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Boots in a Flowerbed

 

 

 

 

3. What Do You Want?

It's ridiculous, the way he starts when his co-worker's head pops up from behind the fence, the way he almost glances guiltily towards the man who sits on a bench under lime trees that sigh in the slight breeze, smoking a slim cigarette. As if he had done something wrong. But what can he do about the man, except not pay attention?

He forces a smile on his face and looks questioningly at the young man, his senior by a few years and loads of experience. But the way in which sun-bleached eyebrows jump when the blonde young man looks at the tall man, it makes the dark youth's heart take another hollow lurch. He doesn't like the way the blonde's eyes grow wide, the way his lips purse, as if he were going to whistle but thinks better of it at the last moment. The dark boy raises his chin in challenge.

"You done here? C'mon, I need help with the hedges."

The dark boy nods, gathers all his things into a little pushcart and goes around a cluster of honeysuckle bushes from which a nearly intoxicating cloud of scent pours over him. The blonde is waiting for him, his tanned face eager, hardly able to wait until they're close enough to speak without raising their voices.

"You got some company there!"

He looks at the blonde blankly, or at least he's hoping that his face is blank enough not to reveal anything.

"What, you mean you don't know him?" The blonde laughs a little, condescendingly, shakes his head. "Ah, I keep forgetting... how would you?"

He purses his mouth, not liking how that sounds. As if he were somehow deficient. "Should I?"

"Well, I think you should," the blonde says. Clearly he's enjoying this moment, being able to impart yet another piece of local trivia to his funny foreigner co-worker. "Especially as you look like you do, and knowing that he definitely has an eye for good-looking guys."

He blushes, he can feel it. "I don't know why I should think about such things," he insists, adamant to prove to the whole world that he has no part in this. And actually, he hasn't, but why does he feel so affected anyway? "This is a public park. Anybody can walk in. I just work here."

"You're so naive." The blonde sighs again. "Hey, I'm just telling you to take care of yourself. When that guy wants something, he's not used to getting 'no' for an answer."

"What are you talking about?" Now he's scared and desperately doesn't want to show it. "Want what? And who is he then?"

The blonde folds his arms and leans back against a tree. "DelChaim, that's his name. I suppose even you've heard of the Theleathi, right? Well, DelChaim is the only surviving member of the main branch of the family, and surely you know what that means?"

His face goes numb with shock. All right, he may not be a native of Dorelion, but of course he knows the name. The once-royal family that now, after dethroning and several generations of clever marriages, means the biggest of Big Money in the country, stupendous wealth combined with the magical glimmer of high nobility, past glory, centuries of history.

Those smooth leather boots flash again before his eyes.

"He's rich enough to buy half of the country at a whim." The blonde snorts, amused. "Though why he would want to do it, when he probably owns most of it already... But I'm telling you to keep your eyes open if he's around. The whole city knows he likes guys."

"Of course I will," he says, feeling frightened and fascinated and mortified, all at the same time. The other feelings he can understand, mortification not. As if, by not running away from the man, he'd done something wrong. Such a silly idea.

He turns to his pushcart. "I'll go empty this, then I'll help you with the hedge."

He wants to get away from the knowing eyes of his co-worker. He's afraid the man might have moved from the bench, but he doesn't catch a single glimpse of an ash-gray suit on his way to the trash boxes and back.

Of course he's not disappointed.

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