Page 6 of Troubled Skies (Blue Skies #3)

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Ren

Ren noticed the man as soon as he entered the first-class lounge at LAX.

He was hard to miss with hair as red as the fox, the renard , from which Ren’s name derived.

If the hair wasn’t enough, what made him truly striking was his flawless skin, sculpted cheekbones, and wine-colored lips that practically begged to be kissed.

Not to mention he wore a devastatingly gorgeous metallic gold jacket Ren was pretty sure must have cost a small fortune and fit him perfectly. The man was absolument parfait.

Unfortunately, Ren had no time to approach him before he was hustled off to a private VIP suite where, grievously, they had been instructed not to serve him any alcohol.

He ordered the filet and ate it while shaking his head at the lengths his father was willing to go to keep him out of the press and exact his punishment.

The hotel had been dealt with, as were most things in Ren’s life, by a team of publicists, lawyers, and accountants.

His friends’ social media posts had been expunged of any photos that showed Ren in states of extreme inebriation and debauchery, the publications and gossip sites paid to keep the more explicit paparazzi photos under wraps, and Christiana’s family mollified with promises that Ren was now headed to rehab as well as the offer of a business deal the details of which Ren neither knew nor cared but was sure it had been lucrative.

Though Ren had been allowed to stay at the Regent Beverly Wiltshire, he was relocated from the Penthouse Suite to a much smaller, much less richly appointed room to which he was restricted until the car came to transport him to the airport because his father had accurately predicted his desire to continue partying with his friends.

So much for having a blowout bash before he had to leave the States.

To add insult to injury, his father’s arrival in the Maldives had been delayed, so Ren had been confined to his room for an additional week.

He’d been eager to leave, even suffering the indignity of being driven to LAX in a Lincoln Town Car rather than the Maybach he was accustomed to without complaint.

Of course, there had been no champagne or vodka in sight.

Ren suspected his father was trying to convey that this was the pedestrian lifestyle to which he was going to be relegated if he did not shape up.

Message received, Père , Ren thought as he ate his steak and wished for a glass of a Gevrey-Chambertin red or a Chateau Lafite Rothchild.

Any year would do, and he nearly groaned at the thought of the silky mouth feel and complex flavors that would have delighted his tongue.

If his father was truly angry, Ren might never taste anything like it again.

He could well imagine state dinners where he was only served water.

Maybe he had pushed things too far on this visit to the States, but his father usually didn’t care.

Except, Ren reminded himself, when it involved men, and the photo of his kiss with Maurice was everything to which his father would object.

Ren was only loosely bound by the conservative expectations that restricted his brother who had been required to learn the duties of statehood and find a wife with whom to reproduce.

Phillippe was the model heir who never put a toe out of line while Ren had done his best to be the exemplary spare.

Honestly, Ren argued in his head as he finished his meal, it was practically a tradition for the younger sons of European royalty to act the part of the playboy prince leaving a long line of broken hearts and flamboyant exploits.

His father had always taken it in stride, even regaling Ren with stories about his own younger brother, and Ren had happily followed in his uncle’s footsteps.

Though his Uncle Charles had slipped from public view years ago, only making appearances at state functions like Phillippe’s wedding, he seemed happy in a way neither Ren’s father nor brother were.

Could he do the same? Could he walk away from his title and be his own person?

Shaking his head at the ridiculous thought, Ren acknowledged he would never have the courage to make his own way in the world. He was too used to being pampered and treated with obsequious deference, and he liked being so overwhelmingly privileged too much to give it up.

After he finished his meal, forty-five minutes remained before his boarding time, so Ren asked for a facial as well as a mani-pedi hydration treatment.

The air on a plane was incredibly dehydrating, so he figured he’d take pre-emptive steps to ensure he arrived looking as good as possible.

When the charge went through without a problem, Ren relaxed.

He’d been concerned his father might have put a hold on his cards, but it seemed like shopping and personal care was something his father was still allowing.

And when the aesthetician asked if he wanted a glass of champagne, who was Ren to say no?

What his father didn’t know wasn’t going to hurt him, and there were still ways for him to get what he wanted.

Ren tucked that comforting thought away as he sipped on the blessedly cool bubbly and let the people get to work on his face and nails.

Ren was the final person to board the plane, driven across the tarmac and then escorted up a flight of stairs to the jetway.

He was greeted by the pilot, copilot, and lead flight attendant before being shown to his seat, his bag carried by a flight attendant who led him to his fifth-row pod that, Dieu merci, was a window seat.

The curious eyes of those still arranging their belongings turned toward him, and Ren smiled as he nodded to someone he vaguely remembered meeting at a party the previous year.

Then Ren’s gaze turned to the seating pod across from his, and it was his turn to be surprised.

The stunning redhead from the first-class lounge was watching him with the most gorgeous green eyes he’d ever seen.

“Would you like anything to drink, sir?”

“Champagne, please,” Ren said because he wanted to celebrate his good fortune. And he wanted to see if his father’s influence had reached as far as the flight crew.

“Of course. Would you like anything to eat before we depart?”

“Just the champagne.” Ren was cheering in his own head as he took his seat.

This flight, which had been intended as a punishment, was about to get a whole lot more fun.

Ren found himself thanking his father for insisting he take a commercial flight because now he had fourteen hours to get to know this man and maybe have a little fun along the way.

He glanced over as the flight attendant asked if the gorgeous man wanted anything.

The sliding doors on the pods had to be open for takeoff and landing, so Ren was able to see the way this man rubbed at his palms. As soon as the flight attendant got out of the way, Ren leaned forward until he could see the other man’s face, which was extremely pale and almost gaunt with dark circles under his beautiful eyes.

Haunted, Ren would call it if he had more of a romantic nature.

“Are you a nervous flyer?” he asked.

The man glanced at him, then looked down at his hands and laughed, though it wasn’t a humorous sound. “Not usually,” he said, then shook his head. “I’m fine. I…I took something so I should be okay.”

“All right,” Ren said. “If you need any help, let me know. I’m Ren, by the way.”

“Adrian,” the gorgeous man said and gave Ren a slight smile. “And thank you.”

Ren settled into his seat, gratefully accepting the glass of champagne when the flight attendant brought it to him, and sighed as the plane began to pull back from the gate.

“Here’s to a better flight than I was expecting,” he said quietly, toasting his reflection in the entertainment screen in front of him.

Then Ren drained his glass and handed it to the flight attendant when he came to gather up last-minute items and check that all carry-on items were secured before takeoff.

As the plane rolled along to the runway, he pulled out his phone and tapped out a farewell message to Maurice, once again apologizing for their unceremonious eviction from the suite.

Of all the petty humiliations that had happened in the past week, hotel security arriving to remove him and his friends had been the most embarrassing, and Ren knew he was going to be upset with his father for some time for the affront.

Maurice had taken it in stride and told Ren his father had done the same thing to him a few years back, though it was at the Ritz in London.

Leaning into Ren, he’d whispered, “I still can’t go back there, but there are other places we can meet up, just let me know when and where.

” Then he gave Ren a solid goodbye kiss that had left Ren’s lips tingling.

His phone buzzed with Maurice’s reply: No problem, man. Serious about meeting up across the pond or in the islands.

Merci. I will let you know. Miss you already.

Of all his friends, Ren was most fond of Maurice.

They had many things in common. Ren’s father ran a country, Maurice’s ran an international tech company.

Their backgrounds were similar with both of them educated at elite Swiss boarding schools, then attending university at Oxford where they had met and become instant friends.

They partied together, became lovers, and then developed an enduring friends-with-benefits relationship because even though Ren was pan and Maurice was bi, they knew a long-term relationship with a man was not acceptable to their respective families.

Not that either Ren or Maurice were interested in anything long term.

They were enjoying themselves too much to think about settling down.