“I have a few requests myself.”
“Shoot.” I was prepared to give this man anything he wanted.
“I’ll allow your demigod twenty-four hours a week on a predetermined schedule. I’ll communicate to him my price once I see how he’s treated my body. And I’d like some time with you after he evacuates so I can catch up on what happened. It will help me with the transition.”
I nodded slowly. “It must be disorienting to find yourself in a strange place without remembering why you’re there.”
“Yes, and not all gods are as respectful of their human hosts as your boyfriend seems to be.”
I recalled our first kiss and your worry over my split lip, the way you always nagged me about the way I ate and cared for myself. Not having a body of your own made you very conscientious.
“He’s very considerate,” I said.
“And you are proof of it,” Xavier agreed.
As much as I wanted to be finished with this conversation, it struck me that Xavier might have some unique insights. “Why do you think he wants to be with me? I mean, I’m just an ordinary human, and he’s at least half-angel.”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not,” I said, but it nagged at me.
“This should give you comfort. For whatever reason, your angel chose you. He’s nurtured you from a very young age, tended to you lovingly over the years, and now that you’ve reached maturity, he wishes to reap the fruits of his labor. There may be billions of humans on this earth, but you’re the one he’s cultivated. There will never be another like you, for him.”
It was enough for me that you thought I was special. I only wanted to make you happy. “I worry sometimes he’s going to leave me.” I shot another look at Xavier.
“I’d assume if he ever does leave you, it’s for your own good.”
Yeah, that sounded just like something you’d do. I hoped Xavier and I could be friends, and this conversation seemed like a good start.
“Henri said it helps if his host has a physical attraction to me. So, do you think…” It was so weird asking him this. “Am I someone you could…”
Xavier, nice guy that he was, didn’t make me say it. “Yes, my dear boy. Please don’t worry yourself over that.”
19
Henri
The negotiation with Xavier completed, we chose our first encounter to be the opening night of your performance inThe Nutcracker. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d attended a ballet in human form, and before you, I’d never had a lover who was a dancer.
You blossomed onstage—fearless—and funneled all of your confidence and bravado into your dancing. I wondered if the other dancers worried about you upstaging them or if it was only my adoration causing me to follow your every movement with rapt attention. Didn’t the spotlight trail you like a jealous lover? Didn’t the crowd lean a little closer when you were performing?
Your bit during the Russian dance—the one you’d been practicing unendingly—was outstanding, and I wasn’t the only one who lifted out of my seat with applause. The only moment that caused me grief was during the battle scene, when your troupe of soldiers was fending off the rat army, and a rat thrust his sword at your gut. You doubled over, and my breath caught as a terrible premonition overcame me. But soon enough you were back on your feet, marching in victory, and the ill feeling passed.
I waited until after the final bows and applause, when most of the theater had cleared out, to find you backstage and present my bouquet of roses—red for my desire and devotion. Red for your blood.
You greeted me with a beatific smile. Your cheeks were still ruddy from the makeup, and your head dressing had been removed to reveal your sweaty curls. You took the bouquet of flowers in your arms and kissed my mouth exuberantly, then told me I had to come with you to the dressing room and meet the other dancers.
Inside, the cast was aflutter with the post-rush endorphins of a successful opening night. So many stirring scents were in the air. Perfumes. Sweat. Arousal. The dancers, both men and women, were only half-dressed, changing between costume and plain clothes. You introduced me as your lover to a multitude of people. “Boyfriend,” you called me. They eyed me with the kind of suspicion that made me wonder what they might already know or assume about us. And then, without any warning whatsoever, I was thrust into the company of your ballet instructor whose expression couldn’t be more displeased.
“You’re Henri,” the man said while attempting to bore into my soul and unleash all of my secrets.
“And you’re Sergei.”
He nodded with an arrogant tilt to his head. You glanced between us with a worried expression.
“Why don’t you grab your belongings, darling, and I’ll meet you outside?” I drew you to me and kissed the top of your head.My curls, my lover, my pretty danseur.
“Be nice,” you said to me as if I weren’t a proper gentleman. You pecked my cheek and disappeared into the horde of dancers.
