“Of course it is. Your mother is hosting a dinner party next week. I’d like for you to be there.”
Bash rubbed his forehead. “Next week, Papa? I can’t go back to Amsterdam next week. I have class and practice.”
“You can skip a few of those. It’s an investment dinner. We’re a family business. The family must be there.”
Koning Kapitaalgroep was a family business in name only. Bash’s father’s company had him on the brink of being a billionaire. More people worked for Koning than lived in the European country of Monaco. Bash’s presence wouldn’t be missed at the dinner.
“I’m sorry, Papa, but I can’t be there,” Bash insisted. “Lotte will be there. She knows the business.”
He sensed his father’s disapproval as if the Atlantic Ocean didn’t separate them. “You’re my son,” Gerard continued. “You should be there.”
This wasn’t the first time they’d had a version of this conversation, and Bash had grown frustrated by it. “I will think about it, Papa,” he said, like he always did. He never thought about it, and he never went home.
“Goed,” Gerard said. “Goed.”
Bash gripped his phone. He thought about asking his father how his day was. He hoped his father would askhim. But Gerard didn’t. He cleared his throat. “Well, I should be going. I have another call.”
“It’s midnight there, Papa.”
Gerard chuckled. “Yes, and there is work to be done. I hope I’ll see you next week.”
“Goedenacht, papa.”
Later, Bash would wish he had gone home for that dinner, and for every other dinner, no matter how inconvenient.
Chapter 6
Adonis
Most colleges don’t have varsity figure skating teams. Students who skate thus join club teams that compete in intercollegiate conferences; athletes also have the freedom to compete in national and international, non-scholastic competitions. One of those competitions is the International Skating Union Challengers Series, the first of which is the Cranberry Cup, an event conveniently held in Boston that year. Adonis wondered if the convenience of his being so close to Boston wasn’t the reason HPD had picked him to compete for the US in the challenger event.
He had competed in challenger events before, but not at this level. The Cranberry Cup was important. HPD would be watching the results, and if Adonis did well, that would influence his chances at joining Team USA for the 2026 Olympics.
The 2025 Cranberry Cup was held at the Skating Club of Boston in Norwood, Massachusetts. The Skating Club looked like a drab airplane hangar from the outside, nothing like the cathedral-like gothic beauty of the Rink at Bellford.
There were several events held over a long weekend. Adonis competed in Men’s Singles: short program and free skate. The winner in each category (Men’s Singles, Ice Dance, Pairs, etc.) was determined by their scores across all events.
Adonis scored 93.10 in his short program. This earned him first place for that event. He was pleased, and Anamária was not surprised. He scored 168.20 in his free skate, which only earned him fourth place in that event. He lost points for faulty steps in his triple axel and what one of the judges described as an “over-reliance on technical skating.”
He cursed when he was in the locker room afterwards, even though there was a bronze medal in his pocket. He had placed third overall, and that wasn’t good enough for Anamária. Therefore, it wasn’t good enough for him.
She wanted to talk when they left on the last day of the competition, but he brushed her off. They could talk later, he said.
“Adonis, wait,” she said. It was dark out. She had driven him to the Skating Club. How would he get home? He needed her to drive him, she insisted. He told her he had plans with a friend and he needed to clear his head.
“You need to review your free skate,” Anamária said. Her sunglasses were on her head, holding back her dark hair.
“Not tonight, Mom,” Adonis said, exhausted. “Iknowit wasn’t good enough. I need a break, okay?”
Anamária looked like she was going to say something else, but Adonis was already summoning an Uber on his phone.
——
Guy Tierney’s apartment in the South End wasn’t big, but it was comfortable. Guy had a good eye for interior design and knew how to stretch his salary as a consultant. He had decorated the walls with queer art; the bookshelves and tables held vintage coffee-table books and novels, and green plants spilled over the windowsills.
The apartment had become a second home for Adonis during his college years. When he needed an escape from college life, he drove into the city to crash on Guy’s couch. Or, more often, in his bed.
They were friends and occasional lovers, but had no loyalty to each other. Adonis rotated through a wide roster of sexual partners, often juggling more than one at once, and Guy was similar.
