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“Where the fuck are you?” Lio asked. Even though I was almost 9,000 miles away from my best friend, he sounded just as loudly annoyed as if he were standing next to my ear.
“Cape Town, South Africa,” I admitted, feeling a little sheepish. To be fair, when most people got bad news, they drowned their sorrows at the local pub, drinking two—or twelve—too many pints.
When I got bad news—the worst news—I apparently made spontaneous safari adventure plans.
I sighed. “Don’t start.”
“I already started,” he snapped. “Everyone’s worried sick. Your father said you’ve barely spoken a word since you heard.”
I raked shaky fingers through my hair for the millionth time. No doubt I looked half-crazed, which was perhaps a good thing. My expensive clothes and Tumi carry-on made me a sitting duck in the crowd of travelers trying to find ground transportation.
Normally, I would have only needed to look for my name on a tasteful sign indicating the car and driver that my valet—who was also my bodyguard, secretary, confidant, and the gravity that kept my personal solar system aligned—had arranged for me. But nothing was normal about this trip, considering I’d booked it myself while drunk and sobbing on the marble floor of my foyer.
“What news?” I asked, feigning casual disinterest. “My valet quit. Big deal.”
Lio made a choking, sputtering noise. “Jon Banks has been with you since we were fourteen years old. He’s your best fucking friend.”
“You’re my best fucking friend,” I corrected, trying to ignore the fierce jab to my heart at hearing Jon’s name spoken out loud. “B-banks was an employee, nothing more.”
“Bullshit. I know you’re hurting. Did he explain? Give you a reason? Anything? I asked Arthur, and he said Banks has kept everything close to the vest.”
My lips felt numb as I thought about Jon’s fierce loyalty. Of course he wouldn’t have said anything to Lio’s valet. I could have shot Banks in the kneecap for a lark, and he would have told the authorities he tripped and fell onto a bullet. I could just hear his soft, familiar murmur. “Silly me.”
I swallowed around a lump in my throat and wondered if I’d reached humiliation’s rock bottom yet. If I had one shred of dignity left, I’d fling it merrily by the wayside with another desperate text or call to Jon’s number, but I wasn’t strong enough to wait for another response that wasn’t coming. Instead, I kept Lio on the phone as long as I could to keep myself from breaking my own damned heart.
“How’s Felix?” I asked, feigning a cheery grin. “Still worshipping the porcelain gods?”
Lio let out a fond sigh. “I keep trying to tell my husband, sympathy morning sickness isn’t a thing. Our poor surrogate though. She’s having a rough time of it.”
My best friend, the king of Liorland, the man I’d slept with a thousand times to help scratch my own itch and allow him to do the same while keeping h
“Where the fuck are you?” Lio asked. Even though I was almost 9,000 miles away from my best friend, he sounded just as loudly annoyed as if he were standing next to my ear.
“Cape Town, South Africa,” I admitted, feeling a little sheepish. To be fair, when most people got bad news, they drowned their sorrows at the local pub, drinking two—or twelve—too many pints.
When I got bad news—the worst news—I apparently made spontaneous safari adventure plans.
I sighed. “Don’t start.”
“I already started,” he snapped. “Everyone’s worried sick. Your father said you’ve barely spoken a word since you heard.”
I raked shaky fingers through my hair for the millionth time. No doubt I looked half-crazed, which was perhaps a good thing. My expensive clothes and Tumi carry-on made me a sitting duck in the crowd of travelers trying to find ground transportation.
Normally, I would have only needed to look for my name on a tasteful sign indicating the car and driver that my valet—who was also my bodyguard, secretary, confidant, and the gravity that kept my personal solar system aligned—had arranged for me. But nothing was normal about this trip, considering I’d booked it myself while drunk and sobbing on the marble floor of my foyer.
“What news?” I asked, feigning casual disinterest. “My valet quit. Big deal.”
Lio made a choking, sputtering noise. “Jon Banks has been with you since we were fourteen years old. He’s your best fucking friend.”
“You’re my best fucking friend,” I corrected, trying to ignore the fierce jab to my heart at hearing Jon’s name spoken out loud. “B-banks was an employee, nothing more.”
“Bullshit. I know you’re hurting. Did he explain? Give you a reason? Anything? I asked Arthur, and he said Banks has kept everything close to the vest.”
My lips felt numb as I thought about Jon’s fierce loyalty. Of course he wouldn’t have said anything to Lio’s valet. I could have shot Banks in the kneecap for a lark, and he would have told the authorities he tripped and fell onto a bullet. I could just hear his soft, familiar murmur. “Silly me.”
I swallowed around a lump in my throat and wondered if I’d reached humiliation’s rock bottom yet. If I had one shred of dignity left, I’d fling it merrily by the wayside with another desperate text or call to Jon’s number, but I wasn’t strong enough to wait for another response that wasn’t coming. Instead, I kept Lio on the phone as long as I could to keep myself from breaking my own damned heart.
“How’s Felix?” I asked, feigning a cheery grin. “Still worshipping the porcelain gods?”
Lio let out a fond sigh. “I keep trying to tell my husband, sympathy morning sickness isn’t a thing. Our poor surrogate though. She’s having a rough time of it.”
My best friend, the king of Liorland, the man I’d slept with a thousand times to help scratch my own itch and allow him to do the same while keeping
