Page 96 of Knox's Boy

Sophia snorted. I felt a smile twitch at my lips, remembering the weight of those blazers, the endless echo of our footsteps in those halls.

“But he also had a rebellious streak,” David continued. “He just hid it under layers of model-student perfection. One night, our charming friend here convinced me, and about half our dorm, to break into the principal’s parlor and ‘liberate’ a bottle from the sacred sherry decanter, which we all knew he topped off every Sunday.”

Florian turned to me, mouth open.

“It was not ‘half the dorm,’” I objected. “Maybe six of us. Seven, tops.”

David ignored me. “We got the lock open somehow, and we’re in the parlor, sherry poured, all feeling terribly adult and subversive. Then…” he held up a finger, pausing for effect “…the headmaster himself walks in. Midnight. In his bathrobe. With his dog.”

Sophia gasped, delighted. “What did you do?”

I finished the story before David could embellish. “We tried to bluff. I said we were running an experiment for chemistry class. The principal did not buy it for a second.”

“Did you get expelled?” Florian demanded, looking somewhere between horror and awe.

“No. Our dads paid way too much for them to expel us,” I admitted, “but we did get the paddle.”

Florian looked shocked now, his mouth open.

David dissolved into laughter. “Not just a paddle. A centuries-old, cricket-bat-sized board with the school’s motto burned into it. ‘Veritas et Disciplina.’ The irony, lost on none of us. They were one of the last schools that still did it. Old guard to the bone.” He grinned at Florian. “I swear Rob barely flinched, but he glared at me like it was my fault. Stoic to the core, even as a juvenile delinquent.”

Florian was grinning helplessly, eyes flicking from my face to David and back. “Wait, so you got your ass spanked in front of everyone?” he asked. “Like, literal corporal punishment?”

“It was a different era,” I replied, struggling to maintain my dignity.

Across the table, Sophia was wiping tears of laughter from her cheeks. “I can’t believe I’m just now hearing about this.”

Florian leaned toward me, mischief lighting his face. “So, are you saying you’ve always been a little bit of a brat?”

A ripple of laughter rolled around the table. I reached under the edge, resting my palm on Florian’s thigh. He stiffened, just for a second, then relaxed into my touch. "I simply had a healthy respect for authority mixed with a certain appreciation for risk."

I watched Florian absorb all this, his face open and delighted, drinking in every word.

A little later, when the guests had left and the house was quiet again, I found him alone on the balcony outside our suite. He was barefoot, arms wrapped around his chest against the early evening chill. I came up behind him and pulled him back into the warmth of my body.

“Did you have a good day?” I asked.

He nodded, leaning his head back on my chest. “The best. I loved your friends, the food, the wine… I still can’t believe this is my life…” he paused, looking at me. “But I know I deserve it."

I laughed, loud.

“Good boy for learning your lesson,” I kissed his forehead. This had been my best birthday, ever.

Chapter 41. Florian

I stood on the rolling ladder in the library section of the living room, feeling like a character in a movie. The ladder glided smoothly along the brass rail with just a shift of my weight. I adjusted a heavy, leather-bound volume of obscure maritime history, nudging it perfectly in line with its neighbors. I could swear he was a hoarder, at least a book hoarder.

"You know," I said, looking down at Knox, who sat in the wingback chair with a tablet resting on his crossed knee. "This system makes no sense. Who organizes by cover color? It's chaotic evil."

Knox didn't look up, but the corner of his mouth quirked upward. He looked relaxed, his posture less rigid than the CEO armor he wore during the week. "It's aesthetic, Florian. And it keeps you occupied. I consider it a win-win."

"I'm reorganizing it," I threatened lightly, pulling out three blue books. "I'm going to ruin your aesthetic."

"Do your worst, menace, you are the one reorganizing it all later anyway," he said, finally glancing up. His dark eyes were warm, filled with that heavy, possessive affection that usually made my knees weak. "Just don't fall. I can't use a broken brat."

I stuck my tongue out at him, clutching the books to my chest.

Then the intercom on the side table buzzed.