Roman
I worked a morning at Neon Nights shift on Friday and stayed there afterward. Mama Viv had been gone all day, performing at a charity competition in Central Park. Tristan and Cedric attended the competition and swung by Neon Nights to share a bottle of champagne because Mama Viv had crushed it and won first place. In doing so, her charity won a ten-thousand-dollar donation from the sponsors of the event.
“Your Highnesses,” I greeted them from the bar, and they joined me.
Tristan took the barstool in the middle, and Cedric sat to his left. “Hush, Rome,” Tristan said, raising an eyebrow at me.
I glanced around. “There’s nobody here.” I looked at Bradley behind the bar.
Bradley shrugged. “I already know.”
“Why is it a secret, anyway?” I asked.
Tristan and Cedric exchanged a look. My best friend decided to explain it. “Would you want a crowd of paparazzi in here?”
“My family is not so well-known in America,” Cedric elaborated with much more patience. “But that could change if a foreign royal was interesting enough.”
“And hanging out in a run-down gay bar would be interesting enough,” Tristan said.
I didn’t completely understand it. “How is that a bad thing?”
“I don’t want to be infamous,” Tristan muttered.
There was an agreement of sorts. Cedric was allowed to half-ass his royal duties from New York in order to be with Tristan, but he needed to keep the fragile image of royal decorum intact for the time being.
Cedric’s older brother, Alexander Louis Valois Montclair, who was as much of an eye candy as the rebel prince here, hated the arrangement. He had initially wanted Cedric to marry a French marchioness. Cedric ran away from the arranged engagement, leaving the marchioness free to fall in love with Cedric’s younger brother, Maximilian. The two announced their engagement just a few weeks ago, helping the standing of the royal family in the eyes of the public.
“Bread and games” was the old motto.
Verdumont was heading into a heated election, Cedric explained. There was a coalition of parties calling for the abolition of the monarchy and the severing of the country from its traditions. To a degree, I understood the want to leave the past in the past. We all understood it. Even so, the parties inclined to support the monarchy in Verdumont argued that having a monarch as the figurehead made the prime ministers behave better. Something about the concentration of perceived power in a single individual resulted in the political leaders in Western monarchies acting with less opulence.
Even so, Cedric lived in a sweet penthouse a block away from us and visited the bar daily, if for no other reason than to see Tristan.
“I get it,” I said. “I think I get it.”
Tristan sighed. “It’s beyond my pay grade.”
That made Cedric laugh. “In short, I’m to be as quiet as a little mouse until after the election.”
“No stripping on the stage, then,” I concluded.
“Absolutely not,” Cedric said.
Tristan, his eyes turning a little glassy with the idea, added, “But only until the election.”
“I am available for private shows,” Cedric purred near Tristan’s head.
“And I am ending this conversation,” I declared.
Mama Viv walked in a moment later and was met with a few cheers of congratulations. The bar was fairly empty, although that would change in just a few hours.
“Ten grand, huh?” I asked after kissing Mama Viv. She wore her biggest purple wig and a similarly dyed dress. Her heels added four inches to her height, and her makeup made me think of long summer nights on some exotic island. “And what did you get?”
“Oh, darling, I got the finest Elderflower Whisper in the waiting lounge,” Mama Viv said with the tone of someone who couldn’t be more grateful. “We must learn how to make it. I want it on the menu for the next cocktail hour.”
“You were majestic today,” Cedric said.
Mama Viv hugged him. “Thank you, darling. I’m so glad you were there.” Mama Viv sat on a barstool with us, opened a nightshade fan, and cooled her face with quick, practiced motions. “How are we prepared for tonight, Bradley?”