53. Roman
Isabel and I started to settle into a routine. I realized it didn’t matter what your status was in the world; knowing there was someone to go home to at the end of the day was all that mattered. And in the still of the night, when everything else had faded away and I was wrapped in her smell, it was Isabel’s feathery breaths against my chest that sent me into peaceful sleep.
It would all be good, if it not for the goddamn Russian plaguing my mind. My attempts to shut down any and all feelings on the nights Isabel went back to her old life, even if only for a few hours, were in vain. There were thoughts of her dancing with Sergei, that I couldn’t make peace with for the life of me.
It would have been fine had I not seen them in the dancing competition. But I did, and that was a mistake. He was able to give Isabel the one thing I couldn’t, and that was keeping her dream of dancing alive.
Dread would simmer inside me the entire time the nymph was away, and I even looked up the Bolero to see how close it was to that profanely erotic tango I watched them dance. I couldn’t see a close resemblance, but that didn’t soothe my unease. The Russian was still trying to woo what was mine.
At least the nymph returned every night to where she belonged, which was right beside me, in our bed. By the fourth week she’d brought her old quilt with her, and I instinctively knew that meant she was here to stay. It was a quilt her great-grandmother handstitched decades ago, and like Francis the bear, she treasured it and always kept it close.
“One day when I die, it will go to my daughter, and then to her daughter,” she explained. “A bit like your empire passing down from one generation to the next.”
I wondered how to tell her that it wasn’t at all the same. With her bequest came love, and with mine came obligations. Hers held sentimental value, whereas mine held nothing but power and greed. But I said nothing and chose to balance the lack of finer feelings in my background with all the love and comfort Isabel bestowed on me.
In one of our quieter moments after making love, she became curious about my childhood and being surrounded by all this wealth. “I can’t imagine growing up with all this,” she murmured. “Having all those forks to choose from at dinner time. What was it like?”
“Let’s see. I was in boarding school from the age of seven. Keep in mind, that it was the best Swiss private school in the world... My mother died in a car accident with her lover, both intoxicated, when I was four and Byron was two. And even in the four years she’d been alive I never really got to know her, since she showed very little interest in either of us. The only memory I have of her is that she was very beautiful, albeit aloof. I already told you my father wasn’t the warm and fuzzy kind. But I do and always have had a great deal of admiration for the formidable man he is... Emily’s been a wonderful mother, but in the years since coming back from Switzerland, I didn’t always show my appreciation for her kindness and dedication. It took you to make me realize what an unsociable bastard I’ve been, so thank you for that. And what else, oh yes, for my sixteenth birthday I got my own designer signet ring.”
I didn’t even have to lift her face to mine to know this made her sad. “Tell me one thing good, one memory from your childhood that you treasure,” she begged. “I need to know you have one, please.”
And what I was about to say brought a smile to my face, because it was a memory I cherished. One pushed back so far I hadn’t thought about it in years.
“The Christmas before I went to Switzerland, Byron and I received a huge train set from Emily. We spent years building that thing, including every holiday I came back home from school. We were both very dedicated to making that monster set into something to behold. My brother was different back then, and we were close. That’s a very good memory… Now, it’s your turn, what’s a good childhood memory for you?-
“I have nothing but good childhood memories,” she said. “They were all great. Wish I could give you some of mine.”
I was desperate to see her smile. “Well, at least one of us had a functional childhood. Imagine if we were both born with silver spoons in our mouths. That would have been a lot of clanging during sex.”
Predictably, she laughed, that soft raspy laugh of hers that I wanted to follow me into the afterlife. “Where do you find these jokes?” she giggled. “Oh wait, let me guess, another one of your searches on the internet.”
My hand curved around her hip, drawing her closer until she could feel how goddamn hard she was making me again. A surprised little whimper escaped her throat.
“No,” I said, “I made that joke up all by myself, so there. What do you give it…from one to ten. And remember who’s at the helm of your next orgasm, please.”
She giggled some more and coiled against me, her fingers brushing the underside of my cock. “Let’s just say you’re a prince in the boardroom, a king in bed and a pauper on the comedy stage.” And with that veiled compliment she offered me her mouth, which I took without hesitation.
* * *
At 6amI woke to a pressing message about a massive strike looming in Asia, threatening our hotels there. And buried between all the messages about the strike was another message: Richard Ford, chairperson of the board of trustees, asking for an urgent meeting.
For a fleeting moment I fantasized that they’d decided against making me interim chair, but what were the chances of that? As I hurried down the spiral staircase to the office, Isabel called out from the kitchen.
“Bringing you breakfast in ten.”
“Thank you, honey badger. I can’t wait.”
I was surprised at how quickly she adjusted to the insanity called my schedule. She was always working around my itinerary, and constantly keeping me nourished.
The more I told her she really didn’t need to look after me, the more she told me that she was doing it for completely selfish reasons. She needed me healthy and loaded with stamina. I could hardly argue with that, and there was no denying that being pampered by the nymph brought me great joy.
While it could sometimes get hectic in the office, it was a battleground today. There was a tense standoff between me and the Asian board members. They were all for cutting off the workers’ salaries as long as they refused to work. I was of the opinion that every worker who was on strike should still get their full salary and at least be heard.
There was no way to address workers’ issues unless we knew what they were, and refusing people their pay when they had families to feed was not how I wanted to handle this. Of course, that didn’t sit well with the execs. And this meeting wasn’t going to be dissolved until I was satisfied that no drastic action would be taken against the workers on strike. Had the execs forgotten that I was my father’s son?
By late afternoon I had to take a break from the meeting and video-call Richard Ford. “How are you doing, Roman?” he asked in a voice that made the hair on my back stand up. He was never this sociable.
“I’m doing fine, thank you Richard. Just dealing with the Asia strike at the moment. What can I do for you today?”
“Well then let me not waste your time, I’ll be short.” He smiled like he had good news, and a small seed of apprehension sowed itself in my chest. What the fuck was he about to tell me?
“I think we can all agree that your father will not be resuming his role as chairman and president of the board,” he said. “The board members have had a few meetings about this now and the overwhelming consensus is you should be appointed chairman as soon as possible. Being interim chairman is just delaying the inevitable. Our first obligation is to the shareholders, as you know.”
Time slowed to a crawl and my heart sank to the bottom of the deepest ocean, blood pounding in my ears. Because there it was, my biggest fear coming to life. Snarling at me with gnashing fangs.
There was no being the guardian of the trust until my father came back. He was now being shoved aside, making way for me to step into the role I’d been born and raised for. Being interim chairman would have given me time to figure out how to make Isabel part of my life in a way she deserved. In a way we both deserved. Being appointed chairman didn’t give me that luxury. I was now completely fucked.
Richard Ford sensed my trepidation, if not my reasons. “Your father would be proud, Roman. You’re the one we need to lead the trust now.”
Our call had barely finished when my personal phone rang. It was Byron, and my frustration was a volcano on the verge of erupting. There was no time for pleasantries. “Byron…if you’re calling me about the fucking expense account again, I swear I’ll cut you off from the trust altogether. Stop calling me.”
I didn’t even wait for a reply, I simply ended the call, a million synapses firing at once. First I needed to get the strike situation under control, and then figure out what I was going to say to Isabel. And how I was going to say it. There was no margin for error. Just the idea of her not being on board with any of it made my stomach roil.
Sometime during the evening, with very few concessions having been made by the Asian execs, Isabel brought a tray with my dinner. Braised lamb with truffle parmesan French fries and roasted zucchini, half a glass of red wine and a bottle of ice-cold sparkling water.
She was careful to stay out of the board members’ view, but lingered long enough to hear one of the execs criticize my decision about paying the workers. A frown delicately worked itself across her forehead.
Apparently she didn’t like the brash tone he took with me. I blacked out the meeting for a minute. “It’s okay, my sweet. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to lose the argument.”
And then then she tilted her head, studying me. “Roman, are you okay? You’re a little pale.”
I let those words hang there, percolating in the strained air. “Long day. I’m fine. I just want to finish this meeting and be with you.”
She glided up the spiral staircase with a cheerful smile. “Hurry up. I’ll be right there waiting for you. And there will be dessert.”
By the time I made my way into our apartment upstairs, hours later, it was three o’clock in the morning. Moonlight spilled through the windows, painting a layer of tranquility over the king-sized bed where Isabel lay sleeping.
The distant, thundering sound of the North Atlantic seeped inside, filling the void.
The book she’d been reading was still cradled in her hand. I gently removed it and place it on the nightstand. I glanced at the cover. Wuthering Heights. Our nightly ritual now included the nymph reading passages to me, and listening to her voice was balm to my soul after my twelve-hour days.
Sometimes I would talk about my day, and she would curl up in my lap and kiss all my troubles away. And sometimes we’d talk about trivial stuff, things about the world outside of Belmont Manor. The world I suspected Isabel sometimes missed.
A breeze outside triggered swirling shadows to dance around the nymph. I stood at the side of the bed, tempted to just climb in, gather her in my arms and fall asleep. But I also knew I needed to shower first and wash this day off me, and not take all the hostility of the meeting to bed. And I needed to think of ways to stave off becoming chairman of the board.
I’d barely stepped in the shower when I felt Isabel behind me, her hands softly landing on my back. She pushed me down onto the stone shower bench. “You must be tired. Sit, let me wash you,” she said over the waterfall, and I obeyed.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get in earlier,” I said, barely able to keep my eyes open. She gently soaped me up, soothing me.
“You have nothing to apologize for. What you did today was amazing. It would have been easier to go with the decision to cut off the striker’s pay, but tonight you made it possible for them to continue supporting their families. You did good, mon coeur. And I love you for it.”
If I had any energy left I would have lavished this woman with all the love and attention she deserved. And I gave it a valiant effort, running my hand over her breasts and belly before she faintly shook her head. “We have tomorrow and every day after that. Tonight you rest.”
I remember going to bed and Isabel curling up against me, and my last thought lulling me to sleep was that she was the best thing that ever happened to me, and that I was the most fortunate man alive.