“Thank you, Julia. I love your dress too. I have a lot of fit-and-flare dresses at home. They are my favorites.”
“Indeed, they look great on you.”
While Margaret invites everyone to move to the grand salon, I wonder who the three women are left standing behind in the hallway in uniform. The first one holds the hands of two teens maybe twelve-to-fourteen years old, the second one is holding hands with two younger girls between six and ten years old, and the last one carries a small baby and has a toddler. They go upstairs and discreetly vanish into a room.
“Julia’s governess and two nannies,” murmurs Alex as he catches me staring.
“You mean those three ladies work for Julia?”
“Yep, the others had already arrived.”
“So, wait… You are telling me those six kids belong to her?”
Alex chuckles. “Margaret has twelve grandchildren. So imagine having them all here among us. It’d be quite chaotic.”
I’m doing the math, but it seems like quite a lot of children in the family. Or at least to me, growing up alone with no siblings, just like Emma. “Indeed, a bit chaotic.”
“Ms. Van Gatt?” calls one of the staff.
“Yes?”
“Lady Margaret would like to see you in the Picasso room. May I escort you?”
“You have a Picasso in your house?”
“You should go. It will be like heaven on earth for you.”
As I follow Clarissa down the long corridor, I look up at the walls and wonder who these people in the gold-framed portraits are. Are they all ancestors and family members? Does Alex also have a classical oil portrait of himself hanging on a wall somewhere?
Clarissa knocks on the door and, after hearing an approval, opens it, invites me inside, and closes it behind me.
“Ah, Petra. I’m glad you are here. Alexander told me you love art, so I thought this might interest you.”
“Wow.” I gape as I take in my surroundings. The room features not only modern artwork on the walls but also abstract sculptures in the center. “Indeed, this place is amazing.” My eyes roam around the room until they stop at the Picasso painting on my left. Shit, I also see a Monet! Unbelievable! I have always admired these artists, but have never seen any of their work in such a private collection. “I hope you’ve got a lot of security for these paintings.”
“Don’t worry, we manage.”
A housemaid enters, setting a silver tray down on the low glass table and removing the tea set of Chinese porcelain with a hand-painted motif. I notice that there’s only one teacup. “Do you want sugar or milk in your tea, Ms. Van Gatt?” she asks.
“Just tea is fine.”
She pours the tea into my cup and hands it to me.
“Thank you.” I take a first sip and smile—jasmine tea.
She nods and leaves, closing the door behind her.
“Can I tell you something?” asks Margaret as she sits on one of the sofas facing the low table.
I stop looking around and sit down in front of her.
“Sure.”
A whiskey in hand, she takes a sip with a pensive look on her face that transforms into a sly smile. “My son doesn’t like what he can fully tame,” Margaret declares confidently. I, still in shock, wonder if it’s a hint. “All the women in his past were determined to please him, no matter how old, how rich, how beautiful they were. After being with him for a while, they’d just do whatever he asked them to do and be whatever he wanted them to be. He has never truly respected one enough to settle down with.”
“I know,” I admit. “He’s a heartbreaker…”
“Indeed, and a master at it. But with you…” She pauses. “I have never seen him so vulnerable, so soft, so tender…” I blush and lower my gaze. “It looks like you have been taming him as well. I hope you’ll never change.”
I instantly gasp at her words. Why would I tame anyone? I don’t understand what she means. “I don’t tame anyone, Mrs. Van Dieren. I think Alexander just likes the way I am.”
“You may call me Margaret, Petra,” she corrects me again. “And you will soon enough, believe me.” She takes a deep breath in then exhales slowly. “Do you really want to marry him?”
My heart starts racing nervously. I’m still not used to such directness. “I do.”
“You know… Alexander is not a simple man, Petra,” she warns. “He’s been raised with centuries-old traditions, customs, rules, values, and principles that we observe and follow strictly.”
“Like the table thing?” Margaret raises an eyebrow. “I mean, that I have to ask permission to leave the table, unless he stands up first?”
“Yes, that is one of them. If you become his wife, you become part of this family, and therefore you’ll also have to observe and follow these customs.”
Fuck! My heartbeat is pounding faster and louder with every word out of her mouth. Suddenly, I recall the argument with Mom just yesterday, and her harsh criticism about his family. Well, it doesn’t seem as harsh now. “Like, which ones?” I ask, my tone dangerous.
“Will you give him offspring?”
I almost choke on my tea. “I beg your pardon?”
“Don’t be surprised. I know many women that don’t have kids, not because they can’t but because they simply choose not to. I respect that, but not for my son. I want Alexander to have a Catholic wedding and heirs before I die.”
Damn, she’s so blunt! I take a deep breath, but my jaw has already dropped. Cool down, Petra, you got this. After all, I also have an authoritative mother just like her. I think for a second how Dad seems to be the coolest and nicest parent ever, compared to them. Being raised by him doesn’t seem as terrifying either. “If this reassures you, Margaret, I intend to have children, yes.”
“Do you smoke?”
Looks like the inquisition has started…
“No.”
“Do you drink alcohol?”
“Sometimes.”
“How often?”
“Not much, just when there is a celebration.”
“Do you take drugs?”
“No. Never have and never will.”
“Coffee?”
“I’m a tea person.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
“Three fluently.”
“What are the Van Gatts’ views on politics?”
“We don’t do politics. We finance them.”
Margaret nods with a thoughtful air. “Looks like Roy did a good job.”
“Do you have any other questions, Margaret?” I ask, my tone assertive and confident.
“Just one, but I will ask later. I don’t want to scare you…”
“Please, go ahead. I have nothing to hide. I’m fully aware that Alexander is your only son and the only one who never settled down.” I smile at her astonishment. “I also understand you want to know who I am.”
Margaret raises both eyebrows. “Wow. Your maturity impresses me. Very well…” She looks straight into my eyes, her stare defiant. “Have you had other lovers before him?”
“I was a virgin until him.” This time I neither blush, nor look away.
“That’s all I wanted to know, Petra. Thank you. Now, let’s take a tour around the artwork. I’m sure you want to see them all.” And just like a kid, I stand up, tension vanishing, ready to enjoy my reward.
I leave the Picasso room alone, as Margaret had to discuss some urgent matters with her butler. I try to find my way back, following the laughter coming from somewhere. One of the corridors is particularly dark, but I can’t find how to turn the lights on, and unlike at home, they don’t seem to be automatic.
“Still alive?”
“God! You scared me. Of course I’m still alive.” I love seeing Alex standing in this corridor alone—I’ve missed his lips so much. But Margaret or any member of the staff could come by at any moment, and tonight is definitely not the right one to make a bad impression.
“How was it?”
“Great actually. The room is wonderful. Such an amazing art collection. I wish Dad could’ve seen it.”
“I wasn’t talking about the room…”
I knew he wasn’t, but I had to try nevertheless. “Oh, Margaret is great too.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Great? Really? Petra, you can tell me the truth.”
“I’m serious. She was just trying to get a sense of who I am. It’s alright. She cares a lot about you and wants to make sure I’m not some psycho stealing her precious son.”
He nods, and before I can blink, he snatches me up and shoves me against the wall, pinning me with his body. Holy shit! He parts my legs, lifts me, and presses his erection between them. Fuck, I can feel his cock already so big and hard. He starts humping against me, my legs wrapped around his waist, while devouring my mouth with such greed I can barely breathe. Oh, dear Lord... “Alex, not here.” I manage to mumble while he’s sucking my neck.
“Let’s do it quick before dinner,” he growls, in a hurry to unfasten his belt.
What? He’s crazy! My eyes can’t stop darting around. All of a sudden, we hear silverware clanging and footsteps coming. Alex closes his belt immediately, wipes my gloss from his mouth, and takes a step back while I smooth my dress and hair. We see a waiter crossing the perpendicular hallway, carrying a big tray of food to the dining room. Alex chuckles. But not me. “It’s not funny. Your entire family is here. My own father is here. Kids are playing around. They don’t need to see this,” I scold. But he has that cheeky smile on his face.
“You are right, Ms. Van Gatt.” He takes a step forward, puts his hands under my dress, reaches for my panties, and pushes them slowly down my legs.
“What are you doing?” I snap.
“I want them,” he gently asserts.
“I can’t have dinner without them.”
“Of course you can.”
I’m shaking my head while involuntarily lifting each foot. I can see my panties in his hand—a black lace thong with a bow at the back, just like he’d instructed me to bring.
He smiles victoriously and slowly stands up while caressing my legs, then shoves my thong into his pants pocket. I huff and fold my arms, displeased, but he licks his lips and meets my eyes again. “Before we go, kindly listen carefully,” he begins. “When you go to sit, discreetly lift the back of your dress up so your pussy touches the chair.” I gasp at his words. “Then, bring yourself close to the table, your posture always straight, your elbows down, your legs slightly open and never crossed.” I giggle but not at him. “I’m serious, Petra. Do you understand?”
I nod.
“Perfect, let’s go. We are late.”
It’s an intimate dinner with only ten guests, which includes Margaret herself, sitting at the head of the table, Alex on her left, me at his side, and Dad on Margaret’s right (which would usually be Julia’s seat). Their offspring are having dinner in a separate room with their respective governesses and nannies. I can’t help but wonder why each daughter has a governess and a nanny—what is the difference? Julia, the oldest, even has two. Why so much help? I blink at the sound of Julia’s voice among the laughter. Apparently, she seems to be telling a joke that caught everyone’s attention but me.
“So he turns to me and says, ‘No, your Honor, I don’t have any.’ So I ask him, ‘Why are you lying? We know you have a boat; we need to account for all the assets in the divorce.’ And he finally turns to us, his face as red as a lobster, screaming, ‘Because it already belongs to her!’” Everyone bursts out laughing, but I didn’t catch the first part of the story.
Alex notices. “Julia was telling us one of her many stories in divorce court. This guy put the ownership of his boat in his wife’s name to avoid paying taxes, and when she wanted the boat, he said he didn’t have one because it was already hers, crying like a baby in court, since he’d had a prenup to protect his ass,” he explains, laughing.
“Alex!” snaps Margaret, irritated by his vulgarity.
“Assets, I meant.”
I can’t stop chuckling. It’s so hilarious seeing him being reprimanded for once. “You only handle divorce cases, Julia?” I ask.
“I do family law, which includes divorces, custody of children, domestic abuse, and so on.”
“Oh, my mother has actually been helping women of humble background get decent lawyers in court.”
“Very noble of her. What’s her name? Maybe I know her.”
I glance at Dad, but he’s entertained discussing something with Margaret. “Tess Hagen,” I reply. Julia tries to contain her surprise, taking a sip of her water. “Do you know her?”
She swallows and seems to be measuring her words. “I know a Tess Hagen, yes… She also finances political causes, if I’m not mistaken…”
“Julia,” trills Margaret. “No politics at the table!”
“My mother finances politicians?” Alex squeezes my leg tight under the tablecloth.
“It’s alright, Mother,” says Julia. “I respect everyone’s ideologies. She just supports political and social causes I’m not very keen on, that’s all.”
I don’t ask further, but I keep wondering which social and political causes she is talking about. After all, if I recall correctly, Mom has a great reputation and esteem in the public eye. I’ve seen many interviews praising her for her achievements in financing renewed lawyers for women who can’t afford them. Lawyers that maybe Julia knows well.
“Do you want some wine, Miss?” asks a waiter, showing me the decanter.
I glance at Julia’s wineglass and find it empty—Maud’s and Yara’s too—but the rest are happily drinking. I can’t figure out why. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.” As the waiter leaves, I lean discreetly over to Alex and murmur in his ear in a tone barely audible, “Why aren’t your sisters drinking? They don’t like wine?”
Alex nearly chokes on his burgundy. He looks at me with a twinkle in his eye and gives me a smile I have never seen before. “One day I will explain.” Jeez... His voice is so warm that my lips part in excitement. I suddenly feel his hand fondling my inner thigh. I hold my breath for a second, eyes glued to my plate, and try to focus on my vegetables, but he’s moving dangerously close to my pussy. Holy shit! No panties there. My heart starts racing in total alert, beating faster with every touch. I try to put some food in my mouth, but I’m too scared I’ll choke on it. I drink some water instead. My cheeks flush at the feel of his fingers rubbing my clit. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I want to tell him to stop, my face will tell it all in a few seconds! But Alex acts nonchalant, chatting away with Dad and Margaret. How can he keep up a conversation while turning me on? Fuck. I despise him in this moment, but I have to do the same. As I’m about to talk to Julia, Alex pushes a finger inside me.
“Ah!” I cannot restrain my gasp. I’m getting dangerously horny, wet, and warm. I’ve never hated him more than I do right now. I start picturing our week in Aspen, his cock pounding me for the first time, how much I trembled at the feel of him, how I sucked him right after…
“Are you alright, Petra?” asks Julia.
I blink at her voice. “Yes, of course. I just like to eat slowly.” I take another sip of my water. “I noticed you have six kids. Isn’t that challenging?” It’s the first subject that came to mind. I have to remain focused, forget he’s fingering me—otherwise it’ll only get worse.
“It’s alright. I have some help. When Arthur, my youngest, wakes up, we can go and see him if you want. He’s seven months old.”
I try to focus as hard as I can on Julia’s words, but Alex adds a second finger to challenge me even further. Damn it. I just know one thing—he’ll regret it later. “Of course. I’ve never seen a baby that close, actually,” I manage to say.
“Really? You don’t have siblings?” I shut my eyes for a brief moment, not because of Julia’s question, but those two long fingers are slowly thrusting in and out, giving me thoughts I shouldn’t have at a Christmas dinner table. “Are you sad? I hope my
question didn’t offend you.”
But I open my eyes again instantly at the sound of her voice. “Not at all, Julia. I was just thinking how lucky you are to have siblings. I grew up mostly alone in New York. Glad I have Janine.”
“Janine? Is she your nanny?”
“Not really.” I take a deep breath to cool down my pleasure, but it’s harder than I thought.
“Governess?” She keeps asking.
“Janine’s a special lady to me. She’s an amazing cook and housekeeper, and at the same time, she managed to raise me, give me advice, go shopping with me…” His fingers are taking my breath away; I’m even soaking them. I wonder if my fluids will wet my seat too. Holy shit! I gasp in horror. I figured it out. He did it all on purpose! This is a fucking game to him. If I soak my seat, he wins; if not, I do. Oh God, help me. I can’t let him win—it’ll be a total embarrassment! What if someone notices and then reports it to Margaret? I’ll be perceived as some horny slut who can’t control herself.
“That’s quite remarkable that she managed to do it all and have time to raise you,” adds Julia. “I have two nannies, two maids, a chef, and a governess, and even so, I see them struggling to keep up with the pace of the household.”
I nod, but all I want is to cry out loud, beg him to put those fingers deeper into me and make me cum. Fuck, Alex! I know in that instant that I lost.
A waiter whispers in Julia’s ear.
“Petra?” I look up at her. “Looks like Arthur just woke up. Would you like to see him?”
Julia murmurs to her husband, and I see him nodding.
I decide to do the same and whisper into the ear of the most annoying man at this table, who still has two fingers in my pussy, “Mr. Van Dieren, may I kindly leave the table to go upstairs with Julia?” His face looks unreadable, not a single beam of joy. He just nods. As I stand up and make my way out, he looks discreetly at my seat and finally smiles.
Julia and I go upstairs to her bedroom. I’m astonished by how grand it is, with high ceilings like the rest of the house, tall windows, and elegant drapes. Julia also has her own en suite bathroom and dressing room. We go to check on little Arthur, who’s happily awake in his white wooden crib. He stares intently into my eyes and starts giggling loudly, probably finding it amusing that we have the same eye color. “Oh, he is so cute! Can I hold him?”
Blossom in Winter Page 32