by Donna Alam
‘I have different feelings on that, obviously.’
‘Ma Rose, there’s nothing obvious about you.’ From harsh words to soft, his smile spreads slow and sweet.
‘Meanwhile, you’re no different from a thousand other men. A million of them. Maybe you do have an agreement. Maybe you have some kind of open relationship. I don’t care. You lied to me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he says, all traces of his smile and mirth wiped from his face. ‘I never meant to hurt you.’
Isn’t that what they all say?
With one last tiny throb of connection, he releases me, blood rushing back to my wrists. He sits, pressing his back to the wall, his arms draped across his bent knees. Even in the cramped corner between my bedroom and the lounge, he has the bearing of a prince. A prince who has taken liberties where he ought to have not.
‘I should’ve told you before now. I thought . . . I didn’t think it would come to this. I thought I could arrange things so you wouldn’t be hurt. So you wouldn’t think badly of me.’
‘So you wouldn’t have been caught. Caught hurting two women.’ Because after her display earlier, I’m pretty sure Amélie doesn’t know about me.
‘There is only you.’ His head rises, the light spilling from the bedroom, casting his high cheekbones in stark relief. ‘With Amélie, it’s been a business arrangement since the start. The only thing she’ll mourn is my credit card.’
My feckless heart gives a little leap.
‘It’s you I want. I’m done with keeping secrets, and I’m done with feeling like your dirty little secret.’
‘I played right into your hands with that, right? Super convenient for you.’ Stupid, stupid, Rose.
‘No, that’s not true. I was ending things with her. Ending the business arrangement that is is. What I said our first time here in Monaco, I meant it. I’ve never had another woman in my bed.’
‘I guess that’s the kind of thing all cheaters say.’
A muscle in his jaw beginning to clenching. ‘Whatever you think, whatever I’ve done, I was not unfaithful to you.’
‘So you just cheated on her?’
‘You can’t cheat in business. My mistake was waiting for us both to be in the same country for me to finish things.’
‘If it was purely a business arrangement, you could’ve told me. You might’ve warned me. You might’ve—’ At the first sign of a warble, I clamp my lips together, dropping my head again as I pretend the leaking at the outer corners of my eyes is rain.
Indoor rain. Nothing wrong with that.
‘I’m sorry, truly sorry, but none of this changes how I feel about you. I cannot be without you.’ I hear the determination. Feel his words. But it takes two to make a relationship, and while he might not have broken Amélie’s heart, mine currently needs a baggy and a tub of glue.
‘I need you to leave,’ I whisper as I finally stand and brush the hair from my face and straighten my clothes, trying to retain the last threads of my dignity as I begin to move. I don’t get far as he gracefully rocks to his feet and takes my shoulder in his hands.
‘Let me go, Remy.’
‘I can’t do that. I know I’ve hurt you, but I’ll make it up to you, I promise.’
‘Just . . . just go away. I can’t deal with you or your lies.’
‘I won’t let you go.’ His hands cup my face, his words softly determined, and I wish I could harden my heart to him.
‘But the choice isn’t yours.’
‘If I can’t deal with the thorn, I don’t deserve the Rose.’
‘I guess you’ve already proven both of those. I need you to leave me alone, Remy.’
He whispers my name as I walk away, but we were a lost cause before we even began.
27
Remy
‘You’re still awake. Good.’ I’m sure some would say I deserve to go to hell for leaving one woman only to join another, but I’ve never cared for the opinions of others. Besides, I should’ve done this long ago.
‘Jet lag.’ Her attention moves from the open Gucci suitcase on her bed to shoot me a tight smile. If she has any thoughts about me appearing at the threshold of her bedroom, she doesn’t share them as she turns away again.
‘Where have you been again?’ I’m not sure why I ask. A prelude to an awkward conversation?
‘Remy, why are you being like this? You know I went to a spa in Florence.’
‘For almost three months?’
‘Well, no. I hitched a ride with Serge to Paris then on to New York. I would’ve been back sooner if you’d let me use the Gulfstream.’
That’s what it always comes back to with her. What she can get out of me and how. There was a time in the beginning when she’d tried to use sex, but I don’t respond well to manipulation.
‘Are you ready to tell me who that was in your office now?’ Her words are pitched lightly. Deceptively so.
‘No.’ As I answer, I slide off my jacket and throw it over the back of the ridiculous Bibendum chair. A chair that will be, no doubt, piled high with clothes before long. Because why unpack your case properly when you can have the maid do all the hard work in the morning?
She turns her attention back to her case, her trim frame encased in pastel pink yoga wear, her expensively highlighted hair—for which she engages a full-time stylist, paid for by me—is fashioned into something that looks like a donut. Why was I stupid enough to become engaged in the first place? Why did it have to be her?
The answer is the same as always: I’d have done almost anything to better him. And I have. The Wolf name was always highly regarded within the region, but since his death, we’re revered. Feared.
I press my hands to my hips and drop my head. We’ve both played our parts. It’s time to move on. ‘It’s over, Amélie.’
She snorts, swinging around to face me. ‘What, again? Because I didn’t call you from New York? Or is this because I spent over the limit of my credit card again?’
Again with the delusions. I note the transatlantic twang she’s acquired since she started spending time with the rich and useless, and women who live by the outmoded maxim that you can never be too rich or too thin.
‘When have I ever given a damn how much time you spend out of Monaco with your stupid friends?’ As for the credit card, yes. We’ve had arguments about her spending. The woman has a problem, and it’s not the usual sort for a woman of her station; exercise, plastic surgery, champagne, or cocaine. She’s addicted to shopping; addicted to impressing her so-called friends. ‘We knew this would end sometime. Quite frankly, I’m surprised we’ve managed this long.’
‘This is about her, isn’t it? The heavy girl in the office.’
I stare back, my expression blank. My answer, when it comes, is of a delivery so cold, it makes her visibly flinch. ‘When have I ever involved you in my private life?’
‘Remy, you and I, we’re the same.’ A change of tone and a change of tact; her expression desolate, her tone needy. Amélie is the type of person able to convince herself of anything, and if she’s convinced, she assumes the rest of the world is, too. ‘You need me, and I need you.’
‘You need me to bankroll you, perhaps. But not in your life. And not in your bed. I hear that’s reserved for someone in a boy band these days. I hope he’s legal.’
She reacts to my words like a slap, but I neither wonder nor care who she’s fucking. Our arrangement was we live our own lives; discretion the key to our union.
The kind of discretion that led me not to tell Rose the truth? Not even I can use this as an excuse because it was greed and hubris. The need not to be caught out. I acknowledge the thought, but don’t accept it for how things are now. The way I feel about Rose bears no relation to the way I’d felt about her before. Yes, I wanted to possess her, and now I know why. Because I love her. Yes, I love her. And it has taken this fuckup for me to realise. I think before, it was a little like being in front of something so large I couldn’t really see it.
‘N’importe quoi,’ Amélie spits—whatever—throwing down the scrap of silk that I assume is a dress. ‘You need me to keep you away from gold-digging whores—women who are only interested in your money!’
I’m not sure how she can’t see the similarities. Perhaps a professional gold-digging whore might cost less than her. While Rose might cost me everything. But I no longer care. Seeing her so upset, so angry . . . tore me apart. Watching her leave the office so pale and so despondent, yet knowing if I followed her, I’d be playing into Amélie’s hands. It’s time it all came to an end. I’m not proud of my mistakes. Of hurting her and of thinking I could somehow make this right without her ever knowing.
Amélie stomps around the room, muttering insults to my parentage as I consider how different the two women are. Contrary to current appearances, Amélie is cold. She cares for nothing and no one but herself. Rose, by contrast, is full of vitality, and though it’s a cliché, she truly has a heart of gold. While Amélie behaves like an overgrown child threatened with the removal of her most useful possession, Rose behaves like a woman who has had her heart broken.
Her. Heart. Broken. Which means she loves me. Which means I have a chance—I can make her heart whole again.
‘There will be a settlement, as we agreed in the beginning. You can use the house for the rest of the year and keep the credit card.’ For now, at least. With a cast-iron spending limit.
‘I am not moving out,’ she replies with the hauteur of a duchess. ‘I have spent time and money renovating this old place. And for what? So you can move your fat little girlfriend in?’
‘Carry on,’ I answer blithely. ‘I had forgotten how ridiculous you are. And yes, you spent money, lots of my money while an army of decorators spent months catering to your every whim. Where were you again? Gstaad, Milan, and God only knows where else. The settlement will include an apartment. There’s no need to worry about returning to your parents.’
Her expression hardens. She knows this isn’t what her father planned. He may have offered up his daughter like a suckling pig, but he expected her to turn our contract into wedding vows.
‘For your information, I had my own apartment before I moved in with you.’
A rental, the size of a postage stamp, and subsidised by the government as her family is Monégasque; native to Monaco.
‘Regardless, you can’t stay here.’ My tone is one of abrupt finality, feelings, thoughts, and sentiments riot through me, and not one gram of them centred on her. I was wrong. I’ll do better. Her anger will burn away, and I’ll make it up to her. ‘I’m selling the place.’ And with that, I grab my jacket, leaving her to both her tantrum and her unpacking.
‘That’s fucking classic!’
‘I’m pleased you’re amused. I can’t say I felt the same sentiment,’ I murmur, initialling plans for the land reclamation project for a hotel and residential complex.
‘You can’t be surprised. Two women on the go at the same time?’ Everett asserts gleefully. ‘You were bound to get caught with your trousers down at some point.’
‘I hardly, as you so eloquently put it, had two women on the go. I had one.’ One I don’t intend on letting go. ‘The other was a decoy for the board.’
‘And kept around far too long.’
I shrug. He’s right.
‘Avoir les yeux plus gros que le ventre.’ His accent somewhat butchers the words but not so much as I can’t understand.
‘My eyes are bigger than my belly? Really?’
‘I don’t know how to say you’re a glutton for punishment. Man, I wish I’d been here to see the bitch’s face when she walked in on you with Rose.’
‘You were too busy eating trans fats and chemicals, pretending to be a potato.’
‘Give me a girl who’ll bring me a burger anytime.’
I frown before my gaze cuts to him. He’s certainly singing another tune, and I don’t think it’s purely the result of yesterday morning’s greasy offering. ‘It didn’t happen like that.’ I decide not to mention that Ben was in the office, or how I mishandled Amélie’s arrival because I’ve fucked up enough. ‘You know you just said something nice about Rose. What’s going on? I don’t think you’ve said anything complimentary about her since she arrived.’
‘I haven’t said anything bad about her, either. Well, not much. But I’m team Rose if I’ve got to be team anyone. I’ll even get the T-shirt and the hat.’ His smile is despicably cheery as he adds, ‘Because I’m not the one that has to worry about her hiding things.’
‘I’m not worried. In fact, I no longer care.’
‘Your fucking funeral, mate.’
‘I don’t think so. The PI has come back with nothing. There is absolutely nothing to tie her to Emile.’ Nothing that interests me. ‘He has examined her work history, her family, her relationships all the way back to high school. Also, she says she has never met him, and I believe her.’
‘Oh, well. That’s it then.’ There isn’t so much a hint of sarcasm as a deluge.
‘Oui.’
‘So she’ll get part of your inheritance? When you choose. The inheritance she knows nothing about. That’ll be a fun conversation. If it comes.’
‘I’ll tell her,’ I grate out. ‘Why would I not?’
‘The small fact that she might take her money and piss off.’
‘Non. That will not happen.’ Though I’ve considered it myself. I’ll make sure of it. I know she loves me. I just have to make her admit it. And then? Then I’ll spend my days making her happy. The end—a happy ending.
‘She’s not gonna make it easy for you. You know that, right?’
‘And that is why you are team, Rose? You want to watch from the sidelines.’
‘Nah. If I want to watch you get battered and bloodied I’d get you into the boxing ring again. ‘I’m team Rose because I never liked Amélie.’
‘That, my friend, makes two of us.’
‘Ah, but she didn’t try to make you trot behind her like a fucking dog. Or carry her shopping.’
I put down my pen. ‘So that is relief I detect in your tone? The wicked witch is gone?’
‘What, me?’ He spreads his hands out on the arms of his chair as he leans back, making it bounce. ‘I don’t have an opinion. You pay me not to have one.’
‘I couldn’t pay you enough for you to keep your mouth closed. But I have a thought.’ I link my fingers at the back of my head. ‘If you’d fucked Amélie, she might not hate you so much. She might not have tried to belittle you at every opportunity.’
‘First of all, she didn’t belittle me because that would mean I gave a fuck. Second, she was mostly civil to me after the time I left her beautifully glossy, designer-labelled shopping bags at the café where she’d insisted I procure a frappe. But most importantly, how did you know?’
‘That she’d propositioned you? Call it a hunch.’ And call her vindictive after she discovered she was no longer welcome in my bed.
‘Yeah, well . . .’ He grimaces and tugs his earlobe. ‘No offence, but I wouldn’t fuck her with your dick.
I drop my hands and flip the folder closed. ‘Let’s go and get—’
‘Blind drunk?’
‘Dinner,’ I correct wearily.
‘That was gonna be my second suggestion.’ A smile catches in the corner of his mouth as he stands.
We make our way over to the hotel, opting to eat at Le Grill where I pick up the threads of our abandoned conversation.
‘I would’ve been very disappointed if you’d taken her up on it, you know.’
It takes him a moment to determine what it is I refer to before answering. ‘Not my style.’ As I cut into my steak, my gaze lifts but not my head. ‘I know you had an open relationship, but don’t laugh, it would’ve felt like I was the one doing the cheating.’
‘I’m honoured, I think.’ I begin to chuckle which, by his expression, he doesn’t appreciate. ‘But you’re wrong about the relationship being open. I just didn’t care what she was u
p to beyond the first few months.’
‘Why keep her around at all? Once you were in power, I mean.’
I place down my silverware and lean back in my chair. ‘To begin with, it suited my purposes. I know. Her father desired that the engagement be fulfilled.’
‘You mean, that you’d marry her?’
‘He hoped she’d be able to bring me around, like a dog, I suppose. That was never going to happen. As to why it’s gone on for so long, it was beneficial to have a member of the board side with me. Especially in the earlier days.’
‘Especially when you started tearing the competition apart. But you don’t need their permission these days.’
I nod in agreement. I suppose I never saw the need to rock the status quo. Amélie lived her life, and I lived mine. Occasionally we came together for some company function to put on a united front, but that was the extent of our dealings. I never felt the need for companionship, consumed with making Wolf Industries something bigger than him, bigger than us both, one obsession turning to another when faced with the intrigues of his will. And at the time, I thought perhaps I was looking for a ghost when, in reality, she was travelling the globe on the proceeds of a windfall, courtesy of Emile.
I felt no remorse or guilt after I slept with Rose in March. I didn’t feel the need to repent. Nevertheless, the experience changed me. She reminded me that there is good in the world and that not all people seek to benefit themselves. But I put all that aside when I returned to Monaco, still hell-bent on finding out who this woman was my father sought to benefit—who she was and what she was to me.
And then she arrived, and I have not been the same since.
‘Well, whatever the reason,’ Rhett reasons, ‘all I can say is, I doubt I could ever get hard enough in Amélie’s presence to even hate-fuck her.’ My chuckling turns to a belly laugh because I can empathise completely. ‘I don’t know what you’re laughing about. You’re the one whose life is a mess. It’s a fucking joke, man.’
‘I don’t know. I think my life is pretty good.’ Or it will be once I win over Rose. Once I get her to understand that nothing matters beyond her.
