Chapter 29
Twenty nine
Asher
Ifollow Felix through the house until we find ourselves in a large garden room built onto the side.
The floor of the thing is glass, and beneath it glitters a bright blue swimming pool.
The greenhouse has large brackets of foliage all around, some taller than me, so that it creates a sort of pathway through it, which is all lit up by the blue from below.
Sipping my drink, I follow Felix until we come to a small seating area made up of a low table set between two chairs and a cushioned metal sofa.
“You know your way around,” I say pointedly as I take a seat. Felix drapes himself across the sofa, long limbs arranged artfully.
“Oh, not really, I only remember this place because I sucked Nico off right here last night.” I get a visual of that, which I’m sure is why he said it, and it sends another curl of arousal through me. “So, Asher, I’m going to get straight to the point, what are your intentions with my Christian?”
I choke slightly on the ice cube I’d been sucking. “Your Christian? My intentions?
“Mhm. Little young for him, aren’t you?”
I screw my face up at that. “Um, how old were you?”
“That’s neither here nor there. I was trying to piss off my cunt of a father. What’s your excuse?”
“Grew up gay in a religious cult.”
“Fuck,” he says, impressed. “So what are your intentions, is this like serious for you, or just in it for the cock?”
“I don’t really see how that’s any of your business, actually.”
“I suppose you get enough cock at work, so it would be weird for it to be that…”
I’m not sure how I feel about Christian telling Felix what I do. Why would he do that? It’s not like I’m ashamed of it; it just feels like the sort of thing he might be reluctant to tell people, not the other way around. I suppose it means he really trusts Felix.
“I mean, that’s not quite how porn works, but… sure.”
“It isn’t?” He gestures lazily with his glass. “Enlighten me then.”
“Well, sex for work isn’t sex, it’s work.”
“Shit, that’s actually quite philosophical. Okay, I take it back. I was being cunty—did Christian tell you that I can be cunty? Oh, well, he probably wouldn’t, but I can be. Especially about my friends. Or rather, to the people who hurt my friends.” There’s a threatening look in his eye.
“I’ll remember that.” I wonder if Christian had told him the exact details of the heart attack, because I suspect Felix would blame me for it. And he was sorta terrifying, like Amata levels of terrifying. I take another gulp of my vodka soda and glance around.
“He’s a really good man,” he says after a moment.
I nod. “Yeah, I know.”
This settles him a little. “And he deserves to be happy.”
“I know that too.” I almost want to tell him that I love him, and that all I fucking want is to make him happy, just to see what he’d say, but it’s no one else’s business.
“I think he’d be a lot fucking happier if he quit his job,” says Felix dramatically.
“I mean, I’m sure it’s what almost killed him, I don’t care what anyone says.
” To this, I say nothing because I don’t know how big a part I played in almost killing him, and because I don’t know if quitting his job would make him happy, either.
I know he wants to do something important.
Something of value. I suspect that part of the reason he’s miserable at his job is that it isn’t one he’d wanted, and it has neither value nor importance.
“Though I don’t think being Chancellor would be any better, honestly. ”
I blink at this, trying to mask my confusion. Chancellor? I wasn’t totally sure I even knew what the word meant. “Yeah, I think you’re right,” I say, because Felix seems like the sort of person who likes to hear that he’s right about things.
“I think if we put our heads together, we can convince him to turn this down. Who wants to be Prime Minister of some rainy racist island anyway? Like those fuckers even deserve him back after what they did to him. I mean, it was mainly my father, and according to Christian, he is out on his ear, but…” I’ve stopped listening.
Prime Minister. That was before, before he came to Washington.
Right? But Felix is talking in the present, Felix is saying they don’t deserve him back. I swallow.
“They want him to be Prime Minister again?”
“Mhm. Well, Chancellor first, because ole’ leering Lyle is dying, but then Jasmine Thuseless will step down, or be kicked out, and he’ll be shifted next door to clean the mess they’ve all made.
I mean, he’ll be far better for the country than she was, but so would I.
I’ve told him he’ll lose his fucking hair in a year, and he’s too hot for that—what?
What’s wrong with you?” There’s a strange tightening sensation in my chest, and my breathing feels a bit off.
Maybe I’m having a fucking heart attack.
“Oh,” says Felix with understanding. “He didn’t tell you.”
“I… no.”
“Fuck. Me and my big mouth. Asher, I’m sure he was going to, it’s—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in. “He’s… I mean, it’s not my business. No reason for him to have told me.” He’d told Felix. Felix knew, and I didn’t. Because he’s important, and you’re not. I clear my throat and stand. “It’s fine. I need another drink.”
“Um, same, actually.” We’re heading back inside, Felix giving me the occasional wary glance, when he says, “Christian cares a bloody lot about you, Asher. I happen to know that to be true.”
“Yeah, you know a lot of things.” It comes out sounding bitter and mean.
“Look, if he hasn’t told you, then there’s a good reason,” Felix defends. “He’s not like that, not when he cares about someone.”
I almost want to scoff at that. Even if Felix is right, even if he does care about me, I am still nothing against the chance to run a fucking country.
His country. Where his life has worth and value.
What am I worth against that? I’m some guy he can’t even be seen in public with.
Some guy half his age he fucks in dark rooms when no one is looking.
Okay, fine, that is how most people fuck but—
“Asher!” a voice calls across the crowded room, and my head whips around to see Christian, of all fucking people, waving me over, face warm and bright and friendly.
My heart squeezes. He looks confused by my reluctance and tries gesturing again.
He’s with a good-looking Black man dressed in a loud tweed suit, a glamorous-looking woman by his side.
All three of them are staring at me now.
“You should go over there,” Felix suggests.
My feet start moving, to get away from Felix and his perfect smile and his knowing of things as much as anything else.
“Hi, Asher, sorry to accost you like that, but this is Jacob Fordyce, the gentleman I was telling you about; he runs a few galleries across the country. Jacob, this is Asher Fox, the young artist whose work I’ve recently come to adore.”
I look at Christian. He adores my work? Since when?
Maybe this is what diplomacy looks like?
I’m pretty sure he thinks very little of my work and even less about me since he never bothered telling me he was leaving to go back to fucking England to run the country.
Why am I finding this out from fucking Felix?
Beautiful, smiling, know-it-all Felix. I realise I’m glaring at Christian.
Shit, I’m actually pretty drunk. I’d pre-loaded two shots of tequila before we’d left my place, and that vodka soda was heavy on the vodka.
“Asher, are you quite alright?” Christian asks, concerned.
I ignore him and turn to Jacob. “Hello there, Mr. Fordyce, great to meet you.” I spend the next few minutes talking about my work like I’m some kind of fucking art prodigy, in a weird professional voice I don’t even recognise.
I’ll probably be embarrassed about it tomorrow, but right now the alcohol (and rage) is fuelling a whole new personality that comes off as bold and confident with a layer of bite.
Jacob asks if I have a website where he can see some of my work.
I tell him it’s in progress—which isn’t exactly a lie, it’s just that I haven’t progressed it in months—and hands me his business card, requesting I call him to set up a meeting.
He’s in town for a few days. After he wanders off, Christian stares at me.
“Are you alright?” he asks, studying me.
“Oh, I’m fucking wonderful. Top of the world.” I grab another champagne from a passing waiter and gulp. “I met Felix by the way.”
“I saw that, yes,” he says, glancing over my shoulder to where I’d left Felix.
“He told me about your new job.” I raise my glass and say way too loudly, “Suppose congratulations are in order, Mr Prime Minister!?”
Alarm flashes over his face, and he glances around to see if anyone has heard.
He steps closer and says quietly, “Can we talk about this in private?”
“What is there to talk about? The fact you’ve been offered your dream job, or the fact that you’re leaving to go back to dear old England?”
“Asher, please.” He casts another glance around. “Not here. There are a lot of people, and this is very... sensitive. Confidential.”
“Oh, is it? Is that why you told Felix.”
“I… he…” He has no answer to this, but his eyes turn a little guilty.
“Can you please go to my office, wait there, and I’ll come in a moment?
We can talk about this—I can explain.” Just then, an elderly man in a group of other elderly men calls out to him.
He smiles at them and nods, then he says to me in a whisper: “Please, darling.”
I want to tell him to fuck off. I want to storm out of this ridiculous party and have him chase me down the fucking lawn, but I know he won’t. Not here, not ever. Plus, my coat is actually in his office, and I’ll need to get that anyway…