Chapter 34 As You Wish
Dinner was served in the smaller dining room~the one that only sat eight instead of twenty, which Cedric had learned was considered "intimate" in mansion terms. Mrs. Kozlov had outdone herself: roasted chicken with herbs he couldn't name, vegetables that looked like they'd been arranged by an artist, some kind of potato dish that was creamy and perfect and probably had a French name he'd mispronounce.
Cedric ate alone. Falcone was still sleeping~Mrs. Kozlov had checked on him an hour ago and reported that he was "finally getting the rest he needs." She'd said it with a pointed look at Cedric, like he was personally responsible for Falcone's sleep schedule.
Maybe he was.
The thought sat uncomfortably in his chest. The idea that he had that kind of influence over someone so powerful. That his presence or absence could affect whether Falcone rested or worked himself into the ground.
"More wine, Mr. Santos?"
Cedric looked up to find one of the evening staff~Miguel, he thought, though he still got some of the names confused~standing by his elbow with a bottle of red that probably cost more than a car payment.
"No, thank you. I'm working tonight."
"Ah yes, at Elysium." Miguel topped off his water glass instead. "You should eat more. Build your strength. Those nights can be long."
Everyone in this house had opinions about whether Cedric was eating enough. It would be annoying if it wasn't also kind of touching. Like he'd acquired a dozen surrogate parents who expressed affection through food and concern.
"I'm eating," Cedric protested, gesturing at his half-empty plate. "See? Eating."
"You pick at your food like a bird." This from Rosa, who had materialized from the kitchen with what looked like fresh bread. "Here. Eat this. I made it this afternoon."
"Rosa, I'm already full~"
"You're never too full for fresh bread." She set the basket down with a definitiveness that brooked no argument. "And Mr. Falcone will ask if you ate well. What am I supposed to tell him?"
"The truth?"
"The truth is you eat like someone who's still afraid the food will disappear." Rosa's voice was gentle despite the blunt words. "You're safe here, mijo. The food isn't going anywhere. Neither are you, if Mr. Falcone has anything to say about it."
Cedric felt his face heat. "I don't~we're not~"
"Please." Rosa waved a dismissive hand. "I've worked for this family long enough to know what it looks like when a Falcone decides someone belongs to them. That man looks at you the way his father looked at his mother. Like you're the air he breathes."
"That's... intense."
"Love is intense. Especially in this family." She patted his shoulder. "Eat your bread. I'll tell Mr. Falcone you ate like a king."
After she left, Cedric did eat the bread. It was still warm, crusty on the outside and soft on the inside, with butter that melted into it perfectly. He tried not to think about Rosa's words~about being possessed, about belonging, about the weight of being someone's air.
He tried not to think about how much he was starting to like that weight.
By eight-fifteen, he'd showered and changed into his work clothes~the tailored white shirt and black slacks that fit perfectly because Falcone had them made specifically for him. His hair was still damp, falling into his eyes the way it always did when he didn't blow-dry it. He'd gotten lazier about that lately. Or maybe just more comfortable with imperfection.
The hickey on his neck from three days ago was finally faded enough that he didn't need concealer. Small mercies.
Marco was waiting by the front entrance, keys in hand, expression as neutral as ever. The man had perfected the art of being simultaneously present and invisible~a necessary skill, Cedric supposed, when your job was to watch someone without making them feel watched.
"Evening, Mr. Santos."
"Just Cedric is fine. We've been through this."
"Mr. Falcone prefers~"
"Mr. Falcone isn't here." Cedric grabbed his jacket from the hall closet~leather, expensive, probably Italian. Everything was always Italian. "And I prefer Cedric."
Marco's lips twitched. Almost a smile. "As you wish. Cedric."
The drive to Elysium took twenty minutes through evening traffic. Cedric spent most of it staring out the window, watching the city transform from the quiet, residential elegance of Falcone's neighborhood to the increasingly dense and chaotic downtown. Lights reflecting off wet pavement from an earlier rain. People spilling out of restaurants and bars, dressed up for Thursday night like it was Friday. The world continuing its endless cycle of work and play and survival.
"Can I ask you something?" Cedric said suddenly.
Marco's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. "Of course."
"How long have you worked for Falcone?"
"Seven years."
"And in those seven years... has he ever..." Cedric struggled to find the words. "Has he ever been like this before? With someone?"
Marco was quiet for a long moment, navigating through a particularly aggressive intersection where cabs and delivery trucks seemed to be playing chicken. "Like what?"
"Distracted. Worried. Planning dinner parties and losing sleep over making good impressions."
"No." The answer was simple, definitive. "Never."
"So this is..."
"Unprecedented." Marco pulled up to a red light, meeting Cedric's eyes in the mirror. "Mr. Falcone has always been focused. Disciplined. Everything in his life serves a purpose, follows a plan. But you..." He trailed off, seeming to choose his words carefully. "You've disrupted that. In a way I don't think he expected."
"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"
"That depends on your perspective. For him, probably terrifying. For everyone who works for him and worries about his wellbeing..." Marco's almost-smile returned. "It's good to see him care about something other than the business. Even if it makes him act like a nervous teenager sometimes."
Cedric couldn't help but laugh. The image of Falcone~controlled, commanding Falcone~as a nervous teenager was almost too absurd to process.
"He's really anxious about Saturday, isn't he?"
"He's been planning the menu since Monday. Called three different florists about arrangements. Had Mrs. Kozlov rearrange the dining room twice." Marco shook his head. "I've seen him negotiate with rival families without breaking a sweat. But meeting your mother has him more stressed than I've ever seen him."
The light turned green. They merged back into traffic, getting closer to Elysium's neon glow in the distance.
"For what it's worth," Marco added, "I think it's good. What you two have. He's... lighter, somehow. Like he's remembering how to be human instead of just a position."
"He's still human. He's always been human."
"Has he?" Marco's voice was thoughtful. "Sometimes I wonder. The things this life requires, the things we do... it's easy to forget the human parts. To bury them so deep you can't find them anymore." He pulled up to Elysium's back entrance. "But you seem to be helping him remember. That's no small thing."
Cedric sat with that as Marco put the car in park. Helping Falcone remember how to be human. As if that was something you could forget. As if the violence and control and calculated manipulation could strip away the fundamental parts that made someone a person.
Except maybe it could. Maybe that was exactly what happened in this life. Maybe Falcone had been burying those parts for so long that Cedric's presence was excavating them, bringing them back to the surface whether Falcone wanted them there or not.
"Thank you," Cedric said, reaching for the door handle. "For telling me that."