Page 18 of What the Hex
“Wonderful. I’ll let you get back to your…job.”
King gritted his teeth to hold in the uncharitable thoughts that danced on his tongue. “I’ll call you later.”
“No need, dear. I’ll see you this Friday.”
He sighed. “Yes, Mother. I love you.”
“Friday,” she repeated.
Then the line went dead.
His phone continued to buzz with messages from his siblings, but he was in no mood to deal with them. So, he muted the conversation and headed to the café off the lobby entrance.
“Hey, King!” Emrys—a male pixie with electric blue hair and dazzling green eyes—greeted him with enthusiasm. “How’s it going in there?”
“Honestly? It’s kind of crazy.”
The barista laughed. “You looked great on stage, though. Completely natural.”
King frowned. “You saw that?”
“It’s all over social media.” As he spoke, he retrieved his phone from his apron and poked around at the screen. “See.”
He flipped the device around to show King a video of himself that had clearly been filmed from one of the fans in the audience. A part of him wanted to agree that he did look good, in large part thanks to Priya. Another part that sounded suspiciously like his mother, however, could only see the flaws.
He lowered his eyes and grinned self-consciously. “I guess news travels fast.”
Emrys’ smile dimmed, and his eyebrows drew together as he slowly returned his phone to the pocket of his apron. “Everyone seems pretty accepting. Most of the comments are good.”
Most. Meaning not everyone was happy about his and Storm’s relationship. Fuck, he felt like he was going to vomit.
“Uh, can I get an iced cherry whatever?”
“A cherry bomb?”
He dipped his head.
Emrys continued to watch him from the corner of his eye as he rang up the order.
“Also, an iced matcha latte with oat milk.” He didn’t know if Storm could have the drink on stage, but it would probably keep until the fan meeting ended.
The pixie nodded. “Is that it?”
“One second.” Since he had left Arlo back in the ballroom, he should probably return with something for Damien as well. He dug his phone out of his pocket, ignored the messages from his siblings, and shot off a quick text to Arlo. “Make that two matcha lattes.”
“Got it,” Emrys confirmed. “Anything else?”
When he had left the ballroom, he’d had every intention of ordering himself an ice cream latte. Now, he didn’t know if that was such a great idea.
Although delicious, the latte contained a lot of calories and sugar. As such, he didn’t order it often. On the other hand, he’d skipped lunch, and it would be another couple of hours before he could sit down for dinner. A little pick-me-up probably wouldn’t hurt.
You’re looking a little pudgy.
His mother words rang in his ears as clearly as if she stood right beside him.
He probably should have developed some level of immunity to the criticism by this point, but he had never learned how to drown out the steady drone of disapproval. Even reminding himself that Storm liked the way he looked didn’t change anything. Telling himself he was a grown man capable of making his own decisions did little to help, either.
I feel sorry for him.