The Frenchman's Bride

by Imani King

  What the hell?!?

  My eyes flashed open. It took a few moments to realize that I was lying in bed, slick with sweat. My brain was disoriented, trying to separate the vividness of the fiction from my typical, boring reality. I slowly summoned the strength to climb out of my bedding.

  Goddammit. Of course it was a fucking dream.

  It was the middle of the night. Fully awake now and irrationally afraid to slip back to sleep, I sat back down at my computer screen. After the monitor flickered back to life, I checked Facebook briefly, absentmindedly. He probably hasn’t even bothered to check, I thought to myself. Busy guy. He’s always caught with another socialite; might not even see it for days.

  But the crushing anticipation got to me, and I checked my messages on Discreet Companions again. Surprisingly, I had several messages from various clientele opportunities…but there was one from him.

  I swallowed in my throat.

  Greetings again, Sierra,

  Happy that you’re willing to hear me out. However, I’m not one for the impartiality of online messaging. Judging by the vagueness of your previous message, I can tell that you probably share this opinion with me.

  This is why I think we would benefit from meeting, and laying it all out. Come to the attached address at precisely 2 o’clock tomorrow afternoon. At that point, I will be willing to discuss more. Don’t be late.

  Sincerely, Blaine Winguard

  The very thought of actually meeting face-to-face with the lavish billionaire concerned me. As I sat up further in my chair, worry filling my thoughts, and I saw that Blaine had taken the liberty of choosing the venue…

  I inputted the address, and my worry turned to outright dread when I saw the result. I had a sinking feeling that I wasn’t going to be able to change his mind. I realized that I should have pre-empted him, setting the parameters myself. Somewhere safe. Somewhere that I still had some control.

  Because he had chosen his own office.

  5

  Sierra

  * * *

  As I silently ascended with the elevator towards Blaine’s office, I thought back to how naïve I had been a few days ago. I had honestly thought that responding to a life-changing internship interview with a major news station was the threshold of nervousness for me.

  Not even freaking close. Meeting with a billionaire?

  Now that was nerve-wracking.

  The individual floors whizzed past as my small, polished chamber flew up the channel. I wasn’t used to being on edge. Confidence came naturally to me. But these last few days had put my emotions through the ringer.

  First, a major opportunity drops out of nowhere.

  THEN, a handsome, rich bachelor contacts me?

  From one perspective, I was doing really well for myself at twenty-two years old. From the other, I was in way over my head, and I knew it.

  The elevator began to slow down, and I afforded myself a quick, steadying breath of fresh air. That’s right, Sierra, calm it down, I thought to myself, summoning up the cheeriest smile. As the elevator came to a stop, I steadied myself, allowing my body to feel weightless for the split-second that the inertia stopped.

  The doors slowly split apart, and I stepped out into a modern waiting area. Plush, black carpet stretched across the floor, giving way to off-white walls that were dotted with black speckles. The room was small – three black, padded-back chairs occupied the corner, and the receptionist stood behind a tall, bright white counter straight ahead. While she tapped away frantically on a keyboard, a smoked glass door stood behind her and to the side – tucked away under a black arch.

  The receptionist glanced up, brushing her blonde bangs from her eyes.

  “Ah, hello! My name is Ivy. You must be Sierra Simmons, is that correct?”

  “Yes, that’s me!” I chuckled nervously.

  Although clearly around my age, the receptionist’s face swelled in that way that a loving, knowing mother might regard a frightened child. She even took the same tone.

  “Now, now. There’s nothing to be afraid of, Sierra. Mister Winguard is the epitome of taste, despite what the tabloids might say. He’s a perfect gentleman.”

  “Is that so,” I murmured skeptically.

  “Quite! Now, if you’ll excuse me a moment…”

  Ivy lifted her fingers and held down a button, tucked just out of sight. “Mister Winguard,” she spoke to the air, her face beaming at me, “your guest is here.”

  “Splendid.”

  The single word shot a reverberating shock through me. I’d never heard Blaine’s voice before. It was crisp, handsome, with a slight roughness to it that made core instantly hot. My god, if his VOICE can do that to me, how am I supposed to handle this?

  Ivy stepped away from the counter, strolling the few strides towards the smoked glass door. “Welcome to Winguard Productions, Miss Simmons...”

  She held the door open, and I peered into the suite as I walked past her. “Mister Winguard will see you now.”

  And there he was.

  Blaine Winguard.

  Standing like the king of his immaculate, fifty-story castle, the billionaire had his arms crossed as he leisurely leaned against his executive desk and watched me enter the office. I could barely keep my eyes off of the décor as I walked forward, even as I heard the door come to a jarring close behind me.

  There was no black carpet in here. The fluff ended at the entrance, giving way to glossy, highly polished cement. The walls maintained the off-white, speckled treatment from Ivy’s area. Black bookcases stood proud on either side, brimming with hardcover books and ledgers. There were shelves elegantly placed here and there – lined with awards and framed certificates.

  But all of this paled in comparison to my host himself.

  Blaine Winguard stared me down with that stupidly confident smirk, draped in a commanding gray suit. His sandy hair and sparkling blue eyes matched the profile picture perfectly. His grin seemed to grow even bigger as he watched me struggle to maintain my composure, which grew harder with every step towards him. The warmth between my legs continued to burn, like a small blaze being continuously stoked.

  “Sierra, it’s a…pleasure to meet you,” he addressed me, his voice as irresistible as it had been over the intercom. “Come, why don’t you take a seat? I’m sure we have much to discuss…”

  He motioned to the right seat in front of himself. As common courtesy would suggest, I fully expected him to step aside and sit behind his executive desk. Instead, as I grasped the top bar of the chair and pulled it towards me, he merely leaned back, sitting on the edge of his desk and smiling down upon me.

  I hesitated a moment, then took my seat.

  What’s with this dominance game?

  “Did you find any trouble in joining me here?” He asked politely, his smile ticking upwards into a smirk.

  “No, your building is close to the public transit,” I told him. “Wasn’t more than two blocks from the subway station.”

  “Right,” he nodded. He let the resulting silence linger in the air, as if poised to follow the thought…but didn’t.

  I finally parted my lips to speak. “So, Mister Winguard–”

  “Blaine.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Call me Blaine,” he repeated, his crisp voice ringing through my ears. “I’d prefer it that way, if you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Right. Okay. So, Blaine, you had messaged me to establish a certain…companionship. I’ve told you I’ll take you up on your offer, but I’m new to–”

  “I will pay you fifteen thousand dollars upfront,” Blaine cut me off. “To receive the rest of the two hundred thousand, you will need to follow my directions. They’re fairly simple. Are you ready?”

  Quietly, I nodded.

  “The Cannes Film Festival begins in a little over two weeks – it is an annual event that brings together filmmakers, actors, and more to critically gauge a collection of particularly artistic films. Naturally, I am expected to be prese
nt. In one week, we will leave for Europe, where you will accompany me to a few film screenings and delight in the local atmosphere before we sail back.”

  “I know what Cannes is,” I reprimanded him. “But how long do you plan on this all taking?”

  Blaine smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Well, our transit is going to take some time…at twelve knots, we’re looking at ten days one way, just by itself. It’s impossible to tell until we see for ourselves. Just the nature of the thing, really.”

  “Ten days? That’s insane! What plane takes a week to cross the Atlantic?” I asked, confused.

  “We are taking the scenic route,” the billionaire smiled. “After all, what better way to cross an ocean than by luxury yacht?”

  “You…want to take me on a yacht…across the ocean,” I murmured aloud. It sounded even more ridiculous outside of my head.

  “Yes. Is there a problem with that?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” I shook my head, “but…why me?”

  “Cannes is known to the world for attracting the startlingly rich and famous,” he mused to me. “Simply put, I’ve become somewhat discerning in who I’m willing to take. I’d rather someone a little more…discreet, if you will. The intention is not only to avoid scandal, but also to bring someone who would properly appreciate it. In my case, it might be worse for me to go alone, considering the fascination the papers have with me… I need to keep up appearances.”

  “I…I don’t know what to say,” I truthfully responded. It was impossible to ignore how he was lording over me, seated on the edge of his desk with his knee jutting out.

  From my position, I had to practically look up him to see his face – and I suddenly became aware that my view wouldn’t be too different if I was on my knees in front of him. I briefly remembered the sex dream, and tried to push it back out of my head.

  “All you have to say is yes,” Blaine told me. “I’m offering you companionship with me, sailing across the ocean on a magnificent specimen of a ship, with fifty of the most trustworthy men and women to ever pilot seafaring craft. Gone abroad for just a few weeks…you and I will enjoy the most prestigious film festival in the world. Afterwards? We sail back. I’m not asking anything more from you for the duration of the trip.”

  “When…do you need an answer?”

  “You will give me one before you leave today.”

  Whoa. Wasn’t expecting that.

  “Wait, what about my, you know, actual life? I might have some arrangements to make – I’m not sure if I can just get up and leave out of the blue…”

  “Of course you can, Sierra,” Blaine told me in no uncertain terms. “Chances are that you wouldn’t be on a site like Discreet Companions unless you were willing to drop what you were doing and dedicate your time to the rich and famous…unless you were perhaps not taking your presence on that site very seriously.”

  “Well…you have a point,” I conceded. “Still. What sort of arrangement am I expecting here?” I crossed my arms defiantly. “I have to be upfront, sex is off the table.”

  Blaine paused, watching my irritated face with what looked like…amusement? “I wouldn’t have expected or asked for that,” he told me with certainty. “I certainly don’t intend for this to necessarily be that kind of arrangement. All that I’m asking for is your company, and that you look somewhat presentable. After all, you’re going to be joining me for the festivities, and you might meet a few Hollywood idols of yours in the process…”

  I swallowed a sudden burst of apprehension. He’s right. If I go through with this…I’m going to be around the rich and famous, on the arm of one of the most notorious playboys in celebrity news…

  “I see that you are perhaps reconsidering,” Blaine thought aloud, watching me carefully. “I can personally assure you that I will make this trip very worth your while. While you’re with me, you will enjoy yourself…” A mischievous smile crossed his face.

  “Mister Winguard…”

  “Blaine, please,” he repeated.

  “…Blaine,” I spoke softly, meeting his coy grin with a seductive little smile of my own, “the ocean’s a big place, and this festival of yours can be a little overwhelming to a quiet city girl like me. How do I know that I can trust you? After all, we’ve only barely met…”

  The billionaire paused, considering my words. It appeared that I had caught him off-guard.

  “Are you telling me that you’d really pass up the opportunity to be personally escorted to what will be the biggest party in the world…a prestigious film festival, surrounded by powerful icons, on the personal yacht of a handsome billionaire, in the company of said billionaire, AND paid a small fortune for the journey, in exchange for virtually nothing?”

  I simply crossed my arms and smiled wider.

  “I see…” Blaine murmured, looking mildly uncomfortable for the first time since I’d seen him. “Well then. To that, my only answer would be that you’ll just have to trust me.” He looked somewhat resolute in that fact, as if saying trust me meant all the difference in the world…

  But I’d never met him.

  I didn’t know who he was.

  “Yeah, I’m going to need more than that.”

  There was a slight flash of irritation in his face. I don’t know why, but I suddenly felt like I had all the power in this conversation – even if this man had resources and clout that I’d never dreamed of, the striking notion that this all really did hang on me was…intoxicating.

  “I swear, on everything that I am and everything I possess, that you will be safe with me,” Blaine told me, leaning forward to stare deep into my eyes. “You will experience things that will change your life…and I will never let any danger anywhere near you.”

  It was my turn to pause. His conviction had taken me completely aback, and I was speechless for a moment.

  “But I need an answer,” he explained. “I need it now, so that I may begin making the proper arrangements. Are you coming with me to France?”

  I swallowed quietly. “Yes.”

  6

  Blaine

  * * *

  When Sierra left, thirty minutes later, I sat back in my chair and contemplated things. It had been a very long time since I’d last seen her – I struggled to keep that night out of my head – and just keeping my composure during our meeting was surprisingly difficult for me.

  The yacht was a masterstroke.

  This meant that I could keep an eye on her – and figure out what she was doing. From what I’d seen, she didn’t particularly look like someone who would throw themselves into a website like that…she was too nervous.

  But how much of that was from meeting me?

  How much did she actually know?

  Too many questions. Too few answers. I didn’t have time to contemplate these things, as Ivy’s voice came over the intercom shortly afterwards.

  “You have nothing else scheduled for the day. What would you like me to line up?”

  “Nothing,” I responded to my devoted receptionist. “I need some time to think. Take the rest of the day. That will be all.”

  “That’s very generous of you,” she responded. “I appreciate it. Are you certain that you are fine? I know how stressful that must have been for you.”

  Ivy was a godsend. She was always looking out for me.

  “Actually, there is one thing. Contact my usual contractor. I have some…redecorating in mind. Everything must be perfect for this journey, after all. Make the arrangements. Afterwards, the day is yours.”

  “Right away,” she replied. “What shall I tell her?”

  “I need one of the guest rooms on my yacht updated,” I answered. “Comforting. Inviting. I’m thinking…purple.”

  “Purple?”

  “This is highly important to me. My guest must be treated like royalty, and I’ll accept nothing else. Purple it is.”

  After a brief pause, she confirmed. “Purple it is.”

  I slept fitfully for the rest of the week. It
was a bit much for me to take off the days leading up to several weeks at sea, but I decided I could use the personal time – and I knew that Ivy was a very capable assistant. She could handle eighty percent of the decisions that would cross my desk, and catch my ear for the remainder. If anything, it prepared her for another long absence of mine.

  Eager to stay out of the tabloids, I kept to my devices. No late nights partying, or wandering out and about among the people in another of my apparently transparent disguises. Instead, I booked a few days of relaxation: regular masseuse visits, delicious food in private restaurant settings, even a few rounds of golf with a couple of directors and producers in town.

  All in all, it was just what I needed to keep my nerves clean and calm. The last thing that I needed was to be on edge before the journey…and as much as I was pleased with myself for thinking of it on the spot, the entire idea was daunting.

  I would just have to keep myself reined in, I decided to myself during another shiatsu massage. The last thing I need is to cause any disparity…I know I can keep my hands off of her.

  I know Sierra doesn’t remember me: why would she?

  She’s probably not even interested.

  Towards the end of the week, I visited the yacht at the docks one night, just as the sun was setting. Against the canvas of falling twilight, my beautiful Miss Victoriana stood tall and proud against the water, ready for my command. My driver, Findlay, stood sentry at the car as I walked along the pier, my eyes tracing the darkening silhouette of my esteemed ship. The construction and interior outfitting had cost over two hundred million dollars alone, and I’d spared no expense in hiring the best seafaring crew this side of the Atlantic Ocean. By now, everyone was in town, taking over from the maintenance crew that kept my ship operational during my lulls in coast-to-coast expedition.