When he didn’t come after me, I sent up a silent prayer of thanks. Had he tried to stop me, I would have folded like a cheap house of cards. I wanted him desperately, but that was the problem.
If he got near me just then, I’d throw myself at him again. And this situation was no joking matter. I couldn’t be the one to put his coronation at risk. One hint of impropriety on his part could bring the entire thing tumbling down into more of a hot scandal than his family already had brewing. I would not be the person to put any of that in jeopardy.
When I reached the private sanctuary of our suite of rooms, I was trembling with the effort of keeping myself together. I knew that I just needed a hot shower and sleep to gather my mental fortitude for the following day. Just forty-eight more hours and I’d be on my way home for good. I simply had to make it through the ceremony and ball. The coronation.
When Lio would become the king of Liorland.
I could do this. I could be Lio’s friend for as long as it took to get him through his the upcoming festivities. According to Hen, the coronation was heavy shit—a ceremony in full regalia followed by a massive ball at the palace. Her hope had been for me to be there in case he needed some moral support behind the scenes. Hen had sworn she was just looking out for her brother’s mental health.
It was bullshit, of course. Her real hope was for him to see me and decide to throw up a big middle finger to the world and announce me as his boyfriend. But that was never going to happen. Now that I was here, in Monaco, I could understand. Everything was so formal and traditional. Monarchies were practically defined by their conservative histories. I couldn’t even imagine walking through the impressive portrait gallery and seeing a royal portrait of a king and his male consort. The idea of it was laughable.
When Doc and Grandpa realized I was back, I could tell from their faces they knew something was wrong. I tried playing the exhaustion card, but they didn’t buy it.
“We didn’t just come here for your new friend, Hen, did we?” Doc asked gently.
I shook my head and tried blinking back tears. “No, sir.”
“The man you told us about is here too, isn’t he?” Grandpa’s eyes sought the truth in mine and must have found it there.
I nodded.
Grandpa pulled me into a tight hug. “It’s okay, Fee. You don’t have to tell us about it now, but just know we’re here for you. We love you.”
I could tell it was hard for them to let me go without a more detailed debrief, but they must have known I really needed time to myself.
When I crawled into bed still damp from the shower, the memory of Lio’s hands and lips on my skin earlier that night carried me off to sleep.
Chapter 33
Lio
Friends.
He was right. I couldn’t ask more of him, especially if I wasn’t willing to follow through. He’d set clear boundaries with me, and I had to respect them.
But good god, they hurt.
I couldn’t sleep at all that night and was embarrassed to find myself trolling the corridors of the palace near the guest wing in the middle of the night on the off chance I ran into an equally insomnia-riddled Felix. No luck, but I did run into an older gentleman I’d never met before and quickly realized he was either Felix’s Doc or Grandpa.
“Mr. Wilde?” I asked hesitantly. “I’m Lio. Can I help you find something?”
We were standing near one of the exits leading to the palace courtyard, and I had the sense he’d just returned from a midnight stroll.
When he learned who I was, his face lifted in recognition of my name.
“Prince Lio, heir to the throne of Liorland?”
Fuck.
“Yes, sir. I’m a friend of your grandson’s,” I said, as if I somehow had a kind of claim on Felix. I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. Especially compared to one of the men who raised him. “Are you Doc or Grandpa?”
His face transformed into a mischievous smile. “Should I make you guess? What if I promised to answer one question? Could you figure out who I am that way? It just can’t be the obvious choice of what my name is.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Your name wouldn’t help. I still wouldn’t know which one you were. But I already know what question I would want to ask. Why does Felix love stained glass?”
His face fell. Clearly he’d assumed the question would be one to help me identify which grandfather he was, but I didn’t need to know that nearly as much as I needed to know Felix’s heart. And when I’d asked him several times at Gadleigh what had given him such a visceral connection to the art, he’d blown off the question. Who better to ask than one of the two closest people to him?