The yacht had several bathrooms, one with a Jacuzzi. After a long shower to get the freshman stupidity out of his hair, Aiden climbed back into his tux, sat down at the dressing table to admire his astonishingly great hair in the mirror, and didn’t look at his reflection at all. Instead, he thought about Harvard winning his match—he’d known Harvard would—and Seiji refusing to have his, and about courage.
He took out his phone and called Brianna back. When she answered, there was a lot of rustling fabric and clicking hangers, so either she was at a boutique or packing for a romantic vacation. Aiden didn’t ask which.
“Hey, Almost Stepmother. I figured since delegation’s the name of the game, I can do it, too,” said Aiden. “Even if I can’t stay at Kings Row, I’ll never be like my father. Tell him that.”
Her voice sounded strange for a moment until he figured out she was crying.
“I would,” Brianna replied, “but actually, he cheated on me and I’m leaving him. I’m packing up my stuff right now.”
He couldn’t even feign surprise.
“Right,” said Aiden. “Awkward. Sorry I said anything.”
“No, I was glad to hear it. That’s great,” Brianna told him. “You stick to that. You seem like a good kid, Aiden.”
“No, I’m not,” Aiden said. “I am devastatingly good-looking, however.”
Brianna laughed, then sniffed. “Sorry I won’t get to meet you.”
He’d always expected to grow up like his father, Aiden realized. But he hadn’t been raised only by his father. There had been a succession of beautiful, brilliant women. Some of them had cared about him. Most of them hadn’t. All of them had left, because his father was who he was. Still, in the end, Aiden would rather be like his gorgeous and not-entirely-evil stepmothers.
“You can still meet me,” Aiden proposed. “I’m planning to get-together with another almost stepmother of mine, someday soon. You could come, and we could all trash my dad at a Michelin-star restaurant and put the bill on his tab.”
“We’ll see,” Brianna answered, but Aiden thought it sounded like she was in for a meeting of the Almost-Stepmothers Club.
He hung up the phone and looked around the ballroom of the yacht. Catering had set up a huge buffet, so Aiden wandered over to the desserts and took three cupcakes. He ate only the icing off the top, though that was depraved cupcake hedonism. He was feeling low, and so it was off with the cupcakes’ heads.
He was getting kicked out of Kings Row, and it was all his own fault. Everything he’d ever tried to make himself feel better, to feel less alone, hadn’t worked.
He texted the relevant group chat that his after-party was off.
There were several boys at Camp Menton, and several more in Menton, who would come running if Aiden called. They always did.
Long ago, Aiden and Harvard had been walking across the Kings Row campus together, and he’d been trying to ask Harvard out on a date. Harvard hadn’t understood, maybe because Harvard didn’t want to understand, and Aiden was feeling thoroughly dispirited. Then another guy had whistled at him, and Aiden had thought, Why not? Why shouldn’t he get to feel wanted? Why shouldn’t he take a little comfort where he could? Harvard wouldn’t care. It was like being under a highly ironic curse, being irresistible to everybody except the one person who mattered.
There had been comfort at Kings Row, as well as everything Aiden truly loved: Harvard and fencing. Kings Row was the first place where Aiden had ever fit in, felt wanted, realized all his dreams of being extraordinary, lived with someone who he loved and who loved him back. He would never get to go back again. There was nothing Aiden could do to make himself feel better, in the face of this loss.