Page 18 of The Lonely Hearts Guide

“At Ms. Broussard’s Home for Bountiful Beaus, we provide a love story for the ages. From creation to cotillion, I raise my boys to be the perfect picture of a submissive househusband.”

Alexander heard the spiel back when he first purchased Goose. She ranted and rambled about homemaking and submission, but that was never Alexander’s reasoning for using Ms. Broussard’s services. He had no need for a maid, as he already had three on staff. He didn’t give a damn about submission, because Alexander had employees to submit to his whims already. No, Alexander simply wanted a kind face to look upon after a long day at work. Someone who might hold him when times were hard and things were hectic. A tether. A touchstone to keep him grounded. Someone to love, and to be loved by in return.

In his tuxedo pocket, Professor Plum’s tiny claws dug through the fabric of Alexander’s shirt, trying to escape. No matter what Alexander tried, the little mouse refused to sit still. Odd, considering he usually calmed down after being petted or shown attention. There was no calming him this time, Alexander realized, so he pushed back his chair, hoping to sneak back to his suite so he could let Professor Plum run wild.

Unfortunately, Professor Plum made one final attempt at escape, and it proved successful. Hopping out of the pocket and rushing toward the door, Professor Plum made his exit. Alexander knew he needed to grab the fieldmouse before it could escape to the deck and potentially fall into the sea. So Alexander gave up any pretense of making a graceful exit and ran across the dining room at full speed, knocking into chairs and other suitors along the way. There were shouts for Alexander to be careful, but he ignored them all, because someone had chosen that precise moment to open the dining room door, granting Professor Plum his means of escape.

Damn, Alexander thought, running even faster than before. Outside, he dashed across the deck, his eyes fixed and focused on the runaway rodent. They both ran up-up-up a seemingly endless set of stairs. Professor Plum was leading him to the ship’s top tier, and nervousness coursed through Alexander, because they passed a large sign, warning him intruders were not allowed in the bountiful beaus’ bay without prior approval by Ms. Broussard. Yes, well, tough luck. If Emily Broussard took issue with Alexander saving his only friend’s life—God, how tragic was that? His only friend was a runaway fieldmouse—she was more than welcome to send him ashore. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to anymore of her self-indulgent speeches.

Professor Plum eventually stopped running and pressed his nose against the ground, sniffing something out. He was well within Alexander’s reach, but there was something inside Alexander telling him to see this thing through. The fieldmouse was clearly onto something, and curiosity had gotten the better of him. When the mouse came to a stop at a door marked Employees Only, against his better judgment, Alexander couldn’t stop his fingers from curling around the knob and twisting it open.

The moment the door was open, Alexander gasped. The room was roughly twice the size of his suite, and in it, powered-down bountiful beaus rested carelessly on the floor. It looked as if they were all tossed inside with no care or consideration for how the beaus landed. It twisted in his gut like a knife, because the beaus had—once again—been treated like trash.

“I know you,” a voice whispered from a darkened corner of the cabin. “I don’t remember how, but I remember your face.” Footsteps echoed lightly against the floor until a face crept from the shadows and into the light provided by the cracked door.

Alexander’s heart skipped a beat, because there, as if he always had been, stood Elliot Price. He took another step forward, his hand softly stroking a large bump in his tummy.

Alexander swallowed. “Elliot?”

Elliot was an idiot. A nincompoop with absolutely no common sense. It was the only answer he could come up with as he sat in the dark room for hours, waiting for nightfall.

For all intents and purposes, Elliot still belonged to Jared Price. If Mother found him on her cruise ship, Elliot knew he would be returned, and if he was returned, he knew he might never make it out of Jared’s home again. Knowing all of that, Elliot also knew he had to meet Alexander Davenport. He needed to know about the frosting-filled holes in his memory. Why had he been on the island past dark? Why did he remember the hint of a kiss on Sugarplum Island’s ferry dock? Why couldn’t Elliot just forget? It would have been easier if he'd forgotten Alexander completely, like so many other moments. If the memory hadn’t lingered as long as it had, Elliot would be back home in Jared Price’s mansion. Granted, he would probably be in pain, as he so often was at the hands of Jared Price, but that pain would pale in comparison to whatever punishment he would receive when he was eventually returned to the man.

Elliot had the chance to escape, once and for all, and he chose instead to chase the memory of a mostly forgotten early morning exchange. The day before, he snuck from Mrs. Honey Peppercorn’s small home, preparing to take a taxi to Galveston, Texas. Being that it was an extremely long journey—and not wanting to ride another bus for multiple days on end—Elliot phoned the local taxi service in Genevieve, Georgia, and made them an offer they couldn’t refuse, using cash taken from Jared’s wall safe. An hour later, Elliot tiptoed from his new bedroom and out Mrs. Peppercorn’s front door. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as sneaky as he’d hoped, and Mrs. Peppercorn was already waiting outside, holding a small pink suitcase as she leaned against the waiting taxi.

“Baby, I know where you’re going, and I’m not going to stop you,” Mrs. Peppercorn said. “But I will not allow you to go alone, especially with that charlatan at the ship’s helm.”

Charlatan, Elliot thought, described Mother to perfection. She offered love stories to the highest bidder, claiming her sons lived to serve their masters. She stated time and again that their master’s pleasure was the beau’s only concern, but that wasn’t true. Elliot had many concerns. Concerns for his personal safety. Concerns for his missing memories. In fact, the only thing Elliot had absolutely no concern for was Master Jared Price’s pleasure.

When they arrived in New Orleans, Elliot convinced Mrs. Peppercorn to assist him in stowing away on the ship. Refusing to leave his side, Mrs. Peppercorn wedged them both inside a crate labeledBountiful Beaus. The space was compact, and the pair were more than a little cramped. Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long before the crate was in motion, being wheeled up an incline. When they came to a stop, they could hear a door open, and they rolled forward once again, then there was the sound of nails being pried from wood as light flickered in through the crack. The moment the lid came loose, light barreled into the once-dark crate, and the man on the other side—Rodolfo, his name tag said—gaped at them.

Rodolfo startled, hopping back. “What in tarnation?”

Mrs. Peppercorn glared at the man. “You call this a luxury suite? I can barely move my legs.” She flung her arm up, as if seeking assistance from the man, but as soon as she was standing, she cupped the man’s cheek and said, “I’m terribly sorry for this, sugar.” As the worker stared confusedly at her, she lifted her suitcase from the crate and placed it on the floor, opening it. With the suitcase out of the crate, Elliot’s vision was obstructed, so he couldn’t see what she was searching for. He wasn’t sure what Mrs. Peppercorn was grinning about, but then she stood up straight, and she was holding a—

“Mrs. Peppercorn,” Elliot had started, “why would you bring a rolling pin on a cruise?”

Mrs. Peppercorn then winked at him and whirled on her heel, bopping Rodolfo on the head, sending the poor man toppling to the floor in a heap.

“I'm terribly sorry,” Mrs. Peppercorn repeated sincerely. “Don’t worry, though, baby. Once we’ve found my new friend’s old boyfriend on this ship, we’ll let you go. Until then, I’m afraid we’ll need to tie you up.”

“Alexander was never my boyfriend,” Elliot pointed out, though he wished he had been. He peeked over the side of the crate. “And Mr. Rodolfo can’t hear you. He seems to be unconscious.”

Mrs. Peppercorn nodded in agreement. “Yes, well, I’ve always wanted to give a villainous monologue where I explain my reasoning for committing various atrocities. We’re here to make your dreams come true, so I figured I could scratch that one off my bucket list in the process. I apologize if I’ve upstaged you, baby.” Leaning down, she gave Elliot a kiss on the forehead.

And there they waited. Waited for the ship to depart. Waited for daylight to turn to moonlight flickering in through the room’s skylight. They waited for hours and hours amidst a pile of powered-down automatons. Rodolfo waited with them, startling awake just as Mrs. Peppercorn and Elliot finished tying his arms and legs. To their surprise, Rodolfo hadn’t made a single peep since. He’d just smiled at them and sat quietly in the corner, eyeing Mrs. Peppercorn curiously.

By the time the doorknob twisted, darkness already shrouded the room. Elliot scurried back as far as he could, wedging himself in a corner, his arms wrapped around his shins.

Moonlight crept through the crack in the door, and then something small scurried around Elliot’s ankle before latching onto the white trousers he changed into in the off chance someone caught them. That way, at least, he could hide beneath the other beaus’ bodies and remain incognito.

But when Alexander came into view, it was like emerging from a thick fog. Elliot stood, though he hadn’t meant to do so, and stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, not stopping until he was right in front of Mr. Alexander Davenport. Something tickled his shoulder, but he couldn’t look away from the man whose vague memory haunted him. The forgotten memory that refused to stay forgotten.

“I know you,” Elliot said along the way. “I don’t remember how, but I remember your face.”

Squeak, squeak.

“Elliot,” Alexander said, and the sound of his voice felt like coming home. Elliot’s jaw trembled, and his hand found his baby bump, slowly rubbing the little life growing inside. “Oh, Elliot. What have they done to you?”

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