Ménage Material [La Belle sans la Bete Ménages] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

by Akeroyd, Serena

  The sudden sound of high heels had the pair of them stiffening with the knowledge she was coming back.

  “Here we go again,” Alex muttered.

  It felt like that. Like watching a car crash.

  Devvy turned and smiled politely at the other woman. Even though it was the last thing she wanted to do after that disturbing conversation. Apparently, Antoinette had composed herself, but with Alex’s back turned, she saw no reason to be at all friendly. On the receiving end of a glare for her trouble, Devvy sighed inwardly and hoped for this coffee afternoon to be over. Soon.

  Antoinette strode over to Alex’s other side and pressed a hand to his back. He immediately stiffened but she ignored that and stroked it along the length of his spine. It wasn’t motherly, it was creepy, and even though Alex grew so tense Devvy was certain he’d break out in a cramp, she kept on doing it. She finally stopped, only her hand continued upward and she played with the ends of his hair as she crooned to him in French.

  Devvy started to move away but Alex’s hand shot out of nowhere and clamped her to his side. She relaxed into him, and his tension once again made itself known.

  It was hard to pinpoint why Antoinette’s actions were so odd, but she finally figured it out. Her gestures were inappropriate, so much so, they were almost a caress.

  Her mind immediately flinched at the thought. Putting two and two together, she came up with what she hoped was five instead of four. Reasoning it out that if she’d molested Alex as a child, or behaved in anyway inappropriately with him, the adult Alexei would not provide for her.

  At least, she didn’t think he would.

  The very idea made her feel sick and uncertain. She longed to blurt out the question simply to erase it from her mind. Until she asked, it would continue to roil and churn.

  “Suffit,” Alex burst out after a few moments of having his hair played with and having French nothings murmured into his ear. “Enough. We have to be going now.”

  “So soon!” Antoinette immediately protested. “You only just arrived.”

  “Nonsense. We’ve been here a good hour.”

  “You normally stay longer!” she accused and then leaned around Alex to glare at Devvy. “Why did you bring her here if it would make you leave earlier? I see you so little!” And so the diatribe continued, once again reverting to the mother tongue.

  Alex’s face grew whiter and whiter, that grimness turning his face to hard stone.

  “I don’t want to hear anymore. I am well, you are well. That is all we wish to know. I shall call you when I am due to visit next time.”

  “Don’t bring her!” Antoinette spat.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t! You’ve embarrassed me today, Mére. I can only hope Devvy can come to forgive me for this huge mistake. I thought you would want to see the woman who is playing a large role in my life.”

  Antoinette snorted, the sound unladylike. Her hand shot out and she grabbed Devvy’s. “She’s married, you fool.” She raised Devvy’s left hand. “The ring might be gone, but that mark says it all. As well as the fact she never has a manicure,” Antoinette scorned.

  Neither Devvy nor Alex replied. Alex merely shook his head and murmured, “Forgive me, but my next visit will not be for quite a while.”

  She looked on the brink of stomping her foot but all of a sudden, the cast to her face changed. Turning from sulky to pouting. More weirdness ensued.

  “Please, don’t go, mon fils. I did not mean to criticize. We are French. The world is not black and white as we all know.” She dropped Devvy’s hand and made to cup Alex’s cheek. He jerked back before she could touch him.

  “You belittle Devvy and you belittle me,” he stated.

  “I apologize,” she murmured, tilting her head in a way that was almost flirtatious. The thought dominating Devvy’s brain once against popped up to the fore.

  “Apologies aren’t always the solution.” He looked down at his watch. “It is, in fact, time to go. The car will be waiting for us.”

  “I understand, cher. But please, do not punish me. You know how excited I am when you’re due to visit.”

  He stiffened and then released the tension from his body with a sigh. He looked almost defeated as he murmured, “I shall see you in two or so months.”

  Antoinette’s delight was evident. She clapped her hands with jubilation and reached up to press a kiss to Alex’s cheek.

  Devvy felt him flinch and when his mother stepped back, she nodded politely at her and murmured, “It has been an interesting morning, Madame Ivanov. I wish you well.”

  She wouldn’t lie and say it had been a pleasure, when it had been anything but.

  This place and the woman living in it were toxic.

  Devvy couldn’t wait to get out of there and that feeling was shared by her lover.

  The pair of them left with indecent haste and Devvy noticed Alex’s agoraphobia did not extend to leaving his mother’s building! The sooner he could leave, the better.

  She could hardly criticize when she felt the same way, and she could easily understand why it had been so hard for him to leave his apartment in the first place. With the prospect of a morning like that, no wonder it had taken close to two hours to get out of the elevator! The morning would have been more successful if they were still in the damned thing.

  As they sank down in the supple leather seats of Bastien’s limousine, they both sighed with relief to be out of there. The mutual release had both of them bursting out with laughter.

  “Was it as bad for you as it was for me?” Alex asked, chuckling. “I don’t even know why I’m laughing! That could not have gone much worse!”

  “Let’s just say if I don’t have to meet her again, I won’t be upset. Thank you for introducing us, darling. I appreciate the gesture.” Her smile was genuine as she reached over for a kiss. “I know what you were trying to tell me.”

  “That I intend for you to be a permanent fixture in my life even if I bitch about moving out of my penthouse?”

  She nodded. “For you to even dare to introduce me to her…well, it says a lot, considering how volatile she is.”

  “Volatile isn’t the word,” he retorted.

  His irritation had her asking a question she should have left until later, especially after the lightening of the mood by the humor they’d found in the weird interview between mother, son, and lover. But she had to know. It was imperative.

  “Alex…,” Devvy started, and then broke off. At his cocked brow urging her to continue, she whispered, “She didn’t hurt you? As a child, I mean.”

  “Hurt?” he asked with a frown that slowly cleared as he understood her meaning, as well as her complete discomfort at asking the question. “Did she abuse me?”

  Devvy licked her lips, feeling her nerves flutter through her with a speed that made her feel sick. “Yes.”

  His face had smoothed out. All tension releasing. All humor and the earlier traces of anger disappearing. He turned his head away to stare at the traffic. “No. She did not.”

  Somehow, that answer didn’t reassure her. He said the right thing, but he wasn’t saying it right. If that made sense.

  Devvy didn’t push it, though. Aside from the clearing of his features, he hadn’t moved, but a brick wall was suddenly between them. Invisible, but there, nonetheless.

  “Okay,” she murmured and squeezed the hand they’d clasped moments before, leaving the subject for a future time. Knowing that she wouldn’t be the one to raise the topic…because there was something here. Something that had that awful stillness appearing about him. And that said a lot.

  Too much.

  * * * *

  The migraines were getting worse.

  It was a sign, and Sebastien wasn’t too foolish to take it as anything less than a warning.

  With Alex’s urging, he’d already been to the doctors. He’d been through CAT and MRI scans, blood tests and screens…if the preventative measure existed, he’d had it done to him.

  The
result was that he had the all-clear.

  There was nothing there. No reason for fear or concern as to why the migraines were occurring or why they were causing him more and more pain. He didn’t have a brain tumor, malignant or otherwise. He was healthy, just with debilitating migraines.

  He still felt guilty about having undertaken hospital treatment without Devvy’s knowledge. It was hardly a respectful way to treat his wife, by hiding the truth of his wellbeing from her. If she had done the same, he’d be furious, and when she found out, because he had no doubt the truth would eventually make an appearance, he deserved to be railed at. He’d accept her fury with grace. But he’d done so for one reason and one reason only.

  Pride.

  At forty-five he was closer to middle-age than his youth. He wasn’t a sensitive man. His years didn’t disturb him. All of his experiences had turned him into the creature that stood here now, a success.

  But where his wife and his partner were concerned, the age gap was an issue.

  One that only existed on his side.

  Nearly twenty years older than Devvy, he hadn’t wanted to unduly concern her over his health. She was young. He didn’t want to barrage her with hospital visits before her time. If the result hadn’t been positive news, then he’d have had to share it with her. Considering the results he’d received a day ago, he was glad he’d refrained from telling her about the tests.

  Being married to a woman nearly half his age was good for the ego, but not for the soul. He didn’t understand why anyone would put themselves through the agony of it if they didn’t love their younger partner. Only love made it all tolerable, bearable.

  As it was, he felt very old most of the time. Unless he was actually with her. Then the torment made sense.

  He’d made a decision around four weeks before Devvy had questioned his fidelity. Hickle Corp, the muscle behind five of the biggest cosmetic brands on the planet, was looking for an in on the organic, free-from-animal-testing market. They’d approached the situation in a manner that Sebastien had recognized as the beginnings of a hostile takeover.

  At forty-five, in the business world, he was still at the top of his game. He was considered young, in his prime at the head of a cosmetics brand that globally turned over ten billion a year. That put La Belle sans la Bête up with some of the biggest boys in the market.

  No corporation in their right mind would believe the head of La Belle sans la Bête was ready to retire.

  That is, until he’d contacted Hickle Corp and set them straight.

  He’d played his cards close to his chest, not wanting them to realize he wanted out, merely that he was open to persuasion.

  Their lawyers had arrived at the end of last week and they’d already started the negotiations.

  In the middle of talks with the company, Bastien was attempting to tie them up in so many legal loopholes that they’d never be able to stray from the core beliefs he’d set down in stone at the very beginning of this venture…all those years ago.

  He had demands and he’d only hand over his baby if they were legally obliged—with no sign of a way out—to continue with his methods.

  As he’d grown ever more successful, it would have been easy to stray and settle on a business path that would have undoubtedly doubled the company’s profits. Choosing chemicals over organic plants and herbs. Or settling for substandard ingredients in the lines. By maintaining strict regimes of quality control, the brand had grown steadily.

  He would not have it sink upon his departure from the fray.

  All he and Alex had wanted for the last thirteen years had been to find that elusive third. The women who would complete them. When he phrased it like that, Sebastien knew it sounded almost corny. Devvy, however, filled in all his and Alex’s gaps. And there were many, for they were both complicated men.

  Finding that one woman had taken a hellishly long time. Longer than either of them had imagined. Devvy was definitely worth the wait.

  Would he cope without the hustle and bustle, the frenetic pace of his current life?

  He’d have to. He was leaving to enjoy this new world before his health quit on him.

  The migraines were a sign from whatever benevolent being gave a damn about him. They were telling him to get the hell out before his health really caved in. Bastien had too much ahead of him to waste his time on business. He couldn’t get any richer. Didn’t expect or want any more success. He’d done it all, and now, he had other goals.

  He wanted children.

  He’d wanted a family for a long time, and while the three of them had some fun times ahead of them, a few years down the line, he wanted to be settled.

  Bastien wanted Alex to integrate into a family environment. He accepted his lover’s quirks and foibles, but it was time to change. If Bastien’s health was emitting a warning sign, Alex’s was as well and the cure was Madame Devina Jacques.

  She was the glue.

  She just didn’t realize it yet.

  She was in the dark where her importance in his life was concerned, something he was slowly rectifying. Maybe that was his fault. After all, hiding his trips to the hospital undermined that to a certain extent, even if he hadn’t intended for that to be the case. Things would change when he was no longer the head of La Belle sans la Bête. He would change to be whatever Devvy needed. It was nothing more than she deserved for being the miracle that would take him and Alex out of themselves, and set them on the path to a rich and fulfilling life.

  He sighed at the very thought of the future ahead of him, and a pleased smile settled on his lips as he rocked back in his chair. Ignoring the clean lines of his boardroom, he swung around to stare out of the windows onto the world class view of the city.

  Few people realized it but he hated heights. It was an irrational and pathetic fear, one whose power over him caused him nothing but irritation. Its strength was such that when the company had transferred into its own high-rise, he’d manipulated the layout. Rather than have the Presidential offices at the top of the building, with the VIPs and other executives underneath, he’d put the labs on the top floor, and he himself had taken a story essentially in the middle but above the other executives. He shared the floor only with a PA, her assistants, and the boardroom.

  Regardless, the views of the Seine were unsurpassable. Mostly because had he stood on the fiftieth floor, looking down at the river, he’d probably have been unable to appreciate the beauty of his adopted city.

  As it was, here, he could see the Tour Eiffel, catch glimpses of the to and fro of this vibrant place. It was enough. Usually, it calmed him, and today was no different. His mind was wandering, and it shouldn’t have been.

  Hickle Corps’s execs were here trying to hash out a deal. Bastien’s lawyers were doing most of the talking and his presence wasn’t exactly necessary, so he needn’t have felt guilty about his failure to listen and digest the business chatter going on around him. He disliked wasting time, however, so he pushed his thoughts of the future to the background, ceased to ponder the view of Paris from his boardroom, and started to concentrate on the droning voices of his American visitors.

  “…you can’t seriously believe we’ll allow you to monitor the business,” Derek Wickham snapped.

  Bastien’s head attorney and longtime friend, Louis Rozen, merely settled deeper into his chair. His expression gave nothing away. Not by one twitch of the brow or pucker of his lips did he display any emotion at the other man’s irritation.

  It was why Rozen was one of the highest paid members of staff on the La Belle sans la Bête payroll. He was a bitch to play poker with, too.

  “If you want the business, then you’ll have to do more than consider the possibility. Gentlemen, your company has a reputation for using substandard ingredients.”

  “I resent that. Our products are all tested and meet international standards.”

  “That they might do, but they wouldn’t reach our standards,” Bastien inserted, voice silky. He usually refrai
ned from speaking during these occasions, preferring to listen and leave Rozen in charge, but temptation to muddy the waters had overtaken him.

  It was best to approach these situations with confidence. If he betrayed his eagerness to part with the company, it was almost guaranteed that Hickle’s interest would dry up.

  These relationships were very similar to those between man and woman.

  A little play of hard to get worked wonders on recalcitrant partners.

  Because he was who he was, Wickham bit his tongue rather than snap at him. His anger was quite evident. In fact, Bastien was shocked that this was Hickle’s negotiator—he’d seen few men in such a role betray themselves so exuberantly.

  “Why should we invest in a company where the previous owners still want to keep their feet dipped into the waters?”

  “It’s hardly an unusual request.”

  “It’s very unusual. Ordinarily, honorary roles can be created to portray the idea the old management is still keeping in touch with the new, but there’s little real interaction between the two sides. I’m afraid if you can’t negotiate on this point, we might have to call a day on the talks.”

  At Wickham’s statement, Rozen’s eyes flickered over to Bastien’s. A silence thrummed overhead as he processed the words the American made, and watched the smugness overtake the executive’s face as the belief he’d cowed Bastien made itself known.

  He smiled. “That is fine by me. Good day, Mr. Wickham. Ms. Roberts.”

  Bastien made to stand, when the other negotiator, Emma Roberts, spoke, “I’m afraid Derek has given you an ultimatum that goes against our company’s better interests.”

  “Emma!” Wickham snarled under his breath but she slashed her hand in front of her, making the other man sit back in his chair like a chastened school boy.

  Considering it was the first time the woman had spoken, she exuded a position of authority Wickham did not. It was interesting, therefore, that he had been acting as lead spokesman, when it was, in fact, Emma Roberts in charge.

  “Indeed?” Bastien asked, settling himself back in his chair with an air of boredom about his person.