Shopping for a Billionaire's Honeymoon

by Julia Kent

  “Your wife. She is fine with your fabulous one?”

  “My wife is the fabulous one.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “I have only one woman. My wife.”

  “Yes. So you have two women. Your fabulous one, and your wife.”

  I hold up one finger. “One woman. Total. My wife is my fabulous woman.”

  He reels back. “No!”

  “Yes.”

  “Only one?”

  “Yes.”

  He squints. “But...why? You have everything. Your wealth is strong.”

  “Thank you.”

  “By American standards, of course.” He gives me a crooked grin.

  I ignore the jab. “I love her.”

  “Your marriage is a love match?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your father allowed this?”

  “He had no choice.”

  Omar’s eyebrows shoot up. “You are a powerful son. The oldest?”

  “No. The middle.”

  “Oh, my. Even more powerful. The middle son is the extra. My younger brother is like a spare tire on a car, my father always says.”

  My dad and his dad would get along just fine.

  The glow of the alcohol starts to seep in. I unbutton my jacket and lean back, crossing my ankle over my knee, hands behind my head. “You could say that.”

  “Then why are you throwing Champagne on me? And diamonds?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time.” His eyes narrow. “In my country, what you did could lead to public decapitation.”

  I sit up abruptly. “Oh. Um, well, as I said before, I am so sorry, your -- ”

  He laughs, hard and deep, the sound like a chunk of rock breaking loose and rolling down a cliff. “You are funny, Declan. You think my sultanate is so barbaric? Of course we do not kill people who assault the sultan like you did.”

  I start breathing again.

  “We just cut off their penises.”

  I burst out laughing. “Good one.”

  His face stays solemn. “No. I am serious.” He looks at my crotch.

  Bzzzz.

  I jump, my phone in my front pants pocket, the bzzz a little too close to my, well --

  I scramble to get the phone out. It’s a text from Shannon.

  “Your wife nagging you?”

  I shrug. “It’s our honeymoon.”

  “Ah. That is why you threw the Champagne and earrings over the railing? She refused you?”

  “What? No.”

  “Virgins can be very scared their first time,” he says seriously, stroking his goatee, frowning. “Especially on their wedding night.” He catches my eye. “You were right to punish her by denying her the earrings.” He frowns and reaches into his pants pocket, pulling out the earrings. “Or perhaps she was offended by such cheap baubles. I had to squint to see those diamonds.” And then he flings them into the bushes.

  Still not going after those earrings.

  This conversation is stranger than any I’ve had with Marie, and that is saying something.

  And for the record, those were two-carat diamond earrings. Each.

  “I didn’t deny her the earrings. It’s a long story.”

  I am not touching the virgin comment with a ten foot pole.

  “You already said that, Declan. Explain.”

  I do. It takes an hour. Meanwhile, Shannon texts me, wondering where I am. I make up a story about undocumented immigrants working for the hotel and how the press is all over the story.

  When a sultan who comes from a country where my penis could be cut off for offending him says you tell him a story, you have to have priorities. I’ll become the Scheherazade of Dicksavers if I have to.

  “That,” he says, shaking his head, “is one of the craziest stories I have ever heard. She swallowed the ring? In a piece of tiramisu?”

  I just nod and slap back another shot of Glenlivet.

  “What is it with women and their tiramisu?” he says, tongue rolling in his cheek contemplatively. “You would think it was ambrosia.”

  Some cuisine crosses cultures. Clearly.

  “I wish I knew the answer,” I reply. “I’m just glad Shannon didn’t swallow the earrings.”

  “Swallow them from her ears?” Omar asks, eyes unfocused, British accent slurring a bit. How many shots have I had? It’s dark now outside, torches off in the distance going, a steady drumbeat from a luau matching my heart.

  I just laugh.

  Omar leans in, breath boozy. “I see why you have only one fabulous woman, Declan. Your woman has a talented tongue if she can swallow her own earrings from her ears.” Admiration fills his features as he gives me a saucy grin. “I must meet her.”

  I know his look.

  And there is no fucking way he is meeting my wife.

  Ever.

  “She’s not feeling well,” I say quickly, thinking on my feet. “Her stomach.”

  “How did you get her pregnant if she will not have sex with you?” Omar demands. I don’t quite get the leap of logic, but I pivot. Protecting Shannon is crucial here. There is no way I’m letting some slimy, sex-starved overprivileged international playboy come within ten feet of my wife.

  “She’s not pregnant. And we have had sex,” I clarify.

  “Ah. Good to know. I would still like to meet her. You know what they say about American women.”

  “What do they say about American women?” I stall, my phone buzzing. I know it’s Shannon. I have to keep her away from us. Preventing a scene is crucial.

  And I’ll make one hell of a scene if he hits on my wife.

  Andrew is going to owe me big for this one.

  “American women love sex. Nothing but sex. They want sex all of the time. You can tell because they dine alone in restaurants,” he announces with a pitying look, as if I should know this already.

  “That’s your clue?”

  “Of course. In fact, my brother has found a woman in a bar across the resort. Call your wife and let us meet her there.”

  “How about we stay here and -- ”

  He glowers, then looks at his phone. “Wait! My brother needs advice. He has found a woman who is playing hard to get.”

  “Hard to get?”

  “He likes the married ones, Moe does. He offered her the standard $1 million to her husband for a night of sex with her, and she said no.”

  “That’s his standard pickup line?”

  “You would be amazed how often it works.”

  “I am amazed, yes.” Amazed that I’m stuck in this conversation. Amazed that his brother uses a pickup line from a 1990s movie.

  “Two million gets him anal.”

  My whisky shot, which was halfway in my mouth, sprays out in a fine mist, fortunately away from the sultan, though his bodyguard isn’t pleased by the impromptu alcohol facial.

  “I know, right? He is crazy. But this one says no, which means that Moe needs better pick-up lines. He has tried everything from his pick-up artist training and nothing is working. She must be a tigress.”

  “A tigress?”

  “A woman of high value. Any woman who can say no to men like us must be an animal in bed. We want this.” He waves a dismissive hand. “You are American. I will consider the matter of your assault on my people resolved in full if you help my brother.”

  “Help him to....”

  “Sleep with this woman.”

  “And how – exactly -- would I do that?” I refrain from asking why I would want to do that.

  “You tell me all the good pick up lines to use on American women, and I will send them to him.”

  Eighth grade. I’ve turned into Cyrano de Bergerac for leaders of countries who are behaving like horny eighth graders.

  “Fine,” I say. I do have some experience here. How much harder can this be than managing Andrew? I laugh. “It’s not like you start by asking her to see your etchings in your hotel room.”

  He ignores me, typing away, th
en looks up. “Okay. Good one. I just sent it. Let us see how that works.”

  “You sent that?” Oh, boy.

  “Hmmmm. He says it didn’t work.”

  Gee. Wonder why.

  Bzzzzzz. I check my phone. Text from Shannon:

  WHERE ARE YOU?

  Oh, if only she knew I was being tormented by a crazy, hypocritical sultan who has no boundaries and expects me to break my own moral code. I’m sure her night is bliss compared to mine.

  She’ll have to wait. I’m too busy protecting her.

  “You need more, Dick-LAND. Up your game.”

  “Have him ask her to tell him about herself.”

  “Why would he want to do that?”

  “It’s what American women expect.”

  “Seems like a waste of time, but fine.” Tap tap tap. “He says she complimented him on his small feet. This is very promising.”

  “Small feet?”

  “Yes. That is a great compliment in our culture.” He frowns again. “But no...we need more pick-up lines.”

  “How about asking her about her favorite food.”

  “Like tapas?”

  “Uh, no! Not tapas! Anything but -- ”

  The sultan types. Waits. “He says she is laughing. Oh, no! She is trying to leave. Now he is negotiating a price and asking her for shoe sex.”

  “Shoe sex? He wants to have sex with her...shoe?”

  “No. Just sniff it while having sex with her.”

  “And you said this is a married woman?”

  “Yes. They are normally cheap and easy to get. Their husbands ignore them.”

  Some part of me I can’t quite pinpoint feels uneasy. I push the feeling aside.

  “Eh. I am bored. Where is your wife again, Dick-LAND?”

  “She...” I pretend to check my phone. “Oh, now she’s at the resort’s medical office. Said she has a horrible case of cramps.”

  “Cramps?”

  “Her, you know.” I wave my hands around my abdomen like Shannon does once a month, except I don’t mimic stabbing myself with a butcher knife. “Monthly.”

  Horror floods his features. “Oh, no! No no no, I do not wish to meet her. She is on her monthly during your honeymoon? That is when the teeth appear.”

  Something definitely got lost in translation.

  “Wait. He says she is leaving. Give my brother one final line he can try.”

  “One more? Okay.” I think again. “Ask her what she likes to do in her spare time.”

  “Why would he do that? Who cares.”

  “American women do.”

  Omar rolls his eyes. “These are very stupid, but I will tell him.” He types and waits. “She says she loves to spend time with her husband and family.”

  “Sounds like a nice woman.”

  “American women are sex starved. Moe says she repeats no more times than any other woman.”

  “We can’t always win.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “You know, Omar, I think you and my father should meet someday. You would get along very well.”

  Then he stands and claps his hands once.

  “All this talk of women and shoes and tongues makes me want one. Ahmad!” One of the bodyguards scurries into action. “Get us a feast. Then women! The usual for me, and a few for Declan.”

  “No, really, I -- ”

  “I will take your refusal as a personal affront. I can make a buffet for you. You choose whether to eat a morsel. But you cannot stop me from being a good host. We will dine and party first.”

  A flurry of activity around us makes it clear we’re not going to any dinner.

  Dinner is coming to us.

  But that’s fine, as long as I keep this guy and anyone associated with him far, far away from my wife.

  Shannon

  At two a.m. I hear the door creak open, and Declan crawls into bed. I ate so much roast pig I feel like one myself. The last thing I want is sex.

  I play possum.

  He shakes me gently. Lovingly.

  I get nauseated from the movement, like I’m seasick.

  He tries. He does. Five times.

  Finally, he sighs and gives up, curling behind me.

  And I don’t know what to do.

  Tears pool in my eyes, silently soaking the sheets. Between Declan not answering my texts, being hit on by a twenty-first-century version of Larry the Lounge Lizard, and a honeymoon that is about as devoid of sex as my first two years of college, I’m done.

  I think I had more sexual affection from good old Moe back at the luau than I have from Declan here in Hawaii.

  By the time I roll over, ready to talk, he’s snoring lightly, face angelic in the moonlit night.

  “Tomorrow,” I whisper. “I swear.”

  Chapter 8

  Shannon

  Room service bangs on our door at eight a.m. I get up and shower, a familiar tightness in my lower abs.

  No.

  No no no no no.

  I knew that lobster dipped in chocolate tasted a little too good.

  This is not fair. At all. I’m a week early. It’s almost as if someone summoned my period. Like they sent a message to the universe and the universe said, “Hey! Good idea!”

  I google “how to delay your period.” Oh, sure. Every bit of advice involves advanced planning. If I could have planned in advance, I wouldn’t be googling now, would I?

  I shake my fist at the sky. This would be a perfect time for thoughts and prayers. Which, for the record, do not appear on the list of ways you can delay your period.

  They did work in college a few times for people who were hoping to get theirs, though.

  Ignoring the pending signs, I suck down my Mayan mocha and look at the clock. 8:45 a.m. Maybe a well-timed little something before—

  Bzzz.

  Damn it.

  That’s my phone.

  “Hello?” I whisper.

  “Shannon?” It’s Grace. “There’s a storm coming, and we need to move the helicopter flight up to 9:30 a.m.”

  I look at Dec in a panic. He’s rolling over, doing that stretchy thing that makes his perfectly-sculpted calf peek out from under the wrinkled sheets. Man, do I want to lick him.

  “Lick what?” Grace asks.

  Oh, shoot. Said that out loud.

  “Lick the storm!” Lame. I know. “What about packing?”

  “I’ll have staffers do it. Just get to the helipad by 9:30 a.m.”

  “Got it.”

  “Wha’s up?” Declan’s rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

  “Volcano tour!” I chirp, turning away as a cramp seizes me. I close my eyes and do a Kegel, as if that will help. My uterus isn’t a hose I can fold in half, after all.

  “Volcano what?”

  “Resort staffers can’t find you there. I get you to myself. And remember that one time, when we—”

  He perks up. “You’d give me one on the helicopter?”

  I smile sweetly. “As long as we’re there by 9:30, we can do whatever you want.”

  Never seen him move that fast before. Fifteen minutes later, he’s combing his wet hair, throwing on a Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts, and Birks, stuffing a chocolate croissant in his mouth.

  “Ready?”

  He swallows, puts down the comb, and reaches for me.

  “I am so sorry about yesterday.”

  I try to pretend it’s fine.

  I fail.

  “What were you doing last night?”

  “Nothing. Other than business. That stupid issue of undocumented immigrants. You know.” He smiles. “And you? Meet anyone interesting?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say in a low, cringing voice before I can stop myself.

  “Really? Tell me.”

  “Oh, you know. Just -- ” I wave my and casually, trying desperately to come up with a cover story. “ -- just boring old grandma and grandpa types who couldn’t stop talking. Talk your ear off types.” I’m going to hell for lying, but I kno
w that telling the truth will make Declan explode.

  It’s just another distraction, right? Not telling him is an act of mercy.

  “Like your mom?”

  “Exactly like my mom,” I agree.

  “We have five more days,” he assures me. “Legal’s got the mess from last night under control. You are my priority now. No more—”

  Tap tap tap.

  Right.

  He opens the door to find Mr. Miyadori there.

  “Mrs. McCormick?” He winks at me, stepping aside, sweeping his arm out in a gesture of welcome. “Your helicopter is ready. The car service is downstairs in the private driveway for our very special guests.”

  Declan’s eyes dart between me and Mr. Miyadori, who takes on a professional look.

  “Thank you,” I say, shaking his hand. He pulls me in for a very friendly hug, kissing both cheeks, and on one of the kisses whispers, “We have staffers packing the instant you leave, and the other helicopter will deliver your belongings.”

  “Thank you,” I say again.

  He smiles. We leave, climbing into a Land Rover. The driver points out sights of interest along the drive, but Declan and I are lost in each other, making out like high school kids on their first date in Dad’s car with the big backseat.

  Not that I’d know anything about that.

  The Anterdec helicopter is there, ready and waiting. I have no idea who the pilot is, and as long as he doesn’t speak Russian, I don’t care.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Volcano tour.”

  “Shannon.” His look says, I don’t believe you.

  My look back says, You want that blow job?

  He stops with the skepticism. Instantly.

  “Don’t worry. I arranged everything.”

  “That’s exactly why I should worry."

  “We are,” I say, words sprinkled between kisses, “going to be exactly where we need to be.”

  “Stunt people for a new Castaway movie?”

  “Just don’t mistake me for Wilson.”

  He stares at my breasts. “I can see how that could happen.”

  I laugh.

  “Last time we flew in a helicopter, we were escaping your mother.”

  “This time we’re escaping Anterdec staff.”

  “I’ll take my own employees over Marie any day.”

  I punch him.

  He kisses me.

  Fair exchange.