The Frenchman's Bride

by Imani King

  “…Very well, then. If that’s what you really want.” He grumbled under his breath, turning to wander off the yacht.

  I knew that I had wounded his pride, but I also knew that I had the moral high ground. We could both stand to have a few hours apart, and I could enjoy a little more of the city independently of him.

  But I knew what I was really doing…

  I had to know if the feelings I’d been experiencing with Blaine were real. I needed to give him another chance… I’d already begun to plan a little surprise for him that night to try and cut through the wedge that had been placed between us.

  I smiled with delight. The afternoon was mine…and the evening was going to be ours. I was prepared for us to enjoy each other in the most fulfilling, romantic ways I could imagine. Either I would end tonight more confident in this relationship, or I would know it was over…

  Little did I know that everything was about to change.

  After several hours of wandering the city, enjoying a nice, delicious steak to myself at an upscale restaurant, and window-shopping at some extraordinary little shops, I wandered back to the yacht. Several of the crewmembers were working on the boarding deck; according to them, Blaine was still off the ship. Politely, I asked them to send Blaine straight to his room when he returned. I ignored the knowing glances they gave each other, and they agreed to make the message clear.

  I gave myself a sly little smile as I thought about the impending night…it was time to put that lingerie Keesha helped me buy to good use.

  Dressing myself in my bathrobe, I crossed the guest quarters to Blaine’s bedroom. Closing the door behind myself and slipping the bathrobe off, I dropped it to the floor at the edge of his bed and climbed backwards into his luscious bedding, getting comfortable in the luxurious threads.

  It would only a matter of time before he’d come back…

  …Or so I thought, because it was easily two hours before there was any activity at the door. Bored out of my mind, I’d fingered myself for a while, clinging to fantasies of the billionaire taking me without inhibition. But after a hot and heavy session of that in his bed, I’d practically fallen asleep by the time I heard the stumbling outside and the jiggling of the doorknob.

  “Well, it’s my fault for assuming that he’d be back at a reasonable hour, I suppose,” I quietly whispered to myself. Even as the door opened and his silhouette stood in the light, I readied myself for a night of carnal bliss.

  “Been out a while!” I laughed. “I hope you’re ready for me, Blaine…because I’m all hot and bothered for you…”

  Blaine staggered in…and the thick, unmistakable smell of wine struck me. In the same breath, I noticed his clunky, haphazard movements, and I realized that he was drunk out of his goddamn mind.

  My thoughts drowned in disappointment.

  “You smell like a goddamn barrel of red,” I told him impatiently, hopping out of his bed and trying to help the swaying man stand upright. I tried to take the wine bottle from him, but he swished it out of my grasp and took another long drink from it.

  “No! It’s…mine…”

  “Blaine, you’re acting like a child.”

  “Like a…child? Room to…talk…”

  “What’s that?” I demanded to know. Now I was starting to get pissed, and I put my hand on my hip. “Would you like to run that one past me again?”

  “I said…room to tallllk,” he slurred, pulling his lips back into his typical mischievous grin. It technically worked, but in his drunken state it only made him look worse. With a couple of staggered steps, Blaine slumped down into his bed – the same bed that I had recently fingered myself in, hoping to be ready to fuck him like an animal all night.

  Clearly, I’d set my hopes too high…

  “Right. Well. I’m going to just leave you in here and let you sort that all out.”

  “Yeah, that’s right!” He bellowed suddenly, laughing to himself. “Let me sort it all out! I’m goood at it.”

  “You’re very convincing,” I assured him with mounting exasperation. My patience was meeting its limits. Did those tabloid girls have to put up with him like this? God help them, I thought to myself.

  “I am!” He loudly praised himself. “Hell. It worked for you!”

  “Oh yeah?” I shook my head. My fingers were already around the doorknob…I’ll just let him sleep this off and try to make it up to me in the morning.

  “That’s right! Been working out for you for years!”

  Wait.

  What?

  The door was hovering open, but my feet were locked into place. He’s drunk, I told myself. He’s a mess, blurting out all sorts of garbage. He’s not making any sense. I’m not going to humor this trash.

  But the things that Bartlesby had said started worming their way back into my head, and I couldn’t resist…“What do you mean, ‘It’s been working out for me for years?’” I asked nonchalantly, turning to face him from the doorway. “Go on. Tell me.”

  “Well, let’s see…” He mumbled, sticking up his fist. For a moment, he was fascinated with the sight of uncurling a finger, but pulled himself together enough to continue.

  “One…taking care of your boyfriends.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Only the bad ones…the one’s who were…gonna take advantage of…you,” he mumbled. I could see him swaying in his chair a little, and rushed over to hold him upright.

  “What do you mean, taking care of them?”

  “Oh, you know!” He laughed to himself slovenly. “The ones who failed the background checks! Misdemeanors and felonies… any history of viiiiolence…I had them paid off or int…intim…intimid…”

  “Intimidated?” I gulped/

  “Yesh! That word!”

  Horror dawned on me. “No, you’re drunk,” I told him. “You’re just rattling off bullshit. I need to get you into bed.” But what he had said was already stuck in my head – and I knew I was going to dwell on it all night.

  It made more sense than I wanted to admit. I might have had a thing for bad boys when I was a little bit younger… A few dates, and a guy would disappear sometimes. Things would be going great, and then he’d drop off the face of the earth – not answering texts or phone calls, blocking me on Facebook, things like that. It had been enough to make me paranoid for the longest time, until I reasoned out that they were probably just assholes.

  “And then t-t-two…” He continued, uncurling a second finger.

  “What’s two?”

  “The grant!” He blurted, chuckling to himself after that.

  “The…what.” My stomach dropped.

  “You wanted to go to that big, expeeensive school, didn’t’ you?” He asked innocently, still swaying a little. “You weren’t gonna afford that…your mom wasn’t gonna afford that…so I stepped in….gave them a consiiiiderable donation and named you as recipient!”

  My mouth was completely dry, and my lungs seized in my ribcage. There’s no way he could have known about that grant, I thought to myself. Hell, even –I- couldn’t find any evidence of it in the scholastic program…unless…

  No.

  “Th-three!” He jutted out a third finger.

  “Don’t,” I told him. “Please.”

  “Pulling some strings!” He descended into snickering, and I was tempted to just let him slide off and onto the floor.

  I shouldn’t have opened my mouth.

  But I did.

  “What strings?”

  “Internsh…itter…nnship.”

  My entire world came crashing down from beneath me, and I raised a hand to my mouth.

  “No,” I whispered.

  “That’s right, babe!” Blaine laughed drunkenly, sloshing his wine over the bed. “I sort out all kinds of stuff – like you! I sorted you good!”

  “But…that can’t…” I was trembling. With which emotion, I wasn’t sure. I felt all of them – everything from anger to depression to complete confusion. How far back does this go?
How much of my life has this guy interfered with? Was this a game to him? Did he do all of this so he could fuck me on his goddamned yacht?

  I could maybe pretend that the others were coincidences…but I was completely off the books with that internship. I wasn’t even technically on their payroll. The only way he could have known about that was if he was telling the truth…and if he was…

  “You monster,” I snarled at him.

  “Hwhat?”

  “You…get out of my fucking sight,” I commanded him, shoving him backwards onto the bed. “This has gone on long enough. The founder was right about you! And I was stupid! I had actually convinced myself that you weren’t controlling me…but you have been, haven’t you?” I practically began spitting my words at him. “You…you’ve been controlling me for years! You’ve been manipulating the people around me…twisting the arms of universities to give me opportunities…you’re pathetic. You’re a drunk, pathetic creep, aren’t you? Is that what you really are, Blaine? Without the money and the tabloids to hide behind, is that the real Blaine Winguard?”

  He was looking at me with distant sadness – I could tell that he was too drunk for my words to have any lasting effect on him. Screaming at him now wouldn’t do a lick of good, and he’d probably just sleep this all off.

  But I couldn’t.

  I knew I wasn’t going to sleep at all tonight.

  As I stomped out of the room, I heard him weakly call my name, but the only answer I had for him was the slamming of his bedroom door.

  23

  Blaine

  * * *

  As I slowly drifted back towards consciousness, I could feel a severe throbbing in my head. I exhaled a groan, unwilling to open my eyes and deal with the grinding, pulsating hangover that had come over me.

  Hangover…

  My eyes snapped open, and I felt the full severity of my drudging, sloshing world as it assaulted my senses.

  No, no, that can’t be right…

  I had this vivid dream in my head – of Sierra gazing deep into my eyes, growing ever furious, and slamming the door on her way out. She had been dressed in lingerie…

  My eyes drifted to the door. It was closed, but obviously lacking any indication of a slamming. I could smell the aroma of wine, and I realized that I had fallen asleep in a pool of the stuff…soaking into my bedding and clothes, and adding a warm, wet sensation across my back.

  “Fuck,” I murmured aloud, scratching at my chin.

  With sluggish movements that only exaggerated the pounding in my skull, I slowly pulled myself up from my bed. I’d fallen asleep in my attire – not a good sign – and with a bottle that had apparently fallen over and emptied itself. My back was dripping with the vintage, and just extracting myself from my position had sent a fresh burst of the aroma to my head.

  Well, that explains why I smell like a whorehouse, I thought to myself as I glanced down at the ridiculously large red stain.

  With an aching body and a bone-dry mouth, I climbed out of bed and sauntered vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. Once inside, I flicked on the light and stared deep into the eyes of a hallow, half-dead version of myself.

  “Goddamn…I look like shit!” I chided myself. “And I feel worse…”

  My eyes were ringed with heavy bags, and my face was smeared with drool. I began laboriously washing my face in the sink, emptying out the jar for my toothbrush and shaver and filling it with water. Like an animal, I downed the container, then filled it with water and repeated.

  Oh god, water has never been so fucking delicious, I thought to myself as I continued to loudly slurp it down.

  Only mildly refreshed, I glanced back at the abomination in the glass. My hair was a mess, my clothes were worse, and I smelled like a drunkard. Worse still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I hadn’t dreamed some argument with Sierra…

  My eyes fell upon my watch.

  Seven-thirty. Well, that’s not so bad…except…

  Clutching my head, I clamored over to my window and drew the curtains back. The sun was low in the sky, with its orange splendor bathing the landscape – and with all that water to reflect off of, it was like I was staring into a beautiful realm of constant sunset.

  No.

  I did NOT just sleep the entire day away in this mess…

  I swallowed painfully as I let the curtains slide back into place. If I did – if I’d been here, asleep in my drunken mess the entire day – then that meant that Sierra had either seen me like this, or had never bothered to wake me. And considering the vivid image of her furious stare, locked into my thoughts…

  I am fucked.

  A short while later, I stumbled out onto the deck in a staggering haze. A fresh shower, a fresh pair of clothes, and my personal favorite cologne still couldn’t mask the unmistakable fact that I was clearly experiencing the mother of all hangovers.

  “Sir!” A crewmember flocked to my side, a boy no older than twenty. “Can I assist you in any way?”

  “Yes, you can. What’s your name?”

  “Floyd, sir.”

  “Floyd.” I swallowed quickly, shielding my eyes with my hand to blot out the setting light. “Now, Floyd, can you tell me where my guest might be?”

  “Are you referring to Miss Simmons, sir?”

  “The one and only.”

  “I believe she’s off the ship, sir. Last seen heading into town.”

  “Good…thank you, Floyd.”

  “Anything else?” He piped up, clearly looking me over with a reluctant glance. My current condition was not lost on the elaborate sleuthing work of my Detective Sailor, Floyd.

  “No, that’ll…that’ll do for now.”

  “Very well, sir.”

  With that, he broke from my side, and I gazed over towards the bridge. Scrunching up my face, I put one foot in front of the other and proceeded to wander towards the dock – and towards the island where my guest, and some answers, had hidden herself away.

  It was almost an hour before I found her. My instinct had been to wander towards the nearest resort and ask for her, then into Cannes proper, but none of these places turned up any clues. Growing dejected, I wondered if she had perhaps wandered back towards the Miss Victoriana, but in my hazy judgment I was determined to continue my expedition until either she turned up, or I fell over dead.

  It was getting dark, and I was too unfamiliar with the city. Wandering back towards the ship, I gazed at my silhouette in the store windows. I knew that showering and throwing on fresh clothes was akin to slapping a coat of primer over a filthy, broken wall. The cracks were still there, and the effort was ultimately meaningless.

  Finally, a long walk later, I spotted her sitting on the edge of the lower dock and kicking her feet in the water.

  Grateful to rest my feet, I sat down next to her, still groggy as ever. Without even thinking about it, I dove my shoes into the water, along with the first foot and a half of my slacks.

  “Won’t that ruin your clothes?” She asked disinterestedly.

  “Probably,” I replied, wiping at my face. “But I can always buy another pair of slacks, and another pair of shoes.”

  “Yeah. Being a billionaire must be fun.”

  “It…has its perks. Where did you go?”

  “I needed to get off of that ship, and get away from you. I wandered around for a little while before I settled down in a cove for a few hours, watching the surf. It was beautiful…just sitting there on the sand, listening to the crashing of the waves…and when it started to get dark, I climbed up and came back here. But I wasn’t ready to get back onto that ship.”

  “I went looking for you, you know,” I told her.

  “Yeah. Figured.”

  “…So. Why did you need to get away from me?” I asked. “I woke up a mess, and the night was a blur…whatever fight we might have had, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

  “No, you won’t,” she told me.

  “Yes I will. Didn’t you just say that
I’m a billionaire? I can do just about anything, really. And I promise–”

  “That’s right,” she muttered, but her disinterest was quickly, audibly, turning to anger. “You can do anything. Including interfering with my life.”

  “I…I’m sorry, I’m still trying to snap out of this dreadful hangover,” I conceded. “Could you tell me a little more about how I interfered with your life?”

  Sierra turned, snapping at me. “How much of my life is actually mine?”

  I looked at her, feeling alarm slowly wash over my tired, weary mind. “I’m afraid I don’t understand…”

  “The grant? The internship? Even my love life? God, Blaine, how long have you been fucking around with me? When we met face-to-face in your office, before any of this bullshit, I thought that you were just ready for your next big fucking scandal…but you’ve been screwing with me for years, haven’t you?”

  My jaw trembled as the horror of realization dawned over me. Oh God, this is so much worse than I feared.

  “I mean…why? Why would you do shit like this, and then wave it in front of my fucking face when you’re drunk?”

  “I…no, I didn’t…I couldn’t have…” The words just weren’t coming, no matter how hard I tried. For the first time in my life, I was a blathering idiot, reduced to stammering in front of her. I just wished there could have been a better reason for a woman to make me stammer.

  “You did. I was waiting for you, you asshole! After a week of you practically ignoring me, I was wearing lingerie and everything! I was all too eager to push how much of a controlling, inattentive asshole you are into the past. And then you stumble in, drunk out of your goddamn mind, and proceed to rip apart my past by telling me how much of it you fabricated? I mean, Jesus Christ, what am I supposed to do with this now?”

  With my other hand I reached for hers. “I only wanted what was best for you,” I muttered, clutching the side of my head.

  No sooner had I said the words than I instantly regretted them. Sierra yanked her hand free and stood up on the dock, glaring down at me with the darkest, fieriest expression I have ever seen.