The Billionaire & the Princess

by Katherine E Hunt

  As he is talking, several small children notice us and come flying over, jumping into his arms. “Uncle Hank, Uncle Hank!”

  “Careful guys,” says Hank, grabbing my arm as they nearly bowl us over

  “Is she your girlfriend, Uncle Hank?” asks a cute little blonde girl.

  He shakes his head. “No, just my friend.”

  “Chloe, Marco, Peter, leave uncle Hank alone, you can play with him outside after lunch, Mama has put out the bouncy castle for you.”

  An incredibly handsome man who looks just like Hank, but maybe five or six years older, shakes my hand, obviously one of the brothers. “Hi, I’m Antonio, Tony. Chloe and Marco are mine, as is Eddie, wherever he’s got to. He’s twelve and can’t be torn away from his phone to talk to actual, real people.”

  “Bro. Looking handsome as usual,” says Hank. I’m totally intrigued now; do they all look as gorgeous as these two? His parents have some good genes.

  They do a brotherly hug type thing and I fiddle with my camera whilst they talk about the kids and school and Tony’s wife, who is somewhere talking about their pool installation with one of the neighbors, apparently.

  “Where are your other brothers?” I ask, scanning the crowd. “I want to meet Mario and Luigi.” Hanks rolls his eyes.

  I’d missed meeting Leo at the baby shower. He is one of the ones I am dying to speak to, his reputation precedes him. The sleazy one.

  “Enzo’s out by the pool,” says Tony. He turns to me and leans in. “He doesn’t like social situations; don’t be offended if he’s not very talkative.” There’s an awkward pause. He excuses himself and goes off in search of his children.

  “What’s the story with Enzo?”

  Hank fidgets, before replying, “Enzo, Lorenzo, he’s my oldest brother. He lost his wife three years ago. We, uh, we’ve been trying to get him to talk to someone, a therapist, but he doesn’t want to know. His kids live on campus, Erin’s in Florida, I think, Josh is in Washington DC. He gets pretty lonely.” He looks so sad, he’s lost a sister and it shows.

  “Oh I’m so sorry. That’s really sad.” I am desperate to hug him, but I’m forbidden from touching him here. Stupid rules. I change the subject. “How about we go on through to the garden?”

  “Not before we go to the kitchen. That’s where all the gossiping happens at these things.”

  He’s right, Jen and a couple of other young women are busy preparing pasta, they are covered in flour and are far more occupied with mucking around and making a mess than actual food preparation. Supervising them is my arch-nemesis and a woman who I dearly hope can smell the scent of Hank on me. Nonna.

  Cigarette holder in one hand, drink in the other, she is true to form. “Thinner, no, not like that.” From the disgusted look on her face, nobody in this room can even come close to making pasta like her.

  “Buongiorno, Nonna,” I say. She mutters something vulgar in Italian and smirks at me. Hank, bless his heart, chokes and coughs it out. He turns to me, desperation in his eyes. I know I’m supposed to shut up and put up. I’m not stupid. “Lovely to see you again too.”

  I plaster on the biggest smile. I’ll save my knowledge of Italian later. Making Nonna squirm when she finds out I know what she just called me will be priceless.

  Jen laughs at her brother’s reaction. “Anybody need me to translate?”

  “Shut-up Jen,” says Hank.

  “Do you want to join us?” she asks, offering me a place next to her.

  “No, thank you. I am actually working today, when I eventually convince my esteemed colleague to go outside.”

  “Duty calls.” Hank dashes out of there as fast as his legs can carry him before his grandmother says anything else.

  “She doesn’t mean it,” he says, as soon as we are out of earshot.

  “Sure, she’s a doll,” I reply, letting the sarcasm drip from my mouth.

  A gong clangs and the guests all shuffle outside. The buffet tea is to be served in a marquee in the garden. I’m expecting something impressive, this isn’t my first Hamptons gathering after all, but the amount of people, food and extravagance are all terribly overwhelming.

  “This is just a spring tea party, right? You’re not celebrating anything in particular?”

  “I’m not going to have to remind you we’re very, very rich, am I? It gets a bit embarrassing after a while.” He shrugs. “I guess I just think of this as normal, I never really thought about how it looked to other people. What were tea parties like at your grandparent’s home?”

  “My grandmother wasn’t very sociable.”

  “Wasn’t?”

  “The second funeral,” I reply. I don’t want to talk about this. He waits for me to continue, but lets it drop when I say nothing more. The loss of Gran was final, like the last link of the chain. My father is alive, but he has never been a parent to me. I am alone and until I grasp the reality of that, I can’t even imagine trying to talk about it with someone else.

  I fiddle with my camera again. I really need to start taking some photos, but when I look up Hank is heading off towards a group seated near the pool.

  “Guys, this is Caitlyn, my editor. This is Matt, and this here is Enzo. The oldest and youngest of my brothers.” They stand up, shake my hand. The tall, handsome gene pool is incredibly strong in these men. If you lined up all the Baresi boys in front of me, you would just have a younger to older version of the same man. Enzo is a wrinklier, greyer version of Hank it’s uncanny.

  “May I take your photo? It’s for the magazine.”

  “Of course. Not with fuckwit though, he’ll break the lens.” Matt pushes Hank precariously close to the pool. He thinks he’s hilarious.

  “Matt, manners,” says Enzo, smiling through gritted teeth. “Of course, where would you like us to stand?”

  “What? Like you don’t call him fuckwit too.” Hank says nothing in reply. Head bowed, tight-lipped and silent, his lack of confidence around these two is evident. The camaraderie here isn’t the same as with his friends, there’s a hierarchy being respected and Hank is at the bottom of it. Being the youngest of five brothers, he was probably the one who’d gotten his head farted on the most.

  I don’t recognize the cheeky, confident man I’m falling in love with and it bugs me. I resist the desire to grab his hand, reassure him. If Matt is determined to be an asshole, I’m going to have some fun with him instead.

  “So Matt, you’re the oldest of the brothers then, right? I know Hank’s the youngest. Is there a big age difference between all of you?” I lean towards him, place my hand on his arm and ask him to bend forward for me. Hank crumples his eyebrows, confused, and I throw him a wink.

  Without a word I reach into the bottom of my bag for my compact and tap the crown of his head with it “That’s better. Gets rid of all that shine.”

  He isn’t losing his hair at all, quite the contrary the Baresis all have a mop of curls, but his hand immediately flies to his head. “Shine?”

  I squeeze his arm. “Oh, I’ve embarrassed you, I’m so sorry. I mean look at Bruce Willis, bald as an eagle, still very popular with the ladies.” I take my photos and Matt immediately excuses himself, without another word to his brothers.

  “Did I go too far?”

  Enzo is laughing so hard he’s stuffed his serviette in his mouth and is trying to catch his breath. Clearly not.

  “Oh my, I don’t think I’ve seen anything so funny in ages.” He takes a deep breath, “The look on his face, priceless. You know he’s only a couple of years older than Hank, right? I’m the oldest by the way, then Leo, Tony, Jen and Matt and then Hank.”

  “Oh, she knows,” adds Hank, a huge grin on his face.

  We wander around the garden taking photos and writing down names. Mama has given me a list of contributors to her charities who must be included in any articles, without fail. I’m always happy to oblige. It is, after all, a Baresi Corp. magazine. Hank leaves me whilst I finish by getting a few candid shots of his family. />
  Once we’ve gotten enough photos to write an article longer than War & Peace I call it a day. I find Hank, who’s at the bar with friends, and pull him aside. “I should go.”

  “Stay, have something to eat. I’ve booked a car; you can have a drink if you like.” He places a gentle hand on my back, pulls me in close. He definitely gets the better end of the deal at every party we go to, free drinks every time. “Come on, Princess, one drink won’t hurt.”

  I’m sorely tempted, especially with that warm hand around my waist, but as the sober one here, I’m also going to have to be the sensible one. “I don’t think that would be appropriate, Hank, I’m your employee, remember?”

  He grabs my hand, but I pull it away, looking around us. “But you’re so pretty in that dress and it’s a lovely day, nobody will mind.” They will, especially his grandmother. I don’t fancy having another chat with her about employer-employee boundaries.

  Then, as if fate has decided to take a hand, Jen comes over to us, loops her arm through mine and drags me away. “Walk with me.” She pulls me over next to Enzo and Tony and we watch as Hank’s mother descends on him, a murderous scowl on her face.

  “What’s going on?” I ask, as Hank’s mother screeches at her youngest son in Italian, arms flailing, her voice getting higher and higher.

  “I have no idea, but she’s pissed.” Jen grabs two glasses of champagne off a tray as a waiter passes us by. “Here you go. I don’t know what Hank did this time, but it hasn’t been this good since Matt borrowed Dad’s Porsche and ended up in a ditch.”

  I put my glass on the table, to Enzo’s surprise. “I’m working,” I say with a smile. “In fact, I should really be leaving.”

  “I would if I were you; it looks like they’re talking about you,” says Jen. The hand gestures were indeed often pointed in my direction.

  “My Italian is limited, what are they saying?”

  “Uh, apparently it’s been suggested that you’ve been working alone while Hank has been working on that house renovation in company time,” replies Enzo. He winks at me conspiratorially.

  “Oh thank god, I thought they’d found out we’ve been fuuhhck…” I forget myself for a moment, transfixed by this very public argument. So comfortable in these people’s presence.

  Three-sixths of the Baresi children turn to stare.

  “What?” asks Jen, sticking her hand over her mouth as if in shock, when it’s clear as day that there is a grin on her face as wide as the Cheshire cat’s.

  Tony and Enzo share an unsurprised look, shrug and then flatter me with the international nod of fuck-partner approval.

  “Sorry,” I add, “I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” As usual, my shut up filter isn’t on.

  “Are you kidding? No apologies necessary. This is the best Saturday tea we’ve had in years,” says Jen, putting a reassuring hand on my arm. “I just found Matt looking in the hallway mirror, trying to find a bald patch on the back of his head. I hear this is your doing.”

  “What did you tell him?” asks Enzo, starting to laugh again.

  “I told him he’d been bald for years,” she replies, proudly. Enzo laughs, loudly and with fervor. Tears stream down his face. He laughs so much, in fact, that he falls backward over a chair and just lies there, still chortling away, the whole party looking on. His mother stops yelling at her youngest son and turns to see what the fuss is about.

  Hank runs over and helps his brother up. Enzo is bent over, holding his hand on his chest whilst he catches his breath.

  Mama arrives, panicking. “Are you okay? You want some water?”

  “Mama, I’m fine, I’m having a ball. Stop giving Hank a hard time, he’s been working very hard on…with Caitlyn.” He laughs at his own joke, then stops to pause for breath again. “Mama, Hank has never been to your Saturday tea, enjoy the fact that he’s here and that he is finally working thanks to this lovely woman. Seriously Hank, don’t fuck it up, getting Caitlyn to work under you is one of the best decisions you’ve ever made.”

  Hank looks at me and I shrug and whisper, “Sorry.” I’ve told half of his family we’re fucking. I’ll have to make that up to him later.

  Enzo gives me a wink, then he hugs his mom, and she starts to cry and hug all of her children, exclaiming her love for them, loudly, in Italian.

  Special Events in the Hamptons might not be my cup of tea, but I can see myself learning to love the Baresi family parties.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Hank

  “We have to be really careful,” I say. “About the whole work situation.”

  “No, you have to be really careful. I haven’t done anything wrong.” The Monday morning briefing with Caitlyn is chilly. She’s been off-color since Saturday. Even my shoulder massage is coldly received, and that normally gets me a kiss on the hand and a contented sigh.

  “You were the one who told everybody that we’re fucking.” Caitlyn and her unstoppable exterior thought process.

  “And you got handsy at the bar, in front of everybody.” Shit. I did, she’s right. “We’re young, healthy, single people. Nobody has been harmed in the joining of our pelvises. It’s not like we’re getting married and having babies.”

  “I’m supposed to be your boss.” The Baresis don’t cohort with employees. I’ve had that drilled into me since I was a teenager. I don’t have to agree with it to know that my family will look badly upon it.

  “You’re the boss? You’re never here.”

  “I’m here every morning.”

  “Last week you had a suit fitting for Chad’s wedding on Wednesday morning and Friday you took two hours off for a haircut. Admittedly, that barber did things to your curls that makes my lady parts do somersaults, but that’s not the point.” Oh yeah?

  I grab her by the waist, spin her around. “What’s really wrong here, Princess?”

  “I hate sneaking around like we’ve done something wrong.”

  I brush a curl from her face. Look into those beautiful brown eyes. “But, you understand, it’s complicated, right? I can’t just admit it.” I have too much to lose. Her included, she gets that, right?

  “Is it them you’re afraid of losing or their money?” I haven’t really thought about it. Being cut off financially wouldn’t be associated with being cut off emotionally. Mama would never do that. My father is another story entirely.

  “Does it matter?”

  She looks down at her hands. “Yes.”

  “Princess, you know how I feel about you and that I don’t care about you not being like us. They don’t feel the same and they would make it very hard for us to be together. Have I ever made you feel like you were … less?”

  “People in your family keep insisting on giving me clothes so I fit in, it makes me really uncomfortable. I can buy my own clothes, you know. And your mum went apeshit the other day about you working on the house.”

  “Buying you a dress doesn’t make you a kept woman.” I take her in my arms; kiss the top of her head. Cait is so precious to me and it hurts to make her feel like anything she’s doing for me is wrong. “You have never asked me for anything. I know who you are. You make me feel like I count, you don’t look down on me because I didn’t finish college or because I want to spend most of my life covered in dust with a hammer in my hand. I would never look down on you because you don’t come from money.”

  “It’s just that …” We’re interrupted by a knock on the door. “This conversation is not over,” says Caitlyn. Not one person has knocked on the door since we’d started this operation. We separate, move away from each other, just in case.

  “Hello, anybody here?” Chad walks in swiftly followed by a cameraman, a sound man and his producer.

  “Chad, what can we do for you?” It’s been a while since I’ve featured on Chad’s reality TV show. He’s made it to five seasons. Only one more and maybe he’ll get a movie.

  “I haven’t been here before, it’s very…” He hesitates, searching for the word.
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  “Quaint?” says Caitlyn with a wry smile.

  “Yeah. Quaint.” He stands there, his hands in his pockets. We wait for him to speak.

  “So,” says Caitlyn. “What can we do for you Chad?”

  “You’re a journalist, right?” She nods. “Have you done, you know any investigative stuff, you know tracing phones, following people?”

  “You mean like a private investigator? Not really. I have done some research for different articles. What do you need to know?”

  “I, uh, I think Becky is cheating on me.” Caitlyn gives me the least subtle side-eye ever known. Fuck, she was right. I hate cheating. Despise it. Makes me so mad.

  I reply with a look that says, don’t you dare open that mouth of yours. She glances over at the cameraman who promptly zooms in on Chad.

  “Please try to avoid breaking the fourth wall,” says the producer, handing us consent forms to sign. We sign, and then we have to wait a second for everybody to get into position.

  “Okay. And how do you think we can help you? And if we do find out that she’s cheating, are you sure you really want to know?” asks Caitlyn. “Because once you know you know, there’s no going back. Trust me, you can’t forget things like that, it changes everything, forever.”

  Chad perches on one of the desks. He pulls his fingers along his brow and rubs his eyes. This isn’t the guy I know. Of the four of us, Chad is the archetypical billionaire’s son. His dad paid him through college, he’s an ‘influencer’ online and a reality star on cable.

  The irony of companies sending their products to him for free when he is one of the richest among us is laughable. He might not always be respected for who he is, a product of his parents’ money, but we all love him for his character. The life of the party, he’s also a lost soul, kind and sweet and very loyal to us and Becky. A sheep in wolf’s clothing.

  “I don’t know. Yes. We’ve been having … problems for a while now. I, uh, I might not have been entirely faithful myself.” What the fuck, you have to be kidding me. I refrain from saying anything. I look at my feet and stretch out my hands. I have this thing where I ball my fists up so tight that I cut my palms and I’m conscious that I’m doing it on camera.