“What did she say to that?”

“She said it would happen by the grace of God. Whatever that means.”

“I think it means you want a family, too.”

Søren rolled over on to his back, and Kingsley kept his hands to himself, a show of self-restraint he felt he deserved a medal for. If given permission, Kingsley would have spent the entire day kissing and touching every inch of Søren’s body, which was without flaw but for the small round crater on his upper arm where he’d gotten vaccinated for smallpox as a child. Such a little thing, but it reminded Kingsley that Søren was human. All too easy to forget sometimes.

“I have a family,” Søren said, looking Kingsley in the eyes.

A horn honked discreetly outside the house.

“That’s for me,” Kingsley said, wishing he hadn’t called the car. He wanted to stay with Søren and talk. Talk? Yes, even more than pain and sex, he wanted to talk. But they had plenty of time for that. The rest of their lives. Søren had pledged his fealty to Kingsley, and nothing would tear them apart ever again.

“Goodbye, Kingsley,” Søren said. Kingsley pulled away. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly.

He left Søren’s bed. But before Kingsley walked out of the room, he looked back.

“Did you mean it?” Kingsley asked. “The oath? That you would sleep well knowing I was a king?”

“Vive le roi,” Søren said and rolled on to his stomach.

Long live the king.

“Did you mean the other thing you said?”

“Which was?”

“Your confession?”

Søren adjusted his pillow, straightened his sheet and settled down back into his bed.

“I suppose we’ll never know, will we?” Søren asked.

Kingsley decided to take that as a “maybe.”

“Did you find the gift I left you?” Søren asked.

“Gift? No. What gift?”

“You’ll find it.” Søren rolled over on to his stomach and pulled the sheets up to his neck—by far the most sadistic thing he’d ever done in Kingsley’s estimation.

On the drive back to the city Kingsley heard Søren’s words echoing in his mind. Vive le roi. If Søren, the one man on earth Kingsley respected and loved with all his heart and all his strength and all his soul...if that man could swear his allegiance and loyalty to Kingsley, then how could he doubt his worthiness to be a king to their kind? If Søren was for him, who could be against him?

By the time he arrived at his town house, Kingsley had made a decision. Fuller or not, Renaissance or not, Sam or not, he would build his kingdom. He would find a place, a different place, a place he and Søren and all their kind could go and be safe and be themselves, and the rest of the world would be locked outside in the cold.

He wouldn’t waste another day. He would do it for Søren because Kingsley would do anything for Søren. And he would do it for himself because a king must have a kingdom.

He would have started right that second if it weren’t for the alcohol lingering in his system. He should sleep more, wake up with his head on straight. His kingdom deserved his best, and so he would give it his best. He wouldn’t even drink again until the night the club opened. He still had the bottle of champagne he had bought from Sam. He and Søren would drink it. It wouldn’t be right, drinking it without Sam. But he would do it anyway, no matter how much he missed her, no matter how much he wished she was back, no matter how much he wanted to hear her voice.

Kingsley stepped inside his bedroom, turned on his lamp and pulled the covers down on his bed.

From behind him he heard a voice.

“Look what the pussy dragged in.”

He spun around, suddenly sober.

“Sam?”

37

“DON’T KICK ME out,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. “Please.”

Kingsley couldn’t quite believe his eyes. He gazed at her in shock, more curious than furious.

“Kicking you out was the last thing on my list of an infinite number of things to do right now. Asking you what you’re doing here was the first.”

“I stopped by the Möbius,” she said, her words halting and nervous. “I wanted to say hi to Holly and the other girls. It was shut down. I called Holly, and she told me what happened.”

“You happened,” Kingsley reminded her, torn between fury at seeing her in his house and relief at simply seeing her again.

“I know,” Sam said. “But, please, hear me out.”

“I’m listening.”

Sam took a breath. “I heard about Irina. They said she got arrested again, and they’re going to deport her.”

“My attorney’s waving the white flag for me. I surrendered. But that should be enough to get Irina’s paperwork un-lost.”

“I can’t believe you gave up.”

“What choice did I have?”

“You could have not given up and let everyone suffer,” she said, taking a step forward.

“What kind of king would I be if I let my people suffer for my mistakes?”

“You might not believe me, but you have to trust me.” She ran her hands through her hair. She didn’t have a suit on now. She wore jeans, a white shirt and black suspenders. She’d gotten her hair cut, and now she looked even more boyish than before. Boyish and beautiful as always. “I know what it’s like to take the fall for someone else’s sins.”