Page 85 of The Gambler's Prize
I narrow my eyes, staring into the distance. My heart sinks. I’m pretty sure he’s right. We glance around for shelter, both getting nervous but trying to stay calm. There are no trees in sight. Just a few jagged rock outcroppings,
“It’s coming closer,” Florian says.
It’s comingfast. I feel like it’s zeroing in on us, though I know that’s only my imagination talking. My heartbeat speeds and I berate myself for getting carried away with our stroll instead of watching the weather.
“Over here,” I say, leading Florian to the nearest outcrop of rock. We settle down at its base, opposite to the direction of the wind. Florian takes off his shirt and wraps it around his nose and mouth. I do the same with mine, then wrap my cloak around both of us. I position my body between the outside world and Florian, pinning him safely between me and the rock outcropping.
“Boss, I don’t want you to take the brunt—”
“Florian, that’s enough,” I say.
I hold him tight enough to persuade him that there’s no point in trying to escape. There’s no time to argue, anyway. The cloud of dust is almost upon us, crowding out the blue of the sky, descending on us like night. I put my head down, wrap my arms around Florian and prepare to wait it out. Being caught in a dust storm is like being attacked by something alive. The sand seems to have a will of its own, a violent, aching need to force its way through all obstacles and into our faces, our eyes, our nostrils. It’s almost impossible to breathe.
I keep my face close to Florian’s, checking that that he’s still drawing breaths even if they are ragged and hitched and scared. We can’t talk to each other without risking choking on dust. The sand worms its way through the fabric of my shirt, trying to make it into my nose and mouth. We can hear nothing but the sound of the wind. There’s nothing to do but wait it out. At last, it passes over and I push my head up, taking a few tentative breaths, feeling like I’m emerging from a long dive underwater.
“Florian, are you okay?” I demand.
He pulls his shirt down off his nose and gulps in deep breaths, coughing: the air is still clogged with dust and sand. He runs his hands over his hair. Thekiveflowers have been dislodged, his plaits are askew, and the sheen left by Rab’s styling products is completely dulled by red dust. He looks as though he’s been digging foundations all day. A couple of tears leak from his beautiful eyes and over his soft cheeks.
“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” I ask, heart clenching with worry. “Did you get sand in your eyes?” I tried so hard to shield him, but maybe I didn’t protect him as well as I should’ve—
“No, Boss, I’m fine.” He smiles through the tears. “Sorry. I’m not hurt. I’m just disappointed.”
“Why?”
“Look at my hair.” He gestures with a despairing mannerism. “I so wanted to look good for you and for you to be proud of me tonight at the theater. And now everything is ruined. After only a couple of hours.”
He runs out of breath, lapses into coughing. Despite his ragged appearance he looks beautiful as he gazes at me, so unsure and shy, so eager to please. I smooth his tangled hair and wipe the tears from his cheeks.
“Here, drink,” I order.
He takes the canteen from me and washes out his mouth, spitting out a reddened stream of water laced with dust. Then hedrinks a few mouthfuls and passes the canteen to me. I do the same thing before fixing my attention on him.
“Florian, you don’t always have to look pretty for me,” I say. “You should know I love you for so much more than your looks.”
He nods uncertainly. His eyes tell me he still needs reassurance.
“I love you for your sweetness and your personality,” I say. My voice comes out croaky with dust and I cough a couple of times. I take a sip of water and force myself to keep going anyway. “I could talk to you all night and all day. I’ve laughed more with you over the last few weeks than during the rest of my life combined. You look down on no one even though you’re high born. You’re the most warm-hearted person I know. Obviously you’re the most beautiful man in Galbrava.” I say this knowing that it’ll unleash a becoming flush of pink across his cheeks, making him look down, biting his lip in the most adorable confused way. “But I’d love you no matter what you look like. I’d love you even if you had gone through with shaving your head.”
At last a small laugh escapes him. Even as he laughs his tears stream freely, unafraid because he knows I accept all of his emotions.
“I love you too, Grimes,” he says. “No matter what.”
He says my name so rarely, and when he does, he sends a full-body shiver through me.
“Okay then,” I say. I fix his hair as best I can with one hand, my other hand stroking his arm as though soothing a scared kitten. “So are you ready to go back to town? Ready for the theater?”
“I’m ready as long as you’re with me,” he says.
He finally forgets his ruined hair and leans in for a kiss. Just the two of us in the empty desert, battered and scoured by the storm but unbowed, still clinging to each other. Our dust-chapped lips meet, and I fall into his spell. My spoiled broken rich boy. All I want to do now is to put him back together andlove him. No matter what we do for work or where we end up, my most important job is to be at Florian’s side, making sure he’s never lonely, that he’s always happy, safe and cared for. Most of all that he knows how wanted he is.
Chapter 34
Florian
Eighteen months later
In the city of Obal
