I’d been watching a boy on a skateboard rolling toward me in Vaduz’s Kunstmuseum square.“It’s just Rudolf to you, Martin. I can call you Martin, can’t I? We’re in the club together now and Mr. Malvin seems a bit formal for what we share.”“Yes, yes, it does,” I answered. “Please, join me, if you will.”Prince Rudolf was something not fully clear to me in the Liechtenstein royal family. I just knew he wasn’t in the direct line of succession anymore and lived in a giant mansion on Haldenweg, the road winding up the mountain to Vaduz Castle, the seat of the Liechtenstein royals, from the financial center of the sixty-two-square mile, filthy rich princedom wedged between Switzerland and Austria. I understand that he was someone important with the princedom’s finances and thus wielded great power here.I had lived here in an enclave owned by the prince of like-minded men for six months and had only recently come to Prince Rudolf’s direct attention. I was an artist, with a lucrative clientele. When you took the book you were reading from your backpack, you glanced up at me again, our eyes meeting, this time lingering, both of sensing a definite attraction. I took a sip of my coffee while watching you, enjoying how you lifted your mug to your lips, looking at me over the rim before opening your book. You then opened the book and started reading, brushing your long wild hair away from your face, concentrating on the page, but then lifting your mug to your lips, taking your first sip, holding it to your mouth then turning, looking at me, our eyes meeting, lingering, not darting away, aware that the attraction that had been growing for the last few days was getting hotter. When you looked over at me, our eyes fixed on each other, our lust no longer simmering was now boiling, bursting to escape like steam in a tea kettle. But it was when you smiled, looking into my eyes that I knew I had to have you and in a daring maneuver shifted in my chair, stretching my legs straight out.
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