Chapter 30
Thirty
FRIEDRICH
All I want to do is lie in bed with my heavy curtains drawn against the world and hibernate until the pain subsides. I shoot off a text to Betsy and Tristan on Monday morning, telling them I’m taking a personal day.
Betsy quickly writes back, reminding me we don’t get to take personal days, to which I reply that she should tell everyone I’m sick and make up the most gruesome symptoms she can imagine to keep anyone from prying. Not that I think Betsy will lie for me, but I think that got my point across.
Tristan, on the other hand, reports back that he has rescheduled or canceled all of my meetings and calls for the day and asks if there’s anything I need. Considering the only thing I need is the one goddamn thing I can’t have, I guess I’m solid. Fucking solid.
I wish I had some numbing medicine handy, but that would require getting up, and I don’t think my body even works right now. The ache in my chest has migrated to the rest of my body, and I’m exhausted like I have the flu. Who knew heartbreak had physical manifestations, too?
I don’t remember this bit from my breakup with Stella Klein, and while I may have wallowed a bit in the weeks that followed the betrayal by the first woman I loved, I never felt like I might turn to dust and blow away at any moment.
My bladder finally wins against the heaviness that’s settled over me, and I pad to the en-suite bathroom without bothering to dress. The cold feels good, a startling reminder that I am indeed awake and still capable of feeling something.
I find a pair of loose-fitting shorts in my dresser and slip them on before slogging downstairs.
A normal single guy in his late twenties wouldn’t have to worry about shuffling about his own house naked, but my family has a wonderful habit of showing up unannounced.
While Claus or Trixie would deserve the embarrassment, there’s always my little sisters to worry about.
Speaking of…
My front door creaks open behind me as I’m climbing the stairs, about to take a bottle of shit whiskey—no use in wasting the good stuff on this day—back up to my room.
“Fritz?” Anneliese calls delicately from the door.
I hang my head. I can’t turn either of my sisters away, even on the worst day, especially not when they come to me sounding like that.
“Come on in, dearest.” I’m not sure how she became Dearest Liesel and my youngest sister became Darling Lorelei, but however it happened, the honorifics stuck.
She stomps out her boots on the outside mat and slips them off right inside the door. The rain started sometime in the night and hasn’t stopped since. Liesel shakes out her long blonde hair, a gift from Mother, after dropping her hood and hanging up her coat on an open hook on the wall.
“It’s fucking freezing in here,” she says, her teeth chattering.
I can’t chastise my sister on her foul language when I’ve got the mouth of a sailor; as long as Mother never hears, then no harm done.
I wave up the stairs with the bottle still in hand. “Come on, sis, I have a warm spot.”
In the renovation planning for my cottage, the lead contractor insisted on gas fireplaces.
Something about chimney height and decreasing risks and that kind of shit.
I argued at the time that it totally changed the aesthetic and ruined the authenticity I was trying to maintain during the updates.
Now, however, I’m glad for the ease of starting a fire in my bedroom, as the last thing I feel like doing right now is coaxing and tending a flame.
Liesel hops into my bed and snuggles under the huge down comforter as I flick on the gas.
I climb under the covers too, propping myself up on the headboard with a few pillows.
The cork on the whiskey bottle comes off with a soft pop, and I swig straight from the bottle.
I offer it to my sister, who props herself on one elbow, takes a huge gulp, and winces.
“Jesus, Fritz, how do you drink this stuff?”
I’m surprised I can manage the half smile as I take the bottle back. “Says the girl who chugged half a bottle of whipped cream vodka at the lodge last winter.”
“Ugh, don’t remind me!” she groans, sinking back against the pillows. “I haven’t puked so much in my life.”
I barely manage a chuckle, the vice around my chest loosening just a bit. I take another drink before recorking the bottle and setting it on my bedside table.
“So, dearest Liesel, why are you here and not at school today?”
“Why aren’t you at the palace?” she throws back. “I overheard Betsy telling Father at breakfast that you were sick.” She gives me the classic Liesel side eye. “You don’t look sick.”
“I just needed a day alone.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
She shuffles in the bed as if to get up, but I grab her hand and drag her back to face me. “No, you’re fine, dearest. Now stop deflecting and answer my question.”
The blankets rise and fall around us as she heaves a huge sigh. “Mother and I got into it this weekend.”
“And you thought the best way to piss her off was to ditch your POs and skive off?” I had noticed they seemed distant with each other at Mother’s birthday lunch.
She shrugs. “Got any better ideas?”
“Apologize?”
“Not exactly what I had in mind,” my sister scoffs. “Shit, I knew I should have gone to Claus.”
“Liesel,” I say, brushing her damp hair from her forehead. “No one should ever go to Claus for advice.” Her laughter warms me a little. “Now, tell me what’s going on.”
She takes a deep breath, eyes scanning the room, looking anywhere but me. “Please don’t be mad.”
A knock at the door interrupts her, and I call for whoever it is to come in; there’s only a handful of people it could be anyway. My housekeeper enters the room, balancing a tray with steaming mugs on one arm.
“I saw Her Highness’s coat and boots at the door and thought she might like some cocoa. Captain Mercer tells me you could stand a little pick-me-up, too, Your Highness.”
“Bless you, Marta,” I say, accepting my favorite mug from her.
It’s one of those heat-activated color-changing ones.
When cold, it’s all black with no suggestion of any kind of design, but once hot liquid is added, the Eye of Sauron blooms on the front, wreathed in the Elven script of the One Ring.
The effect is kind of lost having it brought to me already changed, but I appreciate Marta remembering my love for this particular cup.
She hands Liesel a mug that I’m pretty sure is one my sister had left before, white with a peacock on it and the words ‘be-YOU-tiful’ in shimmering script underneath. It’s not one I remember buying, at least.
My sister takes a slow sip and hums her approval. Marta gives us a quick bow and shuts the door quietly behind her.
“Okay. Spill.” I settle back against the pillows and fix Liesel with my best big brother stare.
She takes another long, slow drink of her hot chocolate. I sip my own without breaking eye contact, ready to wait her out.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” she finally breaks. I still say nothing. “It was just a party. You and Claus used to stay out late all the time. Hell, Claus still does.”
I should have Marta bring up the whole pot of cocoa; at this rate, I’ll be finished before I even get around to the telling off part. I’m not near as threatening without the help of a flaming eye on my mug.
“I was at Provencher House. Benedict’s parents are in Malta and he snuck away from school for the weekend. Just a harmless house party, no police involved.” She’s still studiously avoiding my eyes.
“And Mother found out.”
She nods. “But seriously, like I said, it’s not as big a deal as she makes it out to be. And don’t you dare start on me, too,” she adds when my mouth turns down in a tight frown.
“I’m allowed to be concerned. That’s what big brothers do.
” Especially when it comes to the Provenchers; they’re close friends of the family, so I know the boys well.
They all attended the same boarding school I had.
The oldest, Grahame, is my age and has quite the reputation, even now in our late twenties, and him married.
“Claus usually just claps me on the back and tells me well done.”
Of course, Claus knows about this and hasn’t told anyone. “How long has this sneaking around been going on, Anneliese?”
She stiffens. “Don’t try to play Dad with me, Friedrich,” she bites out, throwing my full name snub right back at me.
“If I were playing Dad, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.
” Our father doesn’t yell when he’s upset.
His quiet wrath is much more terrifying.
And there is no discussion, just a laying down of the law.
“I just don’t want you to fall into the same trap as Claus.
There’s a double standard, and I wish it weren’t so, but Claus is forgiven his deviancy because it’s expected of a noble male to run wild in his youth. ”
Mother would wilt at the rather unladylike snort that escapes her. “So, because I don’t have a dick, I can’t have a good time?”
I hold up my hands in defense. “That’s not what I’m saying. I just mean be careful. You don’t want the judging eyes of the commonwealth drawn to you. Mother and Father will be all over your case, and then you’ll really understand what it’s like not to be able to enjoy life.”
“Fine, are you done now? I came here to get away from the judgement.”
“No judgement, Liesel. I only want you to be safe. And maybe it’s a little hard for me to come to grips with the fact that my little sister is growing up.
” I pull her into a side hug, made a little awkward by the fact we’re half-lying down and trying to balance our hot beverages.
She places a quick kiss on my cheek just like she used to when she was little.
“Well, get used to it, Fritz. I’ll be headed to university this autumn.” She rolls her shoulders back and turns her nose up at the pronouncement.
“So you will,” I say, giving her a little tap on the nose. “Just promise me if you ever get in a bind, you come to me, okay? Call me at any hour and I’ll always have your back. Deal?”
“Deal,” she agrees, sticking out a hand for a shake.
Her budding maturity seems incredibly sudden to me.
The gradual change doesn’t register as I see her day by day, but now with her curled in my bed, I am struck by just how much she has changed from the little girl who used to cuddle up with me just like this when I came home from boarding school.
Her watery blue eyes have matured to a steely grey.
Gone is the soft layer of childhood pudge, replaced with a lithe frame and angular bone structure.
Christ, I hope the boys these days are better behaved than we were.
Not bloody likely.
“Can I offer a bit of advice?”
“Sure.” She sets her empty mug on the table beside her and snuggles into my side.
“It helps to keep some clothes stashed somewhere to change into before coming back home. That way, if you’re caught, at least you’re not in party clothes with no plausible deniability.”
She shrugs. “It was kind of a spur-of-the-moment party. Not much time for planning. But thanks for the suggestion. I’ll do better next time.” She makes no attempt at stifling a huge yawn.
I can’t help but let out one of my own, setting my cup aside and pulling the blankets higher over us. “One last thing, Liesel.”
“Hmm?” she mumbles sleepily.
“Claus has a supply of protective equipment hidden in the garage in the black tool cart near the drivers’ office. But if you want to see a doctor for some added security, all you have to do is ask.”
She pats my chest. “Thanks, bro, but Cousin Trixie already has me covered on that front.”
Great, seems like I’m the last to know any of this.
“Don’t be mad,” my sister says through another yawn. “I made her promise not to tell.”
I stroke her long golden waves until she falls asleep, and I’m not far behind as her rhythmic breathing lulls me off too.
My little sister and I nap together for a while before I finally send her home with Brenton to talk to Mother. She’s hesitant initially, but we work through her talking points and apology, and she relents.
I immediately regret sending her away as soon as Brenton pulls off.
The house is too quiet, too empty, and all the emotions that were swept aside while I sat with my sister come crashing back with a vengeance.
Marta left some scones on the counter, and I grab one, knowing I need something on my stomach, but not really feeling like eating.
I converted the room across from mine into a media room. It’s a smaller room, but I managed to find a sectional sofa that fits and even has seats that recline. The walls are painted black, and the window is covered with heavy blackout curtains. With the lights out, it’s like a cave in here.
I settle into a corner of the couch and toss the heavy crocheted throw blanket Granny gave me as a housewarming gift over myself.
Flicking through all my streaming services, I try to find something that doesn’t take a lot of brain power to watch, what Miles would call comfort food TV.
I settle on an early season of Big Bang Theory, but even Sheldon’s antics can’t keep my mind from wandering to a certain nanny.
The ache is back, and I’m paralyzed by it again.