Mad Love

by Colet Abedi

  “I’m sorry for interrupting,” he says politely as he brushes my shoulders. I lean into his touch. “I know you guys have a lot to catch up on.”

  I blush again at the reference to our time away and am thankful he’s behind me.

  Orie is the first to recover. “Not at all. Please, join us. Have you had breakfast?”

  “Thank you, but I ate in the villa while I made some business calls. I’m actually on my way to the spa.”

  “Nice. What treatment are you getting?” Orie asks. I notice that Erik’s arms are still crossed as he looks Clayton over. I know he’s trying to find a flaw. Good luck, buddy.

  “A shiatsu massage. I also took the liberty of booking the three of you a total relaxation treatment. I figured since I’ve dominated so much of Sophie’s time, it was the least I could do for you. That way you can spend some time together. I hope you don’t mind.”

  There he goes again with his insane generosity. I look up at Clayton again and squeeze his hand in gratitude. “You didn’t have to do that.” He smiles down at me.

  “I won’t take no for an answer, unless one of you has an aversion to relaxing spa days … ?” he says.

  “That is so nice of you, Clayton,” Orie thanks him with a genuine smile. “I can’t imagine a better way to spend the day.”

  “Thank you, it’s pretty shit hot of you,” Erik finally says, and I know he’s blown away by the gesture. I mean, who wouldn’t be? It’s one thing to be so rich, and another to share the wealth so magnanimously.

  “Thanks. Your appointments are in one hour, so take your time finishing up,” he tells us. “And there’s one more thing I believe you all might enjoy.”

  “This I gotta hear,” Erik responds dryly.

  Clayton actually smiles at him. “My friends and I have been invited to have dinner with a colleague and his wife who is staying on a yacht not far from the resort. I would be honored if you could join us.”

  Not far from the resort?

  “You don’t have to take us,” I tell him, hoping that he doesn’t hear the disappointment in my voice over possibly not spending the evening with him.

  His gaze meets mine possessively. He gives me a look that says, as if it’s an option for you. I can’t stop the feeling of happiness that washes over me, knowing that he wants me with him as badly as I want to go with him. He takes my hand and kisses my palm. I’m totally enamored and I know my friends can tell. And I don’t even care.

  “I won’t take no for an answer. The helicopter is picking us up at six thirty.”

  My eyes open wide.

  “Helicopter?” Erik is the one to ask. He literally takes the word right out of my mouth.

  “The Remingtons are staying in a yacht about twenty minutes from here.”

  “Cool, sounds fun. We’ll be there with bells and whistles,” Erik agrees quickly, but then we’d have to be complete idiots not to want to experience a helicopter ride and dinner on a yacht. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I can’t get the infamous scene in Indecent Proposal out of my head, the one where Robert Redford whisks Demi Moore away to sleep with her for a million dollars. I know Erik has got to be thinking the same thing.

  “Thank you so much for including us,” Orie smiles warmly at Clayton. He’s totally already planning his outfit.

  “Of course.” He nuzzles the top of my head, and then places a soft kiss on my cheek. I feel a shiver of pleasure. It never gets old. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get my massage.”

  We all say goodbye and I watch him walk away from the table and enjoy the view for a good minute until I can’t see him anymore, then sigh happily to myself over his complete and utter deliciousness.

  I cross my arms and meet Erik’s gaze.

  “Now spill the beans,” he says.

  If someone had told me before I came to the Maldives that I’d be flying over the Indian Ocean in a luxurious twelve-seater helicopter on my way to have dinner on a yacht, I’d have laughed right in his face. But that’s my reality, believe it or not. Clayton’s put me next to the window so I can look out on the view, which is so spectacular from this vantage point, especially as the sun sets over the horizon.

  Erik and Orie are beyond thrilled. After telling them about my blissful two days with Clayton, and then spending the day in the spa, I think they are half in love with him, too. Erik’s done a complete one eighty and is back to being his usual, chipper self. They’re both in awe of him, of everything he did for me. But the best part is how happy they are for me, that he was my first, and that he is acting like a complete gentleman. They actually called me lucky.

  I guess I am. I glance over at him surreptitiously. I missed him today. In fact, being apart from him for those hours was torture. When we walked back to our villas from the spa, well into the afternoon, I realized how happy I was just knowing that I was going “home” to him.

  As soon as my key was in the lock, the door opened and Clayton pulled me inside, immediately pressing his lips to mine, showing me that I hadn’t been alone in my misery.

  “That was too damn long,” he said passionately as he carried me off to bed. After, Clayton read over some work documents and held my hand the entire time.

  I got ready and put on the only dress I hadn’t worn yet—a simple, (hmmm … maybe too short?) black dress with spaghetti straps and some tall wedge heels. My best accessory was my new tan, which really made it all work. I looked good and felt sexy. I came out of the bathroom and the expression on his face was priceless. He looked handsome himself in tan pants and a navy linen shirt. The blue of the shirt made his eyes shine even more, and he’d rolled up the sleeves, exposing his browned forearms. I wanted to kiss that throat of his, run my tongue up and down that tantalizing expanse of chest. But … we couldn’t be late for dinner.

  “Change,” he immediately said. I know he liked what he saw because of the way his eyes were eating me up. But clearly, I was right that the dress was too short.

  “What? Not sexy?” I asked coyly, spinning around so he could see the back as well, hoping a little flirting would work to my benefit.

  If anything, he got even more adamant.

  “I want to rip it right off of you.”

  I smiled at his choice of words. “I take that as a yes?” I teased, walking up to him, totally turned on. We were running a little late but another twenty minutes wouldn’t hurt anyone.

  “I don’t want anyone else thinking those thoughts, Sophie,” he said rather possessively, as his gaze raked my body. “You belong to me.”

  “I’m yours,” I agreed, nodding my head, the first time I said those words without him being deep inside me, demanding them. “But this is all I have to wear.”

  “Not true. You have an entire suitcase filled with clothes. Find something more appropriate.” I really didn’t appreciate his autocratic tone. I thought, We need to lay down some rules here. He had to understand that I would wear what I wanted, when I wanted.

  “No. I want to wear this. I feel good in it. I’m not changing, Clayton.”

  He took a dangerous step toward me. “Care to bet on that, my angel?”

  My angel? It was the first time he’d said that. I wanted to caress his cheek tenderly.. There I went again, getting distracted.

  “There’s no time,” I said.

  “The chopper will wait.”

  “Clayton! Please,” I begged him. I can’t believe I was actually begging to wear a dress I liked. It was so absurd, it made me want to laugh. Or cry, depending on how I looked at it. I was spared Clayton’s response by a knock on the door. I rushed to open it, greeting Erik, Orie, and Eduard with a relieved smile. Eduard gave me an appreciative look and a low whistle.

  “Nice dress, Sophie,” he said. I didn’t dare look at Clayton. I could only imagine the look on his face, and I knew it wasn’t pretty.

  “Ready girl?” Orie asked, kissing me hello. “You look hot as hell. I’m dying over the dress. It is so sexy and … daring. Totally unlik
e you, but I love it! Turn around for me so I can get the full look.” I spin for Orie, still carefully avoiding Clayton’s gaze.

  “Is that the Dolce we bought together at the sample sale?” Erik asked me, knowing full well it was, like he’s capable of forgetting anything! Especially when he’s been part of the buying process.

  “I knew it,” Erik said.

  “How much?” Orie asks.

  “It was like fifty dollars. It had to have been mismarked,” I explained. “But it was the perfect price for me.”

  I could feel the anger radiating off Clayton, but surrounded by three men who completely approved, there was nothing he could do or say without looking like a complete dickhead. He knew it. I knew it. I hoped I wouldn’t pay for it later in the evening.

  “Let’s go.” Erik grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the villa.

  I looked over my shoulder and caught a glimpse of the wrath of Clayton Astor Sinclair and I almost made the sign of the cross.

  And now, here we are. I look over at him as we land on the yacht’s helipad and wonder if he’s still pissed. Okay, yes, he is. His face has that serious, stern look on it. I wonder how pissed he is. Is it a level five, or DEFCON one? I reach out and take his hand and his gaze is pure ice.

  “Come on. Don’t do this,” I whisper so no one can hear, as I try to cajole the crazy out of him.

  He takes my hand and caresses my thumb, then leans in close, so on the outside it looks as if he’s whispering sweet nothings in my ear. I should be so lucky.

  “Sophie, love. It would be wise of you to understand that I don’t like to be disobeyed,” he says. “If you want to know if I’m still angry the answer is no.” Oh thank God, I think to myself, irritated that he used the word “disobeyed” but okay with letting it slip this once. But the sense of security walks out the door when he says, “I’m fucking livid. We’ll continue the discussion when we get back to the villa.”

  Oh no. He pulls away from me as everyone starts to exit the helicopter, grabs a blanket from one of the seats, and hands it to me.

  “Wrap this around your waist so the whole goddamn world doesn’t see what belongs to me.”

  I do as I’m told and I’m actually really happy that he spared me the embarrassment of having my dress fly up over my head. Watching Elizabeth and Jane stumble out of the helicopter with dresses blowing in all sorts of direction makes me blush.

  Once we’re all safely on the deck of the yacht we’re greeted by the Remington family. I kind of figured they would be English but I guess I didn’t realize just how English they would be. They have those low, posh voices that Jane, Elizabeth, and the guys speak in, but times one hundred. Their pronunciation is exaggerated and, I’m guessing, very old school. Mr. Tom Remington is an older, distinguished looking man with blond hair and quizzical green eyes. His wife, Sheila, is a petite blonde with an amazing body that she’s showing to its full advantage. Lord, I’m surprised she can even walk in that dress. She also has on about ten pounds of makeup and jewelry. She’s sparkling so brightly it’s almost blinding.

  I notice the way her hand touches Clayton’s arm like she’s intimately familiar with him or something and my claws come out. She’s barely civil to me but embraces everyone else like they’re long-lost relatives. Including Erik and Orie, who she instantly loves. We are introduced to a man, Albert Larson. He’s a good-looking guy and downer Jane immediately sets her sights on him.

  The help passes trays of champagne around and I gladly take a flute. I stand with Erik, Orie, and Elizabeth watching Clayton and Sheila sipping champagne together like it’s old times. She eats him up with her eyes, like a barracuda on the prowl.

  I hate her.

  And I wonder how long Clayton is going to ignore me.

  16

  “What a lovely dress. Really, quite fetching.” I’m startled to hear Tom Remington voice behind me.

  I turn to face him and we make room for him as he joins our small circle. Tom looks at me in a way a married man should never look at another woman and I’m repelled, repulsed, and totally revolted. Yes, those are all words that begin with the letter R but I could come up with others.

  “Thank you,” I answer politely, suddenly wishing I had listened to Clayton and worn something less revealing. Not that I’d ever admit that to him, but still, he might have been right. Maybe. “Thank you for having us for dinner tonight,” I go on, not sure what else to say. “It’s quite an impressive yacht.”

  “Yes, Sheila love found the Siren for us. It is nice but we do find it rather small, with only ten staterooms. We’re accustomed to much larger accommodations. It’s really quite stuffy with all the family on board. We’re practically on top of each other.”

  Too small? This is the biggest yacht I’ve ever seen! Erik and Orie stay suspiciously quiet, but I know what they must be thinking.

  “I’m sorry you feel so cramped. That is not a pleasant feeling,” I say lamely. “How many are on board?”

  “It’s Sheila and I, and our two boys, Archibald and Brentley. Albert, Sheila’s business partner, has joined just for the evening.”

  I look at Tom Remington and smile uncomfortably. Honestly, I don’t even know what to say to him. What would be the proper blue-blooded response to ten bedrooms on a yacht not being large enough for a family of four and a child who goes by the name of Brentley? The poor kid, I think to myself, I thought I had it bad with my parents.

  “I’ve learned that sometimes you have to take on more humble accommodations to truly appreciate the gifts you have.” I think I’ll be struck by lightning for using that adjective to describe the yacht.

  “Well said, my darling Sophie. Well said.” He nods at me like I’m the Dalai Lama. I’m not your darling anything, Tom. But I politely smile back at him.

  Before I can ask another question, the two boys come over. They are exactly as I’d picture them. Thin, blonde, with pinched, angry faces. They’re both wearing coats and cravats and they’re only about twelve or thirteen years old.

  “Father,” the slightly taller of the two says as he looks down his nose at Erik and Orie. I almost erupt with laughter by how offended my friends look.

  “Ah, Archibald, Brentley, so good of you to join us.” Tom quickly introduces us to his two sons, who nod rather arrogantly at us then cross their arms and look around the deck.

  Archibald lifts his hand and motions toward an older gentleman, who I gather works for them. He comes right over.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “What is for dinner, Niles?” I make eye contact with Erik. I’d bet money we are both thinking the same thing. Is this entire scene for real?

  “Sea bass, sir.”

  If possible, Archibald pinches his face even tighter.

  “Is it line caught?”

  Erik chokes on his drink.

  Orie starts to pat him in the back, trying to cover Erik’s mirth. I have to keep my face down. I can’t look up. God, please don’t make me laugh. Please don’t make me laugh.

  Niles doesn’t answer Archibald fast enough.

  “I say, Niles, is it line caught?” His enunciation of every word is so drawn out, so utterly English, that it’s really quite unbelievable.

  “Yes, sir. I dare say it is.”

  Archibald nods and dismisses Niles, who hurries off.

  I feel a warm hand on my lower back, my very naked lower back, and turn to see Clayton has joined us. He still won’t even look at me, just keeps his gaze on Tom, Erik, and Orie. He looks at Archibald and Brentley. “Gentlemen.”

  “Lord Sinclair,” the boys say in unison. My gaze whips up to Clayton. Lord Sinclair? Clayton seems to grimace at the mention of the title. He’s a lord? What the hell? Archibald turns to Erik.

  “My mother tells me that you are a famous Hollywood stylist.”

  “Or infamous,” Orie says with a smile.

  “What made you want to dress men and women for a living? I find that quite odd. Is that no better than being a valet?”

/>   “Archibald Thurston Remington the third!” Tom says, and has the decency to look mortified.

  “That’s a mouthful,” Erik says to Tom, then looks down at the arrogant shit. “I can answer little Archie’s question.”

  “It’s Archibald.”

  “Archie sounds better,” Erik says.

  “I prefer Archibald.”

  Erik is enjoying ruffling his feathers.

  “Alright, Archibald,” Erik begins thoroughly enjoying himself. “A stylist chooses clothes for his or her client to make a statement. To define who you are, a trendsetter or a follower. Fashion is a powerful tool used in every part of your life. Take you, for instance. Is that a Turnbull & Asser shirt and coat you have on?” Erik asks as he looks the kid up and down, assessing every line, every detail with the eyes of a hawk.

  Archibald is clearly surprised that Erik knows, and to be honest, so am I, since I don’t even know who that designer is.

  “Yes.” He looks at Erik’s wardrobe, clearly the opposite of Turnbull & Asser. “How would you know?”

  “Because I know style. I actually think the cut you have on is a bit stiff. It’s not hip or cool, two adjectives that I just know you are. Turnbull & Asser dress James Bond,” Erik checks him out. “How old are you?”

  “Fourteen and a half.”

  “Exactly. You’re an adult. Dress like it. A fitted blazer. Lose the cravat. Have a crisp white shirt made that has your initials underneath your collar in the back, not on the chest pocket like the older gentlemen do. You don’t need to show off. People know who you are. You’re Archibald Thurston Remington the third. That’s how cool you are.”

  Goddamnit, he’s so good. Archie is instantly obsessed.

  “Will you tell my mother?”

  “Gladly.”

  “I’ll go and find her. Come along, Brentley,” Archibald orders his brother as he runs off. I look at Erik in awe. Lord, does the man know his stuff.

  “You’re very good at what you do, my friend,” Clayton says as he lifts his glass in salute to Erik.

  “I try,” Erik says.

  Tom looks from Erik to Clayton, totally uncomfortable and desperately wanting to change the subject.