Double Dealing: A Menage Romance(18)

"Your father," Jordan said, leaning forward, caught up in the tale. "The art thief was your father?"

“Yep. The greatest art thief in the world for nearly thirty years, who had gone into semi-retirement. The Gypsy King approached the art thief, asking him to steal back what had been taken from them generations ago. At the time, it was in Russia, taken from the Nazis by the Soviets as they swept through Eastern Europe in 1945. Nestled within a bunker deep in the Ural mountains, it wasn't even publicly shown, except to the rich Russians who had influence with the government. Needless to say, it was a dangerous and difficult job.”

“So what did he do?”

“It took some convincing, considering my father had more money than he’d ever need already. So instead, he offered one of his daughters in marriage.”

“An arranged marriage?" Jordan asked, shuddering.

I nodded. I'd grown up with it, and it still seemed wrong to me, despite the happy ending to the story. "It is a different culture, at a different time. My father, he was a lonely man. He didn’t feel he could trust anyone enough to bring them into his heart, and because of this was looking at the rest of his life in miserable solitude, surrounded by material riches only. When he met the King's daughters, though, he was enchanted, for they were beautiful, nearly as beautiful as you. He agreed to the King's terms, and undertook the mission and was successful.”

"So which daughter did he choose?" Jordan asked, smiling. She was into the story, viewing it like an adventure tale, which I suppose it was. "I assume she’s your mother."

I smiled, leaning back. Every good story deserves a twist. “That was the conundrum. After the mission, the King hosted the thief with his family, giving the him time to choose between the two daughters. Despite the cold-hearted sound to his offer, the King wanted his daughters to be happy with their future. So he wanted them to be comfortable, and maybe even like the man they were to marry. However, as time went on, the thief found himself more and more torn. He’d fallen in love with both of them, and couldn’t choose. He approached the King, telling him of his problem, and an agreement was reached. Let the daughters choose.”

"Both declared that they had fallen in love with the man and neither were willing to give up her claim to him either, for the rivalry between the two was strong."

"So what happened?" Jordan asked. She was fully into the story, leaning her elbows on her knees and looking as innocent as you could be. My heart flared, and I knew I was in dangerous territory. "How did they find a solution?"

"Well, under Rom culture, a groom must offer a dowry to the bride's family. So the art thief thought, and he realized that his material riches were worthless next to the treasure of the two women who loved him. So, he divided the profits of his entire career into three parts. He kept one part for himself and his new family. The other two parts were offered to the Gypsy King as dowry for both of his daughters. The King, now rich beyond his wildest dreams and seeing that his daughters were happy, agreed."

Jordan sat back, shaking her head. "Amazing. So how does this lead to you being the lead brother, as you put it?"

“I’m older than Francois," I said simply. "The timing is a matter of mere minutes, but under the laws of the Rom tribe we belong to, I’m the older brother, and, therefore, was declared the heir apparent. When my grandfather died, I was declared the King."

"You are the Gypsy King?" Jordan asked me, her eyes widening. "For how long?"

"About two years now," I said quietly. "When my Grandfather died, the title passed on to me. Father was already passed on, and it is a patriarchal culture, my mother couldn’t take over. So I was deemed King. It has been . . . a difficult change to my life."

"And it has led to tension between you and Francois," Jordan said. "I can’t imagine it."

"Heavy is the head that wears the crown," I replied softly, looking down. "I just . . . I wish I had someone to help me bear the weight."

It wasn't a come-on line. I wasn't trying to garner sympathy or a reaction. I didn't even mean to say the last bit. I guess I said it because Jordan was the first friendly face that seemed interested in my story since I didn't know when. Everyone else in my life was either family, strangers who were untrustworthy, or criminals only interested in my pilfering abilities.

The first thing I noticed was her shadow falling across my hands, which were clenched in my lap, twisting over and over, trying to work out some of the stress I constantly felt. She knelt in front of me, taking my hands in hers. It was amazing, feeling her soft skin contrasted by the hard fingertips of her calluses from being a guitar player. My fingers relaxed, letting themselves be slowly pried apart and soothed in her touch. Reaching up, she let go of my hands and lifted my chin slowly to look her in the eye, cupping my cheeks in her hands. They were amazing, a rich brown flecked with golden sparks that lent her already beautiful face a tender aspect.

"You don't always have to be alone," she said, leaning in. Her kiss was soft and supple, and of course, I was happy to kiss her back. Reaching out, I took her hand in mine and held it until she pulled away. "In spite of everything, you seem to be a good man, Felix."

I shook my head. "I wish it were so, Jordan. But I'm not a good man. I just try to do my best."