FOUR

 

Felix

 

Walking away from Ida is much harder than it should be. I like the way I feel when I’m with her. She doesn’t have any expectations for me, she was simply happy to have someone help her when she was knocked down. It made me feel useful because I was able and willing to do something for her when everyone else on that sidewalk, including the man who was responsible for her injuries in the first place, just kept on walking like she didn’t even exist.

“Seriously man, what were you thinking?” Mario ducks close to me when he asks the question. 

I ignore him, instead letting the sudden blast of cold wind that swirls around us when we exit the building steal his words. Hunching down in my coat, I wait for Serge, my bodyguard, to step in front of me and lead the way. I haven’t a clue where I am, but I know it’s the closest to content that I’ve been in a long time.

Whether that was from the unprecedented freedom, being with Ida, or a combination of both—I guess time, and a phone call later today, will tell?

“I didn’t mean to piss you off,” Mario says. I keep my head straight, my gaze zeroed in on the back of Serge’s head and pretend like I’m not listening. Not that my lack of participation deters my best friend from continuing. He’s always been a little enamoured with the sound of his own voice. “And, I still think I’m right. That job is perfect for you. It’s short term, which means that you won’t grow attached. You’re discreet by nature and because your circumstances have always necessitated that you be so, and while I agree that you are experienced in some aspects of life, there isn’t exactly a huge demand for Crown Princes around here.”

He elbows me lightly in the side. I stop walking and turn to face him. My hands are bunched into fists, my eyes narrowing when I see that he’s laughing at me. Just before I open my mouth to tell him where to go, he shoves a torn piece of paper at me.

“Take it, ring this Harry and see what he has to offer. If you’d bothered to stop trying to find an insult in everything that’s said to you, you’d have realised that I was trying to help you achieve your objective for this year. See if you can get this job as Felix King, not Felix Von Sonderberg.” I snort when he mentions the name my father used on the documents for my new identity. Making my last name King was a typical passive aggressive manoeuvre from the master of manipulation runs my life. “You might surprise yourself, man. Not everyone is like your father, some of us are actually rooting for you.”

As much as his words sting, he’s right. By the time he’s finished, I’m feeling like a complete asshole. Most of my reaction to what he said in the penthouse was from my own self-doubts. Mario didn’t set out to insult me, I was ready to admit defeat prior to him showing me the job advert.

“I’ll think about it,” I reply evenly, taking the piece of paper from him. It feels heavier than it should when I shove it in my pocket—almost like it’s weighed down by the apology that I should be giving. Acknowledging my bad behaviour would be the grown-up thing to do, but my pride tells me that taking a leaf out of my father’s book would be easier. I can pretend like it never happened while I continue on my merry way, seemingly impervious to the whispered disapproval that trails behind me.

One of the perks of being royalty, I guess.

No sooner has the thought hit that I’m shrugging it off. Doing the exact opposite of my father is the path to growth. And, at the end of the day—God, I hate that saying—personal development is what I’m in this city to find.

Mario lifts a shoulder half-heartedly in response to my attempt to blow him off, then walks away ahead of me. I scramble to catch up. I didn’t like what I saw just before he turned away and the hurt I caught in his expression makes my decision for me. Ego, be damned. Best mates don’t grow on trees. Especially ones willing to put up with the stringent rules that govern my life.

“Mario,” I splutter, breaking into a jog. Serge must see that I’m on the move again because he falls into place behind me within two steps. “Dude. Stop. I’m sorry for being an asshole. It’s just… everything sucks.”

Stopping, I wind my fingers through my hair and tug. The long sigh that empties my lungs, also sends a cloud of condensation in front of my face, when my warm breath hits the cold air. I close my eyes and grind my teeth.

“I get it,” Mario says. He pats my shoulder in a show of brotherly solidarity. “You couldn’t pay me to be you. That’s why I think you need to think outside the box. Don’t come to New York and live a watered-down version of your normal life. Drop every perk that comes with being you and find out what life would be like if you were really Felix King.”

Lowering my arms, I hold my hand out to Mario. “Consider it a done deal.”

“Deal,” he agrees, shaking my hand. As I pull my hand away, Ida’s name and number catches my attention.

Holding it up for Mario to see, I make my first decision. “I should ask her to lunch.”

My best friend grins. “Dinner would be better.”

Serge grunts. It’s a relatively positive sound so I take it as agreement.

“Okay. Dinner it is. Beforehand, I want to—”

My request is cut off when Serge waves a silencing paw-seized hand at me. He presses his ear piece, pauses to listen, then replies. “No can do. The falcon has other plans.”

The use of my official tells me that they’re talking about me, and that the person Serge is listening to is from the office of the King. My family codename is “Joy”. Personally chosen by my father, it’s another backhanded compliment playing on the origins of my first name and the curious fact that he still considers me to be his pride and joy.

Serge shakes his head. He growls at the person on the other end, “Not my place. I’d advise you send a formal request to his personal secretary.”

His advice falls on deaf ears. Serge glowers into the distance for an instant, then composes himself. When he looks at me, his normal mask of pure professionalism is present.

“Your meeting this afternoon has been rescheduled to this evening. A dinner date, as such.”

I was supposed to have a meeting this afternoon with a firm that my father uses when he’s in the country. My attendance was mandatory, although my wholehearted participation was to be decided at my own leisure.

“Tell them I have other plans,” I decline immediately.

I haven’t phoned Ida yet, but I’m certain that she will accommodate me. My instant attraction was definitely reciprocated. Her delightful response to pressing my face into her cleavage was proof of that. A woman doesn’t wriggle in a mans arms like that unless she’s already having less than innocent thoughts.

“As I mentioned, he has other plans,” Serge states without emotion. Me and Mario can see his annoyance, however his training is such that no one else would be able to tell. The answer he receives to his objection ratchets his frustration up a notch. A bulging vein in his forehead—the one that Mario and I have nicknamed Popeye because it reacts to his anger in the same way that Popeye’s arms responded to spinach—gives him away. It pulses and strains, like an angry barometer for his current level of rage.

“Felix.” The stress in his voice pulls my attention from his forehead. I meet his stern gaze with my own and know straightaway that I won’t be taking Ida out for dinner tonight. “The King sends his regrets for intruding upon your vacation, however he feels confident that you will understand the need to make this meeting a priority above your other more-provincial pursuits.”

My father is right. I do understand why he’s asking me to make this meeting a priority. The knowledge that my parents’ marriage is one in name only, nowadays, has never sat well with me. My gut tells me that this has more to do with my dad’s needs and less to do with my mother’s want since she still worships the ground he walks on. Cause of the delicate situation aside, their détente means that my dad has been forced to find companionship elsewhere—as in, not in our home country.

Luckily, he found an appropriate solution quickly.

Suitable candidates with the necessary breeding, education, and connections plus the requisite discretion would be hard to come by without the assistance of a company called Infidelity. Their entire existence is predicated on providing exactly what rich, powerful, time-poor people require—a no strings attached companion for a specifically contracted period. Since, my deal with my father included attending half a dozen official engagements during my year away, all of which requires appropriate arm candy to accompany me, I’d been recommended as a potential client by a member of their exclusive clientele. It was my family’s PR team’s way of hedging their bets, as they doubted that my day-to-day life as Felix King would put me in contact with anyone worthy of being seen on my arm.

“Okay,” I concede with ease. “I can ask Ida to have dinner with me tomorrow night. Would’ve looked pretty desperate calling her today, anyhow.”

Serge’s expression is blank. Mario gives me a tight grin. They know I’m disappointed, but they also know, like I do, that capitulating on this point is smart. Picking your battles isn’t only wise when you’re dealing with my father, it’s vital for self-preservation.

Mario slings an arm across my shoulders and we follow Serge down the sidewalk. As we go, I hear him humming a familiar tune. “The King is Dead” by Elton John has provided us many a moment of levity during my life. I join in until we hit the third chorus. That one we sing at the top of our lungs, laughing like a pair of lunatics while we dance around and make our best jazz hands.

Impromptu performance over, we’re taking the steps at the front of my building two at a time, when it dawns why I’m not as upset as I’d usually be about my father’s manipulative manoeuvres or the fact that he preferred to speak to the head of my security team instead of directly to me.

He doesn’t know what I have planned with Ida… because Ida doesn’t even know yet. And, not even my father can wreck something that hasn’t happened yet.