When I was 9 Burt began the bandages. It was after the first of many psychotic hunting trips with my father. As the Rolls Royce pulled up, with only a driver and father’s butler accompanied the father-son trips we had. But I couldn’t wait to get back to Burt. I stay with the knowledge that as soon as these trips would end, Father would go away again. Father would visit Her Majesty, The Queen–his mother– and perform the other stupid duties that Duke’s handle.
Burt opened the back door and waited for me to get out. Soon as I did, his eyes turned a metallic gray. He looked at me and then at my father. Then back again.
I had grown accustom to the pain of being punched or kicked by Father when my target wasn’t precise. But Burt’s expression told me that my face looked like shit. Without words, Burt glared Father dead in the eye.
“Should you be dismissed from your duties?” Father challenged, stepping out of the other side of the luxury vehicle with a glass of brandy in hand.
“No, Father. Burt, help me grab my luggage,” I quickly cut in as Burt was seething. Though my left eye was sealed shut from a shiner that Father gave me after missing the last kill; I have to save my butler.
“Help grab your luggage?” Father’s voice boomed. “Is this why you’re such a ninny? The help has given you assignments to do?”
Father didn’t come around much. Rumor has it that he was sleeping with a few of the Queen’s allies from England to France to Scotland and had almost gotten himself tied to a Princess in Somalia. Being Duchess is what saved my mother, even though she was not royalty before Father. Lady Mary became overseer of the duchy while Father went to play. She took over all duties and only had Father around when need be.
So luckily, it was just Burt and I until my little brother was old enough to tag along.
As I think about Luxury and her mother’s relationship, I can’t help but admire her. To have been so close to a parent; how valuable is that? While Lux and her mother did coupon shopping and baked cookies, I learned to be a better hunter–whenever father came around. I’ve grown and transformed into the man I am today, with Burt’s caring and Father’s cunning.
It’s a dreary October. The sky threatens of rain, but the lush green rolling lawns to the left go as far as the eye can see. Sidney Golf Course is sparse of players on such a crisp day and the tennis courts around us aren’t even half as active. All the blue bloods of New York are huddled inside of the vast palace like Sidney building, or having a drink and a cigar on the veranda.
“Look at you, Duke of Arlington, if Mother could see you now.” Graham gives me a brotherly hug and a smile on his baby face. I snatch the tags off of his new tennis uniform. At 24, my kid brother thinks the world of himself. He wears designer shirts with logos, just to remind him of his name.
“Well, if Mother saw you here, she would be appalled all the same, Graham.” I take a deep breath. Prince Graham has no royal tasks to consider. With the Queen’s many children and grandchildren, we’re at the bottom of the totem pole when it comes to succession to the throne. Yet, as the second son, Graham is free to roam the world, and do as he pleases. It wouldn’t kill him to accompany mother to a few royal remembrances and processions, but he doesn’t. So, I ask, “How long have you been in the States?”
Graham laughs at me as we unzip our tennis equipment at the Sidney Members only club–this might be the only part of our visitation that Mother would approve of.
“I have a few homes here, Vic. One in Martha’s Vineyard, another in Beverly Hills and one in Vegas–"
“No, Graham, you do not own any assets in Vegas,” Graham’s butler replies, standing like a penguin statue on the sidelines.
“I stand corrected,” Graham nods. “Almost bought this 50,000 square foot mansion in Vegas. Oh, now I remember, I had this blond totty to the left and a redheaded totty to the right after getting out of my Bugatti. Breasts the size of melons, they thought it would make a good deal,” he shrugs.
I opt not to shake my head at my little brother’s financial clutch. Having money puts him in this role of having to impress women. My investment team has grown about 300 years of D’ Ross’ funds while Graham could blow it all in one day–in addition to forgetting how.
We get started on a game and the flashy chap bro can’t even keep up. He’s lean looking, and at 6’2, just slightly taller than I. He's neither fat nor skinny, only medium build and enough skin not to be called pale white flubber boy. Graham was a late bloomer if you could call him that, sounding like a bitch until he was way past his teens, balls having dropped at the old age of 17. He had been fat, with titties, and now he just gets by as a beta male with vicious ambitions of being an alpha male, thus the cheating and tossing money around all the time.
Hell, I got more of a sweat teaching Lux about different sex positions. Her sexy body is still on my mind, as I whack the tennis ball with all of my might. Swoosh it goes. Instead of hitting it back, Graham ducks down.
I grimace, because I usually take it easy on him.
“Fuck, Vic!” Graham grumbles. He wipes the sweat from his brow, and slowly gets up.
“Get the fucking ball, Graham,” I order. “Run wanker run,” I mumble as he goes jogging down the lush green landscape to apprehend the flyaway ball.
“You arse!” My kid brother shouts, and then starts back in a huff, complaining about how this was too much on his back. Once Graham was born when I was 11, Mother finally set her sights on preparing me for the royal assignment, realizing that Father wouldn’t. So, I worked hard, got a couple black eyes Graham was just old enough to catch Father’s attention when irritated. My sacrifice was all for the sake of keeping my little brother safe. Now he’s sheltered, knows nothing about organization or health as he walks over. Instead of getting into stance to continue playing, he comes around the net.
I snap and say, “I haven’t won yet.”
“Mr. Confident.” he shoves the ball into my hand. “You win! Now, let’s eat.”
“I’m not hungry yet, Graham,” I reply in a tensed voice.
“Bloody hell, don’t be beastly, Victor, lets…”
“We aren’t playing golf, right now, either,” I quickly reply knowing Graham would want to play anything with fewer movements. “It’s 6-0, lil bro. Serve.”
“Hey, I have one point, Victor! Remember that hit, it was awesome, a backhand–” he wags a finger at me for emphasis to imply that the measly one point is of all importance.
Though it’s more debatable than not I say, “Okay, Graham 6-1.”
After deciding to give my brother another two points, I take the bottle of mineral water that Burt has on standby.
“Replenish up,” I tell my brother, but he’s heading over to our gear.
“In a second, Vic. Let me tell you about this girl I met. She’s in love with me,” he begins to brag about a redhead he met last night when at the club. Now he’s ready to see if she wants him. Instead of checking his own phone, Graham snatches up mine. “Looky, what do we have here?”
Before I can tell him not to, Graham answers my phone. “Well hello, Luxxxxx,” he says, having looked at the screen name.
Graham places his hand over the receiver and mouths, “Bugger off!” Before switching back to sounding like a tart, “…No, Lady Lux, this is not Victor, but I’m all about luxury, gorgeous. How about I come over?”
The bottle of water flies from my hand to my little brother’s forehead. “FUCK!” he screams. “The bottle cap hit me. That hurts Victor. I’m going to tell Mother!” He adds in the same tone as he had done as a child.
I snatch the phone away. “Hello, Little One, how’s my beautiful girl doing?”
“Ummm, who was that? I think he thought I was some type of prostitute–”
“No, no,” I try to clean up the situation quickly, “That’s my kid brother, Graham. He’s not all there in the head.” I glare through Graham as he rubs a red mark on his paste-white forehead.