Marbella Truth

by Shel Stone

  Chapter 66

  “YOU’RE PACING,” CHEYENNE SAID as they sat in the airconditioned space over Samara’s living room. Today it was simply too hot to be outside. There was no wind to cool the baking earth. It was just uncomfortable, and it was clearly getting to her. “How are things with Tristan? Did you tell him of Persephone’s little visit during our match?”

  Samara remained silent. This wasn’t like her. Not since Hassan had borne down in his attack on her had she felt this uneasy. “We spoke. He feels such behaviour is par for the course. He’s bedding down for a fight with his sister. I’m just not sure I want to be a part of their family squabble.”

  “Are you sure this isn’t about Hassan?” Cheyenne asked.

  Of course it was about Hassan. Hassan and Persephone had teamed up against her and Tristan. In terms of having a winning team, she was well positioned. Tristan clearly believed so as well.

  But yes, Hassan was back in town and it seemed he was intent on picking up their fight where they’d left off. “I understand he’s rented a house.”

  “We drove him off once, we can do it again.” Cheyenne said with confidence.

  “It was Klaus that drove him off, and now he is back spoiling for a fight.”

  “So we’ll give it to him.”

  Feeling uncomfortable, she paced some more, trying to tease out exactly what her discomfort was. “I asked Tristan to go away with me.”

  “For the weekend?”

  “No, something a bit more permanent. We can’t start our relationship in battle.”

  “Not sure you have much choice there.”

  “There’s always a choice. We all have choice. Doesn’t mean we like them. The thing is. I’m not sure I care about any of it.”

  It had been a shock seeing Hassan again. It had been deeply confronting seeing him with his new woman, just like it had been meant to be. Everything Hassan did was to hurt her. And she was bored and tired of it. She was tired of bitches like Persephone, and bullies like Hassan.

  “I’m quite happy here. With you and Viola, doing our things, enjoying our time.”

  “Which it is why it’s important for Hassan not to ruin things for us.”

  “What can he ruin, though?” Samara asked. It was a question that had cropped up that morning as she’d laid in bed, trying to anticipate his next move. “He can spread lies about me around here? I don’t know if I have any fight left in me.”

  Cheyenne was mercifully quiet for a moment.

  “Like I said, I’m not sure I care. Yes, it was a shock seeing him, and it was confronting for a minute. But do I honestly care that he’s dating some gorgeous twenty-year-old—who behaves like a school bully? Even with Persephone turning on me, I could barely muster offense.”

  “Do you think that maybe you’re depressed?”

  “I’m fairly sure I’m not. I was, perhaps, but the point is I’m not. I’m enjoying going out again, playing tennis, doing the things we do. I enjoyed going on the skiing trip. And I want to do things I enjoy.”

  “Maybe you’re just over Hassan.”

  “I really enjoyed flirting with Tristan,” she admitted. Normally she never spoke about her relationships or intimacy. “I’m just not sure I want to go where he’s heading. He’s spoiling for a fight, and I don’t think he’s capable of seeing where I’m coming from.” In fact, he was being very dismissive of her perspective, and she hadn’t liked it one bit. She knew what it was to be dismissed by someone. Throughout her marriage, it was a line she and Hassan had skirted enough times, and she absolutely didn’t want to place herself in that position again.

  Klaus and Cheyenne had a very different kind of relationship. Granted it was largely on Cheyenne’s terms, but the point was that it was a different kind of relationship from Samara’s marriage. It wasn’t a transaction, based on what Cheyenne brought to the party. Klaus just loved her, warts and all.

  For a moment, she’d felt potential with Tristan, but increasingly, it seemed her end of the relationship was contingent on being a good partner in this fight he had with sister, and potentially with Hassan. Tristan was hinting, perhaps not in direct words, that he wouldn’t be pleased if she didn’t jump into the fight.

  “What are you saying?” Cheyenne asked. “That maybe you should let things go with Tristan? You do seem to get on well with each other.”

  They did get on well together. He was funny and sexy, and she enjoyed spending time with him, but this was a set of expectations outside of how they fared together. “This may be something more fundamental.”

  “In terms of dealing with Hassan, you couldn’t get a better partner.”

  “I don’t want to deal with Hassan. I don’t care about Hassan. I’m certainly not interested in having a war with him.”

  “If you don’t fight back, Hassan will run riot over you.”

  Of the things Samara cherished—her independence, her financial nest egg, and her friends, there was little for him to grasp onto. Granted, her larger society he could devastate, but sometimes you needed to let the chaff burn for new growth. Losing people like Persephone along the way wouldn’t be the end of the world. How many of the people here did she truly care about as long as her close friends remained strong?

  There had been a time when losing the respect of society would have been devastating, but as time went on, it was her respect for herself that mattered more. Now there was a luxury few people had.

  “Let him run himself ragged.” Not even Hassan’s rage could last forever. Granted, it lasted a long time, but Hassan needed the fear of his victims to feed him. “I suppose I need friends who are okay with the fact that I have a total shit of an ex.”

  “Well, we already know that. We can go away somewhere if you want to.”

  “No. He would only follow. Let him rage. He can bully his way into every party in town. Honestly, I’m not even sure I mind him being in town. It means very little to me.”

  It would be a lie to say she was a hundred percent sure on that, but that was what she wanted—where she wanted to go. She wanted to be untouchable for shits like Hassan. It was a little disappointing that Tristan wouldn’t join her on that journey. She’d held hopes for him, but it was clear their paths were veering.

  “Would you care if I stopped caring?” Samara asked. “You and Viola are really the only people I care about. We have fun together. If we’re tight, then Hassan could burn the whole town down.” It was hard to tell with Cheyenne sometimes. Cheyenne had changed so much in the time Samara had known her. It could be that Cheyenne didn’t understand where she was coming from. Cheyenne was a fighter, after all—always had been. Could it be that she would lose Cheyenne’s respect by choosing to batten down the hatches and just letting the storm pass?

  “If the fight isn’t worth it, it’s not worth it,” Cheyenne said.

  “I literally see nothing worth fighting over.”

  “Not even Tristan?”

  Samara paused for a moment. “No.” It was a shame in a sense, but she didn’t want to go where he was heading. And really, he wasn’t the only man in the world. Was it totally selfish that she wanted someone who would fit into the life she wanted? What had compromising ever achieved for her?

  “Then fuck ‘em.”

  “Exactly. Let’s go to lunch,” Samara suggested. “I’m in the mood for something spicy.”

  Chapter 67

  INNS WASN’T SURE IF THERE was anything more decadent than being sucked off under the night sky, away from a party, in the darkness. Every sense was utterly heightened, added to by that little fear of being discovered.

  But then there was that fear in him that this was all too good to be true. How could this be allowed? Feeling content was never something he’d trusted, and he felt content beyond anything he could imagine. Except that he was utterly useless without any direction whatsoever.

  The truth was that he was the guy his parents feared he would turn out to be. Useless and shacked up with some inappropriate girl. That w
as how they saw it. Esme was utterly perfect, and if they didn’t see how much better she was than Annabel, they were blind.

  The insularity he’d always been accused of was something he could see now. They rejected all the good on principle, because it didn’t belong to them, or rather, it had turned into not exclusively belonging to them.

  The most horrible part of all this was that Aggie was actually winning this age-old argument between them. The world outside of their tightly guarded community was broader and more exciting.

  It still made him a traitor. But then again, he was being sucked off by a girl he loved on a moonlit beach. It had its compensations.

  Esme never looked as irresistible as when she was dishevelled and sated. And more importantly, he could do that to her. They were absolutely perfect together. Life couldn’t be more perfect if this went on like this until forever.

  But there were some things he needed to do to make that happen. He needed to sort his shit out. And if not, he needed to sort something out. The problem was that he couldn’t see anything that particularly excited him. But for her, he’d put up with something that bored him.

  They walked back to the party. It was funny how he didn’t mind people as much when she was there. The only one who mattered. At the end of the night, he would go home with her and he would sink into the warmth of her body and stay there.

  For a moment he wondered if he’d end up marrying her. Obviously not a topic to bring up anytime soon, but it occurred to him that this might end in that direction. And he was surprisingly unflustered by the idea, where he’d felt a chokehold every time the topic had been brought up with regards to Annabel.

  His parents wouldn’t be happy with the outcome, but they would probably learn to accept it, eventually. His friends, well, they would see it that way too. They may never accept it, though. And Aggie was right that Esme wouldn’t want to perpetuate the kind of education and upbringing he’d had. If it wasn’t for the fact that it was a very exclusive club, it was rather shit. It was the exclusivity that mattered. People so desperately wanted to get in where they couldn’t.

  Naturally, he moved towards where Aggie was when they split apart, because he didn’t really have anywhere else to go. He had no friends here, not that he’d tried to make any. In fact, he’d kept himself apart, and to some degree it was because he was useless at dealing with people.

  “Saw you two sneak off,” Aggie said with a smile.

  “Always appreciate the commentary,” he said back, conscious of the guy standing with her. Quentin Cartright, her ex, and another of these uber wealthy pricks who lived here.

  “So you’re with Esme?” Quentin said. “Obviously, goes without saying that a lot of people would be upset if you mess her around.”

  “Yeah? The same people who did remarkably little when Darius Azmer messed her around?”

  “I wasn’t around then,” the guy said with warning in his voice.

  “Well, she’s my business now, not yours.”

  “I never knew you were so possessive, Inns,” Aggie said. “Does that mean you’re staying?”

  Even though Aggie had largely won their arguments, he loathed to admit it. “We are doing what we need to do.”

  “Well, if you need a job, Quentin might be able to point you in the right direction.”

  Even more, he hated being treated like a charity case. That being said, helping each other out was how things were done in his set too. They took care of their own, and beside her bristles, he should perhaps be grateful that Aggie was trying to help, in her typical acerbic way.

  “You looking to get into property development?” Quentin asked.

  “I’ll leave you two boys to chat,” Aggie said and wandered off. She had a habit of doing that.

  “Not particularly,” Inns admitted.

  There was awkward silence between them for a moment. Inns just wasn’t good at chatting, had no idea what to say. “Frankly, I don’t really know what I should do, but thank you for asking.”

  “I’ve been where you are,” Quentin replied after a moment. “I had no idea what I wanted to do, but knew I wanted to do something. Otherwise, you end up as one of these clowns living off daddy’s money. Not a good look in the scheme of things.”

  “Or worse, living off your girlfriend’s money.” He probably shouldn’t have said that aloud.

  “So what do you do? Where’s your focus, your history?”

  “I’m basically a farmer.”

  Quentin chuckled. “Right. The trick is to find the one thing only you can do.”

  What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

  “What do you have that no one else has?” Quentin asked.

  “Exclusivity,” he answered.

  “So if you want to make money, package it and sell it. That’s all I can tell you. Connections help, obviously. Use them shamelessly. Good luck.”

  The conversation ended and Inns felt a little lost for a moment. Esme was laughing with a group of girls, but he needed to stand on his own feet for a moment. He didn’t have that ease that she did with groups of people.

  Making his way to the bar, he took his time ordering a drink and mulling over the advice Quentin had given. Do what only he could do, and use the connections he had. Exclusivity had been his answer to the first question, and that was something he knew people wanted. They wanted the best and he had it. Obviously, they could never be part of his set, so how could he package it and sell it?

  But then they had the best. They owned the best. They produced the best. Bennington Hall produced some of the best agricultural products in the world. Their pigs were the best in the country, organic and raised as pigs should be raised. They were probably the best in the world. Their dairy was too.

  And the people he knew had the best raised and produced on their estates—beef, poultry, even mushrooms. Wild salmon. They had the cream of the crop, and he could package and sell the products of the gentlemen farmers.

  Goosebumps rose across his arms. This was something only he could do. He had the connections to get this stuff, the rare and most exclusive, the stuff that belonged to his set. People couldn’t be part of his set, but if they paid enough, they could have the artefacts of it.

  Arms reached around him and Esme’s chin rested on his shoulder. “How’s it going?” she asked. “You’re not hiding here in the corner, are you? Do you hate being here?”

  “No, I was actually talking to Quentin and something he said inspired me.”

  “Oh?” Esme asked, shifting around to his front.

  “I’m going to start a company selling high-end British produce. Stilton, whiskey, beef, pork, the really exclusive things. Things that people I know produce.”

  “There will be a market for that here. They love getting things that are hard to find and they’ll pay for the privilege.”

  “I know. And I’m going to charge them for that privilege.”

  “You’d have eager customers here.”

  Inns smiled. “Good,” he said and drew her into a kiss with his hand at the back of her neck. “Got some details to work out.”

  “This is so exciting,” Esme mused. “I know some people we should talk to. The party planners to start with. They will buy all that, and they don’t care what they pay. It’s not their money. God, I am finding you so sexy right now.”

  “Sexy enough to leave the party?”

  Esme looked tempted, biting her lip.

  Chapter 68

  IT WAS A LOVELY NIGHT FOR a beach party, and Solraya arrived with Chrissy, Trish and Hannah. Amber couldn’t organize the night off, so she had to work and felt awful that she was going to miss Adelaide’s birthday party.

  They parked along a stretch of beach outside of town. There were a few houses around, but not like in Marbella itself. Obviously she was the designated driver, and she might have to do two rounds, because there wasn’t a lot of options for rides out here. Then again, in true beach party fashion, people could sleep on the sand or in their
cars.

  Another wave of home sickness struck her. Not that she would be staying out all night at beach parties when she went back, but she was starting to miss home now that going back was coming up.

  The sand was cool as they walked along the path to the beach itself.

  “Hey, you made it,” Adelaide said with her arms cast wide.

  There was a gazebo and a table, which wasn’t typical. “Nice,” Solraya said.

  “Quentin went a bit overboard with the planning. We have staff. And a full bar. Not sure he gets the whole concept around a beach party,” Adelaide said with a quick eye roll.

  “Can’t fault a full bar,” Trish said.

  Looking around, she searched for Ricky. There was a surprising mix of people, including Felix Dunbury. Ricky was standing over by Corey, laughing at something he said. In a sense, Ricky was such a guy’s guy. He liked being part of the guys. And although he was high maintenance in terms of his appearance, he wasn’t so when it came to doing stuff. He was up for pretty much anything she suggested. The kind of people that had to be seen in the hottest places all the time would just be too hard work for her.

  “You alright?” Adelaide asked.

  “Yes, of course,” Solraya said. “Not drinking tonight, obviously.”

  “There’s food. Quentin brought in some chef from one of the restaurants. I tried to tell him we could cook food without help, but I think he literally panics at the thought. But, you know, if you’re with someone, you have to adjust to how they do things. Have you given any more thought to Ricky?”

  Of course she had, she hadn’t really thought about much else. “He wants to come. Why shouldn’t I let him?”

  “But do you want him to? Are you into him? He’s clearly into you.”

  “I spent so much time thinking about why he shouldn’t come, I kind of ignored why he should. I like him. We get on well together. What can I say? I’m not the kind that writes love letters and loses all sense of perspective because I’m into a guy. I think there’s real potential that we’d make a good team.”