Happy Christmas Oliver

by Livia Ellis

  Uhhh… Well… I don’t really want to insult him… clearly he’s done well for himself… but to be honest Devak Singh and Hardip Gautam are billionaires. They are two of the wealthiest men in India. Miss Singh and Miss Gautam’s dowries and the financial support we would receive from their families would be substantial. Dr. Premji is a wealthy man by anyone’s standard and his brand will continue to generate a substantial amount of income for many many years. That and the fact he is a widower and his daughter is his only child is noteworthy.

  He will give me seventy-thousand dollar for Olga. US. Cash. Not a penny more.

  I care for Olga a great deal. I truly wish money was not at issue, but it is. In a move made bold by the fact he hasn’t yet put a gun to my head, I reach across his desk for the file. Sure enough the terms of the settlement are at the top of the pile. I really was screwed over. Part of me wonders if Uncle Albert didn’t purposefully annihilate me when negotiating with my former fiancée’s father.

  I shake my head as I read over the amounts I have to pay. Unbelievable. I still don’t see how I’m liable for paying for the whole our multi-million-pound wedding. I had nothing to do with that fecking wedding. I had no input. I had no say. I should have paid for a lawyer with the money I still had. I might have been able to keep a bit more of it.

  I return the paper to the stack. The moment has arrived for some hard truths so I give it to Vladimir like it is.

  I can’t marry Olga. I can’t give her any kind of a life. I’ve emptied my trust fund and depleted the last of my resources and I still have massive debts. I work as a prostitute. Something he also must be aware of. If I don’t marry a woman that brings a substantial financial contribution to match, then I will be put into a position to sell my family home and possibly declare bankruptcy. As much as I would love to have the luxury of marrying for love, if I can marry for money I will. He strikes me as being a smart man. Who precisely is he trying to insult by offering me seventy thousand dollars for Olga?

  Vladimir stares at me. I half expect him to order me hauled out of my chair and disappeared. Instead he thumps his fist against the desk then points a finger at me.

  I have balls.

  He flips open a box on his desk and reaches inside. My heart stops for a moment in anticipation of a gun being aimed at me. Instead he offers me a Cuban, a cutter, and finally a lighter.

  Now that we have established Olga is not for sale, what do I want with her?

  We’re friends. How did he get my file anyway?

  He made a trade with Boris.

  Who is Boris? I keep hearing about Boris.

  Boris is The Matchmaker’s brother. He is her silent partner. He had something Boris wanted. Boris had something he wanted.

  My file?

  No. That was just cherry on cake. He is going to tell me something. I am a fool to accept to pay for the whims of a woman. Why did I agree to pay for this wedding? Her father should have paid for his daughter’s foolishness. She was not my wife. The father is responsible for the daughter until she is someone else’s problem.

  Because I had no choice. They were suing me for a whole lot more. I had to settle.

  The father of my former fiancée has no honor. If he had been her father he would have had me killed and be done with it.

  Good to know.

  It would have looked like an accident. A painful accident. But still an accident. The Missing Link is very good at making things look like accidents.

  I shall make a mental note of that.

  He admires me. He thinks I have balls. Only a man with balls would do what I am doing to honor my debts. That takes balls. Here is what is going to happen.

  I’m on the edge of my seat in anticipation.

  He’s going to offer me a job.

  Excuse me?

  A job. Make money. Work for him. Not for Boris.

  I don’t work for Boris.

  Yes. I work for Boris. I just don’t know it.

  That’s interesting. To be honest, I’m settled in with The Matchmaker, she’s doing well in looking for potential brides for me, and I don’t plan on working as an escort for much longer. I have a good feeling that I’ll be out of the business and possibly married by the summer.

  What about Olga?

  We have always been very honest with each other. She knows what’s going to happen.

  Do I plan to keep her as a mistress?

  No. I care far too much for her to do that. Besides, I owe it to whomever I marry to give it a legitimate go.

  Vladimir stares at me. He leans back in his chair. Only Ben Kingsley, Željko Ivanek or Miguel Ferrer could out menace Vladimir. Maybe. He might have the three of them beat. They’re just actors. Vladimir is the real thing.

  Tell him the truth. How much money am I looking for? How much do I expect to get from the family of my future wife?

  I’d prefer not to discuss this.

  He would prefer I was not fucking his daughter. Should we discuss that instead?

  I’d like to get enough to pay off what I owe to my former fiancée and her father, enough to replenish my trust and provide for my family, and bring my castle up to modern standards.

  Ten million?

  About that.

  That’s the going price to become a duchess?

  Actually that would probably be a bit more. I’m an earl. My wife will be a countess.

  Is there really a difference?

  Only to the dukes and the earls.

  I really have a castle?

  I really have a castle.

  He’s going to offer me a job. A job I will find difficult to say no to if I truly care for Olga. Am I willing to hear him out?

  I am a guest in his home. The least I can do is hear the man out.

  Get Olga to quit working for The Matchmaker.

  Somehow I knew that would be what he would want.

  Get Olga to quit working for The Matchmaker and he will get my money back for me. What was mine will be restored to me.

  How precisely would he do that?

  Yuri is a very resourceful man. Do we have an agreement?

  How about this instead. I’ll get Olga to quit working for The Matchmaker and he makes it seem like she won for the rest of his life. Is he willing to fake having a heart attack? Because if he is, then calling her to his bedside and begging her to change her life might just do it.

  He’ll think about it. What about the money?

  I wouldn’t mind having my money back. I’d rather he made peace with his daughter. If my marriage plans work out, I really won’t need the money.

  Do I not want revenge for the wrong that has been done to me?

  No. Not really. I’m not a revenge sort of guy (at least not at that moment – I have times when I think about the sort horrible things I would like to have inflicted upon my former fiancée and her father, but sitting across from Vladimir reminds me that I’m better than that). Personally I think it annoys my former fiancée and her father all the much more that I don’t really seem to care what they’ve done to me. They’re just petty upstarts that would be nothing if he hadn’t made a fortune selling chips and fried chicken to a nation already burdened with obesity problems.

  He stares at me. Again I get that feeling that I’m being sized up for purchase. I have balls. This is an admirable quality. He has another job for me.

  Does it involve…

  The door bangs open and Olga stomps in. She begins shouting at her father while pulling me up from the chair by the scruff of my neck. Fortunately I’ve nearly finished my cigar.

  Did he hurt you? She runs her hands over me as if looking for contusions or broken bones.

  No. We were just having a chat.

  She turns back to her father and starts shouting at him whilst shaking a finger. I really need to learn Russian.

  What were we chatting about? She shouts at both of us. She’ll go home to London. She will.

  I look to Vladimir. This is his house. I respect the sanctity of a man�
�s castle even though I have every intention of violating his daughter within its walls.

  Vladimir says something to Olga. She looks at me. What does he want?

  We were just getting there.

  Olga turns back to her father. Well?

  Vladimir smiles. It’s a chilling sort of thing. To play for his polo team of course. Some of the boys have gone home for Christmas. He thought it would be fun to have a little match. The smile broadens. Axe murderers look less crazy.

  Olga absorbs this for a moment. That sounds nice. Okay. That’s acceptable. Do I want to play polo for her father?

  Uhhh… sure… Small problem. I don’t have horses or gear.

  These are small things. Marcus can sort these things out.

  She places her hands on either side of my face and gives me a peck on the lips. She looks at her father. We are done. We are going back to the party. Her hand slips into mine.

  I grasp her fingers as if we are sutured together. I will never let her go.

  She leads me out of the room and down the hallway.

  Honestly – she sighs grandly – can’t she leave me alone for a minute?

  It’s not my fault! The Missing Link practically kidnapped me.

  Who?

  The Missing Link. The one with the prominent brow ridge that was at the airport.

  Mischa. Don’t let him catch me calling him the missing link. He’s very fond of her. Very protective.

  He grabbed me and made me go see The Boss. Who is her father. Was she aware her father was The Boss?

  Like she doesn’t know who The Boss is. For future reference, she’s the boss of me. Not her father.

  Is she the boss of me? This makes me laugh. I kiss her on the cheek.

  The Boss of Me

  As we round the corner we are brought to an abrupt halt by the appearance of a younger Olga wearing a worryingly slutty dress. If she were my daughter I’d order her to return to her bedroom and change. Fortunately, Olga is a step ahead of me. I don’t speak Russian, but I don’t need to.

  Without releasing my hand, she charges after the girl. I’m dragged along behind her. The one advantage Olga has over the girl is her experience sprinting in heels.

  I am introduced to Xenia for the second time as Olga has her quite literally by the ear as she is propelled along the hallways. Without a pause we are brought to a bedroom. Olga marches her sister into a second room. A slamming door cuts off the shouting. I am left standing next to a queen sized bed that looks sinfully inviting especially when held up in comparison to my enchanted pumpkin carriage. My feet won’t dangle off the end. If I had handcuffs I’d chain myself to it and dare Vladimir to try to dislodge me. But I promised Olga I’d be a gentleman.

  I lay on the bed after kicking my shoes off. I haven’t slept properly in… A week? I don’t know. It’s been a long time. I fall asleep. I am transported in my dream to a place I was precisely one year earlier.

  I am in Switzerland. I have fallen in love like a cliff diver in Mexico goes plunging into the sea. My princess and I are woefully inept adulterers. Fortunately we are both with people that would rather not know we were unfaithful to them. And, of course, we have Elon. Elon is the best best friend to have when one wants to do something underhanded. He revels in our bad behavior.

  My princess’ husband, The Assbag-Danish-Banker, is in Zurich doing whatever it is assbag bankers do. Idiot. If I had a beautiful wife I wouldn’t spend my time at some job I really didn’t need whilst she was skiing. I would be skiing with her. My Former Fiancée doesn’t ski. This gives me a great deal of time to do whatever I want while she is either at the spa or thinks I’m skiing. Or both. She trusts me which either makes her gullible or me an asshole.

  We are both staying in chalets. So to accommodate our rendezvous, we get a room at the hotel between our residences. Not the five-star hotel populated by the wealthy and the fabulous. We both knew too many people in the swanky hotel to risk it. So we took a room under the names Mr. and Mrs. John Smith. Seriously. Mr. and Mrs. John Smith. The Hotel Romantik. A gingerbread house complete with witch. The frau that ran the establishment stomped and thundered around the place tormenting her husband and terrorizing the staff. To her credit, the place was immaculate and the schnitzel and chips were phenomenal.

  The room was ours for two weeks. This had all been arranged in advance. Our trip was premeditated. We have planned these two weeks together since we met in Cannes. Adultery is intoxicating.

  We meet at the hotel at regular intervals. This time when I arrive to meet her, it isn’t my blond princess. In my dreams it is Olga that is waiting for me. She’s on the bed. For some reason I think she’s wearing feathers. I have no idea why this is what my dream state produces. Feathers? Maybe not feathers, but certainly something shimmering and diaphanous. She has a lot of that sort of thing in her extensive lingerie collection. If everything means something in a dream then the feathers (not totally convinced they weren’t feathers) have to have a purpose. What they are I don’t know. But I go with it. It’s not like she was dressed like a chicken or anything. They were very sexy feathers.

  In reality when this particular meeting occurred, I walked in the door wearing some combination of clothing or another. There was probably a bit of conversation about our plans for the day, what we had done earlier, and the general how is your health and isn’t the weather lovely sort of thing. In my dream, I’m already in the nip and ready to go.

  Olga gives me that smile, wink, beckoning of the finger thing she does before rolling onto her knees and presenting me with a fine shimmering bottom. Maybe it wasn’t feathers. Maybe it was glitter. I don’t know. It was a dream it doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I’m dreaming of Olga in place of my princess. This is what matters. Anyhow…

  I kneel on the bed behind her. The mattress gives under my weight and she shifts slightly. I hold my cock as I press the tip against her opening. I give it a small press then pull back. I press forward and then back away and pull out. Olga likes a little teasing. I stand on the ground. Then they’re both on the bed. My princess and Olga. My first thought as I recollect this is yes – fantasy realized –thank you subconscious mind for listening. Then I wonder if I would really want these two women that mean so much to me together as they are. I don’t think I would. In reality I would never want these two worlds to collide.

  The voyeur in me is rewarded. I watch blond on brunette as they pleasure each other. I’m not invited to join them as they bump and rub their pussies together. This is no longer my fantasy. This is something else. This is me being excluded. This is all about me being made to watch from the outside. And watch I do. It’s like porn. The excellent sort of lipstick lesbian porn where they keep their shoes on and a great deal of time has been taken to pick out just the right earrings and ankle bracelets. That kind of porn.

  It is as they are mouths to pussies and Olga’s ass is up in the air that I decide it is my dream and I can very well join in if I so choose. I let my cock slip into Olga as my princess’ tongue abuses her clit. Olga loves this. I know she does from experience. Nothing will get her off quite like being fucked and licked at the same time. Except having something up her ass at the same time. Being that it’s a dream, I’m able to produce the slim silver vibrator I know is in my nightstand back home in the house in London.

  Olga shimmers. Yes. She shimmers. The feathers or the glitter or whatever it is her body is covered in shimmers. She shimmers as she climaxes. I don’t know if the princess has cum, but Olga has. I slip out of her and she rolls off the princess onto the bed. She reaches for me and I fall on her. I enter her and continue.

  I don’t know what happens to the princess, but she’s no longer there. It’s just us. Shimmering Olga with her arms and legs wrapped around me as I fuck her. The shimmer touches my body where she touches me. I begin to glow with her as my orgasm builds. When I ejaculate the room is filled with the shimmer. It’s blinding and bright and when the moment passes we lay on the bed our bodies
glowing.

  I have no idea what any of this means, but I’m content to stay just as I am. Unfortunately reality won’t have it. I’m woken by the feeling of a presence watching me.

  My eyes open and Xenia is observing me. No more eye makeup and just a swipe of pale lipstick across her lips. The dress that I would find shocking yet appealing on Olga, has been swapped for an age appropriate red velvet dress with a wide silk sash tied into a bow. If I had a little girl just her age, it is exactly how I would want her to be turned out. She looks like a very pretty girl. Not a slutty teenager.

  She smiles at me. Hello.

  Hi. I lean up and check my watch. The transformation and my nap took about a half hour. I feel enormously refreshed. You speak English?

  Yes. Doesn’t everyone?

  No.

  Her nanny is English. She goes to an English school. Do I think she’s pretty?

  Very.

  Am I really Olga’s boyfriend?

  Is that what Olga said?

  Yes.

  Then I am her boyfriend.

  Do I really have a castle?

  Yes.

  Can she visit my castle?

  Did Olga say she could visit my castle?

  Yes.

  Then she can visit my castle.

  Will I introduce her to a real prince?

  Depends on the prince. She’s far too pretty to be introduced to some of the princes I’ve met.

  Do I really think she looks pretty without any makeup?

  Yes. She is a very pretty girl. Especially without makeup.

  Olga walks out of the second room, adjusting an earring. Leave Oliver alone.

  We were just getting acquainted. I understand Xenia will be traveling to England to visit my castle.

  If she’s a good girl she can come visit us. We’re done getting acquainted. If Olga catches Xenia looking like a slapper again, they will have a conversation. A very unpleasant conversation.

  Olga isn’t the boss of her.

  That is where Xenia is incorrect. She is back now. The days of running around unsupervised are over. Just because grandmamma is too old, Anastasia is too self-absorbed, and their other sisters are away at university doesn’t mean she gets to do what she wants. Mama would be appalled as Xenia well knows if she had seen her youngest daughter looking the way she had before Olga caught her.