Page 29 of Bitter Heat
“Promise me.”
“I do. I promise.” He kissed his pater’s cheek. “And don’t worry, I’ll make sure I get to stay in the mountains for the delivery. I know just what to say.”
Pater looked skeptical, and for good reason because Kerry wasn’t sure how to get what he wanted at all. But Pater nodded anyway and put the car into gear again. “See that you do.” He grunted and huffed. “All right. I’ll meet you ’round back here at the hotel by two o’clock. Promise me, or I’m comin’ in after ya.”
“Yes, two o’clock. Around back.” Where no one would see their dusty car or see his pater’s work-a-day clothes. Kerry was already worried about what the Monhundys would think of his own outfit. He should have taken more care to pack nice things in case of this eventuality. But when he’d left their city apartments, fresh after reporting in following his last heat, he’d left all his nicest suits in the closet there. He had no use for them in Hud’s Basin. For multiple reasons.
Kerry looked down at his soft, comfortable pants, tailored to fit him tightly before he’d lost weight, and before his stomach had started to grow. He ran smoothing fingers over his best white button-up shirt and shot the cuffs of the most fashionable jacket he’d taken with him. It was at least two seasons out of date, but it was clean, so it was simply going to have to do.
It wasn’t as if the hoteliers in Blumzound would be offended, so even if Kerry weren’t a walking advertisement for their power and wealth, the Monhundys would simply have to suck it up.
The lobby of the hotel had undergone a recent refurbishment. Previously, it had been a barely habitable place by city standards, but the influx of new traffic, and thus cash—after Blumzound installed the train station—had allowed them to redo everything, top to bottom. The formerly plank floor was now a pale, pink marble, and matching molded tin tiles covered the new vaulted ceiling. It wasn’t city-levels of glorious, but at least it added a sense oftryingto the humble mountain valley establishment, if not true class.
Kerry’s stomach and thigh muscles still twinging, and his gut roiling with anxiety, he strode across the open space while trying not to exhibit any evident physical or emotional distress. Absently, he noted that the lobby now held cream-colored sofas and settees, along with low coffee tables. If he wanted to convince the Monhundys that Hud’s Basin was the place for him and that their grandchild would be safe—nosafest—growing within him here, then he’d need to appear completely healthy and in good spirits.
Wolf-god, if only he were a better actor.
The middle-aged beta with a tidy uniform standing behind the reception counter directed him toward the dining room of the hotel. “Yes, they’re waiting on you, sir,” he said, with a hush of awe in his voice. Kerry remembered when he’d felt the same way about the elegant Monhundys. Now he knew the truth of what all that gloss and shine was truly hiding, and any awe he’d once entertained had faded away into dread.
The dining room was half-full of patrons and smelled of butter, jam, and a meaty stew of some sort—rabbit, perhaps—that made Kerry’s stomach growl. His appetite had decided to return in full, which was good. He’d be able to make a show of heartily feeding the thing growing inside of him, and he could claim his thinness was a result of now-past pregnancy sickness. So long as no one talked too much of Wilbet and made his stomach turn again, he should be able to pull that off.
Kerry spotted his in-laws at a table by the window. Looking out onto the side garden by the hotel, both had their heads turned in that direction, talking quietly about whatever it was they saw outside. Kerry took in their impeccable gray suits, starched shirts, shiny shoes, and fashionable ties with a gulp. He really was underdressed for attending a meeting with them.
Monte’s shining red hair was stick-straight and slicked back with a pomade that Kerry knew smelled like citrus-scented hand soap. He was younger than Kerry’s pater by about ten years and quite vain about his looks. Kerry knew he wore special powders on his face to protect him from the sun, both so that his fair skin wouldn’t burn, and so that he wouldn’t get any more freckles. He was quite paranoid about his freckles. Claimed they looked untidy.
Lukas, Wilbet’s father, had sterling silver hair, having started to turn gray in his twenties according to the photographs Kerry had seen of his and Monte’s contracting parties and celebrations. His strong, alpha jaw and his broad, muscular chest were the sources of Wilbet’s similar structure. Lukas looked like a thug, however, while Wilbet had looked handsome, dreamily so. At first, anyway. It was hard to say just when Kerry’s opinion on Wilbet’s looks had changed, probably around the first time Wilbet had purposely hurt Kerry while fucking him.
Yes, it was probably right about then.
He shook off that wretched memory and slapped on a cheery smile as he stepped quickly toward his in-laws. Some sight outside the window kept their attention. Kerry approached their table unnoticed and stood beside it unseen for a long, dreadful minute. The scene out the window that held their attention was harmless: bunnies in the garden. Brown bunnies, to be exact, hopping about with fluffy white butts.
Kerry cleared his throat. “Father, Pater,” he said softly, employing the terms his in-laws had instructed him to use when addressing them, though they’d always sat wrong on his heart. “I got your note this morning and came right away.”
His in-laws turned to him at once, almost in unison, like they were the same person. Kerry held back a shiver of revulsion, schooling his face.
“Darling,” Monte breathed, rising quickly, his eyes lighting up and a smile stretching over his fragile features. “You look well.”
Kerry held back his trembling as Monte smothered him in kisses, his wet mouth pressing against Kerry’s cheeks and forehead, again and again. Kerry remembered when he’d thought this behavior a token of Wilbet’s pater’s true affection and acceptance, instead of yet another way to violate and control. He’d been such a stupid idiot back then.
“Pater,” he said again, taking Monte into a warm hug to stop the kisses at least. “You look well, too.”
And the man did. Of course, he did. He spent more money than many men made in a year on beautifying products and procedures. Monte’s skin positively glowed in the midmorning light from the window on the garden. Kerry hoped his tan complexion didn’t look sallow in comparison, and if it did, that they would think he’d gotten too much sun, not that he’d been recently sick or ill.
A strong arm came around Kerry’s shoulders.
Lukas pulled him away from Monte’s manhandling to guide him into a chair between both of theirs, giving Kerry the direct view on the garden and putting his back to the dining room at large. It left him feeling vulnerable and exposed.
“Now, now, relax,” Lukas said heartily, his thick mouth working the words like a hard to chew steak. “You don’t look well at all, my boy. Not atall. In fact, I’d say you look a bit grim.” His hazel eyes glittered with anticipation, and he lifted a challenging brow at Kerry.
Monte, putting a napkin back into his lap, said, “Darling, don’t be rude to our sweet boy. He’s likely been ill.” His eyes gleamed as well, taking on genuinely fascinated interest. He didn’t take his gaze from Kerry as he lifted his glass of sweetened iced tea—a mountain staple—and took a sip before opining, “He looks quite well considering.”
Lukas’s gaze narrowed on Monte for a moment, an equally fervent glow starting in his eyes, too. Settling back into his seat and throwing his arm over the back of his chair, so that he could more fully twist to take in Kerry’s every expression and move, he asked urgently, “Is there good news for us then? Does the sickness have you?”
“Let the boy eat first!” Monte cried, motioning toward a waiter. “You’re being extraordinarily rude, love.”
“He’s kept us hanging for weeks, darling,” Lukas objected, but when the waiter came over, he held his tongue long enough for Monte to place an order for Kerry—just as he’d ordered for Wilbet in the past, even when Wilbet was a full-grown man who could make his own decisions.
As soon as the waiter left to comply with the vast number of requests—because apparently Monte was going to rectify Kerry’s thinness all in one sitting—Lukas was back in Kerry’s face, silent, but still demanding an answer.
