With Sasha busy in the kitchen, James Skyped his father. Dieter answered promptly and looked the usual mix of tired and concerned "everything OK, Jamie?"
"Well, apart from to tell you to come here for a rest, 'cause you look tired, Dad. I need dating advice and I can't ask the guys because Dimitry will find out and well, I can do without that shovel talk, thank you very much." The eighteen year old settled back on the sofa and sipped the glass of wine Sasha had just brought in. "It's complicated. I think, in fact I know I'm in love. How can you know it's reciprocated? Sasha is perfect. You'll know from your security team that we're sharing a bed and yes, we are sexually actively. Boy oh boy, it's a whole different deal when it's not just casual. Sasha hasn't dated before, but... you know about the past, that he was 'groomed' by a sexual predator. How do I know he loves me back?"
Dieter smiled as the security logs had been very detailed, and he trusted his long term security to ensure that no one was taking advantage of his son. His own impressions of Sasha had suggested the lonely ex-spy was asexual, but Jamie himself had stated it was a problem of trust and his checkered past had kept the young man from reaching out until he was 110% sure he would not be rejected.
His son had trusted him two years ago, when he came out. His crush was confessed later. Jamie had been miserable with the thought he would have to settle with being friends, never lovers. "He trusts you. Never break that trust and you have a life partner. Be honest and ask for commitment. You are still too young for rings or ceremonies. Marriage is becoming acceptable. Something to aim for. Even children in ten or so years, born through a surrogate. It is not like when I was your age. You can be open. You have nothing to hide, but talk your fears over with your lover not me and maybe it's time you told your mother you are gay."
Jamie scowled, "Like she wants anything to do with me! I'll go one better and plan a visit to East Kilbride and break the news to granny. The whole family will know in five seconds flat. Maybe I'll be cool enough to be Blythe McCudden's son then. She hangs out with Elton John, a gay son with be added brownie points to her social circle. Yeah, I'll book us flights to Glasgow after I OK with Granny about bringing a guest."
...
Having known Jamie for four years, he knew he preferred simple meals. No complex sauces, no amuse bouche, vapours or any tricks of haute cuisine. Salad, steak and baked potato and cafe granita with thin almond biscuits for dessert. Ola's opinion was the way to a guy's heart was by feeding both body and the soul. He sat and sipped his glass of water. It was hilarious that he could drink vodka like he was Russian born, tolerated champagne and hated wine and beer.
"Get Maria to buy some vodka, baby. You always had vodka at home." Jamie wanted everything perfect, a real home from home for Sasha.
"Not always, just special occasions. You and your father visiting was always a special occasion." The chef cut into his baked potato, "how about I make pizza tomorrow, with lots of onions and olives."
Pizza was something all the guys liked, but both Dieter and Boris detested "I don't think that oven outside has ever been used. Can I help?"
Alex smirked, "sure, how's your dad? Did you persuade him to come for a holiday?"
"No, got sidetracked as usual. So, normally Gran visits us here in July, only she's not booked this year. How about we go visit her?"
Alex vaguely remembered a granny from past conversations and guesse dit wa the German side of the family, "In Düsseldorf?"
"No, mum's mum. She lives near Glasgow. Her place is cosy. It's ages since I've been. Don't worry she's nothing like mum. In fact, Margaret McCudden is the only person alive to call mum a selfish bitch to her face after running off with that director and leaving me with Dad. I think you'll trust her. She would level mountains and drain seas for me." Jamie cut up his steak into neat strips, "Family, well the family I talk to, are important."
What little Alex knew about his boyfriend's estranged mother was from gossip magazines not the Sprintz's, who barely mentioned the woman. What he could recall was she had left home at fifteen to live in London, finding fame as a punk era model, ex girlfriend of some guitarist, married to Dieter circa 1983 and divorced in 1990 just before he made a mint during the market crash of 1991, when the man moved back to a Germany with full custody of his son. Blythe had never bothered with regular visitation rights. Her career since had been co-star in several questionable films and tv series. Since the mid nineties she was better known for her cosmetics range and her work as model and muse for the famous Postmodernist portrait painter, whose name Alex could not remember.
Then the teenager had the light bulb moment of the significance of this visit, "So I'm off to get family approval. Holy crap, Jamie darling. This means it's official, big league, next stop getting a flat together! Right, you know my family already thinks you're great. Dimitry might need some help with us cohabiting, but he's a big boy. I have explained about being bisexual but really mostly gay, though he thought I was trying to cheer him up after refusing to go on any dates with either gender. First up, forget about anniversaries being important. Crock of shit, though it's weird that both my birthdays, actual and official are celebrated. Let's cut that to just the one in my passport not to confuse those not in the know about all things spooky. If, sorry when, we get our married better arrange it on New Years Eve, OK or a full on hippy affair at Stonehenge at midsummer. That would freak everyone out."
"Not my mother, she'd love it." The German finished his meal then got up to stop his lover tidying up. "We have staff, they are paid well. Let's go outside and star gaze."
...
The afternoon was hot and humid, the forecast of thunderstorms later. Alex swam lengths at a leisurely pace, he loved the fact the villa had a 25metre pool built for swimming not just lazing about. Dieter must be a keen swimmer, because Jamie definitely wasn't. The guest swimmer could not complain about his lover though, he had plenty of stamina for carnal pursuits. The German preferred using the indoor gym for cycle, rowing and ski machines. From virgin to working his way though the illustrated book of gay sex, mail ordered when they arrived here and now fast becoming both teens favourite read. The porn collection in Jamie's wardrobe forgotten as actuality was better than fantasy. Alex had always found both magazines, online and movie porn not his thing, preferring novels for its grounding in reality and the complexity of relationships not just sex itself. Close to his limit in the sun, the ex-spy noted the new arrival in an awful suit, shirt and tie combo. Dark brown pinstripe, beige check and blue diagonal stripes screamed low level mafia thug. Surviving black ops undercover work and assassination attempts had taught the London born young man to trust his instincts. He would warn Jamie to expect trouble.
...
Gino stood to attention as he greeted his new boss with a parade ground salute. Herr Brock, who mirrored the stiff formal greeting with a stiff nod then motioning for the agency replacement to sit, while not taking his eyes off the man. "It's a simple set up here. The primary goal is watching over Herr Sprintz's son." The man droned on about the staff, their schedules, the cctv, alarm, motion detectors, flood lights and the security team's strengths and weaknesses. Luckily, Gino had enough genuine agency work to bulk out a kosher CV. The job a shoe in with Mario's glowing reference. Playing nursemaid to the rich and famous was his least favourite way of paying the bills. Unlike other clients, Dieter Sprintz was reclusive and very low profile, unlike his ex-wife. There were no paparazzi photos of the man's son. On arrival, he had seen the teenager in the pool and taken a few shots with a hidden camera. Blond, fit, lithe and looking every inch an gullible kid having grown up cosseted in a very protected bubble. At no time during the briefing was the boyfriend also living here mentioned or the location of the panic room. Brock wanted to see how observant this former paratrooper was, because James Sprintz did not often leave his room between 10PM and 11AM. He doubted the weekday night shift guard would ever lay eyes on their client's only child. As agency, the man had no need to enter the villa except in the direst of circumstances as laid out in his detailed shift guidelines and operations manual. At the moment no drills were planned, nor any need to supervise the night shift on site, as no threats were in this locality and the risk of trouble assessed as extremely low.