Henri Beck & the Hidden Library | 📖

1

Henri hated going to these things. Had it been up to him, he'd have gone into the city to further celebrate his graduation from Westminster School. But it wasn't up to him. Nothing in his boring life ever was.

Grumbling obscenities, he fidgeted with the platinum cufflinks attached to the black sleeve of his suit jacket. He didn't mind dressing up. In fact, he relished the opportunity to flex his very expansive, and expensive, wardrobe. But tonight's venue had a strict dress code. Basic tuxedos and loafers only. No exceptions. No room for color or personality either. His father was to blame. A sack of potatoes had more personality than he did.

For the past four years, Henri had been forced to wear a stupid uniform. Westminster School didn't often encourage stepping outside the box they built for its students. He figured that's why his father sent him there in the first place. What he didn't expect was to be forced back into another uniform the moment he arrived back in the States.

With a sigh, he stole a glance through the tinted window of the SUV shielding him from the rain outside.

The Smithsonian Institute stared back at him in all its glory.

Its big, white central building overlooked the street like a deity viewing its beloved creation. The Greco-Roman architectural style wasn't Henri's personal favorite, but he supposed it looked nice enough. Banners displaying Egyptian imagery hung between the trio of pillars at the top of the quartz staircase. From his perch, Henri spotted his parents' smiling faces among a few of the banners. He scoffed.

If his parents wanted to host their event at a museum, they should've picked the Louvre.

"Ready to go, Mr. Henri?" Jeffrey, his chauffeur for the night, said from the front seat.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?"

The old man chuckled. "And how many times do I have to call you Mr. Henri until you accept it?"

Henri rolled his eyes. Jeffrey had been calling him that since he was a child. He wasn't old enough to be a mister then, and he certainly wasn't old enough now. His eighteenth birthday was only a few weeks ago.

Though, he supposed there were worse things to be called. Jeffrey at least had the decency to call him by his name. Others rarely addressed him with it. Most of the time they just referred to him as "Simon and Aminata's son" or that "Beck boy". There were a few others he'd rather not mention. Mention of any of them made his blood boil and his joints tighten.

"The ceremony should be starting soon," Jeffrey told him. "Your parents will want you inside."

"I'm well aware of what they want, thanks, Jeff."

They made sure of that.

Through the rearview mirror, he spotted Jeffrey peering disapprovingly at him. He crossed his arms and lowered his gaze to his glossy dress shoes. They were squeezing the hell out of his feet. His eyes were drawn back to the cufflinks gleaming on his sleeves. His mouth twitched.

A graduation gift. One of many. He hated it, just like all the others.

"They wanted to be there, Mr. Henri," Jeffrey said, his voice softer than the plush seats of the SUV they sat in. "Truly, they did. But something—"

"Yeah, I know. Something came up."

Something always came up.

"Henri—"

"Let's just get this over right, yeah?"

He didn't bother waiting for Jeffrey to respond. He was already out of the car.