Page 9 of Brought By the Storm

He nodded. “Your inner beauty shines through.”

As I had expected. “Got it. I’m going back to bed. Do me a favor and turn the lights off before you head upstairs.”

Carrington held up a hand to stop me. “Wait. I’m not finished. What I wished to say is, you are a stunning gentleman, and the niceness you have makes you shine more.”

I crossed my arms, pulling away from the island. I didn’t have to worry about an erection, as I was now tired and becoming sad that whatever patronizing thing Carrington would say next would leave me depressed. “Okay, what’s so stunning?”

He smiled. “Well, your face is as cute as a cherub’s. You have those big brown eyes that are full of expression and emotion. You have that patrician nose that I envy, and that pout of a mouth makes adorable shapes when you’re irritated or anxious. And speaking of when you’re nervous, your eyes become wider and you swallow in such a vulnerable way. It’s quite endearing. Your cheeks also take on the prettiest color. You have rich dark-colored hair, and from what I’ve seen, you have smooth skin over toned muscle. I’d have to wax to get that look, and I’m just not interested. Do I need to say more?”

I gulped. I hoped he didn’t think I did so because he thought it was endearing. I was beginning to believe he was serious, and I felt a little heady. “Um, thank you. Those were very nice things to say, though I don’t know why you’d want to wax. You don’t have hair on your back, do you?”

Carrington laughed. “No. I have hair on my pecs, my arms and my legs. Not ape-like, but I don’t like body hair. Maybe that’s why I prefer women.”

“Huh?”

Carrington opened his mouth to speak, then snapped it shut. He had a guilty look on his face like the boy who got caught putting a frog on the teacher’s chair. “Uh, yes…about that.”

“You’re bisexual?”

He sat quiet for a moment, staring down at the bowl of popcorn before lifting his eyes back to mine. “I don’t wish to lie to you anymore. You’ve been very kind to us, and we’ve been dishonest with you from the start. It’s just that we didn’t know if we could trust you. I know now that we can.”

I was confused and becoming annoyed. They were all lying? About what? Carrington being bisexual instead of gay? Why would that matter? “I’m tired. Just tell me what’s going on. Are you putting me in some kind of danger?”

Carrington shook his head no, but his expression seemed to convey uncertainty. “I don’t think so.”

“That’s comforting,” I said, unable to avoid sounding sarcastic. “Are you a criminal?”

He huffed a laugh. “Not at all. Have you heard of Yastarus?”

“The country? Of course.”

He looked surprised. “I told you you’re intelligent. I’m quite amazed at how few Americans have heard of it.”

“Well, school system quality varies across the country. What does this have to do with anything?” I asked, becoming impatient.

He paused for a moment, then answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m the president of Yastarus.”

I waited for the punchline, but Carrington continued to sit in silence. “I’m sorry. What?”

“We were here—in Boston specifically—for a follow-up visit my mother had at a hospital that treated her for a rare illness. They provide the best care in the world for the disease.” I was about to express my concern when he held up a hand. “Not to worry. It was to check that she is, in fact, cured now that she’s finished treatment. We received very good news, indeed. We were booked on a flight out of Newark because it was a direct flight home—something we couldn’t find out of Logan Airport in Boston. That’s why we had a driver taking us through Connecticut when we encountered this storm you’re experiencing. We thought we could outpace it.”

“You’re the president of a country?” I asked, unable to hide my skepticism. If it was the truth, he must have thought my inability to keep up disproved that I was as smart as he thought.

“Is your cell phone nearby? Do you still have service despite the storm?”

I shrugged, but pulled the phone from the charger that was plugged into a kitchen outlet. “Yes, it seems to be working.”

“Look up the president of Yastarus,” he commanded.

I typed and the result popped up on the screen. “It’s showing Carrington Von Dorran is the president. You said your last name is Howard.”

“It’s an alias,” he explained. “Google images.”

I did as he instructed. There were pictures of two different men that were identified as Carrington Von Dorran—one of them was the man sitting before me. ‘President of Yastarus’ was printed under each photograph. As I kept scrolling, it became evident that one was a senior and one was a junior, with both having served as president. “Carrington Von Dorran the Second—that’s you?”

He smiled. “Yes. There won’t be a third. If I have a child, that wretched name stops with me. My father was president before I was. When he passed three years ago, his vice president—Antony Vishkov—became president. After a few months of serving, reports of rampant corruption and fiscal mismanagement contributed to his downfall. He had also been signaling to Russia that the country was eager for an alliance—perhaps even open to becoming a Russian territory as we once were at the time of the Soviet Union. It was a serious miscalculation of what the people of Yastarus wanted. They identify as Scandinavian, and the majority want NATO membership. Vishkov was forced to resign and my father’s political allies pushed hard for me to run for the vacant seat, certain my name would be enough to resume power, despite my political inexperience. They were correct. My father was one of the country’s most popular leaders, and support for me was high. So were expectations.”

“But you’re so young,” I murmured, still absorbing the news.