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The beautiful outfit that distracted him so much was mostly white and fit like it’d been specially tailored for him. Perhaps it had; it wasn’t like Ištván was short of coin these days. How had he taken and given the measurements? Across his chest, my ten fingers spread out wide. His waist? Five kisses from my greedy mouth. The tailor’s quill, in Erik’s mind, wobbled uncertainly. My son and I are very close. Yes, ever since his mother —
Ištván takes Erik, posing as his son, to a party in order to impress some wealthy potential client. Both of them enjoy the idea of it a little too much.