Page 22 of Sweet Thing

chapter 11

DON’t bring me down

After two days with his agent in London, Simeon flew back to Berlin, landing at Schönefeld Airport at midday. On arrival, he’d sent a message to his father’s Chef, Kurt, and, just as he had been doing ever since Simeon returned to Berlin, Kurt ordered his groceries online and set him a diet sheet to follow. He’d also emailed the cupcake recipe Sim had requested and added the ingredients to the shopping list.

When Simeon entered his building, he found the usual accumulation of mail in the hall. He scooped it up and dragged his suitcase upstairs up four flights of stairs to his apartment. It was good to be home. Simeon quickly glanced through the handful of mail, sorting the envelopes into a pile address to him and another for his father. Simeon found a “Konnte nicht liefern“ (Could not deliver) postcard addressed to him, and it seemed that a florist had attempted delivery at ten a.m that morning. Confused, Simeon called the company to let them know he was at home for delivery of whatever they had for him.

Simeon busied himself with unpacking, doing the laundry and then he jumped in the shower. As expected, as soon as Simeon stepped into the shower the doorbell rang. He threw on his Japanese silk robe and flew down the stairs before the courier left again. Opening the door, he saw a tall, stocky man in a green Supermarket overall uniform.

“Hallo, lieferung für Mr. Duchamp “(Delivery for Mr. Duchamp)

“Could you leave the boxes in the hall please“, Simeon directed in German. He stood at the front door, a cool breeze making his wet skin feel chilled as three boxes of groceries were carried inside. Simeon signed for the delivery, thanked the delivery man and closed the door. He was just setting foot on the stairs when the bell rang again. Simeon turned back to the door and opened it.

“Thank goodness you came home, Mr. Duchamp. This was a special order flown in from France“, the florist explained, visibly relieved to hand the box over.Again, Simeon signed for the box and thanked courier.

Sim decided the groceries could wait and took the long box up to the apartment curious, about its contents.

When he was showered and dressed, he took a cup of Green tea into the living room. He stood by the couch and eyed the box. Who would send him flowers? Simeon sat gingerly on the couch. The bruising had faded a little, but his ass was still tender to the touch. Using a sharp fingernail, Simeon sliced through the packing tape seal and prized the lid up. He was floored as the whoosh of fresh Lavender scent filled his living room. Simeon closed his eyes and breathed deeply of his favorite perfume. The scent was comfortingly fragrant and when he opened his eyes and lifted the lid fully and found a large bouquet of long stem freshly cut lavender tied with a wide purple silk ribbon. He picked up a card explaining the origin, stating that the Lavender was cut from fields at Provence Verte, Alpes-De-Haute-Provence.

Simeon was gobsmacked. They were the fields surrounding his ancestral Provencal Chateau. Even though Simeon had not visited the property since he was a teen, he recalled it fondly. It was a large grand rectangular building of whitewashed stone with Robin’s egg blue shutters on the window, and two rickety turrets. Inside, there was a sweeping staircase he’d loved to run up and down as a child, and the décor of the house had been elegant, perfect for comfort and entertaining. The grounds held a pool, formal gardens, and an orchard. The family would return to France from whatever far-flung Embassy his father, Patrice, was working in, to spend summer in Provence. They would invite colleagues and friends to stay in the ten-bedroomed chateau. Roadways lined with Cypress trees led from the house and an expanse of Lavender fields spread out in the lands at the perimeter of the estate. Young Sim would ride his bike out to the fields with a couple of the children of estate staff. After all these years, Sim had forgotten the names of the two boys he played with for three summers, from the ages of seven to ten, but he remembered the feeling of freedom, the sunny days, and the scent of Lavender permeating on the breeze. The scent had always given him a feeling of deep comfort.

Who could have sent him such an intimate gift? How could they know that this would mean so much? Simeon searched in the box for a card. The card was affixed securely to the lid. It was handwritten with a fountain pen. His name was beautifully written in a flowing script, and Simeon found he was getting caught up in the romance of the gesture until he opened the card, Please forgive me. Bastian x.

Bastian Roth had sent him what on the surface appeared to be a simple gift of apology, but the layers of meaning in the choice of the gift made Simeon feel like he had received an emotional punch to the chest. It was the end of May, and the Lavender bloomed from May to August, so these were the very first blooms of the season. Sim couldn’t help but be touched by the amount of thought that had gone into the gift, and he hated himself for feeling that way.

The breath hitched in Simeon’s throat. His chest felt constricted with panic. He didn’t know Bastian Roth. What they fuck was this man’s problem? Did he not understand what he‘d done that first time they’d had sex? This was some kind of fucked-up seduction. For a moment Simeon was sorely tempted to call his father’s bodyguard, Henri, and ask him to pay a Special Forces visit to Bastian. But Simeon didn’t wish the man ill; he just wished Bastian didn’t make him feel so twisted and anxious inside. And he wished he’d never met him.

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