Chapter 18 #2
“Well….” He exhales as if searching for the words. “I know his friends. There’s like six or seven of them. They play in a prestigious Monte Carlo polo team called the Kingsmen and the name stuck, so now everyone calls them that.”
“Who are his friends?” I ask, interested.
“Let’s see, there’s Alexander York and Nicholas Anastas, Sinclair Montague, um, Jacques Vermont and Prince Theodore Chapelle.”
“How do you know them?”
“We have run in the same circles for years.”
“You run in the same circles as the Prince of Monaco?” I frown.
He gives a playful shrug.
“Oh my god.” My mouth falls open as I do the math. “You see women that they know?”
“One woman that they know.”
“Do they know what you do?” I ask.
“I’m assuming they will soon now that Prescott knows.”
“Oh crap, I’ve ruined everything, haven’t I?”
“Not at all.” He puts his hand over mine. “All I’m saying is to be careful. From what I hear, Edward Prescott is ruthless and will stop at nothing to get what he wants.”
“I’m getting the gist of that, but the thing is he hasn’t made an effort to get me.
Sexual innuendo and flirting, sure, but there has been no effort to sweep me off my feet at all.
It’s like I’m a big game to him, just because we slept together in the past he now has the right to treat me however he wants.
” I sigh, I glance over to the guards and one of them points at Thomas’s hand on mine and I snap my hand back like it’s on fire.
“This is ridiculous.” I think for a moment about what else I want to know. “Does he cheat, is Edward a cheater?” I ask. “Because I really hate cheaters.”
“I don’t know.” He catches his bottom lip with his teeth.
“I know women throw themselves at all of them and in the past they have been major players. Nicholas is gay and was married but his husband, Pierre, died in a skiing accident. His husband was a super-wealthy local and that’s how he met the others.
” He frowns as if remembering something.
“Actually, come to think of it, isn’t Edward going out with Princess Hermione? ”
“He was.”
“They broke up?”
“Yes.”
“Because of you?” His eyes widen.
“I don’t know.”
“How did he know you were in Paris?”
“I told him I was coming.”
“So he followed you here?”
“I don’t think so. I thought he came here to meet Nel, a woman he works with, but now that he’s on a date with someone else I have no idea what’s going on.”
“Here you are.” The waitress puts our meals down on the table in front of us.
“Merci.”
We eat in silence for a while. “So what are you going to do?” he asks.
“I need to forget him. I know he’s bad for me.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because my heart is not safe. I have no defenses against him. If he broke me I wouldn’t recover because I am totally and utterly….”
“In love?”
I shrug as I try to articulate my thoughts. “In lust, in denial, in a fatal fucking attraction movie. I know I just need to forget him once and for all.”
“Somehow I don’t think you’re going to be able to do that.”
I exhale heavily. “What would you do if you were me?”
“Run headfirst into the fire.” He gives me a sad smile.
“Why?”
“Because what I wouldn’t give to feel like that about someone.”
“Even if you knew it was going to end badly?”
“It’s better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you’re a hopeless romantic, Mr. Thomas Stone?”
“Maybe in another life.” He smiles as he takes a bite of food off his fork. “This one’s too fun as it is.”
An hour and a half later we walk back to the hotel with the guards trailing behind, it’s been the weirdest night, they haven’t tried to hide from us and only once interacted with me when Thomas put his hand on mine.
But other than that they are just loitering around.
We get to the corner opposite the hotel and we stop on the spot.
“I….” He looks over to the hotel. “I would offer to come in…but.”
“Of course.” I smile. “Thanks for being a great listener.”
“Anytime.” He smiles back. “So lunch next week?”
“I’d love to. Call me.”
“Okay.” He kisses my cheek.
“Move along,” a stern voice says from behind us.
“Yeah, yeah,” Thomas scoffs. “Bye, Alora. Good luck.” He turns and walks off down the street and I turn and scowl at the men. “We’re just friends. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Just doing our job, madam.” He shrugs as he gestures to the hotel. “This way.”
Great, now I’m being told to go to bed…. While Edward is off on his date.
I look left and then right, maybe I should just run for it and go and stay in another hotel for the night. But then my things are inside and I have to find another hotel at this hour, ugh it’s not even worth the drama.
I trudge across the road and walk into the foyer and get into the elevator. The doors close and I stare straight ahead. Thomas is right, this isn’t a healthy situation. Edward Prescott can bring nothing to me that would enhance my life; so far all he’s done is decimate it.
I need to forget him.
The crack of light through the drapes has moved all the way across the bedroom. Ticking every moment of time with it along the way. The night has been long.
I haven’t heard from Edward, not that I expected to I guess.
I never do.
He spent the night with Colette no doubt, while I lay here like a pathetic fool.
I’m too old for this crap, when I get out of bed tomorrow, which is actually very soon, I vow to never think of Edward Prescott again.
A day in Paris heals all wounds, it’s true what they say.
The warmth of the late-afternoon sun kisses my skin as I amble through the Parisian markets. I sip my hot chocolate as I look at all the stalls. I always drink hot chocolate when I’m here, but I never seem to drink it anywhere else.
Bizarre.
“Alora.” I hear a voice and turn.
“Pascal,” I say, surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here for the weekend. Came to see some friends, I’m staying at the Zavier.”
“You’re staying at the Zavier?” I frown. “That’s where I’m staying.”
“Really?” He smiles. “What a coincidence.”
“It is. How have you been?” I ask.
“I’m okay, you?”
“Getting there.” He falls in to walk along beside me.
Shit.
EDWARD
The Rolls-Royce comes to a stop and my driver opens the car door; cameras click as I climb out. “Mr. Prescott, you must be so proud of this event,” someone calls.
“I am.” I nod. My phone beeps with a text in my pocket and I quickly glance at it, a message from Philippe.
Philippe
Look who’s here.
An image of Alora talking to someone comes through and I frown as I stare at it.
Pascal.
The fuck is he doing in Paris?
“A photo, sir?”
“Of course.” I glance up and do up my black suit jacket and straighten my bow tie and stop on the bottom stair so they can get their shot.
“Thank you, sir.”
I nod and make my way into the foyer.
“Late to your own party, I see,” a familiar voice says. I smile and turn to see Theo standing by the door.
“Wish I wasn’t even here,” I mutter as I shake his hand. “The worst host in history.” He smiles. “Always so accommodating.”
“Fuck off,” I mutter under my breath.
Theodore Chapelle, also known as the Crown Prince of Monaco, who moonlights as one of my best friends.
“Where’s Sinclair?”
“Already inside.”
I straighten my cufflinks as we walk through the grand foyer, my mind a clusterfuck of fury.
What the hell is Pascal doing in Paris?
Was this planned?
I’ve had no sleep, spent the entire night pacing while trying to stop myself from going to Alora’s room and then had to return to Monaco first thing this morning to come to this stupid event, now to find out that she’s in Paris with her ex…my blood is boiling.
I drag my hand through my hair to try and regain my composure.
“You hungover?” Theo asks as we take the stairs.
“No, why?”
“You look like shit.”
My eyes flick over to him as we continue up the stairs to the top. “Looked in the mirror lately?”
He chuckles and then looks over and winces.
“What?” I follow his line of sight.
Fuck.
I take a drink off a passing tray and dart to the left and hopefully out of sight. Theo follows me.
“I didn’t know the king was coming?”
“Neither did I.” I feel my stress levels rise another ten notches. Hermione’s father is here, Volter the King of Switzerland.
“You’d be pretty high on his hit list right now, I’m imagining,” Theo whispers as he cranes his neck to look his way.
“There you are,” Nicholas says as he comes down the corridor. “Stay out of the ballroom.” He shakes my hand. “Slight problem.” And here’s another of my best friends, Nicholas Anastas.
“What’s that?” I glance around, I’m not worried about a slight problem in the ballroom, I have a major fucking problem in Paris.
I just want five minutes’ peace to call Philippe and see what the hell is going on.
“Oh…fuck.” He spins toward me and widens his eyes. “Here it comes.”
“Here he is.” Sinclair appears out of the ballroom with Hermione on his arm. “I told you I’d find him.”
“Oh, thank you.” Hermione smiles up at me before reaching up and kissing my cheek. “I’ve missed you, darling.”
I glare at Sinclair and he smirks and winks.
Fuck. You.
This particular best friend has no greater joy than winding us up.
The smart-ass of all fucking smart-asses.
Sinclair is the owner of a tech start-up, his family were the original owners of Formula One Racing.
The thing about living in Monaco is, the friends I keep are all as wealthy as I am.
A tax-free country definitely has its advantages.
We met as teenagers; our families had superyachts at the marina here in Monte Carlo.
We were around the same age and started hanging out together during vacation, little did I know back then that one day we would all end up living here full-time and they would become the best friends I could ever ask for.
Eccentric assholes.