The King
Page 66
“I wasn’t flirting,” Søren said. “Merely being polite.”
“He’s worried because he thinks you’re prettier than he is,” Sam said to Søren.
“He is prettier than I am,” Kingsley said. “It’s the eyelashes.”
“You do have unusually dark eyelashes for a blond,” Sam said, studying Søren. “How do you do it?”
Søren answered, “Mascara.”
“No offense, Padre, but between the two of you, Kingsley would win the pretty boy competition.”
“I’m not the least offended,” Søren said.
“It’s the long hair. All boys should have long hair.” She pulled his hair, and he slapped her hand away. She slapped back.
“Children,” Søren scolded. “Behave.”
“Sorry. I love the hair,” Sam said.
“He certainly wears it to his advantage. I approve of the wardrobe change, as well. Your doing?” Søren asked Sam.
“All my idea. He wants to be a king. He should look like a king.”
“You’ve succeeded,” Søren said. “He looks positively majestic.”
“See?” Sam said. “I win. You lose. You have to dress like this forever.”
“I surrender,” Kingsley said.
“So, let me ask you two a question.” With her glass of wine, Sam pointed first at him and then at Søren. “How are you going to get away with the fact that he’s him and you’re a priest? I mean, is it safe for a priest to be in the house of a strip club-owning, S and M club-creating, blackmailing blackmailer, Kingsley the Edge?”
“Of course I can be in Kingsley’s home without any fear of censure,” Søren said. “I have a very good excuse.”
“What’s the excuse?” Sam asked.
Søren answered before Kingsley could stop him.
“We’re related.”
Sam’s eyes went laughably wide.
She eyed Kingsley. Then Søren. Then Kingsley again.
“You’re both white boys. You’re both good-looking. You know, for men. Other than that, I don’t see the resemblance.”
“Related by marriage,” Søren said. “I was very briefly married to Kingsley’s sister before she passed away.”
“Oh,” Sam said, nodding. “But Kingsley, you said your sister married—”
Kingsley glared at her. He’d told Sam his sister had married the man he was in love with. Tonight was not the night to dredge all that up.
“Married who?” Søren asked, looking from Sam to Kingsley and then back at Sam.
“I told Sam my sister married a pompous arrogant self-important overeducated pretentious bastard.”
“That would be me,” Søren said, raising his glass.
“Gotcha. Well, I’ll leave you two bros-in-law to catch up. There are women in this room who have never had a multiple orgasm. They need me. I have heard their cries in the night.”
“Go answer the cries,” Kingsley said.
Sam bowed to them both and stalked off.
“What was she going to say?” Søren asked.
“Nothing,” Kingsley said. “Nothing at all.”
Søren watched Sam as she disappeared into the crowd.
“What do you know about her?” he asked.
“Everything I need to,” Kingsley said.
“That’s an excellent nonanswer.”
“Why do you ask? She’s my secretary, not yours.”
“I could spend the next two hours telling you everything I know about my secretary, Diane. I know where she was born, where she grew up, where she went to school, who she’s dating, who her parents are... Can you say the same about Sam?”
“Why do you care?”
“She knows I’m in Connecticut. She knows about your sister. Did you tell her my real name?”
Kingsley stalled by taking a sip of his Syrah.
“Kingsley?”
“She needed to know,” Kingsley said. “If anything happened to me, someone needs to be able to find you.”
“I understand that. And I don’t object to you telling her anything you need to tell her if you have good reason for trusting her so implicitly. If you do have good reason, I have no issue with it. I’m curious why you trust her so implicitly when you know so little about her.”
“I told you, I know what I need to know about her.”
“Someone knows quite a bit about the both of us,” Søren reminded him.
“I trust Sam. You can trust her, too.”
“Are you in love with her? Is that why you trust her?”
“I’m not in love with her,” Kingsley said truthfully. What he felt for Sam was different than love. Or maybe it was love but a different sort than what he felt for Søren.
Søren raised his glass of wine to his lips.
“Good.”
“Hello, Father,” Blaise said, appearing out of nowhere. Kingsley had never been so glad to see the girl in his life. She rose up on the tips of her toes to kiss Søren on the cheek. “How’s my favorite kinky Jesuit priest?”
“He’s still kinky,” Kingsley said. “And still a Jesuit. Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”
“So I have to ask, what is a Jesuit?” Blaise said.
“We’re an order of priests founded by St. Ignatius of Loyola,” Søren said. “We began as a missionary order.”
“He’s worried because he thinks you’re prettier than he is,” Sam said to Søren.
“He is prettier than I am,” Kingsley said. “It’s the eyelashes.”
“You do have unusually dark eyelashes for a blond,” Sam said, studying Søren. “How do you do it?”
Søren answered, “Mascara.”
“No offense, Padre, but between the two of you, Kingsley would win the pretty boy competition.”
“I’m not the least offended,” Søren said.
“It’s the long hair. All boys should have long hair.” She pulled his hair, and he slapped her hand away. She slapped back.
“Children,” Søren scolded. “Behave.”
“Sorry. I love the hair,” Sam said.
“He certainly wears it to his advantage. I approve of the wardrobe change, as well. Your doing?” Søren asked Sam.
“All my idea. He wants to be a king. He should look like a king.”
“You’ve succeeded,” Søren said. “He looks positively majestic.”
“See?” Sam said. “I win. You lose. You have to dress like this forever.”
“I surrender,” Kingsley said.
“So, let me ask you two a question.” With her glass of wine, Sam pointed first at him and then at Søren. “How are you going to get away with the fact that he’s him and you’re a priest? I mean, is it safe for a priest to be in the house of a strip club-owning, S and M club-creating, blackmailing blackmailer, Kingsley the Edge?”
“Of course I can be in Kingsley’s home without any fear of censure,” Søren said. “I have a very good excuse.”
“What’s the excuse?” Sam asked.
Søren answered before Kingsley could stop him.
“We’re related.”
Sam’s eyes went laughably wide.
She eyed Kingsley. Then Søren. Then Kingsley again.
“You’re both white boys. You’re both good-looking. You know, for men. Other than that, I don’t see the resemblance.”
“Related by marriage,” Søren said. “I was very briefly married to Kingsley’s sister before she passed away.”
“Oh,” Sam said, nodding. “But Kingsley, you said your sister married—”
Kingsley glared at her. He’d told Sam his sister had married the man he was in love with. Tonight was not the night to dredge all that up.
“Married who?” Søren asked, looking from Sam to Kingsley and then back at Sam.
“I told Sam my sister married a pompous arrogant self-important overeducated pretentious bastard.”
“That would be me,” Søren said, raising his glass.
“Gotcha. Well, I’ll leave you two bros-in-law to catch up. There are women in this room who have never had a multiple orgasm. They need me. I have heard their cries in the night.”
“Go answer the cries,” Kingsley said.
Sam bowed to them both and stalked off.
“What was she going to say?” Søren asked.
“Nothing,” Kingsley said. “Nothing at all.”
Søren watched Sam as she disappeared into the crowd.
“What do you know about her?” he asked.
“Everything I need to,” Kingsley said.
“That’s an excellent nonanswer.”
“Why do you ask? She’s my secretary, not yours.”
“I could spend the next two hours telling you everything I know about my secretary, Diane. I know where she was born, where she grew up, where she went to school, who she’s dating, who her parents are... Can you say the same about Sam?”
“Why do you care?”
“She knows I’m in Connecticut. She knows about your sister. Did you tell her my real name?”
Kingsley stalled by taking a sip of his Syrah.
“Kingsley?”
“She needed to know,” Kingsley said. “If anything happened to me, someone needs to be able to find you.”
“I understand that. And I don’t object to you telling her anything you need to tell her if you have good reason for trusting her so implicitly. If you do have good reason, I have no issue with it. I’m curious why you trust her so implicitly when you know so little about her.”
“I told you, I know what I need to know about her.”
“Someone knows quite a bit about the both of us,” Søren reminded him.
“I trust Sam. You can trust her, too.”
“Are you in love with her? Is that why you trust her?”
“I’m not in love with her,” Kingsley said truthfully. What he felt for Sam was different than love. Or maybe it was love but a different sort than what he felt for Søren.
Søren raised his glass of wine to his lips.
“Good.”
“Hello, Father,” Blaise said, appearing out of nowhere. Kingsley had never been so glad to see the girl in his life. She rose up on the tips of her toes to kiss Søren on the cheek. “How’s my favorite kinky Jesuit priest?”
“He’s still kinky,” Kingsley said. “And still a Jesuit. Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”
“So I have to ask, what is a Jesuit?” Blaise said.
“We’re an order of priests founded by St. Ignatius of Loyola,” Søren said. “We began as a missionary order.”
