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There's a chauffeur waiting for Aimeric at the airport when he flies home for winter break. The guy must be new, because he tries being friendly. Aimeric directs him to take the freeway, where they are promptly ensnared in rush hour traffic.
“I'll get you home as soon as possible,” the chauffeur promises, more than a tinge of panic in his voice.
Aimeric shrugs. “There's no rush.”
It'll take an extra hour to get home this way, which is an extra hour Aimeric doesn't have to spend at home. That's perfectly fine with him.
It's not like he hates his family or anything; he's not that dramatic. But Aimeric has been counting down the days until winter break is over since before he even boarded the flight home. His entire family being home for the holidays means his entire family has the chance to exhaust his patience. (With three brothers, the list of who is annoying him most can change by the hour. His mom almost never makes that list, and his father almost never leaves it.)
Plus, winter break is boring and predictable. It's too cold to do much of anything outside, and there's only so much time one can sit by the fire and be inundated by seasonal joy. At least this is the last year he has to return home; next year will be better.
Aimeric and the unfortunate new chauffeur have just managed to inch their way through the worst of the congestion when his father texts.
“I expected you home by now.”
“Traffic is terrible,” he dutifully reports.
“I can't wait for you. But when you're here, there will be your new bodyguard waiting. His name is Jord. Any questions about him can be directed to Enguerran.”
So much for a predictable vacation. Aimeric raised an eyebrow, less at the contents of the message than at the timing.
There's nothing unusual about getting a bodyguard in the deFortaine household. It's practically a rite of passage when your father is the head of a multibillion dollar company. All of his brothers have security details. But they all got those when they were younger, not a week removed from their last college semester. The timing of this decision seems strange. Aimeric has always assumed he's simply not important enough to merit a bodyguard: the disposable son.
What had changed?
He texts his father the politest variation of that question that he can muster. There's about five minutes during which he stares at his phone and genuinely expects a response. Then he remembers himself and puts his phone away with a huff.
It is not that his father does not like questions, it is simply that he is impervious to them. Aimeric does not get answers unless Guion wants to give them. There are certain inevitabilities in life, and that is one of them.
Seven days, he reminds himself, and then none of this matters anymore.
The chauffeur is looking harried by the time they arrive home, so Aimeric tips him extra for his trouble. He'll probably learn the side roads sooner or later.
He walks alone into the main foyer and there is a man waiting for him. He's stout, but gives the appearance of being taller than he actually is. Standing at attention can do that. Former military, no doubt. Aimeric finds himself standing a little taller just looking at the guy.
“You must be Aimeric,” the man gives the faintest smile. It instantly and irrationally sets Aimeric's teeth on edge.
“Have you really been waiting here the whole time?” Aimeric asks. He can feel the first stirring of guilt, but he tries to smother it before it has a chance to blossom into any real emotion.
“I wasn't given a lot of guidance,” Jord replies.
And he isn't going to get a lot more from Aimeric. “I have to drop off my things,” Aimeric says as he turns to go.
“I can grab your bag,” Jord holds out a hand. Aimeric grips the handle of his suitcase tighter.
“I'll be fine,” he says icily. Jord frowns but draws back his hand.
It's not his fault he's here, Aimeric reminds himself.
It's not mine either.
Aimeric sighs. “You’re not a porter, you shouldn't be carrying my bags. Go talk to Enguerran. He's the head of security. He'll have a better idea what you should be doing.”
Jord nods. He might be opening his mouth to say something more, but Aimeric doesn't wait around to find out.
When Aimeric gets to his room, he closes the door and leans back against it. It's a shield between him and the rest of the house.
All Aimeric has to do is get through the end of this academic year. He’ll graduate in June.
It’s not going to be the most impressive graduation. He’s not the top of his class (like his oldest brother was), or the best at sports (that was the brother after) and he didn’t flirt with expulsion after trying to run a business out of his dorm room (his father had to intervene to help his last brother with that case.) He scraped through with better-than-average grades and no major catastrophes or scandals. Aimeric can't say whether or not he defied expectations, because he isn't sure his family really ever had any expectations for him.
Aimeric doesn't mind. It's not like he has that many expectations himself. There's only one, and luckily it's the only one that matters. He is going to work for the Regent after he graduates.
The Regent is his father's biggest business partner, has been for the past couple of decades. Together they control two of the largest companies in Vere. And every few years, the Regent opens an internship that reports directly to him.
Aimeric was promised that position when he was fourteen. The circumstances may have been, well, ethically dubious and definitely illegal. But people lied, cheated, and stole just for a shot at this internship. And it belonged to Aimeric. It was something uniquely his, something that wasn't in the shadows of his brothers. And he'd finally get out of this house.
All he has to do is actually get the internship. He lies down in the bed, opens his computer, and idly navigates to the online application for the position. It's only been open a few days; the first hour it was available, the traffic took down the site.
A wall of intimidating text greets him. It's a complex, multistep position and all the different deadlines are spelled out in red, bold font. The first of those deadlines is coming up soon. Luckily it doesn't require much: just a resume and cover letter. Aimeric’s visited the site almost every day since the job was posted, but he hasn’t uploaded either.
There’s a knock on his door and he closes the laptop quickly.
“It’s Jord,” the muffled voice says from the other side.
“What do you want?” Aimeric snaps back, hastily rearranging the sheets on his bed to cover his computer. There shouldn’t be anything indecent about looking at a job application online, and anyway he shouldn’t have to explain himself to someone his own father hired. And yet he does feel this creeping sense of shame and the annoyance he felt earlier grows even more.
Jord walks in. “I spoke to Enguerran. He suggested I evaluate your room. It shouldn't take long.” There's almost an apology in his voice.
“Whatever,” Aimeric huffs. It's a bullshit assignment and it sounds like Jord knows this too.
Jord walks to the window. He spends a few minutes looking outside, testing out various angles. “You're looking for any potential threats,” Aimeric asks. Jord nods.
“This has been my room since I was a kid. If there was any potential vulnerability, I would hope my father's security team would have found it by now,” he continues.
There's a silent question in his voice, but Jord doesn't answer it. He only gives the faintest nod in response. But Aimeric can see how he stiffens. Aimeric's impressed: if he hadn't been watching so carefully, he might not have noticed anything. Must be that military training again.
With no answer forthcoming, Aimeric decides to make the implicit explicit.
“I follow my father’s business. There’s been no deals announced, no major changes. So why hire a new bodyguard now?”
Aimeric knows his father. There is always a reason for what he does. And the longer he waits to tell Aimeric, the more he knows Aimeric won't like it.
Jord doesn't say anything for a long minute. He's still looking outside, but Aimeric is pretty sure he isn’t seeing anything anymore. It doesn’t matter; there’s nothing out there to look out for, Aimeric is sure of it.
Jord straightens up, as if to go. “Your room looks clear.”
“So, you don't answer my questions either.”
Jord takes a deep breath, and for a moment there’s something like sympathy in his eyes. That's even worse. “I don't know. I didn't ask about the timing, and I'm not paid to ask questions. I'll be doing shifts with some of the other members of the security team tonight. If you need me, I can give you my number.” A pause and then he adds, “Aimeric, don’t hesitate to call.”
Aimeric doesn’t give him a second glance as he leaves the room.
I’m not paid to ask questions. Aimeric’s gotten so used to being told not to ask too many questions, he’s amused to hear those words coming from someone else. Stay quiet and father will pay all and any of your bills: that was always the implicit bargain. The deFortaine household is not one that rewards curiosity. Perhaps when you build a business empire, you don’t want people looking for the faults in the castle.
Aimeric doesn't think of the plan until the next morning.
He tosses and turns over the internship that night. A question keeps gnawing at him: should you even have to apply to something that’s been promised for you? Wouldn’t he have received instructions to apply, if that was what the Regent wanted? He hasn’t heard from the Regent – well, he hasn’t heard from the Regent since before his voice dropped. But maybe that had been the plan all along. Maybe to avoid any accusations of nepotism or impropriety, the Regent wasn't going to give him any instructions that weren't publicly available. But then why would it even have been promised to him, if he was just going to have to apply online like everyone else? And when the hell exactly had impropriety stopped his father or the Regent before?
Aimeric wakes up after barely having slept. He skips breakfast -- although admittedly he probably would have done that anyway, because all three of his brothers are back and no sleep is restful enough to give him the patience to deal with all of them in the morning. Instead, he tries to focus on absolutely anything else he can think of.
Jord comes in a few minutes after he's decided to spend the morning in bed. “They're serving breakfast downstairs,” he says, evidently completely unaware that Aimeric already knows this.
“I'm not hungry,” Aimeric replies flatly. His stomach growls faintly at that lie, but it's probably not audible.
“I’ll bring you something,” Jord closes the door before Aimeric could point out that is not the function of a bodyguard and the deFortaine household actually has maids for just those kind of tasks.
At least there's an upside: the kitchen is on the other side of the house, and it is a very big house. Aimeric has a lot of time to wait for Jord to return. Enough time to consider what exactly he wants to do next.
Enough time to come up with the plan.
Aimeric has never been the strongest of his brothers or the hardest working or the smartest. But, he reminds himself as he artfully tosses his hair and slides the hem of his shirt up just so, there has always been one thing at which Aimeric is the best.
He's the hot brother, and he always has been.
And when you want information, sometimes there's nothing quite like a pretty face to get people talking.
Jord returns carrying a plate loaded up with pancakes. If he notices the coy way that Aimeric is looking at him, he shows no signs, just sets the breakfast down on the bedside table unceremoniously.
“Oh, you're too kind,” Aimeric purrs. Jord shrugs. He opens his mouth to say something, but evidently thinks better of it. There is a long pause, until Aimeric decides to push further. “You should stay a while.”
“I already ate,” Jord replies, as if Aimeric had been discussing the pancakes. “If that's all you need, though, I should really get going. The rest of the security team is expecting me.”
He leaves Aimeric blinking in confusion. Jord didn't even given him a second glance. That doesn't sound right.
His father is definitely up to something, Aimeric decides, as he eats his breakfast in bed. Jord has to know more than he's let on so far. That must be it. Aimeric knows what he's going to do: he'll seduce Jord, get the answers he wants, get the internship.
Maybe not in that order.
The deadline to apply is Thursday. The Monday after, Aimeric flies back to school. The only resume he has is from last year, when a class he was taking made him draft a sample resume. Tailor your resume to the job you want, the instructions had said. But that wasn't an option for Aimeric, because the job he really wanted was for the Regent to accept him without any further bullshit.
The resume needs work. Aimeric knows this. But he doesn't look at it. Instead, he planned the best way to get Jord into bed.
He changes into one of his favorite outfits, the one that's just a hair too tight and just a tad bit too flimsy, and then calls for Jord. “I think I see someone outside,” he says in a stage whisper.
“Stay down, stay out of sight, I'll be right there.” There's an anxiety in his voice that starts Aimeric's heart racing, and he's not sure whether it's excitement, guilt, or something else entirely.
Aimeric presses against the wall and it's only a matter of seconds before Jord has thrown open the door with his gun drawn. He walks to the window and scans it for a few minutes, before turning to the artfully unkempt Aimeric. “I don't see anyone or anything. Are you alright?”
Aimeric wonders if Jord knows he lied. He's probably too polite (not to mention well paid) to say anything even if he did. Aimeric saunters over and leans on the window sill. “I swear I saw someone,” he says, letting his hand rest on the window sill close to Jord's. “Must have just been my imagination.”
“This house is very secure. There's already a large team of people to ensure no intruder gets on the grounds,” Jord says. He doesn't move his hand closer, but he doesn't draw it away either. A non-reaction. The worst kind of reaction. Aimeric scowels at the offending hand.
“Yeah, there's already a big team of people making your job redundant,” he mutters.
So much for seduction.
The comment doesn't seem to bother Jord, though. “It has been a little slow,” he shrugs, “But I appreciate any job where I'm not being shot at. And besides,” his lip quirks in what Aimeric thinks could be the beginning of a smile. “It hasn't been so bad.”
Aimeric feels the blood rush to his face. Jord has already left the room by the time by the time Aimeric remembers that he had, for the briefest moment, an actual plan. He's not sure he would call it a success, but he wouldn't call it a failure either.
The Thursday deadline comes and go. Aimeric doesn't submit anything, doesn't even check the website again. No texts or emails come from either the Regent or his father. The silence is expected but still maddening. Finally Aimeric caves and goes looking for his father: he's nowhere to be found and Aimeric has to resort to calling up his secretary.
“Guion is very busy these days,” she says, in a bracingly polite voice that makes Aimeric want to hit something, possibly himself for being dumb enough to think this was a good idea. “I'm sure he can schedule you in sometime, if you want.”
“I'm his son,” he protests weakly. “I shouldn't have to be -- pencilled in.”
“I understand,” she says, her voice pleasant but without a trace of sympathy. “I'll let Guion know.”
She hangs up. Aimeric waits to see if he'll get a call back and is utterly unsurprised when he does not. He wonders if she forgot to give his father the message or if Guion simply doesn't care. Both seem equally plausible. It shouldn't bother him. It wouldn't any other day; it's not exactly like this is the first time he hasn't been able to reach his father. But it's not every day you start to give up on a dream that you've held onto since you were a teenager, and it's not every day you feel like an uncomfortable truth is catching up with you.
It sucks. Aimeric prefers not to think about it. And it's so much easier to distract himself by thinking about Jord.
If it was summer, Aimeric would have announced a day trip to the beach and flirted underneath the hot sun with Jord until he told Aimeric everything he wanted to hear. But if it was the summer, Aimeric would never have returned home because he'd have been busy preparing for the internship -- or at least, probably some internship -- so the point is moot.
Anyway, they have a hot tub.
Aimeric soaks until he starts to sweat. It's nice to be alone. His family has left for a day of skiing, but Aimeric begged off. Even his mother, who usually tried the hardest to include him, hadn't seemed that upset when he said he wanted to stay home. Perhaps it's better for everyone if he doesn't go.
It's definitely better for his plans. When he's ready, he texts Jord that there's no towels anywhere (and he doesn't want to get water everywhere!)
Aimeric has strategically hidden the towels around the room and adjacent sauna. If Jord comes to look for them, Aimeric will have plenty of time before he finds them all. He closes his eyes and waits. There's a polite knock on the door, and Aimeric opens his eyes to see Jord walking in with a pile of towels.
“The laundry room had a few extra,” he explains as Aimeric awkwardly grabs the top one and starts to towel off.
“You didn't have to fetch them yourself.”
“It was considerate of you to ask for spares.”
Aimeric has an uneasy relationship with the truth, but even he can't let that lie stand. “That's not true,” he snorts.
Jord gives a small shrug. “I'm glad to find you here.”
Aimeric raises an eyebrow. Despite the initial setback, this may be turning out even better than he had expected.
“I hear relaxing in hot water is a good way to reduce stress,” Jord continues.
Aimeric makes a show of drying his hair. “I'm on vacation, I'm not supposed to be stressed.” No one else has said anything to him about looking stressed. But then again it's not like anyone says much of anything to him these days. Aimeric finds himself thinking of the look his mom gave him before she left this morning. She always looks at him with such frustrating pity. “I guess it was obvious, though, huh?”
Jord takes one of the towels and lays it on the side of the tub. “You don't hire bodyguards to give their opinion on matters like that.”
“Bodyguards aren't normally hired to fetch towels, either.” Jord makes a small noise of acknowledgement at that. “Why did you answer my text?”
“My job is to protect you from danger, and when I got your message I thought the biggest danger you faced was a lack of towels.”
“Someone else could have handled it.”
“You asked me, though.”
“I did think you were the most likely to actually respond.” Aimeric tries to pass it off as a joke, but somehow it falls flat. It comes out like a confession instead.
“I --” Jord opens his mouth and then appears to reconsider.
“What is it?”
“Another thing that bodyguards were not hired to say,” Jord gives a small laugh. Another failed joke. The two of them are just full of those today.
Aimeric smiles thinly, the smile of a shark who has caught the scene of blood in the water, and leans over the rim of the tub. “Now you've got me curious.”
“Well, I noticed that sometimes other people treat you -- delicately. Like you're a bomb that's about to go off.”
There is a truth to that. The maids have always avoided him, his mother has always spoken so softly to him. A bomb. He's never thought of himself in that way, but the metaphor fits.
“I don't think you're like that,” Jord amends.
“Then you've got too much faith in me.”
“Maybe you just don't have enough.” Such an unwavering certainty. Aimeric wonders where Jord could possibly get it from. Certainly he doesn't think he could have done anything to actually merit it.
“Join me?”
When he had first thought of this particular scheme, Aimeric had thought he would ask that question in a sultry, irresistible way. But his voice now is small. The invitation isn't about the plan, or some bullshit machination of his father, or anything. He just really wants to stay in Jord's company.
“This suit isn't exactly waterproof.” Jord's lip quirks.
Then take it off, thinks the Aimeric who hid the towels. “I'll get out,” he says instead. He dries off, goes to get changed. The rest of the afternoon Aimeric idles away talking to Jord.
The next day he actually goes to breakfast and even goes early. It's there's that he finally, finally catches a glimpse of his father, who is scarfing down toast while reading a newspaper. Aimeric notices a surprised look from his father over the edge of the page but doesn't say anything.
It's almost a peaceful breakfast, but the minute his father goes to stand, Aimeric says, “I'd like to talk to you about my internship.”
He can see his father's shoulders tense. “I have a meeting to attend.”
“You've been doing nothing but attending meetings since I've got home.” The realization dawns on him so slowly. “You have been avoiding me, haven't you.”
He can see the conflict in his father between his twin desires to continue avoiding Aimeric and avoiding making a scene. “Let's talk in my office,” he finally mutters.
Maybe Jord doesn't think Aimeric is a bomb, but both Aimeric and his father know better.
They walk in near silence until they're in Guion's office. Aimeric is usually not allowed here; no one from the family is. It's a big room, dominated by a large desk strewn with papers. Guion sits behind the desk, and Aimeric takes the seat in front. Probably most father-son chats don't emulate a business meeting, but in the deFortaine household they always have. In Guion's continuous calculations, Aimeric has always been an asset until today, when he has made himself a liability.
“I had thought you gave up on that foolish internship idea,” Guion starts. Now that it was just the two of them, he lets the harshness show in his voice. It's not worth the time to beat around the bush any longer, apparently.
“You haven't exactly asked,” Aimeric grumbles. And then, “So you knew I didn't apply? You were tracking my application?”
Guion shifts. For his father, that all but announces his guilt. “You never said anything,” Aimeric presses. “You and the Regent. Years after promising me, now that it's finally time, and you say nothing.”
“You were fourteen at the time. You were a child. A promise made casually to a child can hardly be considered a binding contract.”
“That's funny, I don't remember the fact that I was a child stopping the Regent from --”
“Enough.” Guion slams one hand on the desk. His other hand stays below the desk. Aimeric has his suspicion about what alarms his father has set up. “You know how competitive that internship is. And your grades are average at best. Choosing you might have raised some questions, and neither I nor the Regent can afford someone looking too deeply into our affairs.”
“Well, I'm sorry the child you pimped out to your business associate didn't grow up to be a straight A student.”
There is a long silence. Finally, his father takes a deep breath. “What is it that you want, Aimeric?”
“I was promised --”
“You're not getting the internship. But there are some other opportunities. You could still work closely with the Regent, even see him regularly.” Guion has rested his elbows back on the table, his arms open. Aimeric has seen that pose before. It is what his father always does during negotiations. This is to be a bargain between father and son, where parts of Aimeric's future are exchanged for his current cooperation.
It is always a transaction with his father. Aimeric's cooperation for his affection. Aimeric's childhood for his own economic gain.
But he is not his father's business associate. And he has his own life.
“There is no bargaining here, Dad. I'm going to tell you what will happen. I'm going to leave to go back to school tomorrow. You will pay for my last semester of tuition. And after that, we will not see each other. We will not speak to each other. And in exchange for that, I won't go to the police with the information about what you did when I was fourteen.”
“Aimeric, where is this coming from?” His father snaps. “You are being unreasonable --”
“This is me, standing up for myself. And getting you out of my life.”
He stands up and turns to go. Against his father's objections, he opens the door. And there is Jord, standing against the opposite wall. Waiting for him.
Jord walks Aimeric back to his room. It isn't quite a security escort. It isn't quite the afternoon chat on the roof yesterday, either.
“So my father hired you to handle me. He wasn't worried about my safety, he was worried I was going to make a scene.”
Aimeric wonders if he should be angry at Jord. But right now he doesn't feel much of anything. He’s just tired.
“He said that he expected you to lash out at others during this week and wanted me there to make sure the situation didn't escalate. But I hadn't seen anything to make me think that was likely.”
“I'm pretty sure this is the escalation that he meant,” Aimeric says glumly. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand.
“Well, then I agree with your initial assessment of me. You don't really need a bodyguard.”
Aimeric lets out a bark of a laugh before letting his foul mood return. “I have to pack.”
“If you're leaving, I'll be out of a job and so will need to be packing myself. Do you want help?”
They had reached the door to Aimeric's room. Aimeric holds it open, considering the offer.
“I think I've already been enough of a bother to you,” he finally says. Jord's brow scrunches in confusion. “Did you know I was trying to seduce you?” From the look on Jord's face, some pieces of a larger puzzle start to come together. “I thought you knew more about why my father had hired you than you told me. But I guess I found out the truth of the matter, anyway.”
Aimeric is going soon. No point in hanging around after threatening your own father with financial ruin. Except -- it's possible if he leaves, he might never see Jord again. And he could keep the truth about how he feels about Jord, bury it in the same place he had buried so many other uncomfortable truths about himself or his family. But Jord had starting to smile and Aimeric felt a strange and unfamiliar lightness looking at that smile.
“I don't exactly think you failed,” Jord says, moving a half step closer. “I think you almost succeeded despite yourself.”
They are standing very close. Aimeric is struck suddenly by the fact that even if he never returns to his family's home, he still desperately wants to see Jord again.
“Will you kiss me?” he asks.
Jord starts to lean forward and then stops himself. “I am still in charge of keeping you safe.”
“Your contract ends the minute I leave this house.”
“It still doesn't seem right."
Aimeric pauses. Those words would never have stopped him before. But they should have. “Perhaps you're right,” he mutters.
He walks out the door with only the suitcase he brought, Jord's number, and without a second glance behind. That is all he needs.
His last quarter goes alright. Aimeric starts to see a therapist, a notion that his father had always ridiculed: he loves spending his father's money on those sessions. He gets a job that was far away from the attention of either his father or the Regent.
And he starts seeing Jord. They go on dates, real ones, without contrived emergencies or false pretenses. And there's no bargaining for the other's time, no negotiating for affection. It's a nice change of pace. Aimeric even thinks he could get used to it.