The Wish (8 page)

“I’m sure Martha made me a lovely breakfast, too, and entirely healthy, as usual. This morning, I’m craving bacon and eggs for a change. Here, take this back to the kitchen while I shower and dress. Have Isaac bring the car around. We’ll leave in half an hour.” Alfred reluctantly untangled himself from his friend’s embrace. Even if they weren’t Byron’s arms, the physical closeness of another body had been nice… while it lasted.

B
ERNARD
immediately missed the warmth and comfort of being held close, something he’d rarely experienced in his life, and never from his gay employer, who’d always taken meticulous care to avoid intimidating his heterosexual employees.

He rose from the bed and gathered the now cold breakfast tray, realizing he still hadn’t answered Alfred’s question. In light of their conversation, revealing his age seemed unnecessary. Alfred’s houses were all he remembered of his life, all he wanted to remember. The time before hadn’t been happy. Now, he’d get his wish to live the remainder of his life where he felt needed, where he felt he belonged. What a tremendous relief not to be dismissed out of hand for the inability to perform his duties with the efficiency he’d once prided himself on.

Suddenly, an overwhelming urge to go to Paul’s room consumed him, though he knew Paul was currently at the funeral parlor visiting with his uncle. Returning the tray to the nightstand, Bernard listened closely for the sound of running water. He couldn’t say why it felt important that his employer not discover his plans. Relieved to hear a rumbling baritone emanating from the shower, singing the familiar strains of an old love song, he crossed the hall and quickly retrieved the item he sought.

Once he’d arranged the article on the bed, he returned the tray to the kitchen, humming along with Alfred’s tune.

“
U
NCLE
Alfred?” Alex rapped his knuckles lightly against the door before entering his uncle’s bedroom. Singing from the bathroom inspired a chuckle; he recalled times he’d heard that particular ditty before, sometimes blended with Byron’s tenor. They’d sung together like they’d lived together—in perfect harmony for the most part, with enough sour notes to keep things interesting.

Apparently, now wasn’t a good time for a visit. As Alex turned to leave, a splash of bright color caught his attention. Sparing a glance to the closed bathroom door, he crossed the room to investigate the scrap of blue cotton contrasting starkly with the pristine white sheets of the unmade bed. He squinted before reaching out to pick it up, recognizing the offending garment as too small to belong to his uncle. He’d seen it before, and not long ago.

Anger burned through him, and he flung the damning evidence back where he’d found it. So his suspicious were true. Far from being upset about Byron’s demise, Paul had taken full advantage of the situation, wasting no time in taking his uncle’s place in the man’s own bed.

The flames of rage were further fanned when Alex’s active imagination supplied images of two bodies, one old and withered, that he tried to block, the other young, firm, and wanton, writhing together on the sheets. While he’d been out, leaving his uncle unattended, the conniving opportunist had made a move. Well, it certainly wouldn’t happen again. Until he managed to convince his uncle to kick Paul out on his manipulative ass, Alex needed to stand guard.

An unbidden image appeared in his mind of that same ass wearing the thin covering now lying rumpled on the bed. Alex frowned. It had been past midnight when he’d seen Paul dressed in these, leaving the room. He must have returned later. What was he trying to do, give the old man a heart attack?

After a moment, clarity dawned. Yes, that was exactly what the young slut wanted to do. As open as Alfred was, Paul undoubtedly knew about the heart condition and planned to use the knowledge to his advantage. Well, he wouldn’t get away with it.

The sudden quiet alerted Alex that his uncle’s shower had ended and he was about to be caught snooping. He gently closed the door behind him, hastily retreating to the privacy of his own quarters to fume and plot against the man most certainly using his considerable charms to secure a hefty chunk of Alex’s family’s fortune.

While he dressed for Byron’s funeral, his resentment for Paul grew.

7

T
HOUGH
Paul knew his uncle had been well known and liked, he wasn’t prepared for the massive crowd gathered to bid their final farewells.

Entering the sanctuary, Uncle Douglas at his side, he spotted several familiar faces, and many more he recognized from magazines. Some met him with sympathetic eyes while others turned away as if not knowing what to say. He greeted everyone warmly, hoping to put them at ease, unlike the man walking ahead of him, escorting the grieving Alfred.

Alex stared straight ahead, pointedly ignoring the crowd while the four of them strode down the aisle to the front of the cathedral and the pews reserved for their use—conspicuously empty save for Isaac, Martha, and Bernard. What was Alex’s problem? He could at least acknowledge those who’d come to pay their last respects.

Maybe the man’s just a dick.
A definite possibility considering he’d avoided the house during Uncle Byron’s illness and hadn’t been a frequent visitor before then.
Be civil and get through today; maybe he’ll go back to whatever hole he crawled out of.
Paul, recalling the circumstances, restrained a snort. “Hole” about covered it. The man was nothing but a slut—a gorgeous, totally worthless slut.
Probably never worked a day in his life.

It didn’t matter what kind of prestigious family he’d descended from, Alex Martin behaved like a common whore, uncaring that the one handing over money had lived a monogamous lifestyle for nearly as long as the arrogant asshole had been on the planet.

Paul subtly manipulated the seating arrangements, knowing Alex dared not challenge him in public, placing Alfred between the two of them. He fully expected to earn an evil glare, but didn’t rightly care. Surprisingly, when he chanced to catch Alex gazing at him, his expression was far from hostile. Paul decided not to dwell on the change right now, for Alfred was the important one, and Uncle Douglas, seated on Paul’s other side. Any pissing contests would have to wait.

Hoping the absence of evil glares meant an unspoken truce for the duration of the service, Paul turned his attention to the presiding minister. As he listened to the eloquently prepared eulogy, the reality sank in that his uncle was truly gone and not merely away at some business function, as he’d like to believe.

Silent tears tracked Paul’s face, and he shyly glimpsed Alfred from the corner of his eye, trying his best to be strong. The worst of his mourning had occurred privately, on the rooftop of his store. It hadn’t been pretty. He definitely didn’t want Alfred to witness his pain, adding another thing for the poor old soul to worry about.

Although equally quiet in his grief, tears streaked Alfred’s weathered face, occasionally wiped away with a handkerchief, only to be replaced by more. Paul gently squeezed his arm, fully believing no comfort would be offered from the man on Alfred’s other side.

Chancing a quick peek, Paul’s mouth dropped open as Alex divided rapt attention between the minister’s words and comforting Alfred. Paul’s surprise turned to shock when he noticed the tears staining the man’s face. My God! If he hadn’t known better, he’d swear Alex Martin had miraculously grown a heart!

Teary blue eyes roved upward and locked with Paul’s. No words were spoken. He and Alex reached a silent agreement, at least temporarily, for the sake of the occasion. Throughout the service and at the graveside, they dealt politely with each other, even if the interaction was noticeably devoid of warmth.

After the final prayer, Douglas approached and hugged Alfred. “If you ever need anything….”

Alfred managed a weak smile. “I know, Douglas, I know.”

Prayers said and mourners departing, Paul, Alfred, and Alex rode in a long black limousine back to the house. The day had taken its toll, and Alfred’s head bobbed. Paul gently pulled Alfred onto his shoulder, earning a raised eyebrow from Alex. What was with him? If Paul didn’t know better, he’d swear the guy was jealous. He quickly shook the notion off as ridiculous. He’d been around Alfred since birth and considered him a father, especially after the death of his own.

Alex couldn’t possibly think…. Nah, no way. Regardless of what he’d said in the kitchen the first day, he’d soon learned Paul was Byron’s nephew. No, he was simply being Alex: aloof and untouchable. Then again, he’d shed genuine tears at the funeral.

Paul stood no hope of ever figuring the man out, and hopefully, Alex would soon be on his way back to wherever he went to ignore his family. Paul knew those thoughts were hard-hearted and uncharitable, but in truth Alex hadn’t made himself available to offer comfort or attend matters as he should have.

When they arrived back at the house, Paul, out of long habit, moved to help Alfred to his room. A hasty “I can take care of it” from Alex had him stepping back, ready for battle.

Bernard averted the conflict by assuming control. “It’s time for his medicine and a nap,” he informed them, effectively ending the fight before it started.

All eyes turned to Alfred, who shook his head and chuckled. “I believe I must do as Bernard says. I’m a little tired and some rest might do me good. In fact, if you two don’t mind, I think I’ll have dinner in my room tonight and turn in early.”

Of Paul, he asked, “Could I trouble you with showing Alex around a bit? I daresay he’s not nearly as familiar with the area as you are. Perhaps you can make a reservation at Berkley’s. I’m sure you’d both enjoy getting out after the day you’ve had, especially since I won’t be joining you for dinner.”

Paul expected an argument, and was oddly disappointed when one didn’t come. Alex merely nodded, hugged his uncle, and wished him a good night. He turned and raised an expectant eyebrow.

With no diplomatic way out, Paul bid Alfred and Bernard a pleasant evening, then prepared to lay a few ground rules for the time he and Alex were apparently going to spend together.

Before he managed to say anything, Alex stopped him. “Look, Paul, I know we got off on the wrong foot; how about we start again?”

Paul didn’t trust the sincere expression for a minute. “Start again how?” The smug smile blossoming to life on the handsome devil’s face seemed familiar—Paul had encountered its like before on the faces of used car salesmen and former lovers.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Alex drawled, a gentle reminder of the years he’d spent living in Texas, “but I’m starving. What do you say we do like the man said and go to the restaurant he suggested: Buckeyes?”

“Berkley’s,” Paul corrected.

“Whatever. How about a nice, quiet meal and then maybe you can show me some of the sights?”

Either Alex was sincere or a damned fine actor, and if not for prior experience with Alex’s kind, Paul might have been taken in by the apparent change of heart. Even so, he thought long and hard before deciding that since Alfred had suggested dinner out—and he’d do anything to make Alfred happy—maybe he should accept the offer. What could possibly go wrong? Worst-case scenario, if the asshole picked a fight and ditched him, he’d simply call a cab.

“Okay,” Paul finally answered. “Give me a few minutes to change.”

“What’s the dress code?”

“Not too dressy, not too casual. I guess you could say business casual, as this is a weeknight.”

“Okay.” Alex glanced at a watch probably worth more than Paul’s car. “I’ll meet you at the door in fifteen minutes.”

“That would be fine.” Sudden inspiration hit, and Paul fought a laugh at the scheme unfolding in his mind. “I’ll bring the car around.”

Unfortunately for Alex, with his back turned, he missed Paul’s evil smirk.

A
QUARTER
of an hour later Alex stood with his hands on his hips, glaring. “What the hell is this?”

Paul donned his best “cat that ate the canary” grin. “This is my car. I told you I’d pull it around, didn’t I?”

“This isn’t a car; this is a rusted-out piece of shit.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. However, it’s my piece of shit, and if we’re going to make our reservation, you’d best get in.” Paul enjoyed every minute of Alex’s discomfort.

“There’s a whole fleet of cars in the garage. Why not take one of those?”

“Because they’re not mine,” Paul explained logically.

Alex huffed and glowered at the vehicle, as though he hoped the rust bucket might go away. In the end he opened the passenger door and squeezed his large body into the tiny car. “Could you have possibly found a more uncomfortable vehicle?”

“Well, there’s one smaller model I seriously considered. I ended up picking this one because it got better gas mileage.” Who knew taking Alex out could be so much fun? If Paul had to spend an evening with his worst nightmare, well, he’d make the most of his misery, scoring a few points for the home team whenever possible.