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I enter the kitchen, and I give her a kiss to calm her fidgeting. “Let’s go to work. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“No, I’ll come over,” she insists. Her big doe eyes enchant me. I’ll get into trouble for this woman. I’ve never engaged in trouble for any woman I’ve fucked. Things are moving fast, and I like it that way.
“There’s no way I’m letting you drive around in your death trap—”
“Don’t insult my car. I like it the way it is. Tiny and comfortable,” she claims, awfully jolly.
“Do you want me to make an inappropriate joke?”
She blushes for me. “I’ll drive over at six. Be ready for me. Clean your room! I’m coming over. It’s like we’re in high school all over again, sneaking around.”
“Little doe, my house is always clean. In fact, the palace is always clean. You can come over at any time and confirm my statement.” She chuckles, putting her empty coffee cup in the sink. “Dinner with the big family at the palace or my home?”
“Your home.”
“Done.”
* * *
The one-minute countdown is on.
From five different positions alongside the three-point line, Alex attempts to score as many three-pointers as possible. It’s like the all-star weekend but the Katantia version.
Alex and I play ball in one of the palace’s refurbished areas. Five years ago, this was just another hall of orgies for the king. The new queen has transformed it into my son’s private gym, basketball court included.
I watch from the sideline, in awe of my son. He’s a big guy. One of the criticisms he faced throughout his young career was his inability to shoot threes or do his free throws. He’s my son. There was no way he would leave this wound unattended. Every time he flies over here, I observe how much his shot has improved.
At the end of the one minute, my son has missed six shots out of twenty-five. If this were a contest, he’d have won it.
“That was great, son,” I tell him. He’s at the benches now, rehydrating. We didn’t work out as hard as we usually do. There’s barely any sweat on him, and he looks like he could do another one-on-one. “You should ask them to consider you for the next contest. It’d look good on your resume.”
He smirks at my remark. I approach him. Looking at my son, I hate myself for how I reacted after he won his fourth ring. I feel ashamed that people found me in my men’s gym, destroying everything we’d built for them.
“They send out invites. I can’taskthem about this,” Alex explains, gesturing at the court. He takes a seat on the bench, and I join him.
“You’re a four-time champion. You deserve—”
“I know what I deserve,” Alex retorts, harsher than I would’ve expected. “We have to talk.”
I don’t bother correcting him. He’s a grown man now. If he thinks he can talk down on me, sure. He should try it. “Talk then.”
“Kamila told me what happened.” He sighs, his tone softening. “You’ve been acting weird lately. Everyone says that you’re always at work. That’s your standard. I get it. What happened, though, that made you demolish the new gym you built for the palace guards? You spent months hyping it up. Kamila poured a lot of investments in that gym.”
“My psychiatrist says I had an episode,” I reveal.
“An episode?” he yelps. Fuck. I don’t want him to worry about me. He has enough trouble on his mind. “Dad? What do you mean by that?”
“It’s nothing. I’m handling it,” I tell him.
“Bullshit. Tell me what Ivy said!” I tense at the mention of my doe’s name. What would Alex say if I told him that I have a girlfriend now?I learned from the best.
“I’m a workaholic, okay? I might be burned out. I’ve started taking it slower.”
“Is that why you miss work now? Where do you go when you’re away? The guards know, but they don’t tell on you. They’re loyal. Did you miss my game on purpose? Have I done something?” Alex blurts out. He’s more affected by his monologue than by the one-minute three-point shootout, breathless and heaving.
“Son, relax.” He doesn’t. “I didn’t miss your game. I watched it.”
“You watch games with the family. It’s me, isn’t it?” He stands up, pacing in front of me. He mutters curses under his breath. “Dad, are you happy here?”
