Alex had thought much the same, but had no intention of saying so.
“I don’t suppose you mind, though. You’ve become quite the eunuch these days, haven’t you?”
Dear God, the man was even watching to see whether he jerked off. It was unsettling to be studied in such detail, but he didn’t let it show.
“I’m devoted only to my service to you, sir.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know… service, duty, devotion… blah blah blah.” Tyler swung his wine glass around aggressively. “Dacre was wrong about you, you know.” He leaned in close, his face twisted in anger. “It’s not heressenceyou have, whatever the fuck that means. You are like her, yes, but more in her refusal to be known. By anyone, I think. Certainly by your father, but yes, also by me. You have the same maddening quality. Even before Belvedere, when you were spitting and snarling like a wildcat, even then, I could never quite…” He trailed off, staring moodily into his wine.
Alex knew precisely what he was getting at. His mother had always had an elusive quality; even her family had never known who she really was at her core. Maybe he’d unwittingly modelled his mask on her, or maybe he’d always had it. Neil, Bax, and plenty of others had always said so.
Tyler gulped back his wine. “I showed her who I was, every single bloody day. I showed her, and I told her, but she always wrong-footed me. I could never quite know her, never entirely trust her. You’re the same. It drives me fucking nuts.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Alex said softly. “I don’t mean to be difficult in any way. I only want to be what you want me to be.”
“No, No, No!” Tyler threw his glass against the wall suddenly, causing Alex to jump, startled, as it smashed, the red wine painting a bright splash of colour on the white surface. “That’s not what I want. I want to seeyou. The real you.”
“Thisisme,” Alex whispered. “I don’t know how else to please you, sir.”
“I don’t believe you.” Tyler leaned across the table so that their faces were almost touching. “I think you’re just biding your time in there, waiting me out, thinking you can fool me. Well, you can’t. I’m on to you.” He pressed two fingers against his forehead then pointed them at Alex. “I’m watching you.”
Knowing better than to break cover, he just gazed back at Tyler emptily.
“Still nothing?” Tyler’s face twisted in fury. “Oh, just fuck off.”
For weeks, Tyler didn’t see him. Then, suddenly, he summoned Alex again. He didn’t refer to their previous meeting, or how badly it had ended. It was as if that didn’t exist. Tyler took him to view the construction site of the new floating city he wasinvesting in, asked his opinion on business decisions, and, as always, seemed genuinely interested in his replies.
They had a good day, and after that, Tyler summoned him regularly for the next few months. He was good company. Too good. Alex hated that he enjoyed being with him so much. It was easier when he wasn’t called to his presence and didn’t have to deal with these contradictory feelings. Was this Tyler’s plan? To break him with proximity and charm? If so, it was working.
The pressure was bearing down on him, crushing him slowly. How long before he cracked and showed Tyler exactly who he was beneath the mask? It would almost be a relief to break. To shout and scream and finally allow his feelings out. But what did that do but return them to precisely where they’d been the day Solange had died? Where could they possibly go after that? Did it matter? Maybe he wanted it all to be over, even if it meant his own death. The strain of being this person was too much. Gideon had asked too much. Solange had asked too much. He was stuck in this perpetual game of cat and mouse with Tyler, and one of them had to blink first. He was terrified it would be him.
He had a disturbing, recurring dream about drowning in a lost zone, his body sinking into the dark water, only when he looked down, he saw Solange, her dead eyes gazing back at him as she disappeared into the deep. He woke screaming, fearful that his mind was betraying him. Tyler might see the footage, but what could he do? He couldn’t control his dreams.
One morning, Andrew dressed him in a brand-new outfit, then showed him how he looked in the mirror.
“There, don’t you look perfect?” Andrew exclaimed.
Alex gazed at himself in silent despair. He was wearing a pair of indigo jeans, a white shirt, and a purple sweater, matched with a brown leather jacket and a thin scarf in the same coloursas the sweater and jacket. He looked… exactly like himself. These were precisely the kinds of clothes he used to wear, back when he could choose for himself. His hair was styled in short, artfully messy waves, he had just the right amount of stubble on his jaw to look casual but well groomed, and there were even silver rings on both his thumbs. He looked every inch the Alex Lytton of old.
He knew what Tyler was trying to do. If the old Alex was still in there, Tyler was determined to find him and drag him out, kicking and screaming. He gazed despondently at the dark rings under his eyes and the sallow cast of his skin. This couldn’t go on for much longer. He was only human.
Tyler stepped back when he entered the room and let out a whistle. “Now that’s better. That’s the Alexander we know and love. How do you like being yourself again?”
“It’s very kind of you, sir, but I’m happy to wear whatever you like,” he replied evenly.
“But this is soyou. You must feel much more comfortable now.” Tyler gave a sharp smile, and it suddenly struck Alex that he didn’t look very well, either. His face was drawn and tired, and he’d lost weight, making his cheekbones hollow. His body was even more honed than usual, as if he was working out tirelessly in the gym. Maybe Tyler’s sleep was as disrupted as his was, and working out was the only way for him to find peace, in much the same way as Alex used yoga. Clearly, this battle of attrition was taking its toll on Tyler, too. That gave Alex hope. Maybe Tyler would blink first.
“I wanted you to feel comfortable, today of all days,” Tyler told him, making Alex wonder what new horror he had in store for him. “I’ll say no more.” Tyler tapped the side of his nose. “I want it to be a surprise. It’s a big day, Alexander. A big day.”
They flew to one of Tyler’s factories, which had been decorated for a party, with gold and black balloons hanging around the entrance. A welcoming committee shook Tyler’s hand, but he was impatient to move on, full of nervous, restless energy.
“I thought you should be here for this. Look.” Tyler wrapped an arm around his shoulders and ushered him towards the entrance. He felt a sense of dread with every step, knowing that whatever lay in store for him here today had to be something big by the way Tyler was behaving – but what could it possibly be?
They reached the entrance, and he paused on the threshold, winded and unable to move, because there, right in front of him, shiny and gleaming, was a duck. And not just any duck, but one he knew intimately. A duck he’d designed.
“The first AV in our Destiny range,” Tyler announced gleefully. “This is our baby, Alexander, yours and mine. Look how beautiful she is.”
The duckwasbeautiful. It was everything he’d wanted it to be, with its elegant lines and sleek design. It was an object of desire, the very thing he’d insisted people craved after so many years of poverty and despair.
