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“Is that even still a question?” Lee asked, and God, he wanted to touch Alex. Kiss him, unbutton that shirt and ease it off his shoulders, down his arms—but even more so, he wanted to find out what waswrong. “I’m in 412.”
“Oh.” The corners of Alex’s mouth pulled down. “I’m on the third floor.”
Mildly inconvenient, but nothing they couldn’t navigate. “Just bring yourself, then.” Lee shrugged. “Nothing odd about you wandering the hallways fully dressed. There are pillows for two, and we can share the cover.”
A tiny, relieved smile flickered over Alex’s face. “Fifteen minutes?”
“Great.” It felt inadequate, but everything else that Lee could think to add seemed like either too much or too little. So he settled for shoving both hands into the pockets of his jeans as he repeated it. “Great.”
“Yeah.” Briefly, silence descended before Alex added, “Thank you.”
“For…?”
“Caring enough to notice that something’s wrong.” The words were close to a whisper, contrasting with the sudden laughter rising from a group that contained Lewis. “Joshua asked whether I have people in my corner and told me to keep them close.” Alex’s eyes met Lee’s with a strange intensity. “I intend to.”
It didn’tfeelcasual. It felt big and bright, like something that could crush Lee if he didn’t proceed with caution.
He didn’t care.
The knock was soquiet that Lee might have missed it if he hadn’t been waiting. He let Alex into the room, closed the door, and turned to face him—only to be dragged into a deep kiss that was fed by an edge of desperation, Lee’s back hitting the wall, Alex’s fingers digging into his shoulders. He fell into it for the length of a breath and wound his hands into Alex’s hair, Alex’s body solid along his front.
Then he shoved Alex back, if gently. “Talk to me.”
Alex stared at Lee’s mouth for a moment before he slowly raised his gaze, eyes wide. He stayed silent.
Family stuff. What the hell did that mean?
Lee glanced at the oriental-style bed with its gold frame and plush pillows—too intimate—and the velvet armchairs—too far apart. The sofa it was, then. More like a diwan, really, set against a wall with an array of cushions serving as its backrest. Lee nudged Alex towards it with a, “Sit.”
Alex sat.
Lee perched on the other side of the diwan, taking in the low light slanting over Alex’s face. He looked younger than he had in years. “Talk to me,” Lee repeated, much more quietly. “You said something about family stuff?”
Alex seemed to come alive with a rough intake of air, his smile a caricature as he met Lee’s eyes. “Yeah, so, turns out my father dabbles in political puppetry.”
Alex’s father … what? What did that mean—bribery? Blackmail? Based on Alex’s dark expression, it had to be pretty fucking bad, yet Lee couldn’t help the burst of relief that buoyed him because who bloody cared what Alex’s pompous arse of a father did?Alex was okay.
Lee shifted closer, tucking one foot under his thighs. “What, exactly, does that mean?”
“It’s…” Alex’s shoulders sagged, his painfully fake smile fading. “Apparently, he’s been taking money from Qatar. Or maybe not money, maybe just favours, tit for tat—I don’t even know.” Alex shook his head and looked away with a dejected shrug. “Some other people did too, I guess. I just—I don’t know.”
Okay, that was … something. Quite something, in fact. Lee squashed the instant, impulsive anger at Alex’s father helping himself to an extra serving of cash just because he could, which, what the fuck?
“The prince told you that?”
Another shrug. “Someone tipped off their team.”
Lee exhaled, staring at Alex as he worked through the implications. From what he’d gathered, Alex’s parents were loaded, but some people wanted their bread buttered on both sides, and an old, sprawling manor didn’t manage its own upkeep, now did it?
“Hang on, though.” Lee raised a hand and dropped it again. “Isn’t your dad all about traditional values and the good ol’ days when the Great British Empire ruled the world?”
“Doesn’t get much more traditional than Qatar, does it?Theywouldn’t stand for a gay prince over there, that’s for sure.” Alex snorted, his eyes empty. “Conservative values for the win, right? Oh, and also, reducing societal hierarchies? Not so popular in Qatar, I bet. And my dad’s not exactly a fan of discussions around reforming the House of Lords either, or abolishing it completely—I’m sure that’s another thing where he might see eye to eye with Emir Whatshisname. Let commoners rule the country? Heaven forbid.”
Lee frowned. It was still sinking in, exhaustion mixing with disbelief because it just seemed… It seemed … well. Foreign countries trying to influence other political systems was an everyday occurrence, sure, but in the days of social media, deep fakes, and state-sponsored hacker groups, it seemed almost quaint to buy individual favours.
Then again, wasn’t that how Qatar—a country with a poor human rights record, no football tradition, and sweltering summer temperatures—had become the first Middle-Eastern host of a World Cup? By buying individual votes? Allegedly.
Lee reached out to give Alex’s elbow a light squeeze. “You’re sure it’s true, then?”
