How to Fake It in Society

Nico sat in a low-ceilinged coffee shop a discreet distance south of Carey Street, watching Eve read a letter and reflecting that his life was what one might call a heavily qualified success.

On the plus side, Titus was happy. Nico loved to see him uncurling, shedding the self-effacement of the fifth son, Henry Morris’s punchbag, the awkward paint-stained oddity. He’d kept his head down for so long, it could have become a permanent stoop. It was a pleasure to see him stand and breathe.

And it was in part Nico’s doing. He was proud of his work as a support, a watchdog, an encourager of every tentative step on the path to Titus finding his feet for good.

He had done his best for his lover, which, by chance, was also exactly what a calculating fortune hunter would have done, down to the fucking.