Page 54 of Some Like It Deadly
“Get out, Armand.” Richard buried his face in the pillow. His mouth tasted like ass and his head didn’t feel much better.
“You know, Richard, you’ve been a lot of things over the years, but you’ve never been a coward. Now get your stinking ass out of the bed and go take a shower. I’ll order up some breakfast.” Armand sounded disgusted. “And a maid.”
Glancing blearily around the room, Richard shrugged. “I didn’t let them in.”
“Clearly.”
“I don’t want you here.” He didn’t want to be awake. It had taken a hell of a lot of alcohol to send him into oblivion. Why the hell couldn’t Armand leave him there?
“That much is obvious and I gave you three days. Now get up and get in the shower.”
“Or what?” Richard rolled over to glare at him. “You’ll bring in a bodyguard to strong arm me in there?”
“No, I’ll bloody well do it myself. Stop being an idiot.” Armand picked up an empty bottle off the nightstand. “You drank an entire bottle of cabernet without a glass?”
“I ran out of whiskey.” And the wine made him think of Kate and then he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Stumbling out of the bed, he kicked another bottle away from him. “When I get out of the shower, I want you to be gone.”
“Well, I hope you’re prepared for disappointment.” Of course, Armand would do whatever the hell he wanted.
Ignoring him, Richard went into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and managed to make it to the toilet beforethrowing up most of the liquor cabinet. Thirty minutes under the pounding pulse of the water and a cursory brushing of his teeth helped, but the hangover was preferable to the other ache—the uglier one inside—so he held on to it.
His room had been freshened—the debris cleared away and a table with food set up in the center. Armand stood at the windows, gazing at the city below. “There’s coffee on the table and I kept the food order bland in case you needed to vomit again.”
The coffee was an attractive enough offer, so he poured himself a cup. His prescription medicine sat in the center of the table and he stared at it. He hadn’t asked for it from the house and the suits and clothes they’d sent over had only the most basic of toiletries.
“She asked me to make sure you had it, since you have a habit of forgetting them.” Armand took the carafe and poured himself a cup. “Sit down.”
“No.” Richard shook his head. “You don’t walk into my room and just start ordering me around?—”
“Enough,” Armand snapped. “Sit down before you fall down. I am not here as a prince, but as your friend. I let you pour yourself into a bottle for three days. You’ve never been your father, Richard, and this is a terrible time to start emulating him.”
Shock turned him rigid and he sank down in the chair.
“Yes.” His oldest friend nodded. “I know all about your father. I’ve always known. I know he is currently suffering from liver failure and has been trying to make amends for the first time in his sorry existence.”
“You never said anything.” Richard stared down at the cup of coffee, shame and embarrassment playing cold accompaniment in his soul.
“I assumed if you wanted to talk about him, you’d bring it up. You didn’t, I left it alone. You built your own life.” Armand leaned forward and clasped his hands together, and their gazes locked. “You carry an enormous burden of guilt for being happy after what your father did. You work twice as hard as any man should need to or have to. But the one thing about you I have never doubted was your honor. I thought—for a while—that you needed wealth to prove your success where your father failed. But it was never about the money. You and your pro bono cases, and your causes, and your charities. You’re always trying to make up for what he did.”
“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Of course Armand knew. In hindsight, Richard had allowed himself to be blinded to the reality of being a prince’s friend. “They did a background check when we became roommates.”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve known since we met.”
“Yes.”
“But you told me who you were.” The weird, twisted sense of honor and brotherhood between them had been borne during that confidence sharing. A friendship that had sustained them both through some very dark times in Armand’s life and in Richard’s effort to build his own.
A single nod. “I hoped you would one day have enough trust to tell me, but when you didn’t, I respected your need for privacy.”
“Easy enough to do when you already had the answers.” He drained the coffee and poured himself another. The dull throb in his head couldn’t keep the memories away now. “How is she?”
“Recovering,” Armand answered immediately. “Her mother is here and her brother is flying in from Germany. She’ll be in the hospital for some time, and she’ll need several months to heal, but she’ll be fine.”
Relief made him weak and he bowed his head. He’d half-expected to hear she’d died—he’d run as hard from that idea as he had her lie. He wanted to know more—craved it—but he didn’t dare ask. They needed a clean break. “You’re compensating her for lost time, right? I mean she kind of lost two jobs in the same day.”
“She will be taken care of Richard. When have I ever not taken care of those people who are important to me?”
