William shook his head slowly. “Adathan. You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to.”
“You sure? Because I’m happy to stay here for as long as you need. I mean it.”
Adathan smiled. “I’m sure.”
“All right.” William took his hand and kissed his knuckles. “Fetch your laptop, Your Majesty. I’ll grab our celebratory feast from the bathroom and join you in the royal kitchen.”
He kept his optimism under a tight leash as he made his way toward the bathroom. No decision to move out had been made yet—they’d just be looking at apartment listings to acclimate Adathan to the thought of it. That was all.
William put away the dirty clothes and joined Adathan with the wine and donuts. Two large bowls with colorful toppings were now on the kitchen table, where Adathan sat with his laptop and a smile.
“We’re just looking,” William said, serving them more wine.
“Just looking,” Adathan echoed with a nod.
William accessed the website, found the listing, and gave Adathan back control of his laptop.
Adathan’s face lit up as he browsed the pictures, filling William’s heart with dangerous hope. The apartment wasn’t huge, but it had plenty of natural light, an extra room, a decent bathtub, and a balcony on which Adathan could grow flowers.
“The windows are gigantic!” Adathan said.
William moved his chair closer and wrapped his arm around Adathan’s waist. “Right? Your plants would love it.”
“Actually,” Adathan said with the voice he reserved for when he educated William. “I specifically selected plants that thrive in low-lighting conditions.”
William kissed the tip of his ear. “You could get better plants then.”
“There’s no such thing as ‘better plants.’ All plants are beneficial to the ecosystem they belong to.”
William snorted. “Fine. Got it. Your plants are perfect, and so are you.”
Adathan giggled. He opened his mouth to speak, but the doorbell interrupted him.
William’s brow furrowed. “Did we order something?”
“I don’t believe we did.”
“Be right back.”
William slipped on his shoes and headed downstairs.
A man in a courier cap stood at the door, holding a letter and a small electronic pad. “William Mitchell?”
“Yeah. That’s me.”
The man offered the electronic pad. “Please sign here.”
Registered mail? What the fuck could it be?
William scribbled his name, his stomach tightening as he spotted the Freedom in Spades Poker logo on the envelope.
“Thanks,” he muttered, already tearing it open. Whatever it was, best get this over with. He pulled out the letter as he climbed the stairs, the paper crinkling between his tense fingers.
Mr. William Mitchell,
You are cordially invited to our 20th anniversary VIP poker tournament in—
