Chapter 19
NINETEEN
One week in the French countryside—one week before pre-season obligations would pull them in different directions. It wasn’t much, but it was something.
By the time Alex and Lee arrived at the villa they’d rented, it was late in the afternoon.
Jeff, Isabella, Oliver, and Sanna would join them tomorrow, but for now, the whole place was theirs.
It was the first time since Spain that they had any measure of uninterrupted time together—after the public reception back in the UK, Lee had been traveling with his sisters while Alex had caught up with friends from school.
He’d missed Lee an embarrassing amount, told him just that once they’d familiarized themselves with their bed by means of slow kisses and lazy handjobs.
“I’d make fun of you, but basic human decency doesn’t allow for ridiculing anything that’s said in the afterglow.” The softness in Lee’s eyes was at odds with his words, and Alex propped himself up on an elbow to smile down at him.
“You saying you didn’t miss me?”
“No, I did.” Lee smiled back. “Just wanted to look cool.”
“I’m sorry—did you or did you not try to pick me up with a line from porn some five years ago?”
Lee laughed, warm and quiet in the sunlit room, the hum of cicadas and a soft rustle of leaves drifting in through the open window. “I’m much smoother now.”
“I beg to differ,” Alex said, rubbing his nose over the five o’clock shadow that dusted Lee’s cheek.
Dinner was at a simple restaurant in the nearesr village, on a terrace overlooking striking ochre cliffs that towered above a pine forest. They were approached a number of times and posed for pictures, just two lads hanging out because they’d decided that there was no need for them to go public just yet.
They’d talked to Ben Jimmer about it just that afternoon, in fact, and if Alex had harbored any doubt about how much his life had changed in a matter of… Jesus, had it really been only three months? Wow.
Anyway, if he’d harbored any doubt about it, getting relationship advice from the Ben Jimmer would have put an effective stop to it.
“Give it time,” was what Ben had said, the poor video quality pixelating his face. “It’s much easier to first build something away from the limelight.”
“Like you did with Henry,” Lee had thrown in, and Ben had laughed like it was some private joke.
“I’ll tell you a story sometime. Anyway, point is—would I love for someone to follow in my footsteps? Hell yeah.” He’d waved a hand. “But it should be at your pace because you don’t owe anything to anyone. Oh, and Alex?”
“Yes?” Alex had asked, aiming for casual because Ben was someone he’d admired from afar, yeah, but he had too much dignity to slip in a puddle of hero worship.
“Whenever you do decide you’re ready—if Liverpool gives you trouble, Manchester Athletic would be delighted to make you an offer.
” Said with an impish grin that had made it impossible not to grin back.
Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, but there’d been something reassuring about having a backup plan even if offered half in jest.
But foregoing an announcement for now didn’t mean they couldn’t spend public time together.
It was nice, in fact—trading what Lee had called a spaceship for something much more tangible, like picking up milk and eggs at the village shop earlier, and now having dinner at this down-to-earth place with a menu that featured salads, burgers, and chips along with the slightly burnt quiche Lorraine they’d both ordered. It felt…
It felt real.
“Thanks so much.” The guy who’d just asked them for a picture handed his phone to his wife. Their accents suggested they were Brits on a summer trip, a toddler and a sleeping baby in tow.
“No worries.” With a smile, Alex moved to lean against the railing, same as for a handful of pictures they’d taken right after they’d arrived. “Is this good?”
“Great.” The man seemed almost shy as he stepped in between Alex and Lee. “Really nice of you to take the time, and sorry again for interrupting dinner. Big fan.”
“It’s really not a problem,” Lee assured him. In fact, Alex thought, this might be a good thing—people spotting them together with a certain regularity, laying the groundwork for whenever they chose to go public.
“Can I ask, though…” It was the wife who spoke even as she raised the phone to snap a few pictures. “With what’s going on back home—Camelgate, I mean…”
She trailed off delicately, but then, it wasn’t like she needed to finish.
The Qatar bribery allegations, dubbed Camelgate to parallel the EU’s Qatargate, had turned into the biggest political scandal the UK had seen in a good few years, with four MPs and two Lords caught in its net.
A couple of days ago, messages between the group had leaked that betrayed, one, blissful ignorance about cybersecurity, and two, blatant contempt for the Crown and mainstream politics.
At this point, Alex had worked up a certain immunity to strangers addressing his dad’s mess.
It no longer made him sick to the stomach, much easier now to breathe through his knee-jerk sense of disorientation at having to come up with some kind of measured response.
He could tell that Lee was watching him, ready to deflect, but it was fine—Alex was fine.
“My father’s political beliefs differ vastly from mine,” he said firmly. “For one, I don’t think that being born into one family instead of another should entitle me to special treatment, so I’m no longer using my father’s secondary title.”
Right after Alex had removed the reference from his social media accounts, Charles Beaufort had called to remind him that it took more than that to legally disclaim a title—thanks, like Alex didn’t know. He’d cross that bridge when he got there.
It had been the first time they’d talked since Alex’s ankle injury. Alex had asked twice whether the accusations were true, and when he’d received no response other than reproachful comments about his loyalty, he’d hung up.
“So you’re…” The woman frowned, clearly searching for the right word. “Renouncing your father?”
Ha. Last time Alex had checked, this wasn’t Romeo and Juliet.
“Jules,” the guy muttered, sounding wildly uncomfortable, while Lee remained quiet but watchful. “You can’t just ask him that.”
She tipped her chin up. “And why the hell not, Darren?”
“Because it’s impolite.”
“My tax money pays his dad for each sitting of the House of Lords. I should think I’m allowed to ask questions.”
If possible, Darren’s discomfort seemed to grow. “He’s not his father.”
“It’s all right.” Alex fished a smile out of his repertoire. “I get it. Really, I do. But I’m not his spokesperson.”
“So you do renounce him.” Jules sounded satisfied, absently equipping the toddler with a dummy even as her focus stayed on Alex.
“That seems like a rather strong concept.” Alex told himself to keep his back straight and his head high, to not shuffle his feet. “I wish him well and hope that things will sort themselves out. That’s about as much as I can say, at this point.”
“Fair enough,” she decided, and her husband jumped on the chance to direct the conversation towards a more innocuous topic, most notably their World Cup performance and Lee’s top goal-scorer award.
By the time the couple walked off with their two kids, the tightness in Alex’s chest had faded to almost nothing.
“Are you all right?” Lee asked when they sat back down, and Alex sent him a smile across the table.
“I am. It sucks, thinking my father is guilty of treason”—the word still lodged oddly in Alex’s throat—“but at this point, I just don’t see how he’s innocent.”
Lee pushed his empty plate away, briefly glancing around. “So you do think he’s guilty?”
It was the first time Lee had asked quite so directly. Whenever the topic had come up during their phone calls, he’d been much more concerned about Alex, about how he couldn’t be blamed for his father’s actions, and screw anyone who didn’t get that.
“Yes. Even if I don’t think he took any actual money.
” Alex let his gaze drift to the ochre cliffs, an intense red in the glow of the evening sun.
“Which is probably how he justified it to himself—it’s not bribery if I’m not taking their money.
What I think he did take, though, was promises.
Like, that in return for him creating a favorable atmosphere in the Lords, Qatar would activate their four puppet MPs when the time came to debate certain issues in the Commons. ”
“Right, I remember.” Lee scoffed. “Gender-neutral loos and fox hunting, that sort of thing.”
“Or reforming the House of Lords, eventually.” Alex sighed. “He’d have found ways to justify it. The greater good and all, you know?”
A wry quirk danced around the corners of Lee’s mouth. “Us humans, we’re excellent at finding stories to justify our actions.”
“And my dad is a master.” It had come out rather more tired than Alex had intended, and something in Lee’s expression told him that if they’d been alone, he would have pulled him close.
“Time to get the bill?” Lee asked quietly, and Alex nodded.
“Yeah, let’s head back.” To the villa, where it was just the two of them—no other patrons sneaking glances even as they pretended to be focused on their own food and conversations. Usually, Alex didn’t mind the attention, but… he kind of wanted Lee to himself for a bit.
For the sake of appearances, they split the bill before making their way through the village, quiet now that the day tourists had left.
Their rental car was parked on a small road parallel to the main street, squeezed in between other Renaults and Peugeots, a worrying number of them missing side mirrors.
Alex handed over the key so Lee could drive them back, their fingers brushing.
With the closest streetlamp a few steps away, it felt safe.
What had Ben called it—a chance to build something away from the limelight? Yeah, that.