Page 22 of The Masked King

I spot Gio crossing the room, and I head for the elevator before he reaches us. “Can’t stay,” I say to Megan, whose smile hovers halfway between trying to stop me and lighting up for her husband.

“Dinner,” she reminds me as the elevator door slides open and I step inside. “I won’t stop asking until you tell me when you’re free.”

“Next week sometime.”

“Not specific enough, Enzo.” But the door is already swallowing her voice as she follows it up with, “Friday…”

I think we both know that I won’t be there. Megan deserves an explanation or at the very least a credible excuse for my ongoing absence from their lives. There was a time when I was Uncle Enzo to her two little ones, the silly child in a man’s body who would lie on the floor and let them climb all over me while Bella, their chocolate brown spaniel licked my face. Now, I’m the stranger who can’t even get Fiero to make eye contact.

I need to do better. I want to be in their lives; I felt the tug just now when Valentina showed me her soft toy. But part of me has been missing since Demi walked out of my life, and I need to be whole again before I can start participating in life.

Bizarrely, Nyx has made me realize this by igniting a tiny spark inside me.

I spend the rest of the day holed up in a bar where the bartender leaves me alone and something in the set of my shoulders staves off unwanted attention. I tune out the laughter and conversations. When I hear a raised voice that sets my back teeth on edge, I warn myself not to get involved.

The hours tick by. I ignore Gio’s phone calls and messages.

When Megan’s message appears on the screen, I read the first couple of lines and turn my phone over.

Are you alright, Enzo? I’m worried about you. We both…

I don’t open it. If she thinks I haven’t read it, she won’t get hurt when I don’t reply.

When the bar closes, I pace the sidewalk.

I don’t know JADED’s opening times, keeping the obvious information secret substantially adds to the mystery of the place, and I’m torn between getting there early before another client can choose Nyx… and keeping her waiting.

Maybe I should give tonight a hard pass, go home, spend some time with Bianca, and eat a decent meal. My sister probably made pasta. She maybe even opened a bottle of wine while she waited for me to come home.

The mental image of her sitting at the breakfast bar with a glass of red in front of her while she waits for the elevator door to glide open increases the ache in my chest and makes my decision for me.

I want that. I want to go home to a kitchen that smells of spicy tomatoes and melting cheese and someone who knows exactly what to say to make me smile.

But what I want and what I’m going to get are poles apart these days.

The same woman takes my credit card payment in the small foyer when I arrive, the flashlight casting eerie shadows across her face like this is a Halloween party and she’s about to tell me a ghost story.

“Is Nyx available?” I ask as she clamps the bracelet around my wrist.

“Did you not learn the first time? No questions.”

She knows, she just doesn’t want to deal with my reaction to her response.

“Can I request Nyx in advance?”

She rolls her eyes and hands me a leather mask, but she doesn’t increase my entrance fee. I want to ask her why, but I know when to back down.

Shoes off, phone and wallet confiscated, and mask fastened tightly at the back of my skull, I walk along the corridor, and my heart skips when I can see the green light above Nyx’s door.

Deep breath. As my hand closes around the doorknob, I experience a moment of panic that Nyx might be someone else tonight, someone who doesn’t understand the game we were playing.

Then I step inside, and her voice in the darkness says, “Hello, Brian.”

6

DEMI

He came.