Paul clapped him on the shoulder affectionately. “That’s okay, Bernard. I can find my room by myself.” He jokingly added, “Unless you’ve moved it while I was away.”
Bernard shook his head and smiled weakly at the attempted humor. “No, we haven’t moved it. Although….” He struggled to remember what he’d been about to say. When the thought didn’t return, he settled for, “How wonderful to have you back where you belong.”
“Thank you,” Paul replied, turning down the east wing hallway to the room he’d stayed in, whenever visiting, since boyhood. Bernard watched him go, wondering why an extra shadow trailed behind him.
THEspirit of Byron Sinclair celebrated another little victory. Alfred meant well by his direct approach of putting the two men close together. However, experience and careful observation had taught Byron that standoffish Alex resented intrusions and intruders, effectively nipping any matchmaking plans in the bud.
No, dealing with temperaments like Paul’s and Alex’s required subtlety and finesse. Byron had years of practice at both.
4
“WILLthat be all, sir?” The driver deposited Alex’s belongings in the blue room, his admiring gaze clearly conveying hopes that the answer might be no.
Alfred employed Isaac as a groundskeeper, handyman, and, when the occasion warranted it, driver. While Alex knew some of his peers might think it low class to seduce the help, Isaac’s ebony skin and wanton willingness had tempted him before, and he’d succumbed. Who could blame him? Isaac obsessed about his body, and worked hard on his appearance. The efforts paid off spectacularly.
Alex actually preferred men with a slighter build, but for a casual fuck, his only prerequisites were “attractive” and “exciting.” The bulging muscles and shoulder-length dreadlocks also served to set Isaac apart from dime-a-dozen club boys. He was near Alex’s age, too, and mature enough to understand that one fuck did not a commitment make. Sadly, regardless of his exoticism and availability, Alex had had him—and simply wasn’t interested anymore. Besides, someone new lurked in the house to provide a worthy distraction if things worked in Alex’s favor, and they usually did.
After dismissing the disappointed servant, Alex left his room in search of his uncle. He’d been afraid to visit during the last few months of Byron’s illness, though he’d called frequently, hoping they’d understand his absences didn’t indicate a lack of caring. Caring was never the problem. He loved Alfred and Byron both wholeheartedly. The problem lay in Alex’s massive case of cowardice.
Too late now to turn back the clock and own up to his responsibilities in regards to Byron, but better late than never with Alfred. Alex was here now and would do his best to assist his uncle through this time of sorrow. Regardless of the numerous times Alfred had repeated the sentiment, Alex wasn’t entirely convinced of the old man’s sincerity when he said, “I’m fine.”
Midway down the marble staircase, Alex stopped in his tracks, spotting his aged uncle, eyes closed and smiling broadly, embracing the attractive stranger who’d caught his attention outside. A vague sense of familiarity swept over him, but where he’d seen the man before he couldn’t say. Boy-next-door handsome as opposed to drop-dead gorgeous, despite his small stature the newcomer possessed a casual elegance one didn’t soon forget—not to mention a killer ass.
With narrowed eyes, Alex watched the two kiss each other on the cheek, and when Alfred wrapped an arm around slim shoulders and led the way down the hall, it appeared more a fatherly gesture than the affection of a lover. Still, due to his uncle’s strict upbringing, even with Alfred’s longtime love, public displays of affection were kept to a minimum. And they’d shared a genuine love, which no one could deny. However, Byron had been ill for an awfully long time before he died, and having been over twenty years younger proved age differences weren’t a problem for Alfred.
Could Alfred have already found a replacement for the man who, at this exact moment, lay in a casket at the funeral parlor? Even without proof, the possibility disappointed Alex. The older couple presented a shining example of men in a monogamous, committed relationship. To discover he’d been mistaken about the depth of what they’d shared—well, it nearly toppled Alex’s idols from their pedestals.
For a moment he considered retreating to his room and waiting until the stranger left, but immediately discarded the idea. This was his uncle’s house, and no interloper was going to come in and take Byron’s place easily. About to follow the pair down the hall, he heard thesnickof a closing door, followed by retreating footsteps. Perhaps Uncle Alfred was alone now and he could get some answers.
His soft knock on the office door was answered by the familiar gruff baritone of his mother’s only sibling, bidding him to come in. The smile lighting the still handsome face of his uncle as he entered did Alex’s heart good. No matter what happened in life, Uncle Alfred remained a constant, someone to depend on. When Alfred struggled unsteadily to his feet, icy fear clutched Alex’s heart. Gone was the robust gentleman of memory who could take on the world single-handedly, replaced by a frail, silver-haired senior in the waning years of life.
“Uncle, are you not well?” Alex asked in genuine concern. Though he stood to inherit more money than any one man might need in a lifetime upon Alfred’s death, he had no wish for that to happen anytime soon.
The old man winced, rummaging in his desk with one hand while clutching his chest with the other. Alex instinctively jumped into action, hurrying to his uncle’s side and finding a prescription bottle hidden under a stack of papers. Alfred’s eyes squeezed shut in pain while Alex fumbled open the cap and shook the pills into his open palm.
“How many?” he demanded.
Alfred plucked a single pill and placed it under his tongue, slowly sinking back into his chair.
That the great Alfred Anderson could be ill was unimaginable, and Alex stood paralyzed, watching helplessly. He breathed a sigh of relief when the color seeped back into Alfred’s ashen face.
“Terribly sorry, Alex. Unfortunate side effect of getting so damned old, I’m afraid.” When Alfred met Alex’s eyes, the frailties of his body were noticeably absent from his intense gaze, his mind still as sharp as ever. “Thank you for coming. I’ve missed you,” he murmured quietly.
“It’s good to be here.” Returning the pill bottle to the desk drawer, Alex awkwardly added, “I’m sorry about Byron.”
“Thank you. Though I miss him terribly, at least now he’s free from pain.”
Not knowing what else to say, Alex leaned down and wrapped his uncle in an affectionate, if cautious, hug.
“I’m old, damn it, not fragile,” his uncle growled into his ear, as arms, softening with age, wrapped Alex in a welcoming embrace. After a moment Alfred sat back and studied Alex intently. “You’re looking good, as always.”
“And you’re looking….” Alex couldn’t find the proper words to use in this circumstance.
His uncle gave a soft bark of derisive laughter. “Admit it. I look like what I am—a relic with very little time left.”
“You’ll outlive us all and well you know it,” Alex replied, fervent in his denials. His uncle would live forever. He had to, if for no other reason than Alex wanted him to.
Alfred sighed and ran his wrinkled, aged-spotted fingers through his still full and wavy hair. The family’s trademark golden locks had faded to silver. “I’m glad you came. We need to talk. May I offer you a drink?”
