Roman
The morning was silent and the air was crisp as Roman rose from his bed. He was up unusually early and the hotel room was saturated with white, making it feel sterile and bare. His bare feet padded across the abnormally shiny tiles and he opened the sliding door to the balcony with a slight shiver.
He stepped through and shut the door behind him. He looked out over Columbus, at the Ohio River and the surrounding buildings. The city was still sedate in the early morning but it buzzed with a familiar energy. He let his eyes flutter shut and just breathed it in for a few moments, but the cold soon became uncomfortable and he padded back inside.
As he was getting dressed for the day, there was a knock on his door. “Mr. Prince?”
“Yes?”
“Your parents have requested that you meet them in the lobby shortly.”
“I understand. Thank you.” This was not a request, he knew, so he finished as quickly as he could, almost nicking himself in his rush to shave. He braced himself to face his parents.
Roman entered with his head held stiffly high as he stepped across the plateau of sterile tiles. His mother stopped him shortly before they went into the view of the cameras.
“Chin up, shoulders back, posture perfect,” she said, not unloving, placing a warm hand at the base of his spine to correct his stance. Her plastic hair moved a degree and she smoothed it back unnecessarily. She smiled. “A true prince.”
“Let’s get on with it,” his father snapped. Impatient as ever.
That’s what wealth does to a person, Roman supposed. Introduce a man (or anyone, really) to constant comfort and they will never stop wanting more, better, pricier, rarer, faster.
He didn’t have much time to dwell on it. As soon as they made their way outside, the paparazzi were swarming like vultures on a carcass.
Much of the next few minutes were a blur of camera flashes and shouted questions. The questions were the same as ever: “Is Remus with you?” “How do you feel about the recent surge in the Prince oil stock?” “Is it true Roman is getting married soon?” Roman’s father looked straight ahead and carved a path through the crowd effortlessly, leaving a wake for Roman and his mother to trail behind. They got into a sleek sports car, a Lamborghini, by the looks of it. Roman climbed in with a sudden feeling of awkwardness (which he quickly shoved down).
As they made their way to the Hotel LeVeque, Roman’s father spoke suddenly. “Take a right here.” The driver complied and pulled over into a nearby parking lot, outside of a J. Crew. Roman frowned.
His father gave him a short glance. “You need a better tie than that one. Come with me.”
They returned from the store shortly thereafter with a new navy blue tie that Roman admittedly quite liked, despite his slight irritation at his father’s lack of respect for his fashion sense.
For a moment, there was silence, save for the clack of Roman’s father’s footsteps against the worn pavement of the parking lot. Then the squeal of tires could be heard, as an obnoxiously loud, very green 1987 Plymouth Barracuda came barrelling into the parking lot with reckless abandon, its driver giggling and twitching.
Remus was wearing his Kamina sunglasses, as green as the car, and Roman wondered vaguely how he well he could see colour through them. His outfit was bad-boy-chic: leather jacket, button-up, Doc Martens, and a sort of confidence that bordered on stupidity (a trademark of his). His white streak shone in the sun.
“YO, WHADDUP BITCH?” Remus yelled cheerily. “GET IN!”
“Roman,” his father warned, but Roman’s face was already splitting into a wide smile, and he slid into the front seat with a seamless movement. The cries of their father were left in the dust and Remus pulled back onto open roads.
__________
“So, brother dear, how is it to be a capitalist slave to a society that doesn’t love you?” Remus said blithely.
“Could be worse. How is it to be an ostracised bastard of society?”
Remus dramatically inhaled, then sighed. “Mmm. Freeing.”
Roman laughed.
Remus had been this way ever since they were kids. Back when their family was a slight bit less rich than they were at the present, the twins went to a public school. From kindergarten to the sixth grade, Remus was the troublemaker of the class: a wild, reckless youngster who found it funny when grownups yelled and didn’t mind having his privileges taken away from him. The teachers had eventually resigned themselves to this. There was simply no way to punish him.
Their father, a contract employee for a crude oil company, had found a chance oil reserve in the most poverty-stricken part of Nigeria when they were in seventh grade. They went from being a regular family to being the richest on the block, which they owned most of. The twins were put into a private Catholic school, but even then, Remus found small ways to rebel. He rearranged the sign in front of the school. He spelled out raunchy things in the Bibles using blackout poetry. He had a seemingly never-ending line of boyfriends, which the administration particularly hated.
But the worst was when they asked him what he was going to do for Lent. There was a school-wide assembly every year, a ceremony of sorts, where every student was asked to tell the others what they were doing as an accountability system. It was bullshit to begin with, of course; Lent is immensely personal and so a lot of kids lied about what they were going to do out of embarrassment or spite. But Roman would never forget the look on their faces after Remus announced he was giving up church services for forty days.
Their parents were immeasurably mad and so they decided not to pay for his college, which he didn’t mind. He had enough talent to become a freelance tattoo artist, and he had become famous in his own right. And Roman was truly proud of him.
“So, are we actually heading to the Hotel LeVeque? I can’t afford to miss the meeting.”
Remus rolled his eyes. “Ah, your little engagement. What’s the deal with that again?”
“Well, I still haven’t found a wife yet-“
(“Even though you want a husband,” Remus muttered. Roman ignored him.)
“-so they figured they could use that to their advantage. I’m getting matched up with someone from a trading company.”
“Which trading company?”
“Williams.”
“Jesus. Literally. Those guys are stricter than a straitjacket.” He paused. “So you don’t know who it is?”
“…nope.”
“When is it?”
“Two days.”
“What if they do something weird or gross like Alabama Hot Pockets?”
“I do NOT know what that is and I do NOT want to know. Look, Remus, it’s just for looks. Honestly, if they turn out to be a total jerk or something, what’s the big deal? I can just say we’re married in public and we can do whatever we want in private. I’m basically still single but I just have another part-time job.”
Remus gave him a look. “You get attached way easily though. Is that gonna be a problem?”
“No, Remus, I promise,” he said, laughing a bit to make Remus believe him. Remus’ eyes were still on him, although the car hadn’t gone an inch off the centre of the road. “It doesn’t bother me.”
“Sure,” Remus said, drawing out the word incredulously. His eyes drifted back to the road and Roman sighed in relief. “So, what is your type, anyway? You never told me.”
“I don’t really know, to be honest. Someone who isn’t arrogant. Someone with a lot more confidence than me, to be sure, but someone who has some regard for the rules. Someone honest, someone intelligent…”
“I meant physically, you dolt.”
“Oh! Probably emo guys. With piercings.”
Remus smirked in the way that meant he was about to say something dirty. “Well, you did always like-“
For better or for worse, he was cut off by police sirens. A voice rang out behind them. “Remus and Roman Prince, please pull over to the side of the road.”
“Aw, shit,” Remus groaned, and did so. Their parents were walking up behind them.
“Where have you been?! And what are you doing with this one?” His mother cried, jerking her head at Remus.
An innocent look smudged its way onto Remus’ face. “Nothing, Mother, we were just driving.” He elbowed Roman in the ribs.
Hurriedly, Roman pulled a similar face of innocence, which was much more convincing on him. “I’m sorry, Mother, I hadn’t seen him in a while, and I thought I could get there either way. It’s just been so long, and he is my brother-“
She cut him off with a pretentious wave. “Whatever the reason, we must be going, or we’ll be late. Come on, now.”
Roman looked back at Remus, who gave an odd pained smile. “Go on, then. Let Mommy fuss over you,” he added teasingly.
Roman leaned close and whispered, “You’d better get there soon. Don’t leave me to the vultures.”
“Oh, I would never!”
Roman glared one last time and walked back to the Lamborghini. Soon, they were back on the road, and the concrete jungle of Columbus stretched out before them. The LeVeque hotel towered in the centre, ominous in a way, and Roman shivered.
"Are you alright?" his father asked gruffly.
"Just fine," he lied.
The car continued on.