Dollars (Dollar #2)

“Oh?”

“I’m only taking care of her from an unfortunate incident.”

Simo took a sip of his wine. “I must admit, I was doing my best not to ask who marked her.”

I snorted, taking his direction and throwing a mouthful of guava juice down my throat. Wine was not an option. Alcohol had the opposite effect on me than cannabis. “Would you continue to deal with me if I said I was the one?”

“No.” His face locked into place. “But I don’t believe you did.”

“Why?” My eyebrows rose, asking a dangerous question. “I already said we aren’t lovers, and you most likely have suspicions of my intentions with her.”

Why am I having this conversation with a royal?

It wasn’t possible I wanted to clear my name rather than be sullied by his opinion. It didn’t matter to me.

Simo patted his son’s head who currently had crayon all over the tablecloth. “A man who glowers at a woman the way you do her…she’s the one hurting you. Not the other way around.”

Words flew from my head. For the first time in forever, I was speechless.

Simo continued. “I believe there are many kinds of men. My second cousin, the king, is one type—a possession to his beloved country. I am another type—a possession to the woman I married. And then, there is you.” He looked up, stealing the crayon from his son.

I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

Clearing my throat, I asked, “And what kind am I?”

He grinned wisely. “You, my friend, are homeless. You are neither owned by a country or a woman. It is a place not many men can survive in for long.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

My heart fell into my stomach, hissing with acid. Homeless. Familyless. Even Selix—after our years on the streets together—didn’t know the truth about me. How had this royal looked through my façade and understood?

He waved his hand as if he hadn’t just torn apart my fucking life. “I have a question if I may. It doesn’t relate to boat building.” His face softened. “However, after the personal conversation we just had, I don’t think it’s too inappropriate to ask.”

I ran a hand through my hair. I’d been in control of this meeting, and now, I was on the back foot. That had never happened to me. Ever. Part of me wanted to tell him to shove his question up his ass, but my lips moved with permission. “Ask.”

“Great.” He opened his arms as his daughter grew tired and climbed onto his lap. “I’ve heard rumours about you.”

My back instantly hardened.

There were too many rumours to know which one he’d heard. Some, I’d started. Some, I wanted to end. Most of them were terrible—designed to keep me feared and free.

“Oh?”

“I heard you have a gift.”

I choked on another mouthful of guava. “Excuse me?”

“A gift. It’s why you build impeccable yachts. It’s why you’re so wealthy. It’s why you have many talents, I am sure.”

“And what gift would that be?”

His eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Some call it a curse.”

Shit.

“By the way you stiffened, I’m guessing you might call it a curse, too.”

I smiled tightly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.” Stroking his daughter’s black hair, he whispered, “Funny how our minds fixate on things, isn’t it?”

Ice fell over me like a blizzard. “What are you saying?”

He chuckled. “Depends. Show me your hands.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Show me your hands.” Simo looked pointedly at where I clutched my glass.

I searched for a reason to say no but couldn’t find one. Slowly, I unwound my fingers and presented them palm up. I didn’t breathe as Simo reached across and stroked the pads of my fingers of my left hand. “You play.”

I coughed.

This meeting was over. What the fuck was he doing?

Simo held out his own left hand. “Go ahead. If it will make you feel easier.” My legs bunched to walk out of the restaurant, but my fingers disobeyed me, creeping across to touch this man in the same way he’d touched me.

Calluses and thickened skin, just like mine.

“The cello?” My voice barely carried.

He nodded. “I’ve researched you, Elder. I hear you were a prodigy.”

How the fuck did he hear that?

Memories of a happier time with music, surrounded by my mother, father, and brother—memories that riddled me with bullets and made me bleed—tried to enter my mind.

I gritted my teeth, pushing them back. “Once. That’s over now.”

“Yet you still play.” He leaned back, cuddling his daughter. “You know, Elder, in my country, we don’t label things like the western world. If one has the tendency to focus until perfection is created, we praise rather than worry. I think all great virtuosos have what you have, and you should not run from it.”

“What I have?”

“Sorry, it’s not what you have but what you are.” Changing the subject, Simo smiled. “I wasn’t going to tell you this as it has no reflection on our business together. However, I think, after learning what sort of man you are behind your reputations, it can’t hurt.”

Once again, he put me on the back foot.