“Does that mean I can look at your cock when I want?”
“Naturellement.”
She shook her head, not understanding his logic. “These are some weird-ass rules. I’ll have to learn them. You need to write them down for me.”
“Non, you do not need rules. We both know how we feel for each other.”
“We do?” she asked, her amusement disappearing in the face of that statement. It was so concrete, so certain, and she was feeling anything but, where Alex was concerned. Not that he did anything to add to her uncertainties. It just seemed wrong to feel so much for him in such a short space of time.
“Yes.” He rolled out the one syllable word.
“What is it we feel for each other, Alex?”
He frowned. “We are falling in love with each other, of course. Un coup de foudre. Or,” he paused, “it was a coup de foudre. These are the aftereffects.”
“It’s too soon for that, isn’t it?”
“It’s never too soon. That’s the whole point of the lightning blast. A connection is all that is required. We have that. It just takes time to develop.
“We’ve only known each other for close to four weeks and for a lot of that time, you have been confused about the state of our relationship, of your part in this triad, the way that this ménage will work. This is not a porn film, Devvy. This is not about sex.” At her cocked brow of disbelief, he sliced his hand through the air. “Sex is an important part, but it isn’t the whole. It’s a piece, as there are many pieces to the whole.”
“Do you think we can make it work, Alex?”
“I see no reason why not.”
“That’s such a blanket statement. There are many reasons why all of this could fall apart. We’re all volatile, even myself and I think I’m pretty relaxed in comparison to the pair of you. We all work crazy hours. How do we make time for each other? How do we make it work? Not only that, but you’re here. Whereas Sebastien and I are at Les Fenêtres.”
“The house isn’t far away,” he returned.
“It’s far away enough. My lab is at home. I can’t be here all the time. In relationships like this…” She sighed. “Maybe I’m being stereotypical but I imagine it’s the woman who has to do a lot of giving and taking. The one who has to be malleable, because she’s the glue, and in our case, that’s the truth.
“If you were happy to be a couple as you’ve been for so many years, you wouldn’t want me. So, I’m the one who has to adapt, I’m the one who has to change. How can I when I’m at Les Fenêtres and you’re here? On top of that, do you intend to be here all the time? Will you come and live with us?”
Alex held up a hand. “These questions are important, but they’re not vital. The problems you mention have a habit of working out for themselves, but we must not force them. These things must go at their own pace.”
He uncapped his pen and returned to his whiteboard. From that alone, she knew she’d touched a sore spot in his armor, because his return to work spoke louder than words. He wanted to change the subject.
Devvy just wished she knew for sure which sore point she’d touched. She could only assume it was to do with her asking where he’d live, eventually. She’d have to make it a point to ask Bastien on his return about why the pair of them had never lived together. Devvy knew for a fact Alex had lived in this penthouse for the last eight years, ever since his first scientific breakthrough had paid for the multimillion-euro property.
From this discussion alone, she had the feeling that where Alex lived was not a subject up for discussion and for some reason, maybe because she could be as stubborn as her lover, Devvy knew this would be a point over which they all battled.
If they wanted her to live in a permanent ménage à trois, then that was just what they’d do. Live. Together. All three of them and damn the consequences.
Perhaps they would gain a certain notoriety, but as Bastien himself had said, he didn’t care what society thought. He was rich enough to live above it, to dance to his own tune. In this, she would not be the only one forced to adapt to this new situation—if they wanted this to be for life, then it would be just that.
One for all, all for one.
She could understand why the Musketeers had adopted that particular phrase.
Perhaps it was too soon to be thinking about this, to be wondering about the living arrangements, but none of this was normal. Nothing was going at a normal pace. Her feelings for Alex were turbocharged, and the security and peace of mind she felt in his company were entirely unusual.
If Alex’s instincts spoke to him and told him they were falling in love, then Devvy’s were telling her this was for keeps.
As crazy as it seemed, that was the way it was. She wasn’t blind, as Alex seemed to be. These relationships…it would take a lot of work. Hard slog. A normal partnership was rife with complications, and adding another person to the mix only made it so much more difficult. All of them would have to adapt. Otherwise, what felt so right and so promising would just sink into the quagmire that was life.
Sebastien, for all his dominant ways, was not domineering. If anything, he was flexible with her. He worked long hours and she didn’t want that to change, because he enjoyed his work. It made him happy, just as her own research and Alex’s gave them both much pleasure.
However, Sebastien wasn’t the pivotal point in this relationship. He was a kind of cement. The central role, though, would be the newer pairing. Her and Alex’s connection would always be the weak part, where strife could arise, simply because it was the newest joining and therefore unpredictable.
While her research wasn’t as vital as Alex’s, and while creating an anti-acne soap might not be groundbreaking, to her it was important, and to teens around the world suffering with zit-pocked skin, it was imperative.
She would not be the one to always travel to him. Regardless of his agoraphobia.
She felt like a bitch, but if Alex wanted this to work, he would have to meet her on her own ground.
It was time to make him see sense. And once he did, he wouldn’t regret it, because the first thing she intended to do when he moved into Les Fenêtres was fuck him raw in the middle of her herb garden.
She closed her eyes at the thought of a hot, sun-filled day. The pungent smells of basil and thyme filling their nostrils, the birds tweeting in the distance, the grass staining their knees as they fucked each other…
No, she’d make him overcome his phobias just to enact that particular fantasy.
Devvy grinned wickedly at the thought, and wriggled a little deeper on the sofa.
* * * *
The next day, and decidedly against her Machiavellian plot to make Alex face the future, Devvy awoke to an empty bed. For the first four days of Bastien’s visit to Napa, she’d slept at Alex’s. Or not slept, as was the case.
She’d chosen to stay with him, because she’d wanted to see how the pair of them would gel. How the two of them would get on without Sebastien’s presence. Until yesterday, things had been going swimmingly. She’d dared to ponder the future, and Alex, while he wanted this and while he wanted her, didn’t welcome changes to his own living environment.
As such, his selfish desire for the status quo to remain just as it was had led to a few…she couldn’t call them arguments. “Heated words” was probably the best way to describe the altercations that had occurred between the two of them. Especially in comparison to the relative calm of their first discussion of the day which had taken place as she ate ice cream for breakfast and he worked on his research.
She thought back to yesterday, when she’d awoken to his mouth tugging at her pussy lips, his tongue slurping up her juices, torturing her with lashes against her clit. The thoughts had her instantly getting wet and wishing he were there with her. But he wasn’t. He was in his apartment, because he refused to come to her house. He refused to leave his flat.
Devvy hadn’t pushed him and she wouldn’t. She’d take it nice and slow, because she realiz
ed the pressure he was under. Pressure that stemmed from his phobia as well as his research. However, she’d made the suggestion he come and stay the night at Les Fenêtres, so she could work in her lab and have him close to hand.
Devvy had told him she had her own whiteboard, which he was free to use. He could have worked there as easily as he did at his own place. But he’d refused. In fact, he’d done more than that. He’d snapped at her.
It was amazing the man could be patience itself, cool and collected as he stared at the firing line, yet on this point, he’d been so adamant and stubborn, so quick to flare.
His arrogant obstinacy had pissed her off. She wouldn’t lie. But she hadn’t stormed out, as she would have done had it been Sebastien. Even when she was content to be the doormat of a wife, her temper had often gotten the better of her and if he’d said anything to exasperate her, she’d let Bastien know by storming off, refusing to look at him.
With Alex, she’d very calmly held out both hands, palm up in surrender, and said, “Calm down. I won’t talk to you when you’re like this. I made this suggestion because I want to be with you, and it seems silly to be apart when we can be together. But if that’s what you want, then that’s what you want. I’m going home now.”
She’d backed out of the room, keeping eye contact with him until she’d hit the doorjamb—not literally, thank God. How humiliating an exit would that have been?—and then she’d walked to the elevator and waited for it to appear. As she’d taken a step inside, pressed the button to take her downstairs, he’d called out from the lounge, “I’ll phone you tomorrow.”
He’d just been visible through the doorway and she’d merely nodded as the elevator closed in front of her, staring him out all the while. Without even meaning to, she realized she’d scared him. She thought back to her words, wondering if she’d said something that indicated she was saying this was the end. It was a testament to how precarious their relationship was that he’d jumped to such a conclusion.
Rolling flat onto her back, she snuggled down into the covers and let the birds outside bring her to wakefulness. The down feathers weren’t as comforting as being cuddled into Alex’s arms, but she would settle for it today.
There was one advantage to being the boss’s wife. She never had to get up at the crack of dawn to go to work. It was bliss! She was definitely not a morning person. If anything, she liked to get up around noon. These last eighteen months, when her lab had been at home, Devvy had been able to indulge that particular preference.
As she thought of what she intended to do today, of what path she’d take with the soap she was working on, her phone vibrated beside her. She was tempted to ignore it, but considering Alex’s parting words, she reached blindly behind her and grabbed it from the bedside table. Around a yawn, she answered the call—without checking the Caller ID, something she immediately regretted. “Hello?”
“Devvy, darling! I’m so glad I caught you.”
Grimacing and wishing she’d ignored the call, she muttered, “Mom? Is everything okay? It must be pretty late over there.”
“Not really, sweetheart. It’s only eight or so.”
For her parents, namely her mother, that was very late. Her mom kept the hours of a five-year-old. Miranda Nelson tended to be in bed by eight on the nights she wasn’t entertaining her husband’s business associates. Devvy didn’t think she actually slept, but for as long as she could remember, her mother had always left to go to bed at seven thirty, almost every night.
Devvy shared her love of books with her mother and she had the notion that Miranda escaped to her bedroom so she could read. In peace.
Had she been a regular child, one that made a lot of noise, one that lived with their toys or played noisy games, Devvy would have understood her mother’s craving for silence. But considering she’d been a quiet child, always living inside her head, she’d always just felt out of it where her mom was concerned. Borderline unwanted. A nuisance.
That feeling had never gone away. Distance would always separate her from her parents. And not just in the physical sense. She could be in California, living next door, and a chasm as wide as the Atlantic would still separate her from her mother and father. She’d never been close to her family, just as she’d never been close to anyone at school. She’d always felt like the cuckoo in the nest.
In truth, Devvy had grown quite used to feeling as though she belonged nowhere. Even with Sebastien, she’d believed him to be too good for her and she’d always believed he’d come to his senses eventually. For the majority of her married life, she’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. A belief her mother shared and perpetuated.
As it was, that shoe had dropped and created an avalanche of admissions. Said avalanche was the source of what Devvy believed would be the only place she’d ever belong.
Between Alex and Sebastien.
Her gut, even after only a short time “together,” told her there lie her future and it was why she was calmly accepting of this unusual relationship. Deep down, she knew this was her place. They were her men.
It was ironic that she came to that decision while on the phone with her mother.
A more bigoted creature, in all her travels, she’d yet to meet.
“Is there something I can help you with, Mother?” Devvy asked, when Miranda seemed quite content for silence to shadow the line.
“Not really, dear,” came the quick reply. “Can a mother not just want to talk to her daughter? Her only little girl?”
As soon as she said that, Devvy knew Miranda wanted something from her. And usually, whatever Miranda wanted, she got. That was her father’s fault. Because of it, Devvy had paid the price far too many a time.
“Well, it’s lovely to hear from you. Thank you for thinking of me,” she murmured, playing the game as was expected of her.
“It’s been so long since I heard your voice. I just wanted to make sure everything was fine over there. On the other side of the pond.”
Ha, it had been ten days since Devvy had endured yet another lecture. Hardly long enough in her opinion.
“Well, you got it right. Everything’s great.”
“And Sebastien? How’s he?”
Devvy knew right away that she wouldn’t be telling her mother Sebastien was in Napa. If she did, Bastien would be extended an invitation to visit her parents’ home, and if he didn’t accept it, which he wouldn’t—he’d never said anything, but she could sense he didn’t like her family. She could hardly blame him when it was a sentiment she shared—she’d never hear the end of it.
“He’s fine. Working hard as usual,” was all she said.
“Well, I hope you’re looking after him.”
“As much as he’ll let me,” she retorted, amused at the idea of Bastien needing someone to take care of him. He was one of the most self-reliant men on the planet. One of the reasons why she’d always felt unneeded by him, surplus to requirements, as it were.
“Good, good.” There was a long pause. “I was wondering…if you’d heard of an Alexei Ivanov.” Miranda butchered the name, making Alexei sound more like laxative and Ivanov like enough.
Devvy frowned at the ceiling, her limbs tensing at the weird note in her mother’s voice as she mentioned Alex’s name. “Yes, of course, Mother. He’s a specialist in the treatment of cancer. He’s world renowned. I’d say most people have heard of him.” Aside from her Regency-romance-loving mother. Not that there was anything wrong with a good romance. But it was time to change genres when you started forgetting this was the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth.
“Do you know him personally?”
How to answer that? With the truth? Ha! Way to cause her mother’s mental breakdown!
“I know of him, and I’ve met him. The man might live in Paris but that doesn’t mean to say I know him well. Paris is larger than you think.”
“Of course, I don’t expect you to know every scientist, Devvy! I just wondered. That’s all.”
�
�Well, we’re not close friends.” That wasn’t exactly a lie. They weren’t close friends. Yet. As Alex had said yesterday, it took time for these friendships to develop. Especially as at the moment, they were lovers, rather than anything else. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no real reason. Irene Van Der Bossche just happened to mention him and Sebastien in the same breath. That’s all.”
“Maybe Bastien’s company has funded some of Ivanov’s research?” Disliking the direction of this conversation, Devvy steered it on the right track. “Sebastien has his fingers in many pies. It wouldn’t surprise me if he’d donated to the cause. Anyway, since when were you and Irene Van Der Bossche friends? You always called her the most frightful gossip.”
Devvy was pleased when her mother rose to the bait. “Of course I’m not friends with Irene! But she came round to dinner last week and I just didn’t like what she was inferring.”
“And what was that? I’m sure she was just being nosy.”
“It was almost like she was saying there was something going on between the two of them.”
“Undoubtedly,” Devvy stated, making her voice as bland as possible. “Business.”
How was it that people in California were discussing her husband and Alex as though there were some deep connection between the pair of them?
Maybe it was because Devina Nelson, boring and bland as the soap she made, had managed to snag a man like Bastien. There had to be something wrong with him in the first place if he’d marry a little wren like Devvy. In that same vein, there must be something else marring his so-called perfection.
To the elite society of Portola Valley, circles in which her parents traveled, Bastien’s being declared gay would be all that Devvy deserved for daring to marry outside her tedious little world.
A part of her was certain that was the root of Irene Van Der Bossche’s malicious comments to her mother. The other part just wished such gossip didn’t hang on Alex’s shoulders.
In this case, where there was smoke, there was most definitely a fire.
“Well, that’s what I told her!” Miranda declared. “I don’t know what her filthy little mind was suggesting but I’ll set her straight the next time I see her.”
Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 12
