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me back into my chair. "No way. You cooked, and one of us will clean." He carried the dishes to the sink.

I got up anyway, incapable of sitting down while others worked around me. Instead of helping out, I leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed my arms on my chest. "I feel like something's wrong there."

Roman gave me a semi-sad and semi-knowing look as if to say I always found something wrong around myself. And that may have been the truth, but it didn't change the fact that I couldn't get out of this dead end until I saw it through.

"I know his family's rich, Rome," I said. "You don't need to be a genius to see it in the way he holds himself. Besides, he told me so. And what's he doing now?"

"Stealing jobs from honest Americans," Rome said in that supreme tone of sarcasm that flew over people's heads.

"He's working every day in the one place I don't want to share," I said a bit sulkily.

"Which is just crappy luck when the place you don't want to share happens to be a bar with doors wide open." Rome chuckled at his own wit, then sprayed me with drops of water from his fingers. "Cheer up, Tris. If you really want to know what his deal is, he's across the street."

I shook my head. "Absolutely not." I had tried. I had tried and failed, and that was it. But because Roman couldn't wrap his mind around my sudden stubborn streak, he just shrugged and busied himself with the dishes.

After I realized there was nothing more to say, I turned away and went into my room. Before I knew what I was doing, I pulled the curtain away from my window and looked down. The dusk glow gave the street a vibrant golden look. Everything was dry and begging for rain. Dusty leaves of the few trees dotting the sidewalks and the cracks in the soil around those trees all needed a good rainstorm to wash away the heat of the summer.

But there, just across the street, the door to Neon Nights was shut, and movement through the bar was slow and steady. Sundays were lazy, especially after the heavy hitters like the Saturday night drag show. I'd missed last night's show. Something told me that I would either go there and be disappointed or enter the bar and be distracted from the show altogether.

It's my home , I growled to myself.

I didn't know it until I was back in the living room and Roman yelled, "Atta boy," after me, but I had changed my mind again and headed out. Before it all even sank in, I was downstairs, then in front of my building, then crossing the street.

As I entered the bar, I realized the severity of my mistake. It was Sunday. The bar was practically empty. Even Mama Viv was out. The few tables with people sitting around them offered no friendly faces I could join and get out of the confrontation I'd signed up for. Now, when Cedric looked at me from behind the bar, a cloth and a glass in his hands, a cool look of disinterest in his eyes, I knew I was stuck.

Inhaling a deep breath of air, I pushed my chest out bravely and crossed the bar. Idiot. You fucking idiot, why did you come here? But it was too late to berate myself over it. I swallowed and walked up to the bar.

"Tristan," he said as a greeting.

I nodded.

"What can I get you?" he asked.

I glanced at the row of taps. "Stonewall IPA," I said. I could use a bit of Stonewall courage right about now. I sat on a barstool and braced myself for the conversation that I had been having in my head for days.

Cedric foamed up my beer significantly, cursing in a language I didn't understand before grabbing a spoon and taking off the thick layer of foam with it. He poured some more until it was satisfactory in his view and handed me my beer. Without missing a beat, he picked up the glass and cloth he had been polishing and turned away from me.

"I'd also like to talk," I said.

"Oh?" He was so cool and stiff, and it would have been just fair if I let him be then and there. I had only met this guy once, but it had been too magical and too wonderful to erase from my memory. Besides, the night we worked in Mama Viv's kitchen together hadn't been terrible, either.

I wrapped my hand around the glass and took a sip of beer. It was refreshingly cold and only a little bitter. Exhaling, I closed my eyes for a moment, then looked right at him. Damn. You're too beautiful for my own good . His gaze was both frosty and melting if such a thing was possible. "Cedric, it's not fair to leave me hanging like this."

He clenched his teeth, a muscle in his face tightening. When he relaxed it, he looked at me with total attention. "I tried to apologize, Tristan."

I shrugged. "Maybe it's too late for that," I admitted. "But that's not at all what I want. Something's wrong here, and I want to get to the bottom of this."

Cedric eyed me for a long time. I watched as his reluctance turned to curiosity, and he finally yielded. "You're really annoying. Do you know that?"

"I've been told," I said, still holding the big breath of air in my lungs. I didn't want to celebrate before we found some common ground.

If the corners of his lips twitched a little as if to smile, I couldn't be sure of it. He set the polished glass down. "Why do you insist something is wrong? I might just be lying low until my family cooled down."

"If this is your idea of lying low while staying at the most expensive hotel in the neighborhood, then we don't understand each other at all," I said in a straight, no-nonsense tone. "Who is your family, Cedric?"

He snorted. "You don't know them."

"That's not why I'm asking," I said.

Cedric narrowed his eyes as if to acknowledge I scored this point. But when he inhaled, there was something like cooling his anxiety in that move. I knew the gestures, the little cues, the forced calm when things bubbled too violently below the surface. "Tristan, if I tell you everything…" He shook his head. "There's no point in it."

"How about you let me decide?" I suggested calmly. "Because we're not total strangers, Cedric. Maybe I did something to spook you. Maybe I was too forward and too eager. I'm like that when I like someone. But even so, even if we can't start over, I don't want to pretend that I don't know you at all. And you can't lie to me forever. I know when someone needs help."

His reply was a clear attempt to deflect. "How so? How do you do that?"

"Experience," I said shortly. "Tell me."

Cedric rolled his eyes when his deflection failed. Then, he closed his eyes and stood like that for what felt like ages. "Fine. I'll tell you." It was a sigh full of surrender. It was like he would soon reveal to me that he was a wanted criminal and his fate was in my hands. Was I sure I wanted that kind of responsibility? I didn't have the time to decide for myself anymore. Cedric spoke. "I didn't lie when I told you my family was powerful. And I didn't lie when I said they wanted me to do something against my wishes."

I nodded and listened intently, never breaking eye contact with him even if Cedric kept looking at his hands, his feet, the bar around us, and anywhere except my eyes.

"But you are correct, Tristan. I am not who I say I am." The softness around his words and the French edge in places grew slightly stronger. "You could say it's a family business, but that doesn't precisely do it justice. We're nowhere near as productive in today's society as real businesses are. If anything, we're sort of big in the entertainment industry."

Something was creeping up my spine as Cedric struggled to get the words out. He was dancing around something, and I couldn't seem to find a way to lift the veil off the truth. "What do you do?"

That seemed to amuse him. "Not much, to be honest."

"Cedric, what does your family do?" I asked again, firmer. Worry that settled in the pit of my stomach was disproportionately large.

"And you are absolutely right, Tristan. I'm in trouble. They're not the sort of people that would treat my escape lightly. God, they probably have someone watching my every step. That's why, Tristan. That's why I can't walk around New York City, hold your hand, and kiss you whenever I wish. I can't let us go there because something else is waiting for me. I don't know if they're moving to force me there even as we speak." He shot a panicked look at the door. "They'll never let me have this, Tristan."

"I can help," I said, tension rising in me, my back straightening just the same. "I have friends who can help you. We can find a safe place for you where nobody will be able to find you."

Cedric snorted as if that was laughable. "You could lock me up in a cellar, but that's not the life I'd choose over them finding me. No, Tristan. You can't help me because I know how this thing is going to play out. They'll sit and let me blow off some steam, then they'll sweep in and take me back."

"Back where?" I asked. I just realized I still didn't know where he was from.

Cedric's eyes glimmered a little. The muscles in his face knotted with tension, and tears glistened in his eyes. "The palace of Verdumont, of course."

"The p…What? Why would they take you to a palace?" I stammered. "Cedric, who is your family?" If worry had filled my stomach earlier, now it only contained a big block of ice. Shivers ran down my arms as I held the bar with both hands. "Who are you?"

Cedric sucked his teeth. "I'm sorry, Tristan," he whispered. "I shouldn't have lied, but you have to believe me that it felt so good to be no one." He must have picked up the horrified expression on my face because he straightened in the next moment, all the rich and cultured posture I'd seen in him in glimpses pouring into that sculpted body and perfect face. "I'm Prince Cedric Philippe Valois Montclair, Duke of Belleval, son of His Royal Majesty Ferdinand Valois Montclair, the King of Verdumont."

It couldn't have been the beer that blurred my vision and made me see double. The black vignette around my field of vision reminded me that I needed to breathe. I had been so scared, thinking his family were terrorists of some kind. As I inhaled and my vision cleared, I barked a laugh. "Okay, um, and I'm the Prince of Wales. How do you do?"

This time, his lips absolutely twitched into a smile. "Seriously?" he asked, entertained, surprised, perhaps a little outraged. "You don't believe me?"

"Erm…what is Verdumont?" I asked. If he was willing to pull my leg this hard, it couldn't all be so serious. I had, perhaps, heard it mentioned in school. Or maybe I was imagining it.

Cedric took a step back, head tilted. "Do you know what France is?" he asked.

I show him a narrow-eyed look. "Yes. Obviously."

"And Germany?" he asked.

I rolled my eyes. "Of course."

"And Luxembourg, Netherlands, and Belgium?" he asked as if speaking to a child.

I pouted. "Yes. Yes, I do." Maybe I couldn't tell the difference between those if you gave me a map, but I'd heard of them. "What's with the inquisition?"

Cedric crossed his arms on his chest, reminding me of his sexy biceps at a pretty inconvenient time. "Do you have your phone with you? I see that we need to cover your geography lessons if you mean to continue offering your services to me. And mind, I am what I just told you I was."

I laughed again. Right. The Duke of Mars. I grabbed my phone and handed it to him. "Don't they have smartphones in what-do-you-call-it?"

"They have very sophisticated tracking software in Verdumont since it's in the heart of Europe. And I can't use my phone if I don't want to be found sooner rather than later." He spoke in a harsh whisper, sarcasm spilling over. He typed something and returned my phone to me. "There. Verdumont."

It was a Wikipedia article about a country sandwiched between France and Germany, stretching around Luxembourg, bordering Belgium, and reaching as far up as the Netherlands. When I skimmed the top paragraph, his information seemed to be up to date. This place had a king and a queen, and the stern-faced man's name really was Ferdinand something and something. When I opened the list of royals, my heart skipped a beat and then sank all the way through my stomach and into hell's pits of doom. Cedric Philippe Valois Montclair . The portrait was dated two years ago, but those piercing blue eyes and that floppy blond hair were unmistakable. His defined jaw and high cheekbones, his straight nose, his full lips. Here, he wore a high-collared crimson jacket with decorative buttons, a white sash draped from his left shoulder to his right hip, a black belt around his narrow waist, and black pants with a gold stripe down the side. Polished black leather boots reached high and seemed to fit him perfectly, not to mention that they made him ever so slightly hotter when he was already a million degrees hot and causing me to sweat. "You…have a Wikipedia page," I said, my mouth dry, my body numb with shock.

I blinked several times before lifting my gaze off the phone and finding Cedric's surprised frown framing his gorgeous eyes. " That's what impressed you?"

"Um…" I put my phone on the bar and grabbed my beer, lifting one finger to signal for him to wait until I'd had a few more sips. When I put the glass back and exhaled, I st ared at him. "That can't be right. You can't be a…a prince."

"Why?" Cedric asked.

Because I can't be the person who has a crush on a goddamn prince , I screamed internally.

"To be honest, Tristan, you're not taking this the way I imagined," Cedric said.

"H-how did you imagine I would take it?" I asked, my voice so thin and distant it might have belonged to someone else.

Cedric shrugged. "Mainly, I imagined you'd run the hell away and curse me until the end of days. Or to call my brother and tell him where he could find me." He hesitated, but there was more. Biting his lip, he shrugged one more time, but it was a what-the-hell shrug. "Or to bow and scrape like some medieval commoner. I hate that."

"I don't bow," I said. That was only half-true. But I wouldn't bow to him for being born to a royal family, that was for sure. "I'm sorry, I guess I'm just really shocked."

"I can see that," Cedric said. He laughed a little. Then, he laughed a little more. When he saw my bewildered expression, he shook his head and leaned a little closer. "I wasn't going to tell you. Ever. But I gotta say, it's such a relief to share the truth with you."

"I won't tell anyone," I promised.

"Thank you," Cedric said and lifted a glass in need of polishing. He got busy. "My problems remain the same, Tristan. My family is looking for me. I'm half-certain they know where to find me." He glanced out the window. "I feel…watched. Sometimes. Except, when I turn, there's no one there. "

I looked at the window, too, but it was too dark outside to see anything except our own reflections. So I looked at His Royal Highness instead. He had the face for the job, that was certain. How it took my breath away… "What's your airline, Cedric?" I asked.

He shot me a sad smile, the saddest I had ever seen. And I was the king of sad smiles. "Marchioness élodie de Beaumont. I am to be engaged to her this fall. A political and traditional alliance, if you know what I mean."

"B-but you can't be," I said. And it wasn't even that I assumed he was completely gay, but the abrupt possessiveness that poured into me. I wasn't letting her have him. He wasn't livestock to be sold for some kind of profit. "That's outrageous." I tried to cover myself up and hide just how jealous I suddenly was.

"That's what I said," Cedric replied. "But the thing about my family is that they're very loyal to traditions, Tristan. It's all they are. It's all we are. Without them, my family has no place in the world."

"So you're marrying some girl? Do you love her?" The demand was strong in my tone, stronger than I'd meant.

Cedric's snort was pure contempt. "And I don't believe she loves me, either. Which, if you ask my parents, has never been a problem in the history of our dynasty."

I heard myself laugh bitterly and shook my head. "This is fucked-up, Cedric." After he gave me an agreeing look, I added, "I guess I see why you would want to keep low, then."

Cedric put a hand on the bar next to mine. I felt as though he had meant to touch my hand and changed his mind at the last second, but I couldn't swear on it. He looked into my eyes, though. "And you see why I couldn't let us do anything more after that kiss."

My throat tightened. I shook my head like it was nothing. "Of course. N-no big deal."

Cedric pressed his lips into a tight line and pulled away from me. "I'm sorry it went so far, Tristan."

Don't , I wanted to say. Don't regret it when it was the most beautiful thing that happened to me .

"I was…taken by my feelings. The night was magical. I felt like anything was possible. And kissing you made it all real." There was a heavy tone of apology in there, but I could have sworn I heard some whimsy, too.

"It's fine," I croaked and cleared my throat. "I wouldn't hold that against you."

He nodded thankfully.

Mama Viv barged through the door, fanning herself dramatically, and spotted me sitting at the bar. "Now, do my eyes deceive me, or has the runaway chick returned to his mama hen?"

Cedric appeared very busy very quickly, and I couldn't blame him. Not that Mama Viv would remind him to do more when the hours were so slow. Oh no. Mama Viv would, in complete secrecy, confide in half of Hudson Burrow and ask everyone to keep the truth to themselves. Gossip would spread like wildfire, and Cedric would be outed within two days.

Mama Viv hugged me, and I kissed her cheek. "It's good to see you."

"And you, my darling," she said. "Tell me everything. What's kept you away from your home all these days?"

So I went on to recount all I had been doing in the past few days. It was true that I had been avoiding the bar and Cedric, but I was pretty sure that was over now. Careful not to spill any of the beans that didn't belong to me, I told Mama Viv I would be here more often.

The truth was there was a lot more to talk about. And Cedric was still in the same mess he had been in an hour ago. But at least I knew the truth. And I could help.