The TGV arrived at Nice at 8pm. Sergei was waiting at the station with flowers. Alex looked at the bouquet clearly not amused. "I have told you before, I am not a girl Sergei."
"But I am a Russian. Flowers for my lover, the wonderful and talented Aleksandr, whom I have missed so much. Come, my villa is about an hour from here. It is my home for the summer. Your home too?"
Alex accepted the floral gift. "My home, I like the sound of that. Lets go home." Alex face relaxed into a tired, wistful smile. And just like that Alex held onto Sergei's arm and let himself be lead away. Sergei's bodyguard carrying Alex's bag.
That night Sergei seduced Alex again, treating him like the most precious thing in the universe. Alex had missed the intimacy during is period of enforced solitude.
Sergei lay on his side and stared at the naked very beautiful boy sleeping on his bed. He pondered getting an artist to paint Alex like this, debauched, sated, used.
It had been a mistake to send him away, for Alex to live like a beggar in Paris. Waiting tables of all things and living in a hostel, but spending his free time writing such beautiful verse. The little poet had used his moments of freedom to search his soul and feelings. Alex had been perplexed when the older russian had enquired earlier if he had had a good time in Paris, partied, been dating in such a romantic place. Sergei himself had taken a few quick fucks in his lover's absence. Alex's face had stilled, the boy had hugged himself before confessing "Why would I want anyone to touch me? Never mind anything else. It took me two and a half years to be intimate with anyone and I chose you to be my first real relationship. I just want you Sergei. No, no one else had touched me. No one else looks at me like you do. Its like you see the real me. You see my soul. I'm just a ghost for others, barely visible."
The next morning Alex explored Sergei's villa. It was large with a pool and a stretch of private beach shared with the other villas overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. The area was the exclusive preserve of the super rich. Alex looked at the beach noting the surf on the morning tide. The next day, he borrowed a car and went back into Nice and bought a wetsuit and surf board.
Sergei then found his morning routine altered as he found himself drawn to watching his young man play in the surf from his office window. He knew he was meant to be working but Alex looked carefree and happy.
...
Sir Charles Fellows read the dispatch from the CIA. Alex Rider was back on the radar after three weeks. He had travelled from Paris to Nice and was now back in the arms of Sergei Rushkov. The boy had been to North Korea after three months in Moscow before traveling alone from Beijing to London and then disappearing. The Head of SIS was perplexed by Alex. He was sure that Alex was not back in the game, well not professionally. It might all be a game to Alex. Had he wandered into a relationship with one man all the agencies across the world knew traded with all UN sanctioned countries? Rushkov was a clever fellow. Not one legally filed complaint against him in the fifteen years when he emerged from the fall of the Soviet Union and made his mark. The man had been a GRU fixer before Glasnost, trading Russian arms to terrorists and allies of the Soviet regime. He had just continued as a freelance making himself immensely rich in the process. The CIA had tried to track a shipment refined uranium 238 and plutonium from Kazakhstan that Rushkov had acquired but their agents had disappeared, so Langley were none the wiser to the recipient.
The file noted several young male companions over the years. From aides to rent boys. All barely legal and very beautiful. Fellows had read the Rider's poems published in the latest copy of the Moscow Literary Review. The magazine owned by Rushkov. It was the fact that investigative journalist, Edward Pleasure, was friends with the arms dealer, but had not published anything about him. Then again, Onegin Publishing was connected with Pleasure professionally. Was it all just business? His old friend John Masterson had been seriously worried about Alex falling for another very dangerous player.
...
The daily and weekly routine was the same as for Sergei in Moscow, the arms dealer kept the same office hours and was again happy to relax at home. Alex fitted into this strict routine, using the hours to write, but when bored, he went and worked out with the bodyguards and security. Down in the gym he could listen to music and drown out the world. The body guards sparred, ran and worked weights with Alex, accepting him with no comments or hazing. Sergei's personal guards were all Russian, but the other perimeter guards were a variety of nationalities.
Today they had taken Alex with them to the local firing range, each practicing targets. Their young sparing partner then got instructions in gun safety, aim and posture. Alex was then allowed to shoot, he had not told any here of his training, so he without any artifice relaxed and showed off skills of instinctual shooting.
Misha, an old friend of Sergei's, growled out. "Who taught you those tricks, poet?"
"Yassen Gregorovich."
He heard one of the others say under their breath "Scorpia scum".
"Is it true, he was the one that abducted you?"
"Yes, after he killed Herod Sayle".
Another guard, one who Alex recognised as ex-SAS asked "I heard a rumour that Herod Sayle was going to adopt you."
"Christ don't even joke about that, the four days I spent in that man's company was enough for my lifetime. I still have nightmares about him." Alex shuddered and packed up.
Alex did not notice the worried look on a couple of the guards faces, thinking 'Why would Alex have nightmares about his uncle's good friend?'.
Alex was lost in thought during dinner thinking about Port Tallon and the odious Herod Sale. Sergei broke the ice. "My neighbour has invited us over."
"Oh, the pianist, Jean Philippe?" It was the only neighbour Alex knew by name. The others were nameless billionaires.
"Yes, I have owned the villa for seven years and now I get an invite over." Sergei stated half in jest.
Maria then added "I think that your houseguest has raised their curiosity?"
Alex looked at Maria wondering who she meant "Houseguest?"
Maria laughed "You, the famous Alex Rider. Elusive kidnap victim and newly published poet." The woman had still not forgiven Alex for disappearing with such ease to live in Paris rather than stay in London with Edward Pleasure, where she could keep tabs on him.
Alex still looked puzzled. "I am surprised I was recognised. I've only been into Nice twice."
Sergei then added "Every day you are observed on the beach, you have been watched not just be me."
Alex rolled his eyes "So you neighbours are a bunch of voyeurs."
"So it would seem." stated the russian deep in thought.
That night, Alex teased and tortured poor Sergei to get his attention. Then Sergei took control. Alex mused, the sight of Sergei sucking his toes was oddly erotic.
The next day Maria went into overdrive, being invited to the Musician's House was a big deal. He was famous for throwing parties, inviting the great and good. So Maria was going shopping, and poor Alex and Sergei could not get out of it. The Shopping trip was to be conducted in Milan.
The design team in a private room viewed as Alex stripped. The designer needed his muse as nothing in his current collection was adequate for Alex Rider. Sergei got away with a trip to the tailor, but Alex got his own personal torturer. Swatches of cloth were held against Alex's skin. The designer muttered in italian, then invited Alex and Maria to lunch. Alex spoke broken italian, mentally telling himself that he must learn. His knowledge of spanish and french meant not all was lost. At least he could keep up with most of the conversation. The designer, Nico, switched to French making Alex a lot more comfortable.
"You have lived in Paris?" Nico asked.
"Yes I went to school there for two years and recently lived there again for just under a month."
"It is beautiful, isn't it?"
"Yes. I feel quite at home in Paris. My grandmother lived there before the war, she was an exile from Russia." Alex had tried to find out as much information on his mother as possible. She had not been that interesting, apart from marrying John Rider. Alex's maternal grandmother had been positively fascinating, a jewish russian emigre, married three times. Her life was like a soap opera. Her parents white russians living in France after exile in 1919. Married to a young political activist in 1937. Widowed in 1940, making her way to England then working a a nurse attached to the Eighth Army in Egypt and then the Near East. Marrying another russian emigre in Palestine in 1945. Both worked to create a Jewish homeland as zionists. Nine years later, she left her husband and young family for a much younger Cambridge Academic when pregnant with Helena. It was scandalously good.
"So you grandmother taught you to speak French and Russian?" inquired Maria, she already knew Alex was an orphan.
"No. She died before I was born." Alex left it at that. Ian's grand plan had him speaking French, German and Russian fluently and conversing with ease in Japanese. Yassen had taught him to love the russian language.
Nico then piped up "You are a talented linguist. You must learn italian. Then you will fall in love with the opera."
"Umm, Sergei says I have no culture when it comes to music. I like rock music." Alex did not add that Ian had loved opera and classical music. Alex had been more influenced in his musical tastes by Jack and friends at school.
"Not the music of the soul!" scolded the Italian.
"It seems to resonate with me. Especially Garbage and the Manic Street Preachers." Alex then leant Nico his iPod to help with his creative processes. Alex had a lot more fun that afternoon as his favourite music was played at volume.
Two days later Alex went back for his fitting. Nico had done an excellent job. Three outfits all on a military theme. Brocade and embroidery. A photographer was in attendance. The images were to be for Nico's personal archive. Nico stated Alex was a natural model and a delight to work with.
The next door neighbour's party was huge. There were at least two hundred guests, quite a few of whom even Alex recognised and included a number of very famous footballers. Alex was immensely nervous, gripping Sergei's arm. He clung to his lover. He didn't need the embarrassment of some jerk making a pass at him. In reality he did not want anyone to talk to him, to touch him, bad enough these strangers were looking at him. Some with recognition in their eyes, some distain and some with undisguised lust.
"Why are you anxious, love?" enquired Sergei, petting Alex on the arm.
"I don't know anyone. Why am I interesting to these people?" The fact Alex had been newsworthy was in the past, he had moved on and forward. No one paid him much attention in Paris or in Chichester. He'd gotten used to being a nobody.
"Beautiful boy, just try and enjoy yourself." Sergei effortlessly smiled, introduced himself and Alex and made inane small talk. Alex just about managed a brief smile.
Alex let Sergei network. They circled the room and met their host. The musician was about the same age as Sergei and dressed outrageously. He was ecstatic over Nico's clothes for Alex. It was allegedly a great honour to be a muse to the exclusive designer. The musician looked at Alex then stated "Have we met before?"
Alex had met dozens of musicians during his foster placement in Arundel. "Umm, yeah... two years ago; Miriam Desanto, at the Haven Studios was my foster mother for 10 months. I helped out a bit."
"I remember, I didn't recognise you as the famous Alex Rider." the man smiled openly.
"No I guess not. I was not talking to anyone at the time you were there. I'd just found out they were kicking me out at the end of the month, and I was going into a bedsit in a half way house. Being in care sucks. I had stopped eating as well. I'm good at that as well."
"I thought your uncle was some big shot banker? Didn't he leave provision for your welfare?" The musician asked very pertinent questions showing in depth knowledge of his guest.
"No I was an afterthought. Made a ward of the government. Thats why I left the UK as soon as I could. I have a home now with Sergei" stated Alex with a sad grateful smile as he looked lovingly at Sergei. Alex let his fingers trail over Sergei's hand, enjoying the sensuality of light touch.
Sergei was soon as bored as Alex. Alex whined "Can we go home I want to sit in the hot hub. I am so tense."
Sergei then pressed Alex against the wall, "An excellent idea, beautiful boy." Sergei's eyes were dark with lust. They walked the short distance down the beach. Two body guards trailing behind. In their room Sergei sat down on the arm chair and instructed Alex to strip. Alex carefully took off his clothes and hung them carefully . The then stood to attention waiting for orders. Sergei then stood and then slowly removed his clothes, before moving off to the balcony to the hot tub. "Join me my love. A long soak, a massage, and then bed."