Alexander
Weekends are nightmares for me. Not because I don't enjoy a break from the endless meetings, contracts, and responsibilities of being a Blackwell. No, weekends are torture because of one person, my grandfather.
Not him exactly, but what comes with him.
My grandfather never plays alone. He always brings his old friends, and those old friends always bring their granddaughters. Pretty, polished, painted, and perfectly fake.
They flutter around me like butterflies in a garden, but not one of them feels real. Not one has ever looked me in the eye without calculation. Every smile is rehearsed, every laugh is too sweet, and they perform every move as a desperate audition for the title of "Mrs."
It's exhausting. Which is why today I dragged Kyle out of bed. Literally.
"Alex," he groaned when I yanked his blanket away at dawn. "For the love of God, if you ever try waking me up at six on a weekend again, I swear…"
"You're coming with me." I cut him off. "Grandpa. Golf. His friends. Their granddaughters. Save me."
He cursed me the entire ride here, hair a mess, shirt half buttoned, muttering that I was ruining his precious beauty sleep. But when we arrived, he did what Kyle always does best: he charmed the entire damn crowd within five minutes.
My grandfather adores and treats Kyle like blood. Sometimes I think he wishes Kyle were his grandson instead of me. Kyle talks, jokes, flirts with the servers, shakes hands with the old men, and somehow manages to make even the most bitter of my grandfather's friends laugh like they're twenty again.
And me? I just play golf and try not to scowl too much. Scowl…. That's what I do best.
We played. We won. Mostly because I refused to lose, putting all my energy in order to avoid my grandpa's nagging, you can't lose if you are a Blackwell. That was our first training ever.
Kyle cheered like he was at a Champions League final match, making the girls giggle even more, and he successfully kept the girls at bay, smoothly intercepting their attempts before they even reached me. I almost wanted to hug him. Almost..
When we sat down for water, I was already planning my escape, but my grandfather wasn't done with me.
"You know, Alexander," he started, leaning back in his chair, his sharp old eyes scanning me like he could read every thought I tried to hide. "You should be thanking me."
Here we go, what did I do this time?
"For what?" I muttered.
"For giving you many options."
I stiffened. I knew where this was going.
"Grandfather," I said evenly, "why are you pushing me into other women's arms when I already have a fiancée?"
Kyle, the traitor, smirked beside me like this was about to be the best entertainment of his week.
My grandfather took his time sipping his water before answering. "Because I'm not convinced, boy. Tell me, are you happy with her?"
The question landed like a punch.
Happy.
I stared at the condensation dripping down my glass, avoiding his gaze. My mouth opened, but no words came out. Silence stretched between us. And in that silence, I knew my grandfather had already gotten his answer.
He sighed, then leaned forward, his voice softening. "Alexander, listen to me. A man's house is his sanctuary. His safe place after a hard day's work. Having a wife you love and who loves you is heaven on earth. I know your fiancée is a good girl, but she's not for you."
I swallowed hard, throat tight.
Then, the bomb.
"Or…" he drawled, his gaze sharpening with curiosity. "Do you not like girls?"
The words hung in the air like a live wire.
Kyle nearly choked on his drink, then slapped my back with far too much enthusiasm. "Well, Alex? Are you going to answer the man?"
"No?" My ears burned. "Of course I like women," I snapped, sharper than I intended. "It's just…" I stopped. Because what could I possibly say? I haven't found the right one yet.
It sounded pathetic even to my own ears.
But I couldn't tell my grandfather the truth, that no matter how many women were thrown in my path, not one of them made me feel anything. The engagement I am trapped in felt like a chain around my neck. I was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something wrong with me.
Of course, I like women. I like their laughter, their warmth, their softness. I like them. I do. But liking them and meeting the one… that's different. I haven't met someone who made me want to give up control, made me want to burn the world just to keep them close.
And how the hell was I supposed to explain that to my grandfather?
He didn't press, thank God. But Kyle? Kyle never misses an opportunity.
My grandfather chuckled and turned to him. "This is where your flirting comes in handy. You should teach Alexander some of your tricks. Clearly, he's hopeless."
Kyle's grin spread like wildfire. "Oh, it would be my honor, sir."
"No," I groaned.
"Yes," Kyle corrected, already scheming. "Lessons start tomorrow. By the time I'm done, even your fiancée will be jealous."
I buried my face in my hands. But the truth? I couldn't admit it, not even to myself.
And as Kyle cracked another joke, making my grandfather roar with laughter, all I could think was maybe he was right. Maybe I was chasing something I'd never find.
Maybe I was destined to live a life that looked perfect from the outside, while inside, it was nothing but silence.
And the question stayed with me, refusing to leave, living rent-free in my head.