The Billionaire's Boyfriend

by Geoffrey Knight

  Cal laughed. “I know you’re trying to be funny. But seriously, those guys may have been famous and rich and sporty and handsome…”

  “You’re making me feel better by the second…”

  “But they’re not you, Matt. And you’re not them.” Cal stopped and yanked my hand so we stood face to face. “Out of all the guys I’ve ever dated, who’s the one I’m standing with right now… on a street in Rome… about to kiss…?”

  “You’re about to kiss me?” I smiled.

  “A-ha.”

  “A short, peck-on-the-lips kiss? Or a long, passionate, Roman kiss?”

  “I think it’s gonna be the Roman kind. After all, when in Rome…”

  He leaned in for a kiss, when suddenly, out of nowhere, it came. I hadn’t built up to it, I hadn’t summoned my courage or prepared myself for a blow. But before I knew it, the words were coming out of my mouth.

  “There’s just one other guy whose name I can’t place,” I said, turning away from the kiss just before he could plant his lips on me.

  Cal looked confused. “What are you talking about?”

  Maybe it was the tuxedo filling me with confidence. Maybe it was the fiery passion of Rome in the air. But I suddenly felt emboldened enough to say, “I know about all the other guys you’ve dated, I know about the race car driver and the actor and the model. But for the life of me, I can’t figure out where Angus fits into that line-up.”

  Cal suddenly stiffened and took a step back.

  “Angus? What do you know about Angus?”

  “Not as much as I should… obviously.”

  “You shouldn’t know a goddamn thing about Angus.”

  I was a little shocked at how quickly Cal’s defenses kicked in. Suddenly I questioned my judgement for bringing Angus’ name up at all, but one thing was for sure—there was no getting this genie back in the bottle now.

  “How do you know about Angus?” Cal demanded. “Exactly how much ‘stalking’ have you done?”

  “I don’t know anything about Angus. Which is why I’m asking now. Who is he, Cal?”

  “He’s none of your fucking business!”

  Suddenly we had become the feuding couple on the street that everyone was looking at, but I had the sickly feeling this was not going to end with kissing in an alley.

  “Cal, all I’m saying is, this guy apparently means something to you. And if you and I are gonna start seeing each other, well, I think I have a right to know what he means to you.”

  “No, you don’t have a right to ask anything right now. I’ve done nothing but respect you, adore you, defend you! And this is how you repay me?”

  “That’s not fair. I do respect you—”

  “How can you call this respect? You’ve delved into my private life like some ambulance-chasing reporter. That world is sacred to me. What you and I had… was sacred to me. I trusted you, Matt. But not anymore.”

  Suddenly the panic set in.

  I felt the tears start to well.

  “Cal, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” I reached for him but he pulled away.

  “Why? Why did you do this?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I was jealous, I needed to know more. Maybe I’m just stupid.”

  “No, you’re not,” he shook his head at me sternly. “You’re one of the smartest people I know. Which is why I hate that you’ve done this.”

  “Done what?”

  “Broken my heart,” he answered.

  Cal backed away from me and stepped up to the curb just as a cab appeared out of nowhere. He waved the taxi down and its headlights blinded me.

  “Cal, wait! Please wait!”

  “No, Matt. We’re done here.”

  With the slam of a car door, the cab peeled away and disappeared into the busy Roman traffic.

  As I watched the red taillights vanish in a sea of red taillights, I stumbled backward. A wall caught me, as I whispered in shock, “Oh God, what have I just done?”

  Chapter Six

  I took one turn, then another, and before I knew it I was lost in Rome.

  I stumbled through the lamp-lit streets like a drunk American tourist, my tear-streaked vision steering me blindly to God knows where until, before I knew it, I kicked the bottom step of the most famous steps of all.

  The Spanish Steps.

  I had no idea what time it was, but the steps were still filled with couples who stood amidst the flowers kissing, or sat cuddling with their arms wrapped tightly around each other.

  Talking quietly.

  Chatting about the things they saw and did that day.

  Discussing their plans for the future.

  I suddenly felt like the loneliest person in the world.

  This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be standing in front of the Spanish Steps with someone’s hand in mine.

  With Cal’s hand in mine.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” I told myself in a stern whisper. “You’re used to being by yourself. You’re good at being by yourself. You don’t need anybody else by your side to do this.”

  I suddenly felt hot in the tuxedo jacket. I wanted to be free of it. I wrestled it off my shoulders and threw it to the ground beside me.

  “You can do this, Matt,” I muttered to myself like I was my own muse. “You can do the Spanish Steps all by yourself. Just do it.”

  I took a deep breath and lifted my right leg, about to place my foot on the first step.

  There I paused, my foot hovering over the step.

  I swayed unsteadily on my left foot.

  I paused for so long I had to stretch my arms out to hold my balance.

  That’s when a passing couple stopped beside me and lingered a moment. The woman rummaged through her purse, then tossed a handful of coins onto my jacket. As they continued on, I heard her say to her partner, “I’ve seen better mimes, but you have to support them. How else can they make a living?”

  In that moment, I lost my balance as the crushing weight of heartbreak and defeat came crashing down upon me.

  I toppled to the ground.

  The couple turned when they heard me fall and rushed back to help me.

  “Are you all right?” the woman asked, helping me to my feet. “You’re not very good at this at all, are you. Perhaps you should try an easier mime. Pretend you’re in an invisible box and you can’t get out.”

  “I don’t have to pretend to do that mime,” I sighed.

  I picked up my jacket and gave her back the coins.

  “Keep them,” she smiled. “Throw them in the Trevi Fountain and make a wish. Hopefully it will come true. It seems like you might need it.”

  With that they turned and walked away.

  * * *

  I did throw the coins in the Trevi Fountain.

  And I did make a wish.

  I wished I had Cal back.

  * * *

  It was hours later when I finally arrived in front of the Palazzo Manfredi, my shirt untucked and my jacket dragging behind me. Dawn hadn’t yet arrived but it wasn’t far away. The Roman skies had turned from black to deep blue, and across the street a whistling waiter was turning chairs down and sweeping the front steps of a café, preparing for the first customers of the day.

  “He’s made arrangements for your flight home,” a voice said out of nowhere.

  I looked around to see Sergio exiting from the side door of the hotel. He was flicking a lighter with one hand and cupping a cigarette with the other. He was no longer dressed in his pristine concierge uniform. Now he wore a pair of baggy, old trousers and a jacket with a hood.

  He walked up to me.

  “Forgive me for saying so, Signor Darcy, but you do not look so… maginifico.”

  “I do not feel so… maginifico.”

  “It appears your evening did not go as planned, no?”

  I shook my head. “No. It didn’t. Is he still here?”

  Sergio shook his head. “No. He left a few hours ago. He said you can stay as
long as you like. Whenever you’re ready to leave, your flight will be arranged. Business class. At least he knows how to end things in style.”

  “He told you he ended things with me?”

  Sergio shook his head. “No. But he seemed rather… upset.”

  “I fucked it up. I fucked everything up. I don’t know how I managed it, but I did.”

  “You know, in Rome we have saying. Everything makes a little more sense after a cup of coffee.” Sergio patted me on the back and pointed to the café across the street. “Alberto over there knows how to make a good coffee. Come, let me buy you one.”

  * * *

  Sitting at a table in front of the café across the street, Sergio and I sipped fresh hot espressos while the sky turned pink then a bright, dazzling orange.

  “You’re right, this is a good coffee,” I said.

  “We Italians make the best coffee in the world. We do not drown it in filthy, frothy milk like you Americans. We let the flavor of the coffee inspire you with its boldness, surprise you with its bitterness, delight you with its character. A good coffee is like the perfect lover. It gives you reason to wake up in the morning.”

  “Do all you Italians take a course in romantic poetry or something? I mean, is it a prerequisite that you’re all so… passionate?”

  Sergio simply nodded. “Si. Passionate… and honest. Which brings me to your tuxedo. You looked quite handsome in that suit earlier in the evening. But now…”

  “I know. I’m a total wreck. I’m not usually this messy… in public… in a foreign country.”

  “It’s okay. Your heart is broken. You’re not the first.”

  I let out a shoulder-slumping sigh. “I think Cal is seeing someone else. A guy called Angus. I started asking questions that I shouldn’t have asked. He got all defensive and now here I am. Alone. No offense.”

  Sergio chuckled under his breath. “No offense taken. You know, life is a funny thing. You should consider yourself lucky. What is it you Americans say? Better to have lost in love than never to have loved at all, right?” He sipped the last of his coffee and slipped a few Euros under the sugar bowl on the table. “Me? I’m going home to a cat who forgets he’s been fed every ten minutes. I would love to be going home to my own Calvin Croft… or even the Calvin Croft… but such is life.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” I said, finishing my espresso. “Such is life.”

  Sergio shrugged. “It’s the only one we have, so why not make the most of it.”

  He stood from the table and turned to go, but before he did he said one last thing. “Oh, and by the way. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I feel like fate would be angry with me if I didn’t. Angus is not Signor Croft’s lover. He’s his brother… someone who needs Signor Croft more than anyone knows.”

  I stood from the table so fast I kicked over my chair. “His brother?”

  Sergio nodded. “Signor Croft has spent his lifetime protecting him. It seems to me that Calvin is not angry at you. He’s simply protecting the brother he loves.”

  I launched at Sergio and hugged him so hard I almost took us both down. “Oh my God! It’s his brother! Angus is his brother!”

  “Signor Darcy,” choked Sergio in a raspy voice. “You are squeezing the life out of me!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, pulling back and shaking Sergio by the shoulders in a panic. “But what do I do now? You’re Italian, you’re passionate, tell me what I’m supposed to do now.”

  “Now you’re supposed to get on a plane and win back your love, you stupid American.”

  I laughed so loud it echoed off the nearby Colosseum. “Ha! Of course I do! Oh my God, I need to get on a plane. Right now!”

  Sergio looked at my bedraggled tuxedo. “You might want to get changed first.”

  Chapter Seven

  The flight from Rome to New York was the longest ten hours of my life. I drank too many tiny bottles of vodka and paced up and down the aisle so many times the Air Marshall on board discreetly told me to take my assigned seat before he zip-tied my wrists to the armrests.

  As soon as we touched down in New York, I raced from the plane, dashed through the airport terminal, snatched my backpack off the baggage carousel and grabbed the first cab I could.

  “Croft Tower, please. And step on it.”

  “You know nobody actually says ‘step on it’,” said the driver in an annoyed tone. “It’s just demanding and, quite frankly, kinda rude. Unless of course you wanna fork out for the speeding ticket.”

  “I apologize. Just, please, can you get me to Croft Tower as fast as legally possible?”

  “It could take a while. There’s a break-down in the tunnel, everything’s gridlocked.”

  I rolled my eyes as the cab pulled slowly into the traffic.

  I checked my watch at least every thirty seconds as we crawled from one lane to another in the congested traffic. Up ahead, like a spire in the New York skyline, I could see Croft Tower slowly getting closer, inch by frustrating inch.

  When we finally pulled up in front of the skyscraper, I paid the driver, raced through the revolving doors of the building and ran straight for the workers’ elevator.

  With a ping, the doors opened just as I slid to a halt in front of the elevator—

  —and the same construction worker who had tried to hit on me the other day stepped out.

  As I tried to jump into the elevator, he stopped me. “Hey, where do you think you’re going? It’s a construction site up there. Do you have permission to use this elevator?”

  “I didn’t have permission the other day but you didn’t seem to have a problem sharing a ride with me, did you?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

  “Do you remember the sixty-year-old woman in the overcoat? The one you pinched on the ass?”

  “How do you know about that?”

  I pushed my way into the elevator and pushed him out the doors. “Because that ass was mine!”

  The construction worker’s jaw dropped in shock just as the doors closed.

  Within seconds the doors opened again to reveal the construction site on the second top floor. I hurried out of the elevator, about to make a beeline for Cal’s office, when someone reached out for me from out of nowhere and spun me about.

  “Excuse me, who are you?”

  It was Lydia, gripping my forearm with one hand and holding a cluster of documents in the other.

  “I need to see Cal,” I said desperately.

  “No, you need to tell me who you are.” Her eyes squinted as recognition set in. “Wait a minute. I know you. You’re the flower delivery guy. The one who Cal keeps talking about.”

  “I need to see him. Now!”

  “You can’t. He’s not here. To be honest, I haven’t seen him for days. He does this sometimes, he just vanishes. It’s positively infuriating. It’s like he’s trying to lose himself in the crowd. God knows where he goes.”

  It suddenly dawned on me. “I know where he goes.”

  I caught the doors of the elevator just before the closed and squeezed my way inside as Lydia shouted after me, waving her wad of papers in an angry fist, “If you find him, tell him I’m still waiting for him to sign these documents. ASAP!”

  * * *

  I burst through the door of Mrs. Mulroney’s Little Flower Shop with so much force, my backpack flew out of my hand and slid across the floor, knocking over several empty buckets with a loud clang.

  Mrs. Mulroney jumped with fright and clutched at her chest. “Sweet Jesus in need of an adult nappy! Are you trying to give an old lady a heart attack?”

  “I need help,” I said, frantic and panting. “Things are bad. Real bad.”

  “Matthew are you all right? What do you mean things are bad? How bad? Like body-in-the-trunk-of-a-car bad? Don’t fret, I know where we can get our hands on a garden mulcher.”

  “Not that bad. Well, maybe. I’ve lost Cal.”

  “What
do you mean you’ve lost Cal? Are we talking under the sofa? In a Walmart? At the intersection of 42nd and Broadway? Or do you mean…?”

  “I mean lost lost. I mean gone forever if I can’t find him and beg for forgiveness.”

  “Oh God, we can’t lose him. I had my heart set on a whisky distillery in Kentucky for Christmas. Do you know where he might be?”

  I nodded. “I think so, but I’m gonna need help to search for him.”

  Mrs. Mulroney grinned. “Heaven’s above, it’s a crusade!” Throwing her apron and clippers on the floor, she grabbed me by the hand and stuck a Closed sign on the door. “Come on, young man. Let’s go get your boyfriend back!”

  We raced outside and got no further than three steps when we heard a loud whistle from above.

  “Hey there, Oscar Wilde! Where are you running off to?”

  Mrs. Mulroney and I looked up to see Tilly leaning over the railing of the fire escape.

  “We’re on a crusade to find Cal before Matthew loses him forever!” hollered Mrs. Mulroney for all the neighborhood to hear. “Come on, we need all the help we can get!”

  Like a firefighter down a pole, Tilly slid down the fire escape and leapt to the sidewalk.

  “We need to find a cab,” I said, looking desperately up and down the street.

  I couldn’t see any, until Tilly put two fingers in her mouth and whistled so loud that three cabs suddenly appeared out of nowhere and swerved to pick us up.

  I opened the front passenger door of the first cab that screeched to a halt in front of us—

  —just as Mr. Banks was about to step out of it.

  “Mr. Banks?”

  “Oh, there you are, old chap. Is this where the tango classes are being held? I’ve just been out shopping for a brand-new pair of dancing shoes.”

  We all looked down at Mr. Banks’ feet to see he was wearing a pair of pink bunny slippers with ears pointing up at the toes.

  “Oh, Mr. Banks,” said Mrs. Mulroney, shaking her head. “We can’t let you out of our sight for five minutes. Don’t get out of that cab. You’re coming with us! Quickly, everyone else in the back.”