Page 38 of The Cinderella Prince

I rested my head on his shoulder, and my arm pressed against the side of his torso. “You’re wonderful.”

“Nah,” he breathed. “You are.”

My heart filled with so many feelings that I couldn’t count them all. They weren’t all bright and welcome. Some, like this creeping dread that I tried to keep at bay, threatened to taint the beauty. Fears unfounded and founded, sorrows over the things that hadn’t even happened yet, that might never happen, clawed at my heart. Putting a hand on Cedric’s chest, I reconnected with the wonderful warmth he sparked in me.

If only time could slow down. If only life weren’t as complicated as it was.

I inhaled a deep breath of air and closed my eyes. Antinous roamed through my mind, and I wondered what it must have felt like to be loved so much by someone as powerful as Hadrian. And I wondered if I didn’t know the feeling already.

CHAPTER 12

The Phonecall

Cedric

Passingup the Christopher Street from Marsha Johnson Memorial Fountain, I noticed the Rashid store where Mama Viv sourced her fresh produce. It was in a two-story building, with the ground floor built for the business and the upper floor remaining residential. The faded red awning extended to cast shade across the sidewalk, protecting the few crates of produce still in front. Windows of the shop revealed that the store offered much more than fruits and vegetables. It was cluttered with shelves and aisles, freezers and refrigerators.

The young man sweeping the sidewalk wore a black apron over a white T-shirt and olive cargo pants. His back was turned to me as he worked, but I recognized the mop of black curls instantly. “Hi, Zain,” I said, clearing my throat. Passing here had been a fortunate accident, sparking a brilliant idea for my date with Tristan.

My boyfriend was becoming very fond ofApollo, so I figured we might burn some incense and read a few poems on the seventh. September had rolled in already, but it felt like I had spent a lifetime in Hudson Burrow.

“Cedric,” Zain said. “Hullo.” He was a soft-spoken young man with big, brown eyes and caramel skin of his mixed heritage. Mama Viv, who knew everyone’s story in Hudson Burrow, had told me about Zain’s parents; his father, a Lebanese man named Amar, had immigrated some thirty years ago, setting up the shop by himself and setting the foundations for a better life. After meeting a Mexican American woman in the city, the two got married. Mama Viv said she had never seen a more harmonious couple in her life. “Look at Rafael and Luke, darling,” she had compared. “They are two lovebirds that fought like hell for one another, but even they disagree more than the Rashids.”

“How are you?” I asked Zain, who had directed his full attention to me.

“Sweeping,” he said with a shrug. His shoulders were broad, I realized, although the T-shirt was a size too big to show it off. “And you?”

“I’m great. I could use your help, actually,” I said. “Do you have any sort of incense I could buy?”

“Oh, sure,” he said and rested the broom against the wall. “Come in.”

We entered the shop, triggering the bell above the door, and I greeted the person behind the cash register. He was a slender man of middle years with a thick, black mustache and black hair. He had a kindly look in his eyes, although his features struck me as stern just as much.

“I was hoping to find some for a date,” I said cheekily to Zain.

“And how is your friend?” Zain asked as he slipped between the aisles.

A frown touched my eyebrows. “We’re b…”

“I know,” Zain interrupted lightly. “Is he okay?”

I held a breath for a moment, processing his words and his hopeful, innocent smile. “He’s perfect,” I assured Zain. “We wish you’d stay for drinks sometimes.”

Zain nodded jerkily as he paused before a shelf containing various specialty items. There were natural home fragrances, burners, incense holders, essential oils, and trinkets of many different shapes and sizes. I could have browsed through this for the rest of the day.

“I have to help around,” Zain explained. “Maybe some other time.”

My gaze moved over the incense. “If you ever have free time, consider this an open invitation to hang out with us.”

“I know where to find you,” Zain said with slightly wider eyes, dark and warm, perfect white teeth sinking into his lower lip. “Help yourself,” he said hurriedly and smoothed his features before pulling away from the aisle.

I picked out a few things I would need. Apollo was a fairly big deal for gay men, almost like a patron of homosexuals in the present day. I liked him. I liked feeling a sort of connection to the idea of Apollo. It was something that Tristan was beginning to understand; these gods weren’t actually watching over us, and they didn’t need to. They were stories, as man-made as any deity in my eyes, but they represented certain qualities, embodied traits and concepts and aspirations. Apollo protected athletes and artists,poets and painters and sculptors, and he was the symbol of light and all that was good in the world. Who could dislike that?

Leaving Rashid’s, I waved goodbye to Zain. The incense, burner, and a scented candle, just for good measure, were packed in a paper bag. As I stepped around the corner of Christopher Street and Washington Street, where Neon Nights and Tristan’s apartment were facing one another, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Wearing a thin summer blouse and a pair of jeans, the woman with a tight ponytail and a nondescript face hardened by tough training stood still as if unsure where to go. Her gaze landed on me. Unlike every time in the last three or four weeks, she did not slip away.

I grabbed the dead phone from my pocket and pressed the ON button with such angry force that I could have shattered the device into dust. It vibrated in my hand as I forced my feet to carry me closer to the woman. She didn’t run. She stood still, acting neither surprised nor interested. “Hey,” I said.

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