While the middle of winter was probably the worst time of year to visit Gadleigh, I had personal reasons for going there over the holidays.
Namely, my infamous mother, the award-winning actress Jacqueline Wilde and her looming blockbuster release. Every time she had a film come out, the media descended upon her estranged son, and my life as I knew it disappeared until the press got bored or distracted with another target.
Because of this impending media frenzy, Doc and Grandpa had agreed to fund the final step in the research needed for my doctoral dissertation: an on-site study of the famous stained glass at Gadleigh. It was like a dream come true, regardless of my original reasons for wanting to skip town.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms. “Yes, for sure. Very excited. But first, I might need to puke or something,” I said in a rough voice.
Hudson put his arm around my shoulders and began pulling me to a standing position.
“Come on, Felix. Up you go. Let’s get some pancakes in you, and then I’ll help you finish packing. I offered to drive you to the airport, but Doc and Grandpa refused. Apparently they’re sending you off themselves even if it means four hours of needless driving back and forth.”
I made a quick pit stop in the bathroom before pulling my clothes back on from the night before and following Hudson to the house. Most of the giant Wilde family was still lounging around the kitchen when I came stumbling in.
“There he is!” Doc handed baby Pippa off to my cousin West before approaching me for a big hug. “Today’s the day, huh? Oh Jesus, what did you eat last night?” He pinched his nose in disgust and backed away.
“Chili,” I muttered, shooting daggers at Grandpa, who stood behind him making pancakes on a huge griddle. “And like… a million shots of Jager.”
“Oh god,” my cousin Hallie groaned from somewhere in the sitting area. “Don’t even say the word.”
I saw a pair of socked feet propped up on the arm of the sofa and assumed they were hers. “You too?” I asked. “Who the hell even brought that crap?”
“Grandpa made the chili. And can we not talk about it please,” she whined. “As for the shots, blame my damned sister.”
I spied Winnie sitting at the breakfast bar and shot her an accusatory glare. She shrugged and went back to tapping her short fingernails against the screen of her phone.
The television mounted above the fireplace was showing some kind of tabloid news show when Hallie suddenly sat up and reached for the remote.
“Ooooh! There he is. That prince guy,” she squealed. “So fucking hot.”
I looked up to see who she was referring to, but the video showed only a pair of panda bear cubs.
“What prince?” I asked, grabbing the glass of ice water Hudson had poured for me.
“You know, that hot guy from Monaco who’s always in the magazines. The one whose sex life they love to speculate about. He always has some A-list celebrity chick on his arm whenever he’s spotted at red-carpet shit. Hey, didn’t he go to Georgetown or something? Wish he’d come back to the States. Let us Americans have a chance at him.”
Hallie loved pop culture and celebrity gossip. The kind of thing I avoided like the plague.
I ignored her ramblings and turned to my aunt Gina. “What do I have to do to get some of Grandpa’s pancakes?”
Doc fussed over me until I had a plate piled high with food. Apparently, most everyone else had already eaten. Aunt Gina sat next to me sipping her coffee, but every once in a while, I caught her peering at me in my peripheral vision.
“What?” I finally asked.
“I’m worried about you,” she admitted in a soft voice. “Have you talked to your mom lately?”
“No.”
Her arm came around my shoulders and squeezed gently. “Honey, don’t you think you ought to let her know where you’ll be over the holidays?”
“Why? So she can manipulate me into going on a publicity tour with her? No way.”
I noticed Grandpa reach out for Doc’s hand as they both looked at me with worried faces. I let out a sigh. “Guys, stop. I’m fine, okay? This is my usual thing. Just let me disappear for the movie release. Otherwise, you know how it’ll be. Paparazzi in town, photographers on your front porch, people dogging me for my opinion of her movie, digging into my life. I just… No. Not going to do it this time.”
“Is it because of Chris Corbin?” This question was from my aunt again.
“Not really. But that just gives me even more reason to want to duck out, you know?”
Chris Corbin was a notoriously outspoken conservative TV news host who ranted and raved against anything remotely connected to Hollywood. For the past few months, he’d apparently been seen in public with a certain actress on his arm. Why my mother thought dating that egotistical rabble-rouser would help her career was beyond me. And the fact that she was now intimately connected to someone who actively sought to damage the LGBT community pissed me off to no end.