Chapter 31
BANE
She needed this.
I glance over at her, grinning when I see her staring wide-eyed at the cliffs dropping dramatically down from the side of the road to the French Riviera.
New York was already turning into a madhouse of media frenzy, and I knew I had to get her away from it: the reporters, the online chatter, the rumor mill already pegging her for that motherfucker Lorenzo’s death.
…Although if she did kill that monster, she should be getting a fucking hero’s parade for it.
But now, in the wake of the gas explosion at the Marchetti house, the constant background noise concerning all things Marchetti has hit a crescendo.
So I’ve removed her from it. If I didn’t, there’s no doubt in my mind that even someone as armored and walled off as her would collapse.
Or explode.
I spent most of the private flight over to Nice on the phone: calling in favors, greasing palms, generally making it okay that I’m taking someone considered a person of interest in a re-opened murder investigation out of the country.
I don't give a shit about that myself, but the whole point is to bring her a measure of peace right now. I don’t need French police breaking down our door trying to extradite her back to New York.
From Nice, it was a short train ride to èze-sur-Mer, where we picked up the vintage Porsche 912—big thanks to Sergey for arranging that. And that's what we're in as we wind up the stunning cliffside roads to the village of èze itself, high above the Mediterranean.
I haven’t told her specifically where we’re going. But I get the impression that she truly doesn’t give a shit, as long as it’s away from the noise back home.
This is definitely away from the noise.
It’s away from everything.
“Holy shit…”
I grin as I pull the car into the small walled compound perched on the edge of the cliffs over the sea below. She stares at the sprawling, ivy-covered stone villa as I shut the engine off.
My parents bought this place before I was born, thinking it would be a family getaway spot. But after Mom died when I was five, Dad and I never came back.
I think for him, there are too many specific memories of her wrapped up in this place.
But I don’t really remember my mother that much.
For me, the place is a way to remind myself of my mother's existence, not sad memories. So as an adult, I’ve started coming here by myself from time to time, as an escape from the world when I need it.
This place is beautiful—an almost castle-like villa sitting high above the white sand and azure-blue water. But I’m not looking at it, or the view.
I’m looking at her.
I’m looking at the way the anxiety melts from her face as she drinks it all in. The way I can almost literally see the weight lifting from her shoulders.
All that shit in New York will be waiting there when we get back, of course. But for however long I can keep her here, it’s just us two.
No noise. No drama. No press shoving microphones in her face after rehearsal. No accusations of murder.
We both need that.
“Bane?”
I blink, realizing I’ve been fucking staring at her as she stands in the open double doorway leading from the living room to the terrace beyond.
She lifts a brow. “Our luggage…?”
It’s not the first time she’s brought up getting on a plane without any luggage. That concern was immediately followed by one about traveling out of the country with all her pending legal shit.
I told her not to worry about either one. When she kept pushing it, I finally told her to bend over my lap.
Which she did, quite eagerly.
Just as eagerly as she took every spank on her ass, her skirt pulled up and her panties pulled down, in fact.
I arranged on the flight to have clothes and anything else we might need sent here. But in the meantime…
“What are we doing for cloth—”
Her voice falters and her eyes widen as I peel off my shirt and toss it aside. My pants are next, then my boxers, before I calmly walk toward her, completely nude.
Fully erect.
I slip my fingers under the waist of her skirt and push it and her panties down off her hips and ass, letting them fall to her feet.
“Any other questions,” I murmur into her lips, wrapping my arms around her.
She shakes her head, and my mouth descends to devour hers.
There’s still so many secrets. The sharp, lingering twinge of dishonesty, piercing my soul as I peel the rest of her clothes off and kiss her until those lips bruise. So many questions.
But right now, none of those matter.
The only thing that matters is her.
Us.
This.