“The charcoal pinstripe, I think,” he said to Martin, who disappeared back through the doors. “Monsieur Adams, if you will come this way.” He swept an arm toward the doors, and Ben shot a terrified look at Léo, who grinned.
“Shall we?” he said, and took Ben’s arm, leading him through what Ben later privately dubbed the gates of hell.
The back area was not so different from the front. Again there was comfortable-looking yet elegant seating, and a drinks cart. Back here, though, were several mannequins dressed in suits and two clothing racks containing suit bags—which presumably held suits. There were also three large full-length mirrors, ornately framed. A discreet door was off to the side, and Ben bet that was where the real work happened. Martin came through the door a moment later, carrying a suit on a hanger.
“Monsieur Adams, if you will remove your clothing?”
Ben flushed but obediently stripped out of the pants he’d worn to the club that morning. He wasn’t sure what they had against jeans there, but the restaurant had an “unspoken” dress code. He kept his shirt on, and Monsieur Carrere make a tsking sound and disappeared through the door to the back.
He took the pants Martin handed him and immediately wished he’d washed his hands first. The material was… he couldn’t even think of a word, except it was soft and silky and smooth and he wanted to roll around in it. Instead, he slipped them on and fastened them.
“And the shoes, monsieur?” Martin requested. Ben silently put on his dress shoes. He was just tying the laces when Monsieur Carrere came back carrying a shirt in a pewter color.
“Try this, monsieur,” he ordered.
Ben took it meekly and looked at Léo for help against these bossy men. His lover had obviously helped himself to the drinks cart, and was settled in an armchair, drink in hand, looking for all the world as though he were watching a play. He smiled at Ben, and Ben knew there would be no aid from that quarter. He sighed and stripped off his shirt, replacing it with the one supplied—which admittedly felt heavenly. It needed cuff links, though, and the sleeves flapped about his wrists as he buttoned it.
No sooner had Ben opened his mouth than Martin handed him a pair of plain gold cuff links.
“We keep these for fittings,” Martin said.
Ben looked at Léo again. “That won’t help me tonight,” he said.
Léo shrugged. “I can lend you a pair. Or we can purchase some on the way home.”
“I know just the pair for this suit,” Monsieur Carrere said, reaching in to fasten the very top button of the shirt and forcing Ben to lift his chin. “At Ciribelli. I will phone and have them sent over.”
“Thank you, monsieur,” Léo replied.
“Thank you,” Ben echoed, not sure if he was actually thankful. Dani had mentioned Ciribelli last week, among the tons of other trivia she’d dug up about Monaco. Still, good jewelry was an investment, right?
Monsieur Carrere slipped away again, and Martin gave him the jacket. Ben slipped it on. To be honest, if he’d been shopping on his own, he would have said the suit fit perfectly, which was pretty freaky since nobody had asked his size or measured him, and he’d have called it done and bought the thing. But Martin was kneeling before him, having produced pins from somewhere, and was fussing with the hems and inseams of his pants. Ben took the opportunity to examine the suit more closely. He could also see himself in one of the mirrors. He had to admit, it looked good. It was a kind of charcoal-on-charcoal pinstripe, single breasted, with lapels that were neither too wide nor too narrow.
Martin stood and began pinning the jacket, directing Ben to lift his arms, lower them, turn this way and that, relax his shoulders, and do the hokeypokey. Well, not really, but it felt like it. Monsieur Carrere came back again and joined Martin, fussing until Ben was ready to smack them both. Eventually, they stepped back.
“All right,” Monsieur said. “We will need several hours to make the alterations.” A buzzer went in the front room. “Ah, that will be the cuff links. Martin?” As Martin headed toward the front of the store, Monsieur helped Ben slide out of the jacket. “I have a cravat that was designed for this suit. I will fetch it.” There was that word again—fetch. And really, a cravat? He was actually supposed to wear a cravat? Monsieur took the jacket and went through the door to the back room, and Léo stood, putting his drink down on a side table.
“Even with pins stuck in everywhere, that suit makes you look edible,” he said in a low voice, strolling toward Ben with a gleam in his eye that made Ben shiver. He stopped a hairsbreadth away and leaned down, feathering his lips against Ben’s so lightly that Ben almost couldn’t stand it. He sucked in a breath and rose onto his tiptoes, pressing his mouth to Léo’s in a proper kiss. Desire surged as it always did, and within moments he was wrapped tightly in Léo’s arms, trying his best not to grind despite desperately wanting to.
He tore his mouth away. “Léo, not here. They’ll come back,” he panted. Léo dropped his head to rest his forehead against Ben’s, drawing in a deep breath. Then he let go, turned, and walked back to his chair, dropping into it just as Martin came back. His gaze took them both in, and a tiny smile quirked his lips, but he said nothing, instead crossing to Ben and helping him insert the delivered cuff links—which even Ben had to admire. Once they were secure, he pulled out the pins again and began his little routine, and Ben lifted his gaze to the mirror.
And winced. His hair was mussed, his face flushed, his eyes overbright. He definitely did not look like he had been waiting innocently for Martin’s return.
Monsieur bustled in, cravat in hand. It turned out to look pretty much like a regular tie, not the poufy scarf thing his cousin had worn to get married. The color was ivory, with a subtle sheen, which surprised him but actually looked great against the shirt.
Finally, finally, the fussing was done and Ben was back in his own clothes. Léo assured Monsieur Carrere that they would be back in three hours, and then led Ben out onto the street.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“Um, sure,” Ben said. “Don’t I need to pay?” They strolled back toward the car.
Léo shook his head. “Monsieur will send a bill.”
Ben blinked. “So… I won’t know how much it costs until I get the bill?”
Léo raised an eyebrow at him over the car. “If you need to know how much it costs, you cannot afford it,” he said, and got into the driver seat, leaving Ben frowning.
“That is not helpful,” he muttered, and pulled out his phone to text Dani.
SOS—what can you tell me about designer/tailor Carrere?
He got in the car and did his seat belt up as Léo started the engine. His phone dinged.
Checking now.
At least he could count on Dani.
“What about the cuff links?” he asked as Léo pulled out of the parking spot.
“Monsieur will add them to the bill and then ensure that Ciribelli is paid. He will also make sure you have the necessary papers for insurance.”
As Ben digested the fact that he was about to buy cuff links that needed to be insured, his phone dinged again.
Top designer and tailor of bespoke suits. Best of the best, doesn’t take just any client. Must be referred or invited. Way to go, Benji!
Fuck.
Any idea of cost?
Didn’t you just buy a suit from there?
Yes, but Léo says I will be sent a bill, and I have no idea how much for!!! Can you also look at cuff links from Ciribelli?
LOL! This could only happen to you! No prices attached to Carrere that I can see, but other bespoke designers like him seem to start at $4k, most around the $6k mark and up. Ciribelli has no prices on their website. Just go with the flow!
Thanks, you’re no help. And don’t call me Benji.
Love you! xx
He dropped his phone to his lap with a sigh.
“Dani didn’t make you feel better?” Léo asked.
“Not really,” Ben said, and then wanted to bite his
tongue. “I’m sorry. I’m being a dick. The suit is… beautiful. I’ve never worn anything so nice. I just… I’m not used to not worrying about money. In my life, you don’t buy something without knowing how much it costs and weighing whether it’s worth it.”
“Ah, but you’re not in your life right now,” Léo pointed out. “New experiences, remember? Also, I think you will find even when you get home that your life has changed. Fifty million small changes.”
Ben paused to consider that. “I don’t have fifty million anymore,” he reminded Léo, who laughed.
“Even with what you’ve given away, you have a substantial amount left.”
True.
Léo brought the car to a stop and put it in Park, and Ben looked around. They were at the valet parking area in the Place du Casino. He blinked.
“Where are we having coffee?”
Léo nodded toward the Café de Paris.
“Would you like some ice cream?”
Chapter Nine
BEN and Léo entered the restaurant at fifteen minutes after eight and were greeted effusively. The maître d’hôtel chattered away in French, and when Léo glanced at Ben and opened his mouth to request that the man speak in English, as he had many times over the past couple of weeks, Ben shook his head. It didn’t really matter right now; the man was likely just fawning over Léo and—yep, he was gesturing across the restaurant. Lucien and Malik were probably already seated.
They followed him on a path winding through the widely spaced tables, and Léo nodded to several people, stopping once to kiss an elderly lady’s hand. They finally arrived at their table, which was by the window (Ben suspected it was the best one in the place) and sure enough, Malik and Lucien were waiting.
“Sorry we’re late,” Ben said as they were seated and a waiter appeared to fuss over napkin placement and fill their water glasses. “I couldn’t find the key to my room, and the reception desk at the hotel was really busy. I think it was a tour group or something. Anyway, that put me way behind.” He picked up his menu, opened it, and tried not to gasp. Millet was some kind of grain, right? So how could millet, mushrooms, and cabbage as a first course cost ninety euros? It wasn’t even one of those super-expensive special species of mushroom, just “wood mushrooms.”
Léo’s hand closed over Ben’s menu and pulled it away. Ben met his gaze, doing his best not to look shocked. “Many little changes and new experiences,” Léo said gently. “Why don’t I order for you?”
Ben took a deep breath. “That’s a good idea,” he answered. Léo was right. New experiences. How often was he going to eat at a three-Michelin-starred restaurant in Monaco in the company of three suave billionaires?
Although, he felt like he’d been asking himself “how often will I” an awful lot lately. And since he’d already been in Monaco a lot longer than he’d expected—with no departure date in sight yet—there was a pretty good chance he’d end up repeating some of these experiences. Like eating at the yacht club. He’d done that four times now.
And having sex with Léo. He’d lost track of how many times he’d done that. Including a quickie that afternoon between ice cream at Café de Paris and picking up his new suit.
He was distracted from his thoughts when Léo pressed his wineglass into his hand. Apparently, while he’d been pondering sex with Léo, the sommelier had come, gone to collect the wine, and served it. There were no menus on the table, so they’d probably ordered too, and there was a plate in front of him containing a bite-sized morsel of… something. He knew from eating out with Léo at other posh restaurants that it was an amuse-bouche, a single hors d’oeuvre offered with the compliments of the chef.
He ate it, not sure what it was, but it tasted good. Some kind of preserved meat and pickled vegetable?
“You’re deep in thought,” Lucien said, and Ben tried hard not to blush, because most of his thoughts had centered on sex. From the heat in his face and the twinkle in Lucien’s eye, he’d failed, but they all pretended it wasn’t happening—except for the sidelong glance Léo gave him. For some reason, Léo liked it when he got flustered.
“I was just thinking that I need to do some washing soon,” he improvised. “I’ve been sending my things out with Léo’s”—because Léo didn’t have a washing machine, and there were literally no self-service coin laundromats in Monaco—“but at the hotel tonight, I realized there’s some stuff there that could do with a wash.”
“Washing,” Malik said in a carefully neutral tone. “Sure. That’s a nice suit, by the way.”
“Thank you,” Ben said. “I got it today.” It really was a nice suit, and clearly Monsieur Carrere and Martin knew more about making suits than he did, because once they’d finished altering it, it had looked amazing on Ben. The changes weren’t big, but they had a big impact.
“Carrere?” Lucien asked, and Léo nodded. “You can tell. Did you do anything else interesting today?”
“Just ice cream and coffee,” Léo said, and the heat in Ben’s cheeks flared again. In an effort to be nonchalant, he looked at the wineglass in his hand. The liquid inside was a pale golden color. Léo was always particular about matching wine to food, so he figured he’d be eating something that went with white wine. He took a sip, and as usual when Léo ordered the wine, it was wonderful. Light and dry without the bitterness he’d always associated with dry wine in the past.
“I like this,” he said, and Léo smiled.
“It’s Lucien’s favorite wine,” he said, and across the table Lucien lifted his glass in salute before taking a sip.
“So,” Malik said, “you never said this morning, Lucien, if there’s any interesting gossip from Paris.”
Lucien made a face. “Nothing. Everybody is being boring. The most interesting thing I have to report is that I saw your sister-in-law, Léo, and she’s starting to show.”
Show? Show what? Oh! Ben blinked. “Your sister-in-law is pregnant?” he asked, then wondered if it was even her first pregnancy. Maybe Léo already had nephews or nieces—or both?
“Yes,” Léo said. “I think the baby is due in October. My father is thrilled—the line of succession will be ensured.” He spoke very dryly.
“Have you been ordered back to Paris for the birth?” Malik asked, and Léo shook his head.
“Not yet. I think he knows I don’t need to be there.”
Their first course arrived, and Ben studied his plate as it was set in front of him. Some sort of seafood thing with prawns. It looked good, and he’d yet to dislike anything Léo had ordered him, so he waited until everyone had been served and then picked up his fork. He was pretty sure it was the right one; he’d gotten quite a bit of experience selecting cutlery lately.
The food was good. In fact, it was so good that Ben tuned out the conversation and focused entirely on what he was putting in his mouth. By the time he’d swallowed the last morsel and looked up, he’d completely lost track of what they’d been talking about. Quickly determining that it wasn’t something that interested him, he looked around the restaurant instead. Lucien had been right; he did like the decor. All cream and gold, with ornate plaster moldings and an absolutely gorgeous ceiling. He wanted to tip his head back and study it in more detail, but he was already getting the occasional sidelong glance from some of the other tables, and didn’t want to look out of place.
Again.
“Ben?” Malik interrupted his hopefully surreptitious inspection of the ceiling.
“Yes?”
Their waiter came and began clearing the first course.
“You said something before that made me curious.”
Ben thought back over what he’d said so far this evening. Nothing very interesting, that was for sure. “What was that?”
“You were talking about your hotel room.”
Not sure where Malik was going with this, Ben said, “Yeees? Usually when you go to a place where you don’t have a home, you stay in a hotel. You knew I was doing that, Malik.”
Lucien s
norted and Léo smiled. Malik grinned. “No, what I mean is, I didn’t know you still had the room at the Fairmont. You’ve been at Léo’s so often, I thought you’d given it up.”
Oh my God, he thinks I’m a freeloader! Ben turned to Léo, stricken. “I-I can stay at the hotel more. I didn’t mean to imp—”
“Hush,” Léo said. “I don’t want you to stay at the hotel more. I like having you with me.” He glared at his cousin.
“I’m sorry, Ben, I’m not explaining myself well,” Malik apologized. “I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t stay with Léo. In fact, quite the opposite.”
As Ben’s heartbeat returned to normal, he reached for his wine and tried to work out what Malik was saying. The opposite of not staying with Léo was… staying with Léo.
He shook his head. “What?”
Malik sighed. “Why don’t you just stay with Léo?”
Ben blinked. “Well… because we’ve only known each other a few weeks. And… he hasn’t…. He doesn’t….” He could feel his face getting hot.
“Ben,” Léo said, and Ben forced himself to meet his lover’s warm gaze. “Why don’t you give up that room and move in with me? It’s been days since you even went back to the hotel, anyway, and I hated it when you did.”
Ben’s smile was so wide he thought his cheeks might crack. He probably looked like a fool, but he didn’t care. Léo wanted him to stay with him!
“Sure, okay,” he said, going for casual and pretty sure he failed miserably. “I’d like that.”
Their main course arrived, and Ben dug in cheerfully. Good food, pleasant surroundings, great company, and positive developments in his relationship with Léo. What more could he ask?
Apparently, for them to be the only people in the restaurant.
They were halfway through their main course when the elderly lady Léo had greeted earlier approached their table.
“Léonard,” she demanded imperiously when she was still six feet away, and Léo, Malik, and Lucien all rose immediately. Ben scrambled to do so also; no way was he going to be the only one sitting. He’d stand out like a shag on a rock.
The Bunny and the Billionaire Page 11