Page 33 of After Felix (Close Proximity #3)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

MAX

We stand on the platform at Venice’s train station as the Orient Express pulls away from us, taking the remaining passengers off to further adventures.

Felix stares after it, and I indulge myself by watching him.

The expressions crossing his vivid face are fascinating.

Today they combine awe, excitement, and that wry amusement that’s never far away.

What isn’t there is a shred of pity, which I’ve been looking for since we woke up this morning.

I’d been hideously embarrassed to find that I’d woken him with nightmares.

Too many years of therapy have seen most of them off, but being with Felix seems to have stirred up old fears.

The emotions weaving through the dream had been yearning and distress, and it makes sense he would inspire those feelings in me.

When I woke up this morning, my first thought was that the aftermath was a dream too.

I’ve had too many mornings reaching for a lover who wouldn’t ever be there again.

But then I’d moved and found him lying almost on top of me, his arms wound around me, and his head tucked under my chin.

His wavy hair had been in my face, and I could feel his breath on my neck.

It had felt so gut-wrenchingly good. Back in the day, I always resisted staying the night and thought I was smart. Now, I recognise what an idiot I was.

I lay as still as a mouse this morning, savouring every second.

In the old days, if he was naked and near me, I’d have rolled him over and fucked him, so sure was I of my welcome.

In those days, he’d have laughed and moaned and sighed.

Now, I just lay sedately and relished the scent of him and the feel of his skin against mine, the soft pouches of his balls snuggled on my leg.

Finally, he’d blinked sleepily awake and I’d watched as comprehension flooded his face. Then he smiled and asked when breakfast was served. I’d stumbled out an apology, and he’d cavalierly waved it off, insisting that I take him to breakfast.

Afterwards, he’d dragged me to a carriage where they had every board game imaginable, and as the countryside passed by us we ate lunch and drank expresso martinis, while he thrashed me at backgammon. Hardly surprising as I barely took my eyes off him for long enough to concentrate on the game.

Now, standing on the platform in Venice, I fill my senses with the picture he makes, the winter sun catching the mahogany strands in his hair and making them glitter like hidden gold.

I drink it in like a breath of air, but school my expression before his eyes can turn sharp, and he gets the look of a man preparing to bolt.

“Well?” he asks, his voice clear and melodious. “What’s next, Ringmaster Travers?”

He startles a laugh out of me. “I like that. Maybe I should have business cards and a top hat.”

“As long as it’s not a whip, I’m fine with that.”

“Not my thing.”

“Have you tried it?”

“No. I’m just not comfortable with being restrained in any way.”

He shoots me a suddenly tender look. He fully understands my statement and its reasons, but as usual with Felix, he doesn’t pry. He never did. I’d simply told him more and more every time we were together, like I’d drunk an enchantment potion in fairyland .

“How about you?” I ask and immediately feel sick. I don’t want to know, I think savagely. Don’t tell me about your other lovers.

He laughs. “I know others like it and all power to them, but it’s not for me either.

I had a bloke once who wanted me to pretend I was a schoolboy and spank my bottom.

I pointed out that if he’d spanked my bum when I was a schoolboy he’d have been up on a charge, which put a slight dampener on the evening.

He kept trying, but finally lost interest when I asked him to write his name on my pencil case and said I wanted to go for a smoke behind the bike sheds. ”

My relieved laughter catches and holds on the air. “Come on,” I say lightly. “Let’s grab a taxi.”

We come out of the station, and he stops dead. “Jesus, is that our taxi?”

I nod, steering him over to the water taxi waiting for us, its wood gleaming in the winter sunshine and the flags on it snapping on the breeze. “No cars are allowed in Venice, so we’ll take the boat to the hotel.” I take his hand, helping him onto the boat as the driver deals with our bags.

When Felix disengages and goes to stand by the side, I immediately miss the warmth of his hand. I’m slightly mollified when he glances over his shoulder and calls, “Come and look at this, Max.”

The water taxi sets off, and a stiff breeze whips the air.

Venice in the winter is beautiful but very cold, the sea winds blowing in off the Adriatic and seeming to get into every nook and cranny.

He nestles slightly closer, pulling his jacket around his thin body, and I throw my arm over his shoulder.

“For warmth,” I say. “One friend to another.”

He nods, his expression slightly wary, but I stay close and relish the feel of him.

Venice is one of my favourite cities, and has views that I will never tire of.

No grim industrial estates and boarded up shops here, like you see when entering so many other big cities.

Instead, we slip into Venice on water that sparkles coldly, our boat jostling for space with the other crafts skimming the water and kicking up spumes of white foam.

The buildings and elegant old palazzos crowd over us, nestling together in their sepia tones, as if remembering, in their faded grandeur, the times when Venice was a centre for music and art, and Casanova was still climbing in and out of ladies’ bedrooms.

Felix’s eyes are everywhere, his face keen and eager. I wish he understood that, although I’ve spent the money for this trip, he’s the one giving me the best gift. Sharing in his excitement, I get to experience one of my favourite cities anew.

I lean into him, pointing here and there at interesting buildings, blessing my ability to retain the most random of facts, because they have always interested Felix.

And, slowly, the wariness that had been evident on the platform recedes, and he leans into me, grabbing my arm as he points things out, showing no signs of caution. I almost resent it when we pull up to the hotel, but Felix’s expression is worth everything.

“Are we staying here?” he hisses.

“We are.” I smile. “I always stay here.”

“Do you get a second mortgage every time?”

I laugh. “I told you before, I don’t stint on life experiences,” I say. “There have been too many times when I was convinced I wasn’t coming home. I won’t waste my time trying to be cheap when I’ve got the money.”

And I like to spoil you, I think. I want to spoil you for the rest of your life, take you all over the globe and show you the hidden paths and byways of the world that I know so well .

With Felix at my side, my knowledge of the world wouldn’t die away in loneliness, but flourish by being shared.

I think of a little old cafe in Saudi Arabia that I remember where they serve the best luquaimats.

The little fried dumplings would satisfy his sweet tooth, and the taste of honey would linger on his tongue when I kiss?—

My thoughts come to a screeching stop.

Kissing him? I’d be safer kissing a tiger at the moment.

Felix would gut me if I tried anything, but that knowledge only makes me more determined.

I want him back, and this is my last chance.

If I don’t succeed this time, he will find someone else, and I will be alone for the rest of my life because no one can replace Felix.

I’m able to shake the thoughts away only when Giulia, the owner of the hotel, comes out, talking volubly in her warm voice. I smile as she throws her arms around me.

“Max,” she says when she lets me go. “So good to see you.”

“You sound surprised.”

She pinches my cheek. “I am a bit. The last time you were here, I thought you might drink yourself to death. Or fall in the canal and take a shortcut there.” She looks at my cast. “And I see you might have a head start on this trip too.”

Felix laughs, and she looks at him with her warm, bright eyes, the sun playing on her dark hair. “And who have you brought me, Max?”

I reach out and drag Felix against me, unable to stop the claiming gesture. “This is Felix,” I say proudly.

“ Felix ?” she says loudly. “This is Felix?” She looks startled, and well she should, because I have spent many hours talking her ear off about my lost love. I narrow my eyes pleadingly at her, and she recovers herself quickly. “What a lovely name,” she cries. “You don’t meet many Felixes.”

“I suppose not,” Felix says doubtfully.

She smiles at him, taking his arm and drawing him after her, leaving me to trail happily after them while the porter brings the luggage.

They talk and laugh as she signs us in, but as Felix wanders over to the bank of lifts that Giulia points out, she grabs my arm. “You look good, Max,” she whispers, her eyes warm. “Is that for him?”

“To some extent,” I say quietly. “I needed to get better, and I need him, so the two things are mutually inclusive to me.”

“I’m glad to see it, my friend. He’s lovely.”

She looks over at Felix, who is staring at an old oil painting.

He’s slim and lithe, his skin pale and his hair a mess of dark waves.

I remember strolling through the Louvre once, killing time before I had to meet a contact.

In a quiet corner of one of the museum’s less-travelled galleries, I’d found a painting of an Italian count who was lounging against a tree.

I was fascinated by his slumberous eyes with their winged eyebrows, and the silky hair that was as dark and shiny as a blackbird’s wing.

I’d lingered over that painting far longer than I should, caught by the image.

Looking at Felix now, I realise how much he looks like that long-ago young nobleman.