“Madame,” Léo said, inclining his head. He added something in French, and Ben felt the first inkling of dread. Léo had become very particular about people only speaking English when Ben was around, and the fact that he wasn’t even attempting to insist on it now told Ben the woman must be a formidable force in his life.
He studied her while trying not to stare, which he considered a huge accomplishment. She was not dressed in typical “old lady” clothes, but at the same time, he didn’t get the feeling she was trying to look younger. Her evening gown was of an obviously expensive fabric, with just a hint of shimmer and sparkle, as was her shawl. The heels on her shoes were not terribly high, but Ben figured any kind of heel at her age was something to celebrate. Speaking of age… he tried to work out how old she was. Definitely over seventy, but based on her looks she could really be anywhere up to ninety. Her hair was swept into an impeccable updo set off with sparkly hair clips that he was pretty sure were real diamonds. In fact, all her jewelry—earrings, necklace, bracelets, rings—were probably real gems. The woman was walking around wearing a fortune. She wasn’t alone, was she? He seemed to remember someone else had been eating with her.
Ben glanced around and saw a middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar waiting by the door.
The woman was speaking to Lucien now, her tone curt and imperious, and Lucien was nodding, murmuring something that could have been a platitude. Malik looked almost green when she turned on him, although he did manage to pull out his charming smile. It actually worked too—she went about two notches down on the scary scale. She was still totally intimidating though.
By the time she returned her attention to Léo, Ben was getting really nervous. It was not fun to be standing in the middle of a group and have no idea what was being said, especially when everyone else looked so apprehensive. The woman turned her head to look Ben up and down and said something. He would swear his hair started to sweat. Luckily, Léo jumped in with a reply, diverting her attention. With one final declaration, she turned and swept away.
They all slowly sank into their seats. Lucien grabbed his wineglass and took a healthy swig.
“Who was that?” Ben murmured, afraid to speak too loudly in case she heard him and came back, even though she was already out of the restaurant.
“Claudette Bernard,” Léo said. “She’s one of the reigning matriarchs of Paris society.”
“And certainly the scariest,” Malik added. “I’m not ashamed to say that if I could have hidden under the table without her knowing, I would have.”
“I think we need another bottle.” Lucien looked around, and their waiter appeared as if by magic. That was one of the things Ben could appreciate about spending huge amounts of money for a meal—the service was impeccable. Or maybe that was because of the company he was in. The waiter fussed over their half-eaten meals, and Léo assured him it was nothing to do with the food. Which was true, because Ben’s meat—Léo had made him take a bite before he told him it was hare—was amazing.
“What was she saying?” Ben decided he needed to know, even if he regretted it.
“Mostly to tell us we were a disgrace,” Malik said gloomily. “There was also something about getting older and needing to settle down. None of us are even thirty yet, but she made me feel like a dirty old man.”
“She asked about you too,” Lucien put in, smiling at the sommelier so gratefully that the man looked worried as he opened the bottle and poured them more wine.
“Me?” Ben could actually feel the blood draining from his face.
“Don’t worry,” Léo said, but his attempt to reassure was in direct contrast to the expression on his face. “She just wanted to know who you were.”
He wasn’t reassured. “What did you tell her?”
Léo shrugged. “That you were visiting from Australia and didn’t speak French. I didn’t think she needed to know more than that.”
Ben let out a shaky breath. “Who was that man with her?”
“Her son,” Lucien said, finally looking a little steadier. “He brings her down here once a year for a week, probably to make up for the fact that he avoids her as much as possible for the rest of the year. We should order dessert.”
“Cheese first,” Malik insisted, and Lucien rolled his eyes.
“Of course. I would not dream of denying you cheese.”
Ben perked up at that. One of his favorite things about Europe was the cheese.
A COUPLE of hours later, Ben followed Léo into the apartment.
“Remind me to give you a key,” Léo said as he dropped his in their usual spot on the sideboard. Warmth expanded in Ben’s chest. A key. He was going to move in with Léo. Temporarily, of course, but still.
“Sure,” he replied, then a pang of conscience made him add, “Are you sure about this?”
Léo stopped midway to the kitchen and turned to look at him. “You don’t want to stay with me?”
Ben was shaking his head even before Léo had finished the sentence. “No, I do. I really do. Like, really.” Now he felt like a dork again, but Léo was smiling, the smile that said he thought Ben was adorable, and his self-consciousness melted away.
“So, you want to stay with me, and I want you to….” Léo walked back toward him. “It seems that there isn’t a problem, then. We’ll get your things and check you out of the Fairmont tomorrow.”
Ben’s answer was lost in their kiss.
Chapter Ten
TWO days later, with all of Ben’s things in Léo’s walk-in wardrobe and his final bill at the Fairmont settled (and the expression on his face when he’d seen it had made Léo want to take a picture), Léo and Ben were preparing dinner together. Ben had mentioned a craving for a “chicken parma,” which Léo had at first refused to believe was a real thing. His description had sounded a little similar to chicken cordon bleu, so they had negotiated ingredients and agreed to try making a version they could both live with.
So far, it had been a messy undertaking. Ben had decided Léo should be in charge of dredging the chicken through the egg and then the breadcrumbs, and he’d been chewing on his lip when he’d suggested it, so somehow Léo had ended up with hands covered in gloppy—Ben’s word—breadcrumbs while his laughing bunny snapped pictures.
That was when his phone rang. He glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Malik was at an auction for a collection of seventeenth-century firearms, and Léo had been expecting a call to tell him how much of Malik’s funds needed to be moved from various investment accounts.
“Can you answer that?” he asked Ben, holding up his hands to indicate why he couldn’t. “It’s probably Malik.”
Ben leaned over the bench and picked up Léo’s phone. “It doesn’t say Malik,” he said as Léo went to the sink to wash his hands.
“It might still be him. Some of the auction houses don’t allow private phones.” He used his elbow to turn on the tap, and Ben raised the phone to his ear.
“Léo’s phone,” he said. There was a moment’s pause, then, “This is Ben Adams. May I ask who’s calling?”
Hell, it wasn’t Malik after all. Léo grimaced, hoping it wasn’t anyone too annoying. At least they spoke enough English to communicate with him.
“One moment please.” Ben lowered the phone and turned panicked eyes on him. “Léo!” he hissed. “It’s your father, and he does not sound happy!”
Léo slammed off the water and grabbed a dish towel, smearing it with the few breadcrumbs still on his hands as he strode across the kitchen. He tossed it aside and took his phone hastily.
“Hello, Father,” he said in French, making an apologetic face at Ben, who held up his hands and shook his head, a pretty clear indication that Léo’s father had been an ass.
“Léonard, what the hell are you up to? Your mother got a call yesterday from Claudette Bernard, who mentioned this little tourist you’ve apparently been playing around with. This morning André told me you also apparently took this boy to Carrere, and now he’s an
swering your phone? What’s wrong with you?”
Léo headed for the living room and the drinks cart. This was going to require fortification.
“Nothing’s wrong with me, Father. I asked Ben to answer the phone because I was busy and I was expecting a call. I took him to Carrere because he needed a suit.”
“Which he conned you into paying for, I’m sure,” Charles Artois sneered. “You’re letting some pretty backpacker take advantage of you.”
“That is a terrible accusation.” Léo poured gin into a tumbler with a heavy hand, looked at the tonic, then picked up the glass and took a sip. “I did not pay, in fact. He has money of his own. Not like us, but far more than he knows what to do with.”
That gave his father pause. “That’s not the impression I was given.”
Léo avoided Ben’s gaze as he paced across the living area. “Perhaps because your information comes from people who have neither met him nor spoken to me about him.”
“So it is not true that you picked him up in the casino when he got drunk on champagne?” Léo winced. Who had his father been talking to?
“We met at the casino, yes, and shared a bottle of champagne and a meal,” he extemporized. “I did not meet him ‘when he was drunk.’”
Charles grumbled for a moment, words like “duty” and “responsibility” featuring heavily, and then, just as Léo was beginning to think the danger had passed, said, “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter too much. When does he leave?”
Léo looked at the ceiling and silently asked any deity who might be listening what he’d done to deserve this. He usually walked a fine line between doing as he pleased and not upsetting his father so much that his mother would call him and cry. Despite what many thought, he loved his parents and brother, and was extremely proud of his family heritage.
He just didn’t want to be locked into eternal servitude to it.
“Actually,” he finally said, “Ben has delayed departing for Italy while we take some time to get to know each other better. He’s given up his hotel and is staying with me.” There, that was all of it. Now his father had all the facts.
There was a long silence, so long that Léo began to wonder if maybe his father had passed out from shock. Should he—
“We will expect you on Friday,” his father ordered. “Dinner is at eight o’clock.”
Léo blinked. Did he mean Ben too? Because that was not a good idea.
“I beg your pardon, Fa—”
“Don’t be late, Léo. Your mother is already distressed by all of this. If it gets out that you are living with someone we haven’t even met, she will go into a decline.” Léo was still shuddering at the thought of one of his mother’s “declines” when Charles disconnected the call, leaving Léo standing with his phone to his ear. He lowered it slowly, wondering how he’d so completely lost control of the situation, and it rang again. A glance at the screen showed Malik’s name.
“Hello?” he said.
“Don’t worry about moving funds. There wasn’t anything that would add to my collection,” his cousin told him.
“My father just called.”
Malik swore, which was unusual. He, like Léo, had been taught disdain for crude language from a young age. “Let me guess, Claudette Bernard told him about Ben.”
“Among others,” Léo agreed. “We’ve been summoned for dinner Friday night.”
Malik hesitated. “By ‘we,’ you mean—”
“Me and Ben,” Léo said dryly, a thread of humor rising.
“Oh.” Malik’s relief was clear. “I’d offer to come along as a distraction, but… well, I don’t want to.”
Léo couldn’t help it; he laughed. “Thank you.”
“You know I’d do anything for you. Just not that. What does Ben have to say about it?”
“He doesn’t know yet. I had literally just hung up with Father when you called.”
“Léo, does he know you were talking to your father?”
“Ye— Hell.” Léo spun around to see Ben watching him, still a little pale, his concerned expression easing a little when Léo locked eyes with him. Damn, he’d been speaking in French the whole time. “Malik, I’ll talk to you later.” He disconnected the call before his cousin could reply, then tossed the phone onto the couch and knocked back the rest of the gin before putting the glass onto the coffee table. “I’m sorry, I forgot you couldn’t understand. Was my father completely terrible to you?”
Ben shook his head and came to wrap his arms around Léo’s waist. “He was… arrogant. Abrupt. But he didn’t say anything rude.” He rested his head against Léo’s shoulder. “I take it he was not as nice to you?”
Léo took a deep breath, drawing in the scent of Ben’s hair and taking comfort from the feel of him in his arms. It had been so easy to adjust to having Ben in his life; his easygoing humor, his keen intelligence, his down-to-earth practicality—just the thought of him leaving pained Léo.
“We need to go to Paris.”
His bunny stiffened. “What? Why?” He drew back, but Léo refused to let him go entirely.
“My parents have heard that you moved in,” he said, deciding not to mention he’d been the one to tell them, “and they’d like to meet you.”
Ben’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Léo, that’s—”
“It will be fine,” he interrupted, trying to sound soothing and nonchalant at the same time. “We will fly up on Friday afternoon, have dinner with them—a few hours at the most—then perhaps spend the weekend in Paris? Lucien would be delighted to see us. Or we can fly back on Saturday if you prefer.” He smiled, radiating reassurance and innocence as hard as he could. Ben didn’t look convinced.
“Léo, they’re not likely to be happy about… us, are they?”
He sighed and let Ben go, taking his hand instead and pulling him down to sit on the couch. “They’re not going to be unhappy, exactly. If my parents had had their way, I would have married the daughter of one of my father’s business acquaintances when I was twenty-one. It would have been mutually beneficial for both families, and, according to my mother, for me and the girl as well. Once I’d made it very clear that my preference for men was not an experiment or a rebellious phase, they began considering possible alliances with families that had gay sons.”
“Are you kidding?” Ben demanded incredulously, and Léo shook his head.
“Not at all. They would be happier if I married a woman, but their main priority was ensuring I married someone who would add to their social and financial clout.”
“Wow. I mean, wow.”
Léo chuckled. “Indeed. So I told them very emphatically that I would choose my own husband if and when I was ready to get married, and that if they wanted me to be part of their lives in any way, they would accept that. They actually do love me, and so we live in an uneasy détente. I spend most of my time in Monaco, doing as I please, and when I come to Paris, we carefully avoid speaking of my choices not to work in the family corporation or marry ‘appropriately.’ Well, my father sometimes slips and rants about my responsibility to put my education and abilities to good use, and if I attend a party where my mother has had influence on the guest list, there will always be an oddly high number of young single gay men from suitable families. But otherwise, they are careful not to do anything that may make me walk away forever. In return, I visit them several times a year in addition to the traditional holidays, always answer when my mother phones, and oversee their personal finances myself.”
“Okay, so the system… kind of works, but now you’ve got me living with you. And I don’t think I meet your parents’ idea of appropriate. So isn’t that going to rock the boat? Won’t they be upset?”
Relaxing back into the couch, Léo squeezed Ben’s hand, and twined their fingers so it couldn’t be easily pulled away. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “I think they always held hope that I would ultimately decide to settle down with someone of their choosing, that I just needed time to come to that decisio
n. However, you are charming and personable, you will be a guest in their home, and they will hopefully be unwilling to anger me, so they will be on their best behavior. This dinner is mostly because they don’t want people to find out their son is living with a man they haven’t met.”
Ben sighed heavily. “Fine. Okay. Sure. I can do this. Do not let me drink too much.” Léo laughed, and Ben yanked fruitlessly at his hand. “I mean it, Léo. You’ve heard me when I get drunk. I can’t embarrass myself like that in front of your parents.”
Léo lifted their hands to his lips and kissed Ben’s fingers. “I will be on guard,” he promised, and Ben flopped back beside him on the couch.
“Then we’ll do it.” He squirmed a little, reaching beneath himself and producing Léo’s phone. “Oh, did I hear you say Malik’s name?”
Taking the phone, Léo nodded. “Yes, he phoned right after my father. He said he’d offer to come with us, but he doesn’t want to.”
Ben laughed, and Léo smiled too.
“Well, at least he’s honest,” Ben conceded.
Léo made a face. “It’s actually a bit more complicated than that. He doesn’t want my mother to associate him with marriage in any way, because she might start thinking again that he should marry. Then she’ll talk to her sister, Malik’s mother, and the pressure he is already getting from his father will multiply.”
“Malik’s father is putting pressure on him?” His bunny frowned, his tender heart clearly not liking that.
“Malik’s father has very definite ideas of what Malik should be doing at this stage of his life, and Malik isn’t doing any of them. He hasn’t been home to visit for over five years because he simply cannot bear his mother’s tears when he and his father argue. He has two brothers and five sisters he misses very much, and they don’t often visit Europe. It’s a difficult situation.”
“Poor Malik,” Ben commiserated. “At least he has you right here, and Lucien when he can get away from Paris.”
The Bunny and the Billionaire Page 12
