Page 32 of After Felix
He searches my face, but he must miss my turmoil, because he grins and kisses my forehead. “The bag’s in some coat cupboard that Henry showed me. It is a very fetching T-shirt,” he says. “I am sorry though. Maybe I should have waited upstairs with you or woke you up.”
“Youthink?” Zeb says.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say quickly, heading off the confrontation that I sense brewing. The undercurrents suggest it’s not about me, and Ihave to wonder what’s going on between the stepbrothers. “Where can I get a drink? I’m parched.”
Max’s face lights up. “I’ll get you one and some food too. You must be starving. Wait with Zeb.”
“Are you coming back this time, or should I lay in stores, so he doesn’t starve to death?” Zeb says in a very chilly tone.
Max glares at him. “I’m not entirely sure what your problem is today, Zebadiah?”
“Are you not?” Zeb asks with a very funny expression on his face. “Are youreallysure about that?”
“I’dlovesome food,” I say brightly. “Now would be good. Lots of food, now please, and a verylargefucking drink.”
Still glaring at Zeb, Max squeezes my arm and vanishes into the crowd.
“What is the matter with you?” I mutter to Zeb.
He downs his drink in one gulp. “Nothing for you to worry about,” he says in a very grim voice.
“Well, maybe you should put it to one side. This is a wedding. Personal differences should be forgotten, and we should just try to like everyone.” The crowd parts to reveal Patrick. “Oh dear, I spoke far too soon on that matter,” I say faintly. “I’m afraid I’m going to be a gigantic hypocrite.”
Zeb shakes his head at me. “Get on with him please,” he says out of the corner of his mouth and then smiles faintly at his boyfriend. “Okay?” he asks, although there’s little enthusiasm in his voice.
“I’m fine,” Patricks snaps. “Despite us being put in a very poky room.”
“Really?” I ask. “Where are you?”
“At the back looking over a lavender garden. That’s going to play hell with my allergies.”
“Are these allergies ever fatal?” I ask sweetly and release my breath in a huff as Zeb elbows me.
Patrick’s gaze sharpens. “Well, I suppose you’ve been given a wonderful room,” he says in a poisonous voice. “Seeing as your man has such acloserelationship with Ivo.”
“Patrick.” Zeb’s voice is as sharp as I’ve ever heard and Patrick has the grace to look abashed, although I’m buggered if I know why.
“Well, they are best friends,” I say. “I suppose it’s natural.”
Patrick’s laughter stalls and turns into a frown as Max appears with a huge plateful of food. “Max,” he says in a frigid tone
“Patrick,” Max intones, handing me the plate which I nearly drop as it’s loaded with enough food for twenty people.
“Did you think you were feeding me for the week?” I ask, laughing.
He grins at me. “You’re too thin. You need to eat more.”
“Not your usual type, is he, Max?” Patrick says with relish. “You normally go for the strapping men with foreign accents, don’t you?”
Zeb jerks and I shoot him a “what the fuck is the matter with you” look.
“Oh dear, Max. Have you got a boy in every port?” I say over-cheerfully. “I’m already exhausted coping with your sexual demands. Maybe we could share you. You could be like Louis the Fourteenth. Just put on a wig and wear some heels and develop megalomania.”
Patrick blinks, looking thwarted, and Max gives me a grateful look. “I could never have coped with all those mistresses,” he says mournfully.
I laugh. “Don’teverdo multiples,” I advise him. “You can barely manage with the singular.”
As if by mutual accord, we move to a big table and sit down while I eat my food. It’s superb, with homemade quiche filled with bacon and sharp cheese and a salad that has a tangy dressing on it, but I only pick at it. My appetite has vanished, probably drowned in the undercurrents currently swirling around us.
