Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
VIVIAN
“I finally got my limited edition in Gris Perle,” a bridesmaid gushes about her handbag. “But I can’t live without my Gris Meyer. The Palladium hardware with that color is to die for and—”
I’m dying.
Kill me now.
My cause of death will be “bludgeoned by a hundred-thousand-dollar handbag.”
The only bag I treasure is my waxed, canvas camera crossbody messenger tote. It was my mom’s. It’s been around the world, and she passed it down to me when I graduated from college.
Smiling, I try to seem interested, politely enjoying my avocado on brioche with smoked salmon. But I wince at another champagne toast to the bride. In exactly five hours, it’ll give me a brain-stabbing headache.
I rarely partake, but these women are determined to day drink. Having met their husbands, I’d need liquid courage to get through their day.
“Oh, I know!” A bridesmaid claps. “Let’s snap pics with our bags at brunch. Viv, would you do the honors?”
Sure. Why not? I LOVE being the Annie Leibovitz of Palm Beach this week. Lifestyle Magazine, eat your heart out.
I knew this would happen as I lift my camera from my beloved bag and go through the motions. Corralling the kaleidoscope of women in chic designer dresses and their rainbow of limited edition and ridiculously expensive bags.
After ten minutes and too many photos, I’m patiently waiting for the artisanal ice cream cart to be presented to our table.
While it’s making its way around the restaurant, my phone chimes in my bag with an unfamiliar tone. I look. The number’s a Charleston area code. Curiosity makes me excuse myself to answer it.
“Hello?”
“Vivian, bonjour.”
My smile for Delphine is instant. “Hey.” I rush to a quiet spot by a tall, potted palm. “Is everything okay?”
“Oauis. The wife. Is she with you?”
“Eric’s wife?” I whisper.
“Yes. I must know if she is on her phone.”
I glance at the bustling table of bags and blonde blow-outs, spotting the lone woman with auburn hair. “No, she’s not on her phone. She’s talking to a friend. Why?”
“I’m jamming their Wi-Fi now. Her security system may send her a notification, but Grant has Eric covered at the golf club. The men do not have their phones. An excuse to ignore their wives. But watch her. I need five minutes.”
“Got it.” I like this. I love breaking the law for a good reason. “Green light. Go.” I don’t even care if it’s to help me or someone else.
I listen to silence on my phone, while I nod, acting like I’m engrossed in a conversation. Pretending it’s Harlow, telling me about her future asshole in-laws. I give a few, “Oh, sweeties,” and “What a dicks” for honest effect.
After mutters of frustrated French, Delphine exclaims, “There it is!”
“A desktop?” My heart races.
“In his office by the front door. Too easy.”
I hear a clamor of cords and plastic. She must be taking the desktop tower right out the door. Fuck, she’s a badass. No wonder Grant is obsessed with her.
Jace said the true meaning of Bratva is “band of brothers,” and I can sense it. But the queens are close as well. And the kings and queens together? They’re invincible.
Alone, I’ve survived, and I’m proud I made it through this past year. I read how many victims of what I’m going through have contemplated taking their lives. I understand. I’ve been there, but now I’m fighting my way back.
Because no one does this alone.
The moment I told Jace—the first person I told—my lonely life changed. I realized there is a way out. That if I ask for help, there are people who care.
Like Delphine, Ruby, Vale, and Nadine.
My god, Jace’s mom reminds me of my mom. There’s something about strong, older women. They’re aspirational asskickers. I want to be like them now, not later.
“Delphine.” I barely whisper, worried for her silence. “Are you okay?”
“Petit à petit, l'oiseau fait son nid.”
“Um… is that good?”
She laughs, all smoky and sweet. “Little by little, a bird makes her nest. You are good. You are almost free.”
I want to cry. I know; as a proud empath, I always want to cry happy or sad tears, and I won’t be ashamed.
“Thank you,” I whisper humbly.
“De rien. Tis nothing. Nadine freed me from my captors, so I free you from yours.”
Delphine had captors? I’m sure I’ll hear so many harrowing stories in time.
“It’s everything, and I owe you.”
“Just love Jace, yes? You do?”
I smile. “More than I’ve been free to show him, but I will. I do. I love him very much.”
I hear a car door dinging before it slams. She’s making her escape. She must be using wireless earbuds to talk to me. “He loves you very much, you know. He has been waiting for you. He is our last lion to claim his love. Please, Vivian, do not hurt him.”
“Never.” I swallow. “I want to be his queen; I just don’t know what I have to do.”
“Il n’y a qu’un bonheur dans la vie, c’est d’aimer et d’être aimé.
” Delphine could be telling me to suck butter off his toes, and I’d do it.
She makes it sound romantic before she translates.
“There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved. So to be his queen? Simple. Let him love you.” Her smoky tone teases. “In every way you desire.”
I understand most of what she’s saying, but the rest sounds like erotic inference.
“Does that way include him and a second king?”
It doesn’t scare me. Honestly, I don’t know this emotion, but it fills me with heat.
“Our kings do not make their queens do anything,” she answers. “They only give us what we want. Do not worry.” She pauses. “Now, I will take this to Nash. We will make sure it has the file, then we will destroy it.”
“Can you, uh…” I turn my back on the crowd. Not that anyone’s paying attention to me whisper with dread. “Can you be the only one to find the file? Like Ruby did with the other one? I… I don’t want another man, particularly another king, seeing the video. I haven’t even told Jace what it is.”
Delphine’s pause is long, like a faraway hug. “Of course. The queens never betray each other. You understand, yes?”
“Yes, and thank you.”
We end the call, and I want to collapse into the potted palm. Relieved. Hopeful. Finally seeing a light at the end of this nightmare tunnel as my phone buzzes in my hand.
It’s probably Delphine again, but when I check the text, it reads:
Big guy
Ladies room
Now
Down a chic, dimly lit hallway with art deco prints, I push open the heavy wooden door to the lavish ladies’ room.
It looks empty.
No one is standing at the floating onyx marble countertop with five sinks and golden swan fixtures. Sleek midnight-blue tiles line the walls that echo when I whisper, “Hello?”
I guess I’m alone.
Why did Jace want me to come in here? Where was he watching me from, anyway?
All week, I’ve caught glimpses of him dressed like a local billionaire. Chic sunglasses for men. Light linen pants. Pastel button-up shirt under a dark-navy jacket.
It’s not his style, but how else could a man his size attempt to blend in?
In the large, narrow room, there are five private stalls, all with their doors yawning open. I hear nothing but ambient music as I gingerly tread past each. They’re pristine and surprisingly large for a restaurant, but this is Palm Beach. Even for billionaires, nature calls.
This is silly.
My heart is racing like I’ve entered the Bates Motel, not a luxurious pit stop in a famous seafood restaurant.
“Jace?” I whisper into the void, gasping as a hand reaches out, yanking me into the fourth stall.
I don’t get my bearings before I’m taken in a kiss so hot against the tile wall. I know who it is by his creamy tongue tasting like banana ice cream, laving over mine with his groan.
Pinning me against the wall, he kicks the stall door closed. With one hand, he seizes my jaw, controlling my lips, taking hungry kisses.
With his other hand?
I pull back, realizing he’s holding an ice cream cone with two pale yellow scoops, licked into a neat column of cream.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper, shocked, smiling, and so damn seduced.
“Eating.” He grins, his tongue shamelessly swirling over the treat. “You.” Holding his cone, he lowers to his knees. “Now, lift your dress and pull your panties aside. Quick. I’m hungry.”
“But, Jace, I…” protest but obey, shimmying up my mini dress. It’s a simple white cotton halter design. “Are you sure?”
He licks his ice cream, gazing up at me before his creamy lips warn, “Vivian, I swear if you don’t let me eat your pussy here, I’ll carry you into that dining room in front of everyone and lay you on a table and fucking feast on what’s made me jerk off, waiting to taste for over a year.
” He drags his zipper down. “Now be a good girl and put your pussy on my face.”
With my dress bunched around my waist, I tug my white cotton panties aside.
My exposure hoods Jace’s eyelids. “Good girl. Now rub your little clit, right in front of my face,” he coaxes. “Tell me what you thought of this morning while you fucked your fingers for me.”
This is so lewd, it’s hot. He’s on his knees, his thighs straining his fine linen pants. His big hand wrestles with his swollen erection until it juts free of his Calvins, all while he licks a creamy cone and watches me play with my pussy for him.
Confessing.
“I thought about how I want you to tie me to the fuck bench on the third floor.” He knows the one at Delta’s. It makes his nostrils flare. “I want you to bind my arms and ankles to it and tease me with toys.”
I circle my fingertip over my excited clit, inches from his nose. He inhales my scent and smirks. “Which toys?”
“The dirtiest ones. The big ones.” I’m getting so wet. “The ones that get my pussy and ass ready to take your huge cock.”
“This cock?” He strokes his terrifying girth. “You think you can take it, Smokeshow?”
“No.” I’m so aroused, I’m honest. “That’s why I’ll be a good girl for you. I’ll let you play with toys in my pussy and ass until I’m ready to take your big dick… Daddy.”