Page 81 of Crown of Steel

19

ARTHUR

Christmas this year is different from any of the ones we’ve celebrated before, and I’m not just talking about the dishes Nathalie has chosen—a seafood barbecue.

We’re all crowded outside on the heated terrace, dressed formally in crisp white shirts underneath sleek black tuxedos. My stepmother looks angelic as she plays the perfect role of hostess, despite the other guests all being family.

Dad had some business relations over for anaperobefore, the champagne tasting that much better with a signed deal in our pocket. The second most luxurious wineries in Spain are now ours, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t proud of the way I participated in the project. Six more months and I’ll graduate. That should make me feel…elated, but something treacherous twitches in my stomach.

Personnel is setting up the piano by the pool under Dominique’s scrutinizing eye, the sloping green grass melting perfectly into that mesmerizing sight of the Mediterranean Sea. Gaël has somehow managed to get his hands on Régis, who’s looking uncomfortable as my cousin smears some oil onto the flat on his hand, most likely describing the function of yetanother of his perfumed greases. He’s a pro like that, an insistent motherfucker. Still, I grin at the sight, then turn, only to catch my brother’s stare. Louis is talking to my uncle, but when I meet his gaze, he gives me a knowing smile. With a huff, I retire back into the house.

Last year’s Christmas resembled a pitiful collection of family members who tried too hard to fit in two perfect strangers. The result? A strained diner that lasted for fucking-ever until Régis could finally excuse himself and head for his room. Only then had the fog dissipated and had Nathalie turn into the loving woman we know her to be.

Régis…

Through the windows I gaze back at the outside party. My little stepbrother is still talking to Gaël, and even from afar I catch his careful smile while my cousin talks to him in his usual smooth, seductive way. Gaël has always been a player, a blond-haired seducer with skillful hands. Hands that he only keeps on Dominique, ever since he openly and officially claimed him as his. By the barbeque, Louis, Dad and my uncle bark out a laugh at something, a comforting rumble I grew up with. Family. Love. Perhaps the biggest privilege I’ve ever had.

I’ve never questioned my upbringing, nor our family values and opinions toward the world. We all felt the same, thought the same, played the same.

A smooth chortle shoots my eyes back to Régis. He’s smiling at something Gaël says, his head tilted back as he exposes his straight, white teeth and that adorable blush. My chest rumbles at the sight of those wavy, golden locks and his eager, blue eyes. I don’t know what my cousin told him, but it has done the trick. His guard is down.

Grabbing two glasses of champagne from a held-out tray, I’m on my feet and ready for the door before I can think things through.

“Arthur.” I startle from Nathalie’s voice, coming through thekitchen. She’s standing by the kitchen island, a purple kitchen apron covering most of her black dress, a glass of wine in her hand. Next to her stands Gaël’s mom Marie-Louise who throws me a smile before she gets called out by my uncle. I watch her leave, then turn to face my stepmother.

“Oui?” There’s something about the way those bright, green eyes look at me that makes me feel unnerved. A slither of nerves crawls through my spine, and I try to cough it away, but it won’t stop freezing my back on its way up to my neck.

Nathalie gestures to me to come closer. “I’ve got you something.”

I crack a smile, but it feels forced on my face. “I thought we already unwrapped all the gifts?” When I reach the island, my eyes fall to the picture she’s holding in her hands. When she reaches up to show it to me, I notice that they’re shaking.

“This is the only photo I have left of Régis.”

My nerves turn into ice as I look at the image of a young boy with a mop of golden curls and a cheeky smile on his sweet, little face. In his hands he’s holding a bouquet of wild flowers the size of his head, his two, small hands tightly wrapped around them.

“He always loved flowers,” Nathalie breathes. “Those first years of his life, we often visited my parents, who had a huge garden. My mother would take Régis into the garden and they could spend entire afternoons out there, just being outside. Being surrounded by green.”

I swallow, but bile forms a big lump in my throat, spreading a feeling of discomfort all the way from my throat to my chest.

He still does,I want to say.

“That’s…nice,” I settle with.

Nathalie smiles at me, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I know about the both of you, Arthur,” she mumbles. My lips part in shock and I suck in a sharp breath, but before I can come up with anything to say, she waves with the image. “You don’t needto say anything else right now, but my son is troubled. He has suffered a lot, he has—” She lets out a shuddering puff of air, and a single tear rolls down her cheek. With a manicured fingertip, she wipes it away and her lips curl into a regretful smile. “I am going to leave this photo on here for one hour. If you are serious with my son, you take the picture and keep it safe. We will figure out how we will do things. This must be as hard for you, as it is for me. If you’re not—and believe me, I will understand—you leave the picture to me. I will take it back, carry it close to my heart, and we will never talk about it again.” She nods my way. “D’accord?”

My chest heaves as I can just stare at her. Surely she can’t mean that she knows,knows? “What do you—”

“Don’t, Arthur. I know all about forbidden love, and we can work with it. But don’t give me any lies.” Dropping the photo onto the counter, her demanding gaze finds me. “One hour,” she murmurs, and then she’s gone.

I spend the next fifteen minutes in my bedroom, pacing around restlessly, allowing panic to rise, swell in my chest, and deflate again. A whirlwind of thoughts invades my mind but I can’t see clearly anymore. How the hell does she know? Is she bluffing? Do I want her to bluff? Is there a way out for this forbidden connection that we both feel?

Régis is troubled.Does that mean she will tell me more about him if I put my cards on the table? Would Régiswantme to put my cards on the table? Something suspiciously close to insecurity rumbles through my stomach, and I don’t like it one single bit. Still, when there’s a loud knock on my door, I jump, growling at the person who’s caused me to startle.

“Chill, bro,” Louis comes in, looking identical in his matching black tux and white shirt. “What the hell are you doing up here? I can feel your distress all the way in my own heart.” I notice that his usual smile is not spread across his lips. Instead, his dark gaze eyes me wary. “Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing, man.”

“It’s Régis.” He narrows his gaze.

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