Amour Battu: Timeless Love: A series of Standalone novels Book 2

by Mj Fields

  Bass takes her hand and I give him an apologetic smile and tell him, “She’d stress more if she found out and it wasn’t from me.”

  “We both knew, Natasha, I just was hoping you’d come to me, and you did, so now my pregnancy is going to be a lot more worry free.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom, truly. But not about Ines. She’s a bully that needs to be put in her place. Oliver has already explained that it shouldn’t be me who does it.”

  She reaches her free hand over to me. “I’m here, for whatever you need to talk about. I’ll give advice, if you want it.”

  I feel instantly relieved. I look at Bass and he nods.

  “And by the way,” Mom smiles when I look at her, “My first experience with alcohol was also tequila and I threw up as well.”

  I accept the invitation to stay with Mom and Bass at their hotel suite for the night instead of going back to the dorms.

  While Mom and I are curled up on the couch, Bass turns on a movie for us.

  I look up from my sketch pad and at him, “What’s this?”

  “Love Actually.” He sits on the opposite side of mom.

  As the movie plays, I begin to sketch

  When the movie starts, I’m only paying half attention as I begin to draw.

  When Mom sighs, I look away from the page and at her. “Men’s clothing?” she asks.

  I nod and look back at the paper.

  “Aaron Esposito?” she whispers.

  I shake my head. “Maybe ten years from now.”

  “So, who’s wearing this?” she asks, looking at the figure I drew.

  “Maybe Bass?”

  Bass looks over at the pad. “Maybe if I gained thirty pounds of muscle.”

  Mom looks closer at the sketch and I look down. When I notice the ink peeking out from under the cuff, I nonchalantly smudge it with the side of my hand.

  “Mom, I was wondering, if you and Bass would maybe consider Stella for a position at de la Porte. I mean, when she becomes available?”

  “What are her future plans?” Bass asks.

  “To bury her father,” I whisper.

  “I think he means after that, Natasha.” Mom wraps her arm around my shoulder and pulls me into a hug.

  “Do you remember my senior year when they all came to de la Porte?” I ask, pulling my knees up and letting the pad rest on them as I snuggle against her and begin to draw another male figure who doesn’t look suspiciously like Oliver.

  “Yes, it was a day I wish could be forgotten.”

  “And I’m so glad it happened.” I look up at her shocked expression. “It made me stronger and it also showed me who my friends truly are. They stood with me when they could have easily joined the rest of them, or simply looked the other way. They never did. I can’t do that with them either. Ever.”

  “We’ll give her whatever job she wants,” Bass says hurriedly, sighs, then adds, “When she’s ready.”

  When Mom and Bass are in bed, I walk into the bathroom and call Oliver.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  “Hey,” he sighs.

  “So, they signed the papers.” I can’t help but smile.

  “I know, that’s great news.” He sounds a little dejected.

  “You should have been there. At least to see it in person.”

  “I flew into London to check it out before coming here.”

  “Wait, what? Where are you?”

  “With Maisie.”

  “So, you were in London and didn’t think to call me?”

  When he doesn’t answer, I know I shouldn’t have asked.

  “I mean, of course you didn’t have to but,” I pause and he still doesn’t say anything. “Anyway, it’s perfect.”

  “I thought so as well,” he yawns.

  “Well, I was calling to tell you that when the opportunity came up, I told Mom I got drunk.”

  “I thought–”

  “I told her I puked on you.”

  “Jesus,” he huffs.

  “She knows about Celine and I told her about Ines. There was no, um, awkwardness.”

  Except for this conversation, I think.

  “So, she knows I brought you to my hotel room, partially undressed you, and you stayed the night?”

  “Um, noooo,” I whisper as my face feels like it’s beginning to burn.

  “Why not? You already told her I was there,” he huffs.

  “Because that’s,” I pause. “Are you mad?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then why are you being short with me? You’re the one who suggested–”

  “When will you tell her I’m playing boyfriend because her friend decided to put me in the middle of that, too?”

  He’s mad, which makes me a bit angry as well. “I was thinking maybe the day after… never. Look, I get that you’re upset, but I had the opportunity and I took it.”

  “It’s fine, Natasha.”

  “Then why are you being short with me?”

  “I have a lot going on.”

  “You get grumpy when you’re tired. When’s the last time you slept?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he sighs.

  “I know you slept Sunday night, because you snore.”

  “Like hell I do. And you wouldn’t know if I did, you were so fucked you drooled all over my…” He stops before saying chest and I laugh.

  He sighs, “Is that all?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Have fun in New York.”

  “Tell Maisie I’m sorry I couldn’t come this weekend?”

  “I will,” he whispers.

  Again silence. This time he breaks it, “Anything else?”

  “Yeah, I’m offended you were in London and didn’t, at the very least, text.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because before playing the role of fake boyfriend, and before I embraced the part and proved I could give an Emmy winning performance of needy fake girlfriend, you were my friend.”

  30

  Oliver

  Sitting next to Maisie in the car at the air field, we watch the plane land.

  “That’s not the plane we flew in on.” She leans closer to the window.

  “Nope, Bass and Angela traded two in for one.”

  She squeezes my hand. “Smart business move.”

  I hate that she’s diminishing in front of our eyes, that she’s forgetting conversations we’ve had before. Conversations like this one, that we had, this morning.

  “So, Natasha’s going to see her friends in the city?” I nod and am glad she can keep our names and whereabouts straight. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure, Maisie.” I get out and walk around to the back of the SUV to grab her wheelchair.

  When I wheel it around, she’s already opened the door and is about to step out. “Maisie, hold up.”

  Once she’s in the chair, I pull the blanket out of the car and set it on her lap. “It’s cold out, Maisie. Let’s keep you warm, shall we?”

  “At my age, a blanket keeps you warm. At your age, it should be someone you love. When are we going to work on that, Oliver?”

  “How about the day after never?” She laughs out loud and I realize I just used Natasha’s words from last night. “Bass and Angela seem to be doing well, huh?”

  “They’re deeply in love.”

  “I can’t wait to see it happen to you.”

  “Was in love with my country, Maisie, still am.”

  Thankfully, she’s happy watching the plane land and lets the conversation fade away.

  The plane comes to a stop and a fuel truck heads towards us to fuel it up for the trip overseas.

  I hate that she’ll be there alone, almost as much as I hate that I can’t order Celine to go, because now Angela and Bass know, and apparently, they feel she’s safe there.

  I’m not to fucking convinced, but I also know because of all the time I have spent with her, I’m not thinking rationally either. She thinks she’d get an Emmy
for fake jealous girlfriend, I’d take home the Oscar for jealous fake boyfriend, if she only fucking knew.

  When the doors open, I see Bass coming out first, when he leans back in, I see Natasha walk out and quickly down the stairs.

  “There she is, the next Schiaparelli.” Maisie clasps her hands over her heart.

  “Who?” I ask, forcing myself to look away from Natasha.

  “Schiaparelli,” Maisie repeats and smiles as Natasha bends down and hugs her.

  “Again, who is that?”

  “Coco Chanel’s biggest rival. An Italian designer.” Natasha smiles as she closes her eyes and hugs Maisie. “World War Two, both lost their fashion houses. Schiaparelli closed up shop and moved back to Italy and continued. Coco, well, she had to hide out because of her ties to the Nazi régime.

  Holding Maisie’s hand, Natasha stands to her full five foot five and looks at me. “Hi.”

  I pull my aviators down, because I know damn well I can’t not eye fuck her and then nod, “Hey.”

  They all chat for what seems like seconds before Natasha boards the plane to go see her friends.

  After putting Maisie’s wheelchair back in the SUV, I shoot her a text.

  -Safe travels and be safe, Natasha.

  Her response is immediate.

  -Thank you, my friend, for bringing her today.

  She texted me when she landed, at the same time that she texted her mother. I knew this because we were sitting across the dinner table from one another when Angela told Bass and Maisie, she had made it safely, and Autumn was picking her up.

  Fucking Autumn, she owes me more than she knows.

  Her little attempt at saving Natasha from embarrassment gave my attempt at avoiding her a fucking excuse to do the opposite.

  Half of me wants to curse her out while the other half wants to high five her. And there’s me again, riding the line.

  Long after Maisie has fallen asleep, I’m sitting next to her bed, holding her hand as if it’s an anchor to sanity and praying, yes, praying, she has enough time left to welcome Bass’s child into this world.

  I’m exhausted, haven’t slept more than two hours a night since the flight back to the US, after leaving Natasha.

  I look up when Bass walks in the room. He whispers, “You want to come out and go over some things with Ang and I?”

  No, is what I think, but I stand, kiss Maisie on the cheek and nod to the door.

  Inside the conservatory turned studio, I see five pieces hanging that weren’t here before. “Are those new?”

  Angela smiles and nods. “Natasha needs to give her final approval, but yes, these are hers.”

  I walk to the table and sit across from Angela and Bass.

  “Ang and I are thinking about launching via social media and our website.”

  “No runway show?”

  She answers, “With Ines already showing her teeth, we think it’s best.”

  “And how does Natasha feel?”

  Angela looks at me oddly but answers, “I’m sure she’ll agree. She’s busy with school, and now the London storefront–”

  “She’s a very talented, brand new designer. Doesn’t she deserve–”

  She interrupts me, “I think it’s best. I think my daughter’s well-being and safety are more important that any runway show.”

  The rest of the time I sit and listen to their plan while biting my tongue.

  One week from today, they plan to virtually open the closet door in New York and Paris, and invite top fashion magazine editors to the Paris house to do so.

  “Needs to happen now, Natasha needs a break and she won’t take one until this launch happens. So, the board meeting, we’ll video in and announce the launch, and then you’ll need to crack the whip in New York.

  “Does Natasha know?”

  “The reason we decided this was because she’s going to New York to tell her friends. We’d rather get everyone else up to speed before it gets leaked.”

  “Do you think maybe she should be part of the presentation?”

  I know I’m overstepping like a motherfucker, but she deserves all the recognition there is.

  “She’ll be at school,” Angela reminds me. “But maybe.” She stops and smiles, her smile reminds me of Natasha’s right before she says something incredibly sweet. “If we hold the meeting at ten in the morning instead of eight–-”

  “We’ll interfere with someone’s schedule,” Bass gasps in jest.

  “If my little girl can work her ass off all week at school, and here on the weekends, those men can put in an extra few hours.”

  After spending an hour taking photos of Natasha’s pieces and e-mailing them to Angela, we’re in front of a computer where Angela pulls up a file with pictures of Natasha working with her team here the past two weekends, along with a couple selfies of her in her dorm, holding up a sketch pad smiling from ear to ear.

  “Did you plan this without telling me, Ang?”

  “This is part of my daughter’s life, I have a book for every year of her life.”

  Bass leans over and kisses her cheek. “I’d love to see what you looked like holding her when she was a baby.”

  She laughs, not looking away from the computer. “Good luck finding those.”

  “You get rid of them all?” Bass asks. “Because if you think for a minute, I’ll let you destroy any pictures I take because you don’t like your hair or–”

  “Everyone knows it’s the mom who takes all the pictures.”

  “I’ve been taking pictures of you since the day we met. Do you really think that’s going to change?”

  She looks over at him and smiles, shaking her head a bit.

  I’m so happy he found someone to love and to love him back. And like always, I am reminded of the differences between Bass and I, and even more important, why I can never cross that line I ride and betray his trust, or jeopardize his happiness.

  As I lie in bed that night, I can’t sleep knowing we’ve crossed oceans in opposite directions. Knowing she’s in New York.

  I turn on the fucking song she tortured me with and will it to draw my mind blank, but it just intensifies my need to get the hell out of here.

  After three hours of dozing in and out of sleep, I decide to see when I could catch a flight back to New York. I book the six am flight.

  I throw my shit in my bag, take a shower, dress, and head down to see Maisie, who I assume is sleeping.

  She’s not.

  When I tell her I have to leave to get some things done in New York for Monday, she grins and says, “I wouldn’t want to keep you from her.”

  Goddamn, am I that obvious?

  “From who?”

  Her brown eyes search mine and her frail hand cups my cheek. “Lady Liberty, dear.”

  As I’m standing at the kitchen counter writing a note thanking Ang and Bass once again for their hospitality and telling them I needed more time to prepare for Monday, I hear Angela gasp.

  I turn and see her hand over her chest.

  “I apologize for startled you.”

  “Just didn’t expect anyone up at four in the morning,” she sighs. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah.” I point to the note. “Just decided to head back a day sooner to get things done.”

  “Are you dating anyone?”

  The way it flies out of her mouth, the regret that crosses her face, makes this awkward as hell.

  “Really haven’t had time.”

  “Since?”

  “Been awhile, Angela, but with all due respect, I honestly have no desire to have this conversation.”

  “You’re spending a lot of time with my little girl.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and lean back against the counter. “Here and on the plane.”

  “And at the bar.” she adds and stands taller.

  “Where your daughter was with friends, drinking, and I was meeting an associate.”

  “Celine.”

  I nod.

 
“Who you hired for secur-ing.”

  Fucking Autumn.

  “Security happens to be a specialty of mine. Since I work for Bass, and now you, I thought I’d throw that in for free.”

  Her stance stiffens.

  “My daughter is a,” she pauses and scratches behind her ear. “Not had a lot of friends.”

  “I get that.”

  “She seems to like you.”

  “And that’s an issue for you?”

  She shrugs one shoulder. “Not yet.”

  “But?”

  “She’s an amazing human being. She’s finally in a place where she can smile. If anyone, and I mean anyone, hurts her.” She stops.

  I get what she’s saying, but fuck if I’ll tell her that. It would be like admitting I have an interest in her, which I’d never say, because it can never be. “That’s why Celine is there, Angela.” I turn and sign the note, hoping that’s the end of the conversation.

  “And Autumn’s in New York.”

  It’s not, but it will be.

  “And Autumn’s in New York,” I repeat her words so she knows I heard them.

  While sitting at my desk, I read over the messages shared between Natasha and I and decide enough is enough and delete them.

  I stand and walk around the office, coming to a stall at the window overlooking the city.

  There are more than eight and a half million people in this city. Chances are, half are female. And yet, I want what I can’t have.

  It’s been over two years since I’ve had sex. Two fucking years, because I saw her, a girl who looked like Grace. And for two years I haven’t even given a fuck until right now when I realize how pathetic it is.

  Sitting at the bar just a couple blocks away from de la Porte, I toss back my fourth shot of Jameson, hoping it will take the fucking ache from my chest and loosen the knot in my stomach.

  I turn the bar stool around as I let out a breath and look around for something in the sea of nameless, faceless bodies on the dance floor that will dull the ache I feel.