“I haven’t been sleeping well, Mumzy.”
“Riggs,” Roman barks and I feel his body coil for a fight as Riggs throws him a feral grin before turning back to his mum.
“Your son has been keeping us awake with all his naked dancing.” Riggs bounces his eyebrows and winks as Fiona chuckles and taps him on the cheek.
“Riggs, shut up,” I say through gritted teeth, giving him my best warning glare, but he pretends not to hear me, snagging a champagne glass as a waiter passes.
I have murdered men, done some disgustingly taboo and plain gross things on shrivelled dicks, yet nothing has ever unnerved me like this conversation. I try to subtly wipe my sweaty palms on my dress as Fiona looks between me and Roman with the happiest expression on her face, before something flickers across her eyes.
“Does she know?” Fiona frowns slightly, then redirects the question at me when Roman doesn’t answer. “Do you know?”
“Do I know what Mrs Longstaff?”
“One, it’s either Fiona or Mumzy. Never that, it makes me feel old. And two… about, you know, his touch…”
“Oh, yes, I know he doesn’t like touch.”
“But do you know why?” she pushes, her eyes laser-focused on both of us and I feel Roman tense behind me, shifting slightly so he’s more at the forefront, protecting me from an unseen threat.
“Mum, it’s irrele?—”
“No,” she snaps, “it’s not.” She takes a breath as I watch, confused and slightly thrown by the interaction, before turning back to me. “He has autism.”
“Oh.” I say because it’s not really a revelation. Looking up at him, I see his cheeks flush as an expression I’ve not seen before flickers across his eyes. Is he… embarrassed? “I know.”
“What?” He snaps his head down, the frown between his brows deepening. “How? Let me guess, Felix?”
“Erm, it was kind of obvious, Ro,” I respond, ignoring the Felix comment, because wehavespoken about it, but I can already tell he wouldn’t like that.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?” he snaps, before looking to the ceiling as Riggs jumps in.
“Because it’s true. We spend all day, every day with you, Roman. It makes no difference to us, also we are literally taught to read people. Jesus, I think we all make Leo Kanner look inept with the amount of shit we are taught about autism.”
“Language,” Fiona admonishes Riggs, like she didn’t just ask if I was fucking her son.
“Sorry, Mumzy,” Riggs’ cheeks go red, and I raise an eyebrow at that. Before Roman or I can respond, a shadow falls over us.
“Fiona.”
The voice is deep and smooth with an edge of control I already know.
Mr. Longstaff.
He steps beside his wife, tall and composed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, the kind of man who has never raised his voice because he’s never needed to. His hand slides to Fiona’s waist as he kisses her cheek with unmistakable affection. You can tell from his eyes it isn’t performative or stiff like the other founders.
This is real.
Raw.
“My love,” he murmurs softly.
The look he gives her is pure devotion and it disarms me more than anything else in this ridiculous ballroom. Mr. Longstaff straightens, turning to me.
“Hello again, Fae. You look beautiful.” His handshake is firm but not crushing as he nods once at Riggs. “Evening, Riggs,” he adds, still shaking my hand.
We both respond before Mr. Longstaff’s gaze shifts to Roman.
“Son, a word.”
