Felix and the Prince (Forever Wilde 2)

It wasn’t difficult for me to smile and make polite small talk. I’d been raised to excel at diplomacy after all, and it wasn’t until my uncle Laurence grabbed one of them around the waist that I lost my composure.

“Excuse him,” I barked, pulling her away from his grasp. “He’s losing his balance as he ages.”

The woman’s eyes widened at my words, and I waited for the guilty conscience to hit me. It didn’t. The man was a pig and deserved everything he got. I steered the woman over to an area with some seating where my friend Iggy was holding court. He raised his eyebrow at the tall blonde on my arm before rescuing me.

“Véronique, why don’t you come tell me all about your visit to Florence. I heard it was insane.”

I shot Iggy a grateful look before searching around for my mother. Did I dare request for her to hold off her pesky matchmaking until after the coronation?

Once I found her by the bar with the extensive wine selection on display, I noticed her face brighten as she reached for me.

“Lior, darling. Come here and meet Elise. She—”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I was just coming to give my apologies. Father is expecting my response to an urgent memo within the hour. I need to take a moment in the office.” I nodded to the attractive young woman next to my mother before turning to make my way out of the room.

Later that night, Iggy texted to ask if he could sneak into my place and stay over. The cramp in my gut was an unnecessary message from my body. I already knew the answer was not only no, but hell no. There would be no more nights spent in bed with my old friend. Instead, I went to bed alone.

It was only the first day of the year, and it was crawling as slow as honey on a sloth. How in the hell was I going to make it to the coronation? And how soon after that could I sneak in a visit to a tiny town in Texas where a beautiful boy hid himself away behind colored glass and textbooks?

Chapter 28

Felix

Spending New Year’s in a hotel room by myself in Paris was less than thrilling. I tried my best to enjoy the City of Light on the night when it was illuminated by hundreds of fireworks. I’d eaten at a small cafe near my hotel and took my time walking back through the throngs of people in the streets. I spent much of that day and night thinking about what I wanted my life to be. Getting a taste of true happiness with Lio had woken up something inside of me, and I wondered if I’d have the guts to keep that part of me awake and alive when I returned home.

I thought about what I wanted to do next besides finding a teaching job for the following school year. Did I want to pursue glassmaking as an art more than just a hobby? Did I want to begin researching and writing another book about a different aspect of glassmaking or glass history? I couldn’t imagine beginning another project like that right away, so I quickly moved on to other aspects of my life.

Before leaving Hobie, I’d struck up a new friendship with my cousin’s boyfriend, Nico, recently and looked forward to spending more time helping him design his tattoo shop above the small bakery he owned. Grandpa and Doc had purchased the building the year before in an effort to preserve some of Main Street’s historic properties in Hobie. I wondered if there were any other projects like that they needed help with. Regardless of what my job prospects were, I knew I’d need a side project to sink myself into for the coming months until I got over the current ache in my chest after leaving Lio.

When the day of my presentation arrived, one of the event sponsors picked me up to escort me to the museum where the symposium was taking place. The older woman was friendly and bubbling with enthusiasm when she introduced herself as the head of operations for a local glass-restoration company. Her English was flawless, and she thanked me profusely for taking Ruth’s place with short notice.

“Everyone is so very grateful to hear what you have to teach us about Etienne DesMarais. I know your presentation will be something no one at the symposium has heard before.”

If only she’d known how much extra time I’d spent perfecting it as an excuse to keep my mind off of Lio.

As I entered the Louvre, I was struck silent by the reality of visiting as a presenter. I’d spent a few hours there the afternoon I’d arrived in town, but it hadn’t been nearly enough to see everything I’d wanted to see. Now, I saw it not as a tourist, but as a member of the art history academic community. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the journey my life had taken to lead me here.