Diogo stands up, a little wobbly on his feet, and he glares at Simon who only glares back.
“You’re fucking crazy. You know that? I should inform Gabriel of what went on here,” he threatens and I decide to step in as that's the last thing we need.
“I’m sorry Diogo, it was a misunderstanding and he had a meltdown. There's no need to make it worse by telling my father. Anyway, I don’t think he’d care too much about two guards fighting. It happens.”
“You stay out of my fucking way,” Diogo says to Simon, pointing in his face before leaving the room.
“How was I supposed to know?” he says quietly, and it's cute.
“Maybe you ask first before attacking. I don’t want anyone apart from you. I think I’ve made that clear.”
“Will Gabriel be made aware that I’ve destroyed your room?”
“No. When you have this much money, you don’t notice what breaks. It can all be replaced. Don’t worry.”
The room stays locked in time as we just allow ourselves to stand with one another. This outburst means something and he’s shown his hand to me. Knowing Simon, he will now rebel from his true feelings.
“I have to ask though, Simon. Why were you jealous?”
“You were laughing.”
Strange response, but okay.
“Laughing?”
“I’ve never seen you like that before.”
“That’s because you always fight me. Besides, Pedro is a lifelong friend, it's how we’ve always been.”
He snorts at that, more jealousy.
“If you’d stop being so stubborn, we could have lighter times together, you know. It doesn't always have to be a fight.
“I know. But I can’t help it.”
Something twinges in my chest that I’ve never experienced before while looking at him. I don’t like to see him questioning himself like this and doubting himself. So I walk over and grab his face gently and press a soft kiss to those perfect lips. This is the most tender I have been with anyone. It’s odd but feels right. Maybe we both need to allow a little crack in our defenses and let some of that softness through.
Resting my forehead on his, his hands grab at the material of my shirt on my back, not wanting to let go.
“I’ve got to go down and meet my father at dinner. We can talk later if you like.”
“Okay. I’ll go find Lucas and Mark.”
We pull away from each other, and as he leaves, he looks over his shoulder at me.
“Good luck with your father, Carlos. Don’t let him win.”
“I got this, Si. Don’t worry.”
A very almost microscopic smile appears on his face, making my heart swell.
He leaves and I quickly have to get changed and focus on meeting my demon father and be ready for anything he throws at me.
I walk down to the dining area, walking along the same black marble floors as I did years ago. Nothing has changed here. The house staff are even the same, silent and watchful, like furniture that breathes. Listening to only the sound of my footsteps, I walk into the large dining room, which is more like the size of a ballroom. After being away for so long it somehow feels bigger, more empty.
“Carlos,” my father says from the head of the long table that could seat at least twelve people. His voice is low and controlled, like a blade being unsheathed, waiting to make that final attack, the killer cut.
“Father,” I say, making sure I control my outward body language. I offer no smile, no handshake and take a seat to his right as I have since childhood. The table is decadently set: wine as dark as dried blood fills the goblet crystal glasses, lamb carved to perfection on my plate, waiting for me to eat, silver cutlery glinting beneath the lights. He always staged his power. This is a stage that's been set for me, a test. I’ve seen it many times before when men who have challenged my father have sat at this very table.