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“No doubt,” I quipped quickly. I had no clue what I was even saying.
I heard a chuckle. Matthias was enjoying making me uncomfortable.
Was he one of those voyeuristic homophobes who liked teasing out the interest of someone, only to beat the shit out of them later on?
Best to keep my distance.
“Blue, black, or charcoal?” Matthias asked.
“What?” I finally turned around to face him.
“Suit color? Do you have a preference?”
I stared at him a long while. I kept my eyes on his face since he hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt. Not that I could blame him. I was shirtless, too.
But I wasn’t standing in my own closet. I couldn’t just grab a shirt and throw it over my head.
“What color suit will you wear?” I asked.
He pulled out a royal blue suit from the back of the row of suits. “I’ll pair it with a crisp white French shirt, a matching bow tie, silver cufflinks, and my alligator shoes.”
“Seems really formal. Are those my only choices?”
Matthias shrugged.
I scanned his closet. My eyes were drawn to a crimson velvet jacket. I retrieved it, along with a silk black button up shirt, tailored black pants, and a satin belt.
“Daring,” he said in a tone that suggested he didn’t think I knew anything about fashion.
“I may not own a wardrobe full of couture attire, but I grew up in Vegas, not some backwater town, Matthias.”
“I stand corrected. Have at it.” He checked the time. “We need to be in the grand ballroom in an hour. I’ll let you have first shot at the shower.”
“Magnanimous of you, Prince Matthias. I promise not to use all the hot water.”
“Ah, but I didn’t think you made promises.” I narrowed my eyes at him but he just laughed at me. “Hurry or we’ll be late. My father’s manservant is much more cruel than mine.”
My mouth twitched but I left before I’d give him the satisfaction of letting him see me smile.
16
MATTHIAS
I’m not sure how Ciaran managed it, but he seemed really comfortable around famous people. I watched him mingle with his mom around the grand ballroom. Theresa was clearly a natural. The statuesque blond easily commanded and earned the respect of everyone she interacted with.
Even Ciaran seemed capable of maintaining a conversation with others without the slightest issue, though I think the only celebrity he and Theresa freaked out over was the iconic host of Turner Classic Movies’ Noir Alley.
I’d grown up in this environment, with famous directors mussing my hair when I was child all the way until now, when up-and-coming starlets and Oscar winners equally asked me about school and my swim times.
How could Ciaran already act like he belonged here?
“Any closer to your Olympic dreams, son?” the CEO of a large grocery chain asked me after dinner.
“Still a few seconds off, but I am making strides.” This was, unfortunately, a complete lie. My times were getting worse the longer my shoulder ached. I sipped from my champagne flute, my eyes following Ciaran around the room. “Coach thinks I have what it takes this year.”
“Excellent news,” the older woman said.
While every other male in the room was in shades of black or gray or blue, Ciaran was easy to spot in his crimson jacket. He looked good.
