Arthur had been born on the back of a motorbike and inhaled the lifestyle since before he could speak. But in one move, Wallstreet took that away from him.
I expected him to fight. But once again, Arthur and his juggling act of plans surprised me.
He was the one who wanted to step down.
He was the one who wanted more.
And to be honest, I thought it was a mistake leaving a world we’d always known, but now I had different conclusions.
Waging daily battles on bent politicians and delivering information to the people gasping for help was Arthur’s perfect vocation. He stood up for people who couldn’t and fixed messes others didn’t understand.
The enormity of what he’d taken on didn’t faze him. It only energized him to the point of joy.
It was as if the shadows of guilt and hate were gone. All that was left was the happiness he could never find before.
Arthur pressed me onto my back, capturing my wrists and holding them above my head.
My hand landed on the television remote, heralding the news to boom on the flatscreen and tear apart our interlude.
The international news channel blared.
“Early this week, up and coming political superstar, Arthur Killian, revealed yet another fraudulent fact on the nationwide bank Cross Fund. Through an independent regulatory committee, the house and senate denied emergency funding provision set forth by Cross Bank representatives. New audit reports reveal the company has been running at a deficit for seven years and owe their investors millions of unpaid loans.”
Arthur groaned as his own voice filtered from the screen.
“We, as a society, have to stop believing men in power are gods. They’re human. They make mistakes and get caught up in deals suffocated with fine print. Most of the world’s problems are caused not from illegal activities but from illiteracy when it comes to dealing with long-winded contracts for the exact purpose of blindsiding taxpayers.”
“Fuck, I sound like a stuck-up asshole.”
Kissing the tip of his nose, I shook my head. “No, you sound divine.” I looked over his shoulder, eyeing up the marvelous man in a suit, dripping with sex appeal and breaking all laws of business with his untamed long hair and unbuttoned blazer.
My mouth went instantly dry.
He’s mine.
That delicious spectacle on TV was currently between my legs. My hunger for him increased exponentially. “Eight three one …”
His lips parted. “What?” Then understanding brightened his face. “You’ve been studying sequences again.”
I giggled. “Well, seeing as you’re back to speaking in numbers and codes that fly over my head, I figured I could put in a little effort.”
Awe glowed. “You’d do that for me?”
My heart lurched. “I’d do anything for you. You know that.”
He brushed aside a strand of hair from my cheek. “Eight three one, huh?” He bowed his head, inhaling me. “Let me see if I can guess. Eight … letters … am I right?”
I nodded. He’s so smart. It’d taken me days to figure it out when I’d first seen the code, before having to cheat to find the answer.
“Three words?”
I nodded again.
His eyes lit up, glowing rich emerald. “One meaning. I know what it is.”
“Smarty pants.” I pouted. “So … what is it?”
Arthur kissed me. “It means I love you. Eight letters, three words, one meaning.”
I huffed, wriggling away from his kiss. “Fine, Mr. Genius. Way to show me up.”
He chuckled. “You’re the one who started it.” His forehead furrowed. “Hang on, I’ve got one.”
I rolled my eyes. “What, just like that? You can come up with them that fast?”
I’d spent an entire afternoon studying cheesy mathematic sayings online and he could conjure one in a second.
If I didn’t love you so much I’d be jealous.
“One four three two …,” he said with a flourish.
My face scrunched, trying to work it out. Arthur didn’t move, didn’t help.
Finally, I gave up. “No idea.”
He beamed. “One letter, four letters, three letters, two.” He gathered me close, his warmth melting my bones. “I love you, too.”
My heart skipped and I hugged him hard. “Always …”
Our reflection bounced from the mirrored ceiling above. The villa had an entire wall of glass, inviting in trees and soft island breeze to whisper around us and keep the muggy island heat at bay. The sound of insects buzzing and birds cooing was the perfect backdrop to this wonderful vacation.
Along with getting away from the press and interviews and research, Arthur had finally jumped back into the world of trading. He’d fought me for a full year whenever I asked if he would trade the FX market again. I knew he feared the concussion had ruined his mathematical abilities. I didn’t believe that. He just proved it. But there was only so much encouragement I could give before it became a nag.
I hadn’t said a word when he’d unzipped his laptop bag and opened the familiar charts and accounts. I didn’t want to pry, but so far he’d only placed successful trades, rather than bad.
I hoped it proved to himself that he wasn’t broken. That he was fully himself with every gift he’d been graced with.
My lips twitched, thinking about last night. We’d awoken to a torrential downpour. The thunder cracked above as if the very fabric of the universe would shred to smithereens. Instead of staying in bed, Arthur had gathered me in his strong arms and carried me to sit on the cool tiles by the windows with our hands pressed against the glass watching the rain obscure the rest of the world.