Chapter 10 #2
Not even the man that I love, and how is that fair?
Why would I be reminded of an attraction so substantial in my life that it changed my DNA. What kind of person am I…feeling like that about another man when I’m with someone so wonderful?
The lump in my throat hurts and the salty hot tears run down my face and drip into my ears.
In the darkness, beside him, I cry alone.
The bed dips as Pascal climbs out and I inhale deeply with my eyes still closed.
Hell, what a night. I feel like I haven’t slept at all.
He pulls his pants on at the end of the bed and I lean up onto my elbows. “What are you doing?”
“I have to go.”
“Where to?”
“Work.”
“It’s Sunday.” I frown. “I thought we were going out for breakfast this morning?”
“Sorry, something’s come up.” He leans down and kisses me quickly. “Call you later.” But before I even have a chance to reply, he’s disappeared down the stairs and gone. I hear the door click as he leaves.
I flop back down and put my hands over my eyes. “Shit.” Guilt is the worst feeling in the world. Pascal knows we kissed; he has to. That’s the only logical explanation for the way he’s acting.
Why did I fucking kiss him, this is not who I am.
My god.
I stare up at the ceiling for a long time, my body too tired to get up and my mind too panicked to sleep.
Forget it.
Forget everything about Edward Prescott, nothing good can come of thinking about him.
Finally I drag myself to the shower. If I’m not going to sleep or relax I may as well make use of myself and go grocery shopping.
I make my bed as I talk out loud to myself, “It’s fine…
this whole situation is fine, it’s just a speed bump.
It was a shock to see him, that’s all. I was surprised and overwhelmed and it will never happen again.
I have a wonderful life and a beautiful boyfriend.
” I punch the cushions on my bed to get them in the right shape. I punch them again for good measure.
“Everything is going to be just fine.”
When someone else lies to you, you get angry, but when you lie to yourself you’re actually just an idiot.
It’s 4 p.m. and I haven’t heard from Pascal all day, which is weird…actually, not weird, it’s a disaster, because he calls me and tells me every little detail of his day all of the time. The fact that it’s Sunday, which is our day together, only confirms what I suspect.
He knows, and I’m totally fucking screwed.
A whorebag of epic proportions and to make matters worse all I can do is think about Edward fucking Prescott, it’s taken every ounce of my strength not to google him today. But all that’s going to prove is that I’m an actual asshole.
I dial Pascal’s number. Ring, ring…ring, ring.
“Bonjour,” he answers.
My heart sinks, he had his phone on him but didn’t call me. “Hi. Where are you?”
“Just leaving work now.”
“Are you coming over?”
He exhales. “Ummm.”
“Do you want to go out for dinner.” I cut him off. “I think we need to talk.”
“We do, that’s a good idea.”
My eyes widen, oh my god…he does know.
“Okay,” I reply. “Will you pick me up?”
“About seven.”
“See you then.”
“Yep.” He hangs up without saying another word.
Without a thought, I do what I said I wasn’t going to do. I google:
Who is Edward Prescott?
Viscount Edward Prescott is the CEO of Prescott Holdings with an estimated personal worth of 32 billion dollars. The heir to the largest portfolio of casinos in the world.
“Viscount.” My eyes widen. “What the hell, he has a title?” I read on….
Known for his striking good looks and sharp wit, he pulls no punches in the workplace and is known for his exceptionally high standards, which are noted to be impossible to uphold.
I read down the article until I get to the part that I’m looking for.
Personal life:
His father, Harold Prescott, is the Earl of Nottingham, his mother Angelique Prescott died in a tragic car accident many years ago. He has two siblings, Lady Charlotte Prescott Jones and Sir William Prescott.
Stringently guarding his privacy, very little is known about Edward Prescott’s personal life. Although it is believed that after a string of failed relationships in his twenties he has become somewhat of a recluse over the last six years, preferring to focus on his career and his family.
Hmm, I frown as I keep reading another heading.
Viscount Edward Prescott spotted on luxury yacht with Princess Hermione….
She’s a fucking princess?
Oh hell, this is a disaster…I read on.
Princess Hermione of Switzerland has been spotted on the luxury superyacht of Edward Prescott, CEO of Prescott Holdings. No statement has been issued by either party.
I click on the images to see the beautiful blond woman lying on the deck of the yacht in a white string bikini.
Edward is lying beside her propped up on his elbow with his hand on her stomach.
He’s wearing sunglasses and is smiling down at her all gorgeous like.
I click through the photos, one of them sunbathing, then another of them kissing in the ocean.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I go through the images, there’s one of them walking off the yacht on a gangplank with security guards trailing behind them, she’s dressed in a sexy evening dress with stilettos, he’s wearing a linen shirt with the top buttons undone and casual linen pants that are rolled up on the bottom, he looks all just fucked and casually sexy.
I imagine them on an exotic date in Monaco or Saint-Tropez.
Ugh, she’s even more beautiful in person if that’s possible.
“When was this?” I click on the date…. “Eight months ago.” I twist my lips as I go back through the photos, they’ve been together a while then.
I type into Google:
Princess Hermione of Switzerland
A barrage of images comes up and damn it, this woman is perfect. Thick long blond hair and the perfect figure. Blue eyes…. Dimples and white teeth. Bodyguards.
Ugh…. Sickening.
I lie on the couch and stare at the images for a while as my mind goes into a million scenarios of his life and my life and all the things that I shouldn’t be thinking.
If I were single and he were single…. What would happen?
Nothing, you’re not!
And he’s dating a fucking princess…. Of course he is.
I click out of it and throw my phone down in disgust, I need to get a hold of myself.
This is stupidly stupid.
Tarte Mison is my favorite restaurant, it’s romantic, the cocktails are perfect and the food is the best in France, and I don’t know what I was thinking coming here tonight. Will it still be my favorite restaurant when I get dumped in it by my boyfriend for kissing another man?
Probably not….
I sip my wine and smile over at Pascal; he’s not talking again and I know for certain he’s waiting for me to tell him.
“So….” I try to broach the subject. “You’ve been very quiet since the auction.”
“Yep.” He sips his wine and rolls his lips as if annoyed.
“And….” Fuck. “I….” My god, how do I say this? “You’re angry that Edward won the auction of my prize?”
“No.” His eyes hold mine.
I take a huge gulp of my wine.
“I’m angry because he told me that he’s going to fuck you so deep and so hard that you won’t remember my name.”
What?
I snort my wine up my nose and cough. “Excuse me?” I splutter as I spiral into a coughing fit. He sits still, watching me, void of any empathy of me choking to death before his eyes.
“What are you talking about?” I squeak.
“When you went to the bathroom last night I went to see him.”
Edward told him…. This is worse than I first thought, much worse. My lungs convulse in protest to the wine that has gone down the wrong pipe. “Why?” I splutter and cough as I beat my chest. “I might die here, you know?”
“I wanted to thank him for the kind donation.”
The server approaches us. “Are you okay ma’am?”
“Yes.” I throw Pascal a dirty look. “Thank you for your concern.” I take a sip of water and finally my lungs begin to calm down. “Wait a moment, I’m confused. I don’t understand what you mean,” I reply. “He said he was going to fuck me?” I ask.
“Until you don’t remember my name.”
Something about Edward announcing that to Pascal is just so like him and so bastardish that it brings an unwelcome hit to my funny bone.
Arrogant asshole.
I roll my lips to hide my smirk
“You think this is funny?” he snaps.
“No,” I stammer. “It’s just….” I shake my head in disbelief. “He said this to you at the table in front of everyone? He has a girlfriend, Pascal, are you sure you heard him right?”
“No, we went outside to talk in private and ended up going upstairs to the library.”
“The library?” I squeak. Oh fuck me dead…the same library we kissed in only an hour before.
There’s no doubt about it, I’m going straight to hell on the slut bus.
“I….” I shrug. “I don’t know what to say. He’s not normally like that, I’m lost for words.”
“I know this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.” He sips his wine casually.
It may have a little bit to do with me.
I need to forget about the other night, telling Pascal what happened is only going to break us up and truth be told, Edward doesn’t even care. This is just a game to him. He’s not worth it.
“Look.” I take Pascal’s hand over the table. “Edward Prescott has nothing to do with us.”
He gives me a stifled smile.
“He only said that to upset you.”
“It worked.”
“I’m sorry.” I give him a sad smile. “Can we just put the auction and Edward Prescott out of our minds and concentrate on each other, please?”
“I’d like that.” He smiles as he squeezes my hand in his.
The server comes back over. “Are you ready to order?”
“Sorry, yes.” I open my menu; I stare at the choices but the words are blurred.
He’s going to fuck you so deep and so hard that you won’t remember my name.
I feel overly heated as the image plays out in my mind.
Dear lord….
MONDAY MORNING.
My bicycle bounces as I mount the curb. “Morning, Franck.”
“Morning, Alora. Beautiful day.”
“It is.” I dismount and walk my bike around to the side of my shop and tie it up.
I’m a little late today, Pascal and I had wonderful makeup sex all night and everything is rosy again.
I push the heavy door open and the bell rings to announce my arrival.
“Hi, Jonty.” I smile.
“Bonjour, Alora.” He passes me a cup of coffee and widens his eyes. “The auction was successful?”
“It was.” I walk to my office and stop on the spot at the door.
Big blue eyes meet mine. “You’re late,” Edward growls.