Boxed Set: A Possessive Billionaire - Vol. 1-3: His, Body and Soul Read online

  “Emma, everything alright?”

  “You’re still here?”

  “I went out to buy croissants! I’m going to make you breakfast. Do you need something?”

  “Um, no…thanks.”

  I don’t know what to think anymore. It’s best if I just stop…

  “Are you feeling okay? Drink this, it’ll make you feel better…”

  “There’s nothing you want to say to me?”

  “Not especially. Not right now. Do you want me to lecture you?”

  “No, not right now, actually. But you must really be worried about me if you’re sparing me the criticism you could make about my outfit…”

  He looks at me, laughing.

  “I’ve been holding myself back since you got out of the shower. But now that you mention it…are you planning on competing in some sort of athletic competition after you eat?”

  “That sounds more like you! No, Charles. I just like wearing these sweatpants, that’s all.”

  “Be quiet, please, you have no idea what you’re saying here.”

  “Maybe I was drugged up even more than you thought last night…”

  That sentence was a little too much. The conversation suddenly transforms from playful to serious. Or rather, it ends in an empty silence. I need to do something, otherwise he’s going to walk out like he did before.

  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I wanted to make joke and that obviously went a little too far.”

  He looks at me now as if I just woke him up.

  “I was the one who went too far, I’m sorry.”

  But this whole story intrigues me, I have to find out more. Even if it spoils our first breakfast together.

  “But this François told me that you know each other, that he was a friend of yours…”

  “Everyone knows François in our circle…But nobody wants to be his friend, believe me…”

  “What does he do? For a living, I mean…”

  “Not much, he lives off his fortune. He lives for the next cocktail.”

  “Is he dangerous?”

  “He’s become…I don’t know how it all happened, but he started out as an occasional user, socially perhaps, and now he’s become a real addict. One of the worst types, those who know exactly when to stop but who cause all sorts of trouble along the way. He is extremely manipulative and, I don’t usually say this about people, but actually malicious.”

  “A really bad guy!”

  “Don’t joke around! I’m sure that at some point last night he scared you too! At first he’s a lot of fun and then he shows his true colors.”

  “I can imagine…but he’s never been in trouble with the police?”

  “He has friends in high places, whatever he does, he never has to worry.”

  That was all he had to say. He shut up like a clam. Did I lose him again? He gets up, worried, his head somewhere else.

  “Are you leaving?”

  “I have to go make a phone call.”

  “Ah. I wanted to thank you for saving me last night.”

  “You’re welcome. See you soon.”

  He leaves. It’s strange, he’s just thirty feet away, but I feel like he’s already off in another world. So distant. But when I think about it, I realize we’ve shared a rather unique sort of intimacy since last night: first he saves me from that awful guy, then he watches over me all night long, this morning, we share breakfast, a breakfast that he went out to buy himself. And then, he opened up a little. I guess that he hasn’t told me all that he knows, but it’s already something. If we’re not ‘together’, you’d still have to say that we’re close. Friends, maybe?

  He said ‘see you soon’. What does that really mean? That he’s going to come back and see me later? But when? In an hour? For lunch? Tonight? Is he going to call me? Or is this just a way of saying goodbye when you live in the same building? If we’re friends now, maybe I can stop by his place whenever I want, just to say hi? I need to stop thinking about him all the time. That’s what drove me into the arms of that crazy guy last night. If things are meant to be between us, they’ll happen. That’s all there is to say. Now that these important decisions have been made, I should probably get back to work. Mrs. Granchamps has given me plenty to do. Three weeks to come up with an acceptable subject and hammer out a rough outline. It should be feasible. As long as I can put some serious effort into it.

  19. My own merry-go-round

  My lack of consistency shocks me. And scares me. All he had to do was show up in the doorway with a suggestion, and I forget about all of the goals I had set for myself. At the same time, I’ve been trying to be more spontaneous and ask fewer questions, which is sort of what I’m doing here…

  “How about we get away to somewhere sunny, to help you feel better?”

  How could I possibly refuse? Now, sitting on my bed, I wonder what I should put in my bag. A get-away. I checked, the dictionary doesn’t explain how long this sort of trip lasts, nor what you should pack. Sun. I know what the sun is, but which sun is he talking about? The one in the south of France? Europe? Africa? I imagine that we won’t be going all that far, he has to work and he knows I do too.

  This man thinks of everything! Since he decided that this get-away would be a surprise, he also decided to pack my bag.

  “Just worry about your toiletries, I’ll pack your bag!”

  “Okay,” I say, slightly worried, despite everything.

  I listen to him rummaging through my closet.

  “I should tell you something, Emma…”

  “Yes?”

  “Viscose isn’t a real fabric.”

  I have no response.

  “Nor is fleece.”

  “Duly noted.” I pretend to sulk, just to play along. Really, though, I’m happy to see him having fun, even if it’s at my expense.

  “Are you upset?”

  “More than you can imagine…”

  “Come here…”

  And he kisses me on the mouth. Frankly. Not playing around, not staged, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. My face in his hands, his lips press tenderly against mine. It feels like a blatant statement. I close my eyes and savor the moment. When I open them again, he’s there, looking at me. Intensely.

  “You are truly very beautiful.”

  The next minute, he’s in the elevator with all of our bags.

  “Let’s go, the car’s waiting!”

  The black sedan is waiting for us. I recognize the chauffeur, who greets us with a nod of the head. Charles doesn’t give any orders, the car starts silently. Outside, the sky is grey and the wind blows the leaves relentlessly, but here, in the back of the car, we’re sheltered from the blustery weather. Both of us are silent as we watch the city go by while listening to the radio. It’s a jazz station, and the flow of music is only rarely interrupted by the announcer’s warm voice. I place my hand on the seat, hoping that he’ll take it. It’s the perfect moment. On the sidewalk, two teenagers are walking together, without looking at one another. They’re probably on their way to high school. Just as our car passes by, never to cross their paths again, the young girl turns towards her friend and kisses him full on the lips. This startles me, I’m both surprised and touched, despite myself. It seems like she was waiting for a sign to go for it. ‘The next black car I see, I’m going to kiss him.’ I smile. When I see the next bakery, I’ll take Charles’ hand. I know this neighborhood, if we turn to the right, we’ll pass by a bakery. We turn right, it’s at the end of the street. Just a few more meters and…he takes my hand gently. He smiles while looking outside.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep with his hand in mine. When I wake up, we’re in an airfield. Charles gently strokes my hair.

  “We’re here.”

  A small plane waits for us on the runway. I imagine that it’s what you call a private jet. The interior
is nothing like the other airplanes I’ve been on in my life. There are only four plushy seats separated by a small table.

  “Have a seat. I forgot to ask if you’re afraid of airplanes…”

  “A little.” That’s a lie, of course, but I want him to hold my hand like he did in the car.

  “Do you want something to drink?”

  “Like what?”

  “Generally, in this type of plane, you sip glasses of champagne while counting your millions. But given the night you just had, I’m going to offer you a soda instead. That is, as long as you’re alright with that.”

  “How about a soda in a wine glass?”

  “Emma!”

  I would have imagined that he’d ring a bell for someone to come serve us, but he gets up and finds us a few cans himself. He hands me one without any further ado.

  “You’re disappointed, Emma…You’re getting used to the life of luxury, I see…”

  I blush. Okay, a little, I admit it.

  “We’ll only be flying for two hours. What if you had to spend those two hours with someone in the same room whose only job was to serve us these two sodas? Believe me, it’s rather uncomfortable. For us as well as for them. You’re starting to get temperamental. Do you know what you need now?”

  “Um, no…what?”

  “A good spanking!”

  “Pardon?”

  “You heard me perfectly well.”

  “Are you serious? Are you talking about hitting me, here?” The suffragette inside of me has started to rise from her ashes, outraged.

  “That’s exactly it. I’m talking about laying you out over my knees, taking down your pants and your nasty cotton panties and spanking you as you’ve probably never been spanked before.”

  “And I’m glad I haven’t!”

  “I’m talking about spanking you till your cheeks turn red while I turn you on as you’ve never been turned on before. I’m talking about starting with smart smacks, before my fingers get all carried away. I’m talking about you moaning and begging me for more. I’m talking about making you climax loudly in this plane high up in the sky.”

  “Oh.” He’s got me. I am outraged but my pulse has accelerated despite myself. He was looking me straight in the eyes as he went on with all of this spanking business. He understands the effect this has on me.

  “But you’re not interested. Silly me.”

  He takes a newspaper out of his bag and slowly unfolds it, ostensibly, and starts reading. I don’t think I want to tell him I changed my mind. Even if he might have been able to give me chills, I still have my reservations regarding the method. I mean…spanking, really?

  20. La dolce vita

  When we arrive at our destination, another car waits for us.

  “Signore Delmonte!”

  The accent gives it away, we’re in Italy. I couldn’t have dreamt of a more romantic destination! The car drops us off in a charming town square. I don’t know where we are. It feels like we’re in a film with all of these colored houses.

  There’s a little fishing port in front of us. It’s 5:00 pm, the boats are coming back in a gentle bustle. Terraces, mostly empty, spread out behind us.

  “Emma, welcome to Portofino, the best-kept secret of the jet-set.” My expression betrays my ignorance.

  “France has Saint Tropez, the Italians have Portofino. During high season, it’s crazy. The small port is always full of yachts. Some even line up for days to have the chance to moor here. But I prefer coming in October. The weather is still fantastic and the tourists have all left by then. Life gets back to its regular rhythm. Of course you can still find a palace where you can fulfill your craziest desires, but you can also just go and have a pizza…”

  “It’s really beautiful, I agree, but why is it a special place for the jet-set?”

  “Do you see those craggy rocks? Those mansions hidden in the trees? Portofino is the ideal place to live in peace, far from the chaos of the city. And if you go looking for a nightclub, you won’t find one. It’s hard to get to the city by car. Traditionally, you can only get to this paradise by sea. Portofino is a privilege that…”

  He’s unable to finish his sentence. A tanned, heavyset man comes and embraces him. They start to have a very animated conversation in Italian. I understand a few words, basically that Charles is Carlo here and that the heavyset guy is named Giovanni. They seem very happy to see each other again, and to tell the truth, I don’t think I’ve ever seen Charles so warm with anyone. Outside of my bedroom, I mean. He introduces me to his friend, who whistles in a way that is as rude as it is flattering. Charles looks at me out of the corner of his eye to make sure I take it the right way. I laugh good-naturedly. So much spontaneity, it’s such a change of pace from François du Tertre and the Petrovska sisters. I’m relieved that Charles hangs out with these kinds of people. After a few minutes, Giovanni beckons us to follow him down the port. We wait for a tiny boat in which all three of us can barely fit. I haven’t the slightest idea of what we’re going to be doing. Charles and I sit on a little seat while Giovanni starts the motor and launches into an amazing version of O Sole mio, every once in a while winking at me. Charles acts like he’s offended. It’s charming. We soon arrive at our destination. A magnificent sailboat whose wooden hull reminds me of an Asian junk. The boat is small but the cabin seems rather large. It’s all lit up, we walk down three steps and find ourselves face to face with a real Italian mamma. We go through another round of warm greetings while a delicious smell fills the cockpit. Is this Giovanni’s boat? I don’t understand anything he’s saying. Apparently, Charles wants us all to eat together.

  But the mamma doesn’t agree, she wants to leave him alone with the ragazza (that’s me). Finally, the mamma and Giovanni get back in the boat and head towards Portofino, leaving us in the sailboat that, I now realize, belongs to Charles.

  “We have the place to ourselves tonight, but tomorrow, prepare your stomach, we’ll go eat at Maria’s house with the entire family.”

  “Are you related to Maria and Giovanni?”

  “No. But yes. Actually, as you may have guessed from my name, I have Italian ancestry. My great-grandparents. My grandparents moved to Paris, where they built their fortune, and my father took over their business. We never talked about the Italian side of the family at home. I think my father was ashamed of them – my great-grandfather was a fisherman. He preferred to focus on my mother’s family, who’ve been in banking probably ever since banking began…basically, up until very recently, Delmonte was just an exotic name that I had almost as if by chance.” He talks while stirring the sauce mamma had left on the stove. I’ve never seen him so relaxed. He pours us both a glass of wine and continues.

  “Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, I’ll bet you’ll like this! Anyway, I lived without ever thinking about my Italian origins. And then, four years ago, when…four years ago, I went through a very difficult time in my life. My life had lost its meaning, I was at the point where I didn’t know how I was going to be able to continue living…Elisabeth encouraged me to leave Paris, to go on vacation. I knew a little bit about Portofino, I had passed through it one summer. So I came back here almost out of spite. But in September. I didn’t really know what to do. The cocktail party season was over. I spent my time walking aimlessly through the colorful streets until one day I went into a little museum in the city. The first room was dedicated to the life of fishermen. It was full of old wooden boats, nets, and then some old photos. That’s where I found out about my great-grandfather. I knew that we came from that region but when I saw his craggy face, my spitting image, I had no doubt about the relation I had with Salvatore Delmonte. In three months, it was the first thing that was able to pique my curiosity. I then started doing research in the city. Unfortunately, I discovered that I was the last Delmonte. But during my search, I met Giovanni, who is something like a cousin. We are remotely related, it’s true, but to such a dist
ant degree that I wonder if it wasn’t all made up. But that autumn, I learned how to live again with Giovanni’s help. He took me along fishing, he introduced me to everyone as his cousin. In his mother’s eyes, I was a member of the family. I stayed for three months. When I left, I was a new man.

  When I got back to Paris, I swore that I would always stay in touch with my new family. I bought a boat that Giovanni and his family use when I’m not here, and I come back regularly.”

  While talking, he had boiled the water and started cooking the pasta. I was impressed. It’s not that I find it incredible that a man knows how to cook pasta, it’s just that the Charles I’m getting to know is a thousand times different from the person who I thought he was when I moved into the garret apartment. And I like him more and more.

  “Eat it while it’s hot!”

  It’s delicious. The wine, the sauce, the pasta…all alone on a little yacht in the Mediterranean…I feel like I’m dreaming. I almost forget the sordid events of the last evening. But I’m overcome by a yawn which I try to stifle.

  “You must be tired. You’re lucky, Maria didn’t make any pastries and we don’t need to make any appearances at any parties tonight. You can go to sleep.”

  He takes me by the hand and leads me to the front of the boat. There’s a simple bed there. With white linen sheets and a wool cover. Gently, he undresses me and tucks me in.

  “What about you?”

  “I have some business to take care of. I’ll join you soon.”

  I laugh, knowing that the business he needs to take care of consists of washing the dishes and tidying up the yacht. And before I know it, I’ve slipped off into a deep sleep.

  21. Salt on my lips

  I’m awakened by warm sunshine on my cheek. And then a splash, as if someone just dived into the ocean. I open my eyes, slightly suspicious. Next to me, the bed is warm and empty. So Charles did sleep with me. But he’s not there anymore. I decide to explore the bridge. When I leave the cabin, I’m blinded by the sun. It’s October, but it’s 25 degrees Celsius. It’s so nice, I close my eyes.