“Not your fault,” Léo murmured as the valets saw them coming and scurried to fetch their cars. Lucien glanced over his shoulder and noticed that the young men had been joined by more people, and that there was some pointing and gesturing going on.
“Whichever car comes first, Simon gets in,” he murmured, just loud enough for his friends to hear. They agreed, Malik also eyeing the crowd. He muttered under his breath.
“Simon, if they come over, what do you want to do?” Malik asked, somewhat urgently, and Lucien glanced over his shoulder again. Had the crowd moved closer, or did it just look that way because it had grown? There were nearly two dozen people looking their way now, phones out and flashing, and Lucien was pretty sure it wouldn’t be long before distant photos wouldn’t be enough for them.
Simon sighed. “Sign autographs and have some quick photos,” he said grimly. “Now is not the time to court negative publicity,” he added, and Lucien winced. They’d spent most of the day talking about how to attract publicity for On the Ball, and having some whiny twentysomething’s tweet about Simon Wood snubbing fans go viral would not help their cause.
Why was it taking the valets so long? Lucien looked around, and noticed more people beginning to cluster throughout the Place du Casino, all looking toward them, some excited, some curious. Most were blocking the road, though.
“Malik, I see your car right behind those tourists,” he said, nodding in that direction. “Let’s walk that way. If anyone stops us, Simon can sign, but we keep moving toward the car.”
“Good idea,” Léo said, placing his arm around Ben. He leaned over and murmured to the valet supervisor, who nodded and said something back. Léo flashed a grin. “The casino will send out security if things get out of control,” he told them as they started walking casually toward Malik’s McLaren. “They want to avoid it if possible because technically they have no power outside the casino, but if necessary someone will come to keep the crowd back.”
Lucien sent up silent thanks that Léo and Ben were so fond of the Salle Blanche, and thus so well-known by the casino staff. They were closer to the car now, close enough to see the frustration on the face of the valet driving it, and Lucien held out hope that maybe they’d get Simon in and away before the crowd realized what they were doing.
His car appeared, slowly inching through the tourists, and he spotted Léo’s behind it. How are we going to leave without running anyone over? he wondered, then decided it was better to worry about that once it was actually an issue.
“Simon!”
Damn. Too late. He eyed the distance to the car even as Simon turned toward the young man who’d shouted and was now jogging toward them. He grabbed Simon’s arm and tugged. “Keep moving,” he murmured. “He can come to you. Remember, we have no crowd control.” He’d seen how out of control situations like this could become, and he wasn’t going to stand by and watch Simon be assaulted or trampled by enthusiastic fans.
They gained a few more feet toward the car, were actually level with the front bumper, when the boy caught up to them.
“Simon, hi! Can I get a selfie with you?” he asked in French, grinning broadly, his face lit up with excitement, and Lucien felt a pang of guilt. This boy was so genuinely thrilled to meet an idol, and all Lucien could think about was getting away.
“Simon doesn’t speak French,” Ben said gently, while Léo translated for Simon, and Malik walked around the car and waited for the valet to get out.
“Tell him a selfie is fine, but just one,” Simon said, smiling kindly at his fan. Ben quickly translated, and the moment the boy stepped up next to Simon and lifted his phone, the dam broke. Shouts erupted, and the sound of running feet echoed through the Place du Casino.
“Let’s go,” Léo said grimly, yanking open the passenger door of the McLaren. Malik was already behind the wheel. Lucien took Simon’s arm again and pulled him away from the swelling crowd. Phone cameras were flashing from all directions, and people were shouting in multiple languages, begging Simon for photos, autographs, asking if he wanted to get a drink, if he was in Monaco for the Grand Prix, what he planned to do with his retirement… and several offers for “company” that evening. Lucien raised a brow at one very interesting suggestion, and wondered how Simon would have felt about it if he’d understood German.
Using his elbows, he pushed through the crowd, Simon pressed up close to him. It was only a few feet to the door Léo was guarding, but it felt like miles. Where had all these people come from? Something flew over the crowd and landed on the open door of the car, and Lucien flinched back, half turning to shield Simon, fearing the worst. Wait, is that…?
Someone had thrown underwear. White silky panties with little pink roses on them. Not sure whether to laugh or curse—were they an invitation, or a sign of derision?—Lucien pressed forward, finally reaching his destination. Léo moved aside and they ushered Simon into the passenger seat, Léo taking a moment to brush the panties off the door with his arm before he carefully slammed it closed.
The tinted windows provided some measure of protection, but with the crowd pressing in, the car was unable to go anywhere. One determined fan actually threw herself onto the bonnet, and Lucien winced. Malik would not be happy.
In fact, it must have spurred Malik to act, because the car inched forward, slowly, but definitely moving. The crowd was left with no option but to move, although they pressed against the sides of the car.
“This is ridiculous,” Ben said from beside Lucien, and he glanced at his friend, wondering where he’d been. “Seriously, what do they think they’re going to gain from this?” The disgust in his voice was clear. “The police will be here soon.”
“Will they?” Lucien asked.
Ben held up his phone. “They said they would.”
Léo leaned over and kissed his boyfriend. “At least one of us was thinking,” he said. “We should have gone into the casino or back into the hotel, and called the police to control the crowd.”
“Hindsight,” Lucien murmured, watching the slow progress of Malik’s car. He was just coming to the front of the casino and still had to circle around the other side of the Place du Casino before he would make it to a more open road.
Fortunately that was when the police arrived.
As officers began clearing the crowd from the car and forcing people back, many lost interest and wandered off. Lucien, Léo, and Ben stood and watched until Malik was able to accelerate smoothly out of the Place du Casino, even as people still tried to take photos of the car.
“We’d better go,” Léo said. “They’re not going to be able to get into the building without you.”
Lucien blinked, then mentally kicked himself. “I was so caught up in getting them away from here, I didn’t think the rest through,” he confessed as they walked toward their cars, now idling in front of the casino.
“I think we were all in that boat,” Ben said dryly.
Lucien was just getting into his car when his phone rang. He glanced at the screen as he bucked his seat belt. Malik.
“Are you both okay?” he asked, not bothering with a greeting.
“Yes,” Malik answered. “Although I for one am eternally thankful that my money came via inheritance, and not fame.”
“I agree,” Lucien said, pulling away from the casino.
“Are you on your way? We’re nearly at your building, and while I can park in a guest spot, the concierge won’t let us up if you’re not there.”
“I know. I’m coming now—three minutes,” he promised. He disconnected the call and concentrated on not hitting pedestrians as he zoomed through the streets. Several minutes later, he pulled into the parking garage under his building, noted Malik’s McLaren in one of the guest spots, and hit the remote button on his visor to open the gate into the residents’ parking area.
By the time he’d parked his car, Malik and Simon had gotten out of the car and come through to wait at the residents’ elevator. The one that serviced guest parking
only went as far as the lobby, where the concierge would ensure guests were invited before letting them go farther. Léo was just parking as Lucien got out of his car, and he waited near the gate, preventing it from closing until Léo and Ben could join him. Together they walked to the elevator, where Malik had jabbed the call button.
“Are you okay?” Lucien asked Simon, who flushed.
“Yes, thank you,” he replied. “I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Ben said cheerfully. “Although, hell! I don’t envy you having to go through that. Is it always so intense?”
The elevator doors opened, and they walked in.
“No,” Simon said ruefully. “At official publicity events there’s security to keep everything under control, and mostly when I’m on my own, I don’t just stand around. I think they just had too much time to think about it. I’m out of practice dealing with fans.”
“It’s fine,” Lucien assured him. “And I’m sure Ben is already practicing how he will tell Dani.”
“Hey!” Ben protested as the elevator stopped at Lucien’s floor and the doors opened.
“Aren’t you?” Léo asked as they shuffled into the hallway and Lucien dug out his key. Ben declined to respond, his face mutinous.
“Who’s Dani?” Simon asked. Lucien opened the door and stood back to let everyone in.
“His best friend in Australia,” Malik answered. “They talk all the time.” As if on cue, Ben’s phone trilled. Lucien knew it was Ben’s because of the immensely annoying ringtone.
He gestured for everyone to go into the living room, and closed the front door. When he joined his guests, Ben had his phone to his ear and had his hand extended to Léo, who was pulling his phone from his pocket.
“What do you mean, I’m accidentally all over the internet?” Ben was demanding. He snatched Léo’s phone and began tapping at the screen, wedging his own phone between his ear and his shoulder.
“He knows those phones have a speaker function, right?” Simon asked Lucien quietly.
Lucien smiled. “Probably, but he gets distracted.”
“Oh my God!” Ben yelled.
Simon sighed. “I’m so sorry.”
Annoyance surged in Lucien. It was not right that going out to dinner with friends meant Simon had to apologize for their privacy being invaded. “Stop saying that,” he said. “You owe us no apology.”
“Look at this,” Ben demanded, turning Léo’s phone toward them. “Some moron has started a thread on Twitter claiming that Simon, Lucien, and Malik are in a three-way!”
Lucien blinked. A three-way what? His English vocabulary caught up a moment later, by which time Malik had snatched the phone from Ben and begun to read the tweets aloud, but was laughing so hard his words were mostly unintelligible.
Léo grabbed the phone. “Use your own,” he said when Malik protested. Ben leaned against his lover and craned his neck to see the phone screen, while telling Dani, “Yes, I’m reading it now… no, I haven’t seen Facebook or Instagram. How have these people had time to do all this? It happened like five minutes ago!”
Tuning them out for the time being, Lucien turned to Simon, who was looking at his own phone. “Are you okay?” he asked quietly, feeling like he’d asked that question entirely too many times this evening.
Simon looked up and smiled, but it was strained. “This is not the kind of publicity we wanted,” he said, and the expression in his eyes was worried.
“Of course it is,” Malik said, dropping into Lucien’s most comfortable armchair, the one he’d had made for each of his homes because he loved it so much. “It’s easily dismissible as silly gossip, and puts you squarely in the limelight for the announcement of On the Ball.”
“That’s true,” Lucien agreed, eager to banish Simon’s anxiety. “Sit down and relax. Would you like a drink?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Léo said. “Let’s have a drink.” He put his arm around Ben and steered him to one of the sofas, and Lucien touched Simon’s arm and smiled encouragingly.
“Sit,” he said again, and went to find the excellent bottle of cognac he’d bought a few years back.
Several minutes later, they were all settled in, drinks in hand. Malik and Ben were still glued to their phones.
“Somebody needs to explain this to me,” Lucien said, leaning back on the sofa and trying to convince himself that he’d sat so close to Simon by accident. “Why am I having a three-way with Malik and Simon?”
“Because we’re both incredibly attractive and sexy?” Malik asked. Lucien snorted.
“That may be, but I think you’re too much man for me,” he replied dryly. Simon choked on his cognac, and for a moment Lucien feared he’d offended him, but a moment later that fear was allayed when Simon burst out laughing.
Warmth spread through his chest, and Lucien smiled softly, glad he’d been able to lighten Simon’s mood. He watched the ex-footballer settle back in his seat, grinning.
“Someone tweeted photos,” Ben said. “One of you holding Simon’s arm and pulling him away from the crowd, and another of Simon in Malik’s car. Someone else tweeted a reply that I think was probably meant to be a joke, something about Simon being with two guys in one night, and then someone who recognized you and Malik tweeted that you were friends, and… it just seems to have snowballed from there.” His phone dinged, and he looked down at it. “Dani,” he said, swiping the screen. “She says we should avoid checking news headlines.”
Simon groaned and reached for his phone, which was on the coffee table. Lucien caught his hand. “Don’t,” he said, but before he could continue, his own phone rang—with his father’s ringtone. He stiffened. News headlines. “I need to take this,” he said, pulling it from his pocket. “Don’t look.” He stood and answered the phone as he left the room and headed toward his bedroom, unaccountably nervous. While sensational press had been a common feature of their youth, it had been a long time since any of them had featured in the media spotlight for the wrong reasons. “Good evening, Father.”
“Lucien, what are you doing?” Édouard sounded exasperated but also slightly amused, which was a great relief to Lucien. Chiding phone calls had once been a regular element of his relationship with his father, but not one he was keen to go back to.
“Not what you think,” he said lightly. “Léo, Ben, Malik, Simon, and I had dinner at Le Louis XV, and we were waiting for our cars when some tourists recognized Simon. It got out of hand.”
“I wasn’t aware that you were friends with Simon Wood,” his father said, and Lucien realized that he’d mentioned Simon’s name as casually as if they’d been friends for years.
“We met yesterday to discuss plans for the football scholarship program.” Was that only yesterday? “I had to leave London, but we weren’t finished, so Simon came with me. We worked on the program most of last evening and today.” He hesitated. “He is a friend now, I think.”
“I see.” It was all Édouard said, but Lucien was suddenly uncomfortably aware that his father knew exactly who his idol had been when he was a teenager.
“I haven’t seen the headlines yet. Are they terrible?” he asked, in an attempt to redirect the conversation at least slightly.
His father huffed, and it was a sound Lucien had heard so many times before that he found it comforting. “They are not terrible,” he conceded. “Mostly it is just a quick mention that Simon was seen this evening in Monaco, that police were called for crowd control, and that he was in your company—and Malik’s and Léo’s. There was a reference to online speculation, and that was what our public relations director called me about.”
Lucien winced. “I am aware of the online speculation,” he said, just as a crash from the living room caused him to jerk his head around. What was going on?
“Good. At this stage, we are taking no action,” Édouard told him. “This is foolish, groundless gossip, and we are ignoring it as beneath our notice. However, it may be best if you announce your new project soone
r rather than later. Are plans progressing?”
“Yes,” Lucien assured him forcing himself to concentrate on the conversation, “and our intention was to register the charity on Monday. As soon as that’s done, we will arrange the press release.”
“Excellent,” his father approved. “Don’t worry, Lucien. You may have had a wild childhood, but your behavior as an adult has always been above reproach. Your reputation can withstand some foolish rumors that nobody with sense would believe.”
“Thank you.” He wondered when he’d become so boring that he was considered “above reproach.” “I will keep you informed.” They said goodbye, and Lucien returned to his friends. He paused in the doorway, noting what appeared to be the shattered remains of an iPhone. Léo had his phone to his ear while Malik glared at the pieces of his, Ben’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and Simon handing him another drink. Lucien cringed as he realized that if his father had seen the headlines, so too would have Léo’s and Malik’s.
“I’m so—”
“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Malik interrupted Simon as Lucien joined them. Malik met his inquiring gaze. “The usual bullshit,” he informed him. “If he hadn’t used this as an excuse to call, he would have found another one.” He knocked back his drink, and Lucien just nodded, familiar enough with the dynamic of Malik’s relationship with his father to know not to ask questions.
Lucien raised an eyebrow in Léo’s direction. “Charles is taking this worse than I expected,” he commented, surprised Léo was still on the phone. Ben snorted.
“No, Charles called, told Léo to try to avoid such crass publicity, and then hung up. He’s talking to Miryam now.”
Lucien winced. At least he hadn’t been subjected to a call from his mother. He went to get them another round of drinks.
“I don’t know what she’s so upset about. Léo was barely mentioned at all,” Malik said, scowling at his cousin. Léo, wrapping up the call, glared right back. A moment later he tossed his phone on the coffee table.
The Athlete and the Aristocrat Page 6
