Page 8 of The Lonely Hearts Guide (Bountiful Beaus #2)

Professor Plum was unhinged. It was the only word Alexander could use to describe his little buddy’s behavior. The moment they boarded the cruise ship, Professor Plum began clawing at Alexander’s shirt pocket, trying desperately to get out. Alexander held the little mouse in his hand, trying to soothe him. Even as he held the mouse, his head looked left to right, like he caught the scent of something delicious and wanted to find the source.

The boat was quite impressive for such a small event. It was a three-tier ship with guest cabins on the bottom tier, group activities, a pool, and dining areas on the mid-section, and all auctions were to be held on the top floor. A man in a tuxedo greeted them at the check-in counter, offering Alexander a key to his VIP suite as six other automatons in tuxedos waited patiently, their backs against the wall.

At least he would have a bit of peace and quiet to look forward to. Alexander paid extra for the suite, as Ms. Broussard’s booking coordinator had advised him that’s where he would have the most privacy. Alexander couldn’t stand the thought of listening to rowdy, drunken men fornicate with their new beaus. All he wanted was a week away from the hustle and bustle, and, hopefully, the chance to see an old friend.

The clerk at the counter—a man named Clarence, if his name tag was to be believed—tapped a small bell on the desk, and one of the several waiting beaus rushed toward them. The beau had short blond hair, conservative in cut and parted at the side. He took both of Alexander’s bags, then motioned toward the elevator bank.

“This way, sir.”

Alexander gave the bountiful beau a warm smile before tagging along, Professor Plum still peeking his head out of Alexander’s fist, looking every which way.

After being shown around the ship, the automaton walked Alexander and Professor Plum to their cabin, and once Alexander shut the door, Professor Plum raced around the room, sniffing all he could. Alexander watched his every step as he placed his clothing in the small closet provided for him, doing his best to avoid crushing the mouse under his foot. He’d done it four times already, and each time, Ms. Broussard scolded him for interrupting her alleged busy schedule to perform maintenance on a mouse. Alexander should have just let Professor Plum pass in peace after their first year together, but he couldn’t. The mouse was his closest friend and his only tether to the man with the plum jam cookies he met all that time ago.

Alexander still clung to the memories of Elliot and the morning they shared on Sugarplum Island. He wasn’t sure what it was about Elliot that kept him locked in Alexander’s heart like a priceless heirloom. Maybe it was the overwhelming cloud of sadness that formed around the bountiful beau, possibly. Or maybe it was that spark. The strange fluttering in his heart that sang out mine-mine-mine as they conversed on the dock. Whatever the reason, Alexander couldn’t forget about dear Elliot, and he didn’t want to forget about him, either. He knew, should their paths cross, Elliot would want to see the fieldmouse. So, when Professor Plum’s health began to decline, Alexander made a call to Emily Broussard.

“Yes,” she told him. “I can save him. For a price, of course.”

She placed the mouse’s brain inside a mechanical body, then she stitched him shut. The procedure cost Alexander well over six figures, but Professor Plum was priceless, so he paid for it with a smile. He just hoped Elliot might get the chance to see their friendly fieldmouse again.

For the trip, Alexander brought six suits, six sets of day clothes, six pairs of briefs and socks, shoes, and six Speedos in case he wanted to swim. He also brought six Valium, because he wasn’t terribly thrilled about having to converse with so many people.

His mother had been the driving force in his signing up for the cruise. Well, his mother, and the image of Elliot on the brochure. It had been so long since he’d seen the man, and he hoped beyond hope he was one of the beaus being sold on the trip. The brochure said there were over forty automatons needing loving homes; all previously owned by men who determined the bountiful beaus weren’t a good fit, whatever that meant. He wanted to ask about Elliot specifically, but Emily Broussard was impossible to reach via phone, and each time he emailed her, her response seemed to be AI generated.

Alexander had had quite enough of Emily Broussard and her silly games.

On his first night aboard the ship, halfway through dinner, the lights in the large dining room dimmed, and an old, forgotten ballad from the fifties played out over the speaker. As Doris Day reminded Alexander that whatever would be would be, Ms. Broussard glided across the small stage at the front of the room, her movement so fluid it almost looked as if she was ice skating.

Tapping the microphone, Ms. Emily Broussard peered out over the crowd of men in tuxes, looking the epitome of elegance. She wore a red sequined ballgown that worked well with her dark auburn hair. Ms. Broussard’s hair had always confused Alexander. He wasn’t sure why she insisted on styling it in a Marcel wave, but it made her look like a character in a silent movie. She clasped her hands to her chest and grinned at the crowd; the applause swelling through the room only making her smile stretch wider. After far too long spent clapping, Alexander turned his attention back to the small dish of chocolate mousse he’d been provided. Slowly, he worked his spoon across the surface, scraping the smallest of bites onto the utensil. He knew Emily Broussard loved to talk other people’s ears off, so the longer he made his dessert last, the longer he would have a distraction from his perpetual boredom.

“At Ms. Broussard’s Home for Bountiful Beaus, we provide a love story for the ages. From creation to cotillion, I raise my boys to be the perfect picture of a submissive househusband.”

Alexander heard the spiel back when he first purchased Goose. She ranted and rambled about homemaking and submission, but that was never Alexander’s reasoning for using Ms. Broussard’s services. He had no need for a maid, as he already had three on staff. He didn’t give a damn about submission, because Alexander had employees to submit to his whims already. No, Alexander simply wanted a kind face to look upon after a long day at work. Someone who might hold him when times were hard and things were hectic. A tether. A touchstone to keep him grounded. Someone to love, and to be loved by in return.

In his tuxedo pocket, Professor Plum’s tiny claws dug through the fabric of Alexander’s shirt, trying to escape. No matter what Alexander tried, the little mouse refused to sit still. Odd, considering he usually calmed down after being petted or shown attention. There was no calming him this time, Alexander realized, so he pushed back his chair, hoping to sneak back to his suite so he could let Professor Plum run wild.

Unfortunately, Professor Plum made one final attempt at escape, and it proved successful. Hopping out of the pocket and rushing toward the door, Professor Plum made his exit. Alexander knew he needed to grab the fieldmouse before it could escape to the deck and potentially fall into the sea. So Alexander gave up any pretense of making a graceful exit and ran across the dining room at full speed, knocking into chairs and other suitors along the way. There were shouts for Alexander to be careful, but he ignored them all, because someone had chosen that precise moment to open the dining room door, granting Professor Plum his means of escape.

Damn, Alexander thought, running even faster than before. Outside, he dashed across the deck, his eyes fixed and focused on the runaway rodent. They both ran up-up-up a seemingly endless set of stairs. Professor Plum was leading him to the ship’s top tier, and nervousness coursed through Alexander, because they passed a large sign, warning him intruders were not allowed in the bountiful beaus’ bay without prior approval by Ms. Broussard. Yes, well, tough luck. If Emily Broussard took issue with Alexander saving his only friend’s life—God, how tragic was that? His only friend was a runaway fieldmouse—she was more than welcome to send him ashore. At least he wouldn’t have to listen to anymore of her self-indulgent speeches.

Professor Plum eventually stopped running and pressed his nose against the ground, sniffing something out. He was well within Alexander’s reach, but there was something inside Alexander telling him to see this thing through. The fieldmouse was clearly onto something, and curiosity had gotten the better of him. When the mouse came to a stop at a door marked Employees Only, against his better judgment, Alexander couldn’t stop his fingers from curling around the knob and twisting it open.

The moment the door was open, Alexander gasped. The room was roughly twice the size of his suite, and in it, powered-down bountiful beaus rested carelessly on the floor. It looked as if they were all tossed inside with no care or consideration for how the beaus landed. It twisted in his gut like a knife, because the beaus had—once again—been treated like trash.

“I know you,” a voice whispered from a darkened corner of the cabin. “I don’t remember how, but I remember your face.” Footsteps echoed lightly against the floor until a face crept from the shadows and into the light provided by the cracked door.

Alexander’s heart skipped a beat, because there, as if he always had been, stood Elliot Price. He took another step forward, his hand softly stroking a large bump in his tummy.

Alexander swallowed. “Elliot?”

Elliot was an idiot. A nincompoop with absolutely no common sense. It was the only answer he could come up with as he sat in the dark room for hours, waiting for nightfall.

For all intents and purposes, Elliot still belonged to Jared Price. If Mother found him on her cruise ship, Elliot knew he would be returned, and if he was returned, he knew he might never make it out of Jared’s home again. Knowing all of that, Elliot also knew he had to meet Alexander Davenport. He needed to know about the frosting-filled holes in his memory. Why had he been on the island past dark? Why did he remember the hint of a kiss on Sugarplum Island’s ferry dock? Why couldn’t Elliot just forget? It would have been easier if he'd forgotten Alexander completely, like so many other moments. If the memory hadn’t lingered as long as it had, Elliot would be back home in Jared Price’s mansion. Granted, he would probably be in pain, as he so often was at the hands of Jared Price, but that pain would pale in comparison to whatever punishment he would receive when he was eventually returned to the man.

Elliot had the chance to escape, once and for all, and he chose instead to chase the memory of a mostly forgotten early morning exchange. The day before, he snuck from Mrs. Honey Peppercorn’s small home, preparing to take a taxi to Galveston, Texas. Being that it was an extremely long journey—and not wanting to ride another bus for multiple days on end—Elliot phoned the local taxi service in Genevieve, Georgia, and made them an offer they couldn’t refuse, using cash taken from Jared’s wall safe. An hour later, Elliot tiptoed from his new bedroom and out Mrs. Peppercorn’s front door. Unfortunately, he wasn’t as sneaky as he’d hoped, and Mrs. Peppercorn was already waiting outside, holding a small pink suitcase as she leaned against the waiting taxi.

“Baby, I know where you’re going, and I’m not going to stop you,” Mrs. Peppercorn said. “But I will not allow you to go alone, especially with that charlatan at the ship’s helm.”

Charlatan, Elliot thought, described Mother to perfection. She offered love stories to the highest bidder, claiming her sons lived to serve their masters. She stated time and again that their master’s pleasure was the beau’s only concern, but that wasn’t true. Elliot had many concerns. Concerns for his personal safety. Concerns for his missing memories. In fact, the only thing Elliot had absolutely no concern for was Master Jared Price’s pleasure.

When they arrived in New Orleans, Elliot convinced Mrs. Peppercorn to assist him in stowing away on the ship. Refusing to leave his side, Mrs. Peppercorn wedged them both inside a crate labeled Bountiful Beaus . The space was compact, and the pair were more than a little cramped. Thankfully, they didn’t have to wait long before the crate was in motion, being wheeled up an incline. When they came to a stop, they could hear a door open, and they rolled forward once again, then there was the sound of nails being pried from wood as light flickered in through the crack. The moment the lid came loose, light barreled into the once-dark crate, and the man on the other side—Rodolfo, his name tag said—gaped at them.

Rodolfo startled, hopping back. “What in tarnation?”

Mrs. Peppercorn glared at the man. “You call this a luxury suite? I can barely move my legs.” She flung her arm up, as if seeking assistance from the man, but as soon as she was standing, she cupped the man’s cheek and said, “I’m terribly sorry for this, sugar.” As the worker stared confusedly at her, she lifted her suitcase from the crate and placed it on the floor, opening it. With the suitcase out of the crate, Elliot’s vision was obstructed, so he couldn’t see what she was searching for. He wasn’t sure what Mrs. Peppercorn was grinning about, but then she stood up straight, and she was holding a—

“Mrs. Peppercorn,” Elliot had started, “why would you bring a rolling pin on a cruise?”

Mrs. Peppercorn then winked at him and whirled on her heel, bopping Rodolfo on the head, sending the poor man toppling to the floor in a heap.

“I'm terribly sorry,” Mrs. Peppercorn repeated sincerely. “Don’t worry, though, baby. Once we’ve found my new friend’s old boyfriend on this ship, we’ll let you go. Until then, I’m afraid we’ll need to tie you up.”

“Alexander was never my boyfriend,” Elliot pointed out, though he wished he had been. He peeked over the side of the crate. “And Mr. Rodolfo can’t hear you. He seems to be unconscious.”

Mrs. Peppercorn nodded in agreement. “Yes, well, I’ve always wanted to give a villainous monologue where I explain my reasoning for committing various atrocities. We’re here to make your dreams come true, so I figured I could scratch that one off my bucket list in the process. I apologize if I’ve upstaged you, baby.” Leaning down, she gave Elliot a kiss on the forehead.

And there they waited. Waited for the ship to depart. Waited for daylight to turn to moonlight flickering in through the room’s skylight. They waited for hours and hours amidst a pile of powered-down automatons. Rodolfo waited with them, startling awake just as Mrs. Peppercorn and Elliot finished tying his arms and legs. To their surprise, Rodolfo hadn’t made a single peep since. He’d just smiled at them and sat quietly in the corner, eyeing Mrs. Peppercorn curiously.

By the time the doorknob twisted, darkness already shrouded the room. Elliot scurried back as far as he could, wedging himself in a corner, his arms wrapped around his shins.

Moonlight crept through the crack in the door, and then something small scurried around Elliot’s ankle before latching onto the white trousers he changed into in the off chance someone caught them. That way, at least, he could hide beneath the other beaus’ bodies and remain incognito.

But when Alexander came into view, it was like emerging from a thick fog. Elliot stood, though he hadn’t meant to do so, and stepped forward, one foot in front of the other, not stopping until he was right in front of Mr. Alexander Davenport. Something tickled his shoulder, but he couldn’t look away from the man whose vague memory haunted him. The forgotten memory that refused to stay forgotten.

“I know you,” Elliot said along the way. “I don’t remember how, but I remember your face.”

Squeak, squeak.

“Elliot,” Alexander said, and the sound of his voice felt like coming home. Elliot’s jaw trembled, and his hand found his baby bump, slowly rubbing the little life growing inside. “Oh, Elliot. What have they done to you?”

Elliot flinched, because Alexander’s words were like pity personified. He didn’t want Alexander’s pity. He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted from Alexander, but of all the things he could wish for, he wished for pity the least. Alexander turned and shut the door behind them, locking the knob and protecting them from the outside world. Alexander’s hand patted at the wall, half his face illuminated by the small slice of glowing silver that peeked in from the skylight. When he found the light and his pale complexion became clearer, the memory of a quiet kiss shared on a ferry dock returned to him, playing out like a movie in his head.

“Mr. Alexander Davenport,” Elliot whispered. “I think I’ve missed you all my life.” He sniffled as he took in the sight of Alexander’s handsome face. His cleft chin. The way his brown eyes seemed to sparkle. The small string of freckles that rested across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Elliot reached into his pocket and touched his plum jam cookie. He’d already eaten half the sugary treat the day he arrived in Genvieve, but he saved the rest for later, hoping he might share it with Alexander. The cookie served as an anchor, locking him in reality so he didn’t drift back to the frosting-filled memories he often got lost in.

Alexander had a dumbfounded grin on his face, and Elliot had to resist the urge to touch his cheek.

“I missed you, too,” he whispered, making Elliot’s heart race. “You don’t know how happy I am to see you. I was hoping you would be here.” Alexander reached for him, and as Elliot leaned into the touch, he closed his eyes, allowing himself to melt in Alexander’s palm like chocolate. “Sweet boy.”

When Elliot opened his eyes, pink light flooded into the corners, and the longer it went on the more awestruck Alexander appeared. “I’ve tried to remember you for so long. Your face has been stuck in my mind for ages.”

Squeak, squeak.

Looking down at his shoulder, Elliot noticed a small fieldmouse staring up at him. The mouse was waiting patiently, as if he wanted to give Alexander and Elliot a moment before making his presence known, but in his excitement, he’d failed in doing so.

“I believe I know you, too,” Elliot said, stroking the mouse’s head.

“He’s missed you. Ever since I showed him your picture on the cruise brochure, he hasn’t calmed down. Even at dinner, he kept trying to get away.”

Elliot looked at Alexander. “Why?”

The corner of Alexander’s mouth twitched. “He led me right to you. It’s like he knew you were here the whole time.”

“Dónde está el hombre?” Mrs. Peppercorn said, startling Elliot. He looked over his shoulder to find her staring dreamily at Rodolfo, who was staring just as dreamily at her. “Con fuego en la sangre.”

Fire flashed in Rodolfo’s eyes. “Esta aquí, mamá, y le hierve la sangre.”

“Goodness.” Mrs. Peppercorn licked her lips. “I don’t know what on Earth you just said, but I’ll do whatever you’re suggesting, and I’ll do it with a smile on my face.”

Rodolfo growled, taking a seductive step forward. “You asked me where the boy with the fire in his blood is. He’s here, mamá. He’s here, and his blood is boiling.”

Mrs. Peppercorn’s eyes widened. “Is that what that means? It’s just a line from a Spice Girls song. My friend Periwinkle plays it to no end. Well, it’s from one of their solo albums, but still.” She bit her bottom lip, causing her upper denture to dislodge. Her cheeks darkened—perhaps with shame, though she seemed fairly shameless moments earlier—and she sucked the denture back into her mouth, maneuvering it into place with her tongue. “Sorry. That wasn’t very ladylike.”

Rodolfo placed a hand on Mrs. Peppercorn’s hip and a growl escaped him. “The silky swallow of a woman without teeth is the best swallow of them all.” He leaned in and nipped at her chin. “Would you like to swallow me?”

Mrs. Peppercorn gaped at him, then she reared back her hand and slapped him in the face. “Well, I never.”

“Not yet,” Rodolfo said with a smirk, making Mrs. Peppercorn blush even brighter. “But you will.”

Mrs. Peppercorn cleared her throat and looked away. “Perhaps.”

Elliot cringed, but Alexander’s touch grounded him. When he looked back at the man, Alexander had a thoughtful expression on his handsome face.

“Would you like to be my guest this week? There are supposed to be all kinds of events. Music, movies, activities. We can get to know each other better.” Alexander took another step forward, leaving absolutely no space between them. Their hands touched, then Alexander weaved their fingers together. “Please?”

Elliot wanted that. He wanted it more than anything, but if he agreed, he would have to go in public. Mother might see them. It struck Elliot that he hadn’t truly thought his plan through. Yes, he found Mr. Alexander Davenport, but he wasn’t sure what he was meant to do next. He was on the run. He escaped his master and cut his own arm open in an effort to stay hidden. All for what, exactly? A five-minute reunion with a man he hardly knew? The entire scheme was ridiculous.

“I can’t. Mr. Davenport—”

“Alexander,” he requested. “Or Alex. Or Lexy.” Alexander’s finger touched Elliot’s chin, tugging until their gazes met. “Call me whatever you want; just say you’ll spend the week with me and Professor Plum.”

Squeak, squeak.

Professor Plum of Sugarplum Island. Missing cookies. A tearful goodbye. The moments came and went like mirages in sunlight, there one moment, gone the next. It hurt Elliot’s head anytime he tried to hold on to the memories, but he didn’t want to lose them again. He wanted them to stay.

“I want that,” Elliot finally admitted. “But I can’t. I’m not meant to be here.”

“What do you mean?”

Elliot closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, calming himself when all he felt was panic. “Ever since our fateful meeting on Sugarplum Island—” Elliot stopped himself when Alexander snickered. He wasn’t sure what that was about, but he didn’t let it stop him. “As I was saying, ever since our fateful meeting on Sugarplum Island . . .” Elliot blinked in confusion as Alexander’s snicker stretched into a full-blown giggle. The sound and sight were both adorable, but Elliot couldn’t help but worry he was being laughed at rather than laughed with. His cheeks burned with shame, and he stared down at their woven fingers. It reminded him of when Jared would laugh at him for his stupidity. He didn’t want Alexander to think of him that way. “Please don’t laugh at me.”

He must have sounded grief-stricken, because Alexander’s grip tightened, and he raked his thumbs across Elliot’s knuckles. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you, I promise. Well, I guess I kind of was, but not in a cruel way. It’s just the way you talk, it’s like something out of a fairytale. It reminds me of those old Disney movies my mom and I would watch when I was little.” His grip tightened even more. “I swear, I wasn't trying to be cruel. I love the way you talk.”

“You do?”

“So much,” Alexander admitted. “You’re adorable. Go on, then. What about that fateful day?”

Adorable? Elliot’s heart skipped a beat. “It’s just, I can’t remember a lot of what happened. It feels like someone has cut holes in my memory and filled them with—”

“Frosting,” Alexander finished for him. “Yeah, you mentioned that last time. That sometimes you lost days and weeks at a time.”

“I said that?”

“You mentioned the missing holes, and how they felt like frosting, like you could scoop your fingers through them.”

Elliot thought he heard something click in the background but figured it was simply Mrs. Peppercorn getting fresh with Rodolfo, so he ignored the sound, nodding at Alexander.

“I think someone’s stolen them from me. They didn’t take them all, though. There are a few that stuck around, and I try and try to get them back, but they just flicker around my head and vanish. It hurts too much to try to remember.” He looked down at his baby bump. “I don’t even remember this. My brother Periwinkle said I must be six months along by now, but I can’t remember having it implanted inside me.” He looked up at Alexander, his eyes pleading. “Did I have it when we met last week? Because I don’t remember having a bump on the island.”

When Alexander’s expression fell, it sent Elliot’s hair standing on end. He must have mucked up somehow, but he couldn’t figure out what he might have said to make the man look so sad. “What’s wrong? Have I spoken out of turn? I apologize, Master Davenport, it’s just, I don’t know—I don’t want—” He slammed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Please, don’t be cross with me. Whatever I’ve done, I’m sorry.”

“Elliot,” Alexander murmured, pulling Elliot in for a hug. “Oh, you sweet, sweet boy. I’m not mad, I promise. Your timeline is just a little off.” He rubbed his hand up and down Elliot’s spine, sending chills racing across his body.

“I don’t know what that means.” He felt overcome with so many emotions. Fear of being caught by Mother. Relief at finding the silhouette he’d been chasing for however long. Maybe even the smallest hint of hope. Tears dripped from Elliot’s cheek onto Alexander’s tuxedo jacket, and he felt horrible for ruining his outfit, but he couldn’t pull away. No one had ever held him the way Alexander held him. It wasn’t rough and full of fire, the way Master Price’s hugs usually were. It also wasn’t soft and familial like the ones he received from Periwinkle after returning to Genevieve. No, Alexander’s hugs were warm like a sweater or a cozy fire. He wanted more. More sweaters. More fire to warm him up in a way he’d never been warmed before. “What did you mean about my timeline being off?”

Alexander sighed like the weight of the world rested on his shoulder. “Elliot . . .”

“What he means”—a woman with a creole accent said from behind them. Elliot looked over his shoulder, his heart stopping momentarily when he saw Mother standing at the door—”is that it’s been five years since you met.”