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Good Lord, another strikeout. I was disappointed before, but this is downright heartbreaking. It's clear that nothing I’ve shown Wesley is helping with his memory loss.
“What do you mean?”
"In the basement, we sometimes kicked a cardboard box around and pretended we were on a team. One of my friends learned to do that in the village where he spent his summers. He had missionary parents."
"Were you talented at soccer?"
"If by soccer you meankick the box, then no." Wesley lets out a snort. "I was the worst on the team. Whenever I aimed for the goal, I smacked the box against the wall. You could open up a dictionary and find my picture under the entry forworst player ever."
Things are definitely not looking up for the Bettencourt boy hypothesis. I make a mental note to review the photos of young Wesley Bettencourt when I get back tonight. As well as the DNA test. Nothing is adding up, because clearly, Wesley doesn't recall a single thing about his supposed past life.
"Let me take you somewhere else." After pulling him flush with my body, I guide him over the hill and toward a cluster of trees. They border a crystal pond brimming with geese and swans. The setting sun paints a purple glow over the shimmery water. It looks like something out of a Rembrandt painting that a talented photo manipulator overlaid with a luminous hue. "This is a place where many local teenagers have picnics."
"Picnics." Wesley's voice is a little sassy. "I'msuuurethat's what they do."
I glare at Wesley. "Arlo and Rusty's friends have been a bad influence on you. You’ve come back sassy."
Wesley looks sheepish. "They all have attitude problems." He gulps adorably. "It's cute. But I could see how it could be a bit much after a while."
"Especially Macon," Wesley adds. He wraps his arms tight around me. "Macon is an online porn star with his Daddy Aleksei. He's the brattiest of the bunch and he always reads the other boys to filth."
Macon. The name sounds so familiar.
"What does Macon look like?" I've viewed my fair share of gay porn. I wonder if I've seen this boy perform.
"He's blond, lanky limbed, and he has a devilish smile." Wesley snickers. "He performs with stuffed animals and jerks off into them while his Daddy takes him from behind. He's one of the most highly paid twink performers."
Oh. Yeah. I definitely know this boy.
I can't help but chuckle. "When my family started working with your new friends’ Daddies, we performed background checks on each member of the clan. We stumbled across Macon's videos. We've all watched them."
"Really?" Wesley nudges my waist. "Maybe you could show me. I've never witnessed anyone masturbate with stuffies before."
"We arenotdiscussing this."
This comes out way harsher than I intended, but I can't help it. This boy doesn't need to give me any more reasons to sport a hard-on around him. I'm fighting an uphill battle resisting the urge to kiss his pretty lips as it is. Talking about watching porn together is a nonstarter.
We werethis closeto making out the other day at breakfast. By the grace of God I pulled myself away in the nick of time. Fuck knows what would've happened if I'd stuck around.
"Don't be such a prude." Wesley pokes my forearm. "If you don't remember, I've fucked hundreds of men over the past few years. Or however long I've been in that stupid warehouse." He sniffles and stares at his feet. "I know all about sex. Probably more than I'd like to at my age."
A breeze blows his hair back, and I let out a sigh as I find a gorgeous bench under a tall oak tree. It's the bench I saw in the newspaper clipping last night. The one with a picture of six-year-old Wesley eating a cupcake.
He was wearing a yellow T-shirt with a smiley face on it and he donned khaki shorts. His cheeks were flushed and a big smile drifted across his face. The caption said he came to this bench every Saturday with his grandmother to watch the swans. They fed them breadcrumbs and walked around the park. This is the last option I have to help him remember his past.
I sit on the bench. "This is a pretty bench, isn't it?"
Wesley squints at it. His breath hitches, and for a moment, I think he remembers something. But he shakes his head and slumps onto my shoulder.
"I thought I saw a quarter on the ground." He grits his teeth. "But it was just a reflection of the light. No such luck."
I give up. My attempts couldn't get any worse.
"Thank you for all you've done." Wesley turns his eyes up to me, and for a split second, I'm paralyzed by his beauty. The setting sun has just enough power left to light them up inside, and they look like iridescent pools of sapphire. I gaze into his pupils, so wide and trusting, yet deep and profound, and realize it was a mistake to bring him here. I glance down at his red lips and fight the urge to kiss him.
Gianluca will kill you if you act on your attraction.
I squeeze his hand. "It's the least I could do. You’re under my protection, boy. I'm taking you places where the Diavolos won't search for you."
