How to Belong with a Billionaire

by Alexis Hall

  “Of course.” He stood, taking me with him, that heedless, effortless strength of his making me feel protected and overwhelmed and cherished all at once…“The warehouse?”

  “Or…” Old worries—worries from another lifetime—dug their way zombie-like from shallow graves and made me awkward. “Or your place?”

  “Certainly.” Now it was Caspian’s turn to hesitate. “I wonder, though, have you forgotten the…I believe you called it a sentimental declaration that I asked for?”

  Ohhhhhhh. I had to fight incredibly hard against the goofy smile that tried to shape my lips. “I thought you’d forgotten.”

  “I haven’t.”

  “You might have to remind me.”

  He gave me an outraged look. “You just indicated that you remembered.”

  “Who? Me?”

  That made him actually growl—though there was laughter in it too. “You are a monstrous little minx.”

  “Punish me later.”

  “I…I…”

  “When you’re ready.”

  The panicky flutter of his pulse slowed again. “You should be careful. It would not be to your benefit were I to keep tally.”

  “Fuck yes it would.” I squirmed naughtily against him “Please keep tally.”

  His lips covered mine, half kiss, half groan—and quite a lot of teeth. “God, I missed you. I missed you so much.”

  “D-don’t forget your sentimental declaration,” I said, when I had breath and wherewithal for speech.

  He was silent for a long moment, just looking at me, his mouth still red from mine, and his eyes glittering with the promise of power. “Tell me you love me, Arden.”

  Okay, not so much asking then, as commanding.

  But while my soul knew its equal, my heart knew its master. Even when the master didn’t fully know himself.

  And so, with happiness breaking inside me, like light through a prism splintering endlessly into rainbows, I obeyed.

  Chapter 42

  Caspian pulled his shirt back on and draped his tuxedo jacket carefully over my shoulders, which, of course, I loved. And then, heedless of masks and hand in hand, we fled the red room, through the dim corridors and down the gilt-encrusted staircase of the house, and tumbled into Caspian’s car. He murmured something to the driver and we were off—swallowed into welcome obscurity by London’s ceaseless traffic. I didn’t want to let go of Caspian, still not quite believing we were actually here, together, hoping for the same future, but I kind of had to. Partly because my nose was itchy and I needed to scratch it, but also because I wasn’t sure if George had managed to assemble her orgy and escape yet. I texted her to let her know that I was okay, going home with Caspian, and would she mind terribly taking care of my feathery cloak? She replied a couple of seconds later with “Your wings are always safe with me, poppet.”

  Then I tucked my hand back into Caspian’s, leaned my head against his shoulder, and…I don’t know. Basked? In the heat of his skin and the scent of his cologne and the strength of his body next to mine. And in the perfect nothingness of the moment. Two men in a car. Going home. The simplest and most precious thing in the world to me right then. Closing my eyes, I tried to hold on to it—to that sense of peace—but the events of the evening kept fragmenting around me, vivid and unreal at the same, as if I was staring into a kaleidoscope of my own life.

  Fuck, I was crying.

  And despite my best efforts, there was apparently no concealing it from Caspian. “Arden, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m sorry. Nothing. Just…feelings. I’m having a lot of them right now.”

  “Bad feelings?”

  “No, I’m happy. So happy it’s messing me up. Like this has to be a mistake. Or maybe I’m dreaming. Or eight gazillion Hugo Weavings are about to show up because I’m in the Matrix.”

  “Dear me.” He cast me a rather quizzical look. “You must be in a bad way, because that’s a reference so dated even I get it.”

  I giggled in a hiccoughy way. “Oh, shut up.”

  “Come here.” He pulled me back into his lap, helping me curl up as small as I could possibly be within the circle of his arms. “I promise you, this is real, and I’m not going anywhere. Even if I have to fight Hugo Weaving for you.”

  “Do you know kung fu?”

  “Let’s say I do.”

  I thought about it. “I really like Hugo Weaving. If he wanted me that badly, it would present quite the dilemma.”

  “He’s not remotely suitable for you. He’s straight, for one thing, and he must be nearly sixty.”

  “So? I bet he’d let me call him Daddy.”

  Caspian was frowning so ferociously that his brows had become cartoon slashes—turning him into the world’s most handsome emoji. “Are you seriously telling me you would leave me for Hugo Weaving?”

  “Are you seriously telling me”—I gazed up at him, my tears lost to incredulity—“you’re jealous?”

  He had the self-awareness to blush. “No. Yes. That is, I’ve only just got you back. I’m not ready to countenance losing you to anyone.”

  “I guess I’ll stay with you, then.” I heaved a heavy sigh. “Hugo’s going to be so bummed.”

  “Well, he’ll have to endure it.”

  I was quiet a moment, snuggled into Caspian. “For the record, I’m not up for doing any countenancing either.”

  “You won’t have to you. I’m yours, my Arden.”

  “I like the sound of that,” I whispered. Tilting my head up, I brushed my fingers lightly across his mouth. “M-my Caspian.”

  I felt his lips shape several unuttered words before he said, “What you did for me tonight was extraordinarily kind and extraordinarily brave. It’s no wonder you’re exhausted and overwhelmed, and a little fragile.”

  “You were brave too. It would have been a lot easier for you not to listen.”

  “Once, it would have been.” He kissed my temple. “As you learned to your cost. I wish I could have reacted better when you first tried to help me.”

  “And I wish I could have done a better job of, well, helping.”

  “How can you say that? You’ve always thought better of me than I’ve ever been able to think of myself.”

  “How about,” I suggested “you don’t go from blaming yourself for what happened to you to blaming yourself for not instantly getting over it.”

  “But I put you through so much. Nathaniel too. All because—”

  “Stop.” Turning, I kissed him into silence. “What’s done is done and this was always going to be hard. You told me I expect too much too quickly and you were right. It was super not okay of me to just assume that you’d trade your worldview for mine overnight. And then I made it all about Nathaniel instead of about you, and, honestly, I’ve fucked this up so many ways it’s amazing I made any kind of difference.”

  “You did, Arden, you did. It’s just I was terrified of what it might mean if you were right. And so I ran to Nathaniel to prove you wrong. But you weren’t. And I couldn’t go back, and couldn’t go on, and then…then you came to save me again.”

  “And this time”—I gave him a trembly smile—“you let me.”

  “Well, I felt that recent events had systemically demonstrated every alternative strategy nonviable.”

  I wouldn’t have imagined it was possible to miss Caspian’s emotionally challenged billionaire nerdspeak. But I had. I so had. “Yeah, current research indicates that Arden-centric strategies are twenty-three percent more productive than a placebo under laboratory conditions.”

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “I’m loving you.”

  He made a soft sound, a little pained, almost needy, and hid his face in my hair. “I still don’t know how to respond to that.”

  “I love you too is traditional.”

  “And I do, but I worry it could too easily sound perfunctory when it’s an echo.”

  “For the record, I think you’re going to have to tell me you love me a whole lot
more before it becomes perfunctory.”

  “I will, I will.” Another, slightly fretful press of his lips. “I know I shouldn’t think this way but even the possibility that you could…that you could…”

  I glowered at him. “Say it.”

  “You’ve become quite demanding in my absence.”

  “Actually,” I pointed out sheepishly, “I’ve always been demanding.”

  He laughed. “So you have, my dearest tyrant.”

  “Not…not in bad way, right?” The idea of becoming Nathaniel II: Nathaniel Strikes Back was horrifying.

  “In the best possible way.”

  “I would never want anything from you that you didn’t want to give.”

  “I know that. Believe me, Arden”—his voice had fallen into its deepest register, the one I usually associated with deliciously rough sex, but now it promised tenderness too, and just as effectively—“I’ve longed for this, and all it entails, as you have. I just never believed I could have it.”

  “You can.”

  “I trust you. Which I hope, in time, will help me trust myself.”

  “You’ll get there.” I nuzzled him. “I mean, come on. You’re Caspian Hart. You consider no endeavour complete until you have not merely succeeded in it, but mastered it utterly.”

  “Thank you,” he said, with a rueful look, “for reminding me how completely absurd I am capable of sounding.”

  “Okay, it’s a little bit absurd. But also sexy. And true. There’s nothing you can’t do when you decide you’re going to do it. Why should this be any different?”

  It was cheerleading in the guise of a rhetorical question—and I would have totally let him get away with not answering. But he did. “I suppose because I’ve never really felt that I belonged to me.”

  “Well, you do.”

  “Yes. And”—he gave me one of his shyest, sweetest smiles—“a little bit to you.”

  “Damn straight. Well…maybe not straight. I’ve never done anything straight in my life. But you should know”—I wagged a finger at him—“I intend to take the best possible care of what’s mine.”

  That earned an eyebrow twitch. “Oh?”

  “Yes. You taught me such a lot, Caspian—about life and confidence and figuring stuff out and not being afraid to fuck shit up. But you also taught me how to make someone feel cherished and looked after and loved, even without the words.”

  “I also made you feel confused and rejected and devalued.”

  “Yeah, those times were rough.” I shrugged. “But I think on some level I knew it wasn’t what you meant to do—so it never stuck. Whereas the good always did.”

  His mouth pulled tight, his eyes almost grey in the flickering lights of the city. “Don’t make excuses for me.”

  “I’ll make excuses for you if I want to, dammit. But that’s not what I’m doing here.” With a tap of my finger to his jaw, I reclaimed his gaze. “I’m not trying to deny that you’ve hurt me. But I get to decide how much it matters.”

  A moment of struggle and he was back with me, the tension fading from his body and the shadows from his features. I didn’t know what kind of internal battle he’d just fought, except that he had fought it. Fought it and won it. When a handful of months ago he wouldn’t even have tried.

  “Anyway,” I said, claiming the spoils of victory, “what were we talking about before?”

  “What were we—oh. I thought you’d forgotten.”

  “Nope.”

  He made a soft sound of resignation. “I think I was trying to tell you that the truth of your love abashes me. And I’m not sure how I will ever be worthy of it. “

  “Love isn’t earned, Caspian. It’s given.”

  He slid a hand beneath my chin to angle my face to his, and kissed me—rough, and slightly desperate, his mouth open over mine, hot breath and the scrape of burgeoning stubble. “Then you are a gift beyond reckoning. How do…how do I show you that?”

  “I’ve got to say you’re…you’re doing a pretty good job already.” My breath caught and I had to take a moment to catch up to myself. Apparently kissed half out of my mind was a way I could sound. “But,” I went on, with an attempt at sensible, “what do you normally do when someone gives you a gift?”

  Caspian made a dismissive gesture. “I’m a billionaire. People seldom feel the need to buy me things.”

  “That’s rubbish. You must know the general principle, though?”

  He thought about it for far too long, his brow creasing and his eyes a little frantic, like he was living one of those nightmares where you find yourself in an exam you haven’t revised for. “You say thank you?”

  “Exactly.” I grinned at him. “Shall we try it?”

  “T-try? How? What are you—”

  “I love you, Caspian.”

  “Oh.” He let out a shaky breath, followed by an almost inaudible “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I claimed his hand and was about to kiss it, when the dull shine of metal on his fourth finger made me recoil. “Um. I don’t mean to throw a wobbly or anything, but you’re still wearing your…Nathaniel’s…”

  Caspian gave a sharp gasp. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Take it off, please. Like, right now.”

  He was tugging, but the ring had caught on the joint. “Can you help me?”

  I didn’t want to touch it, but I also didn’t want him casually wearing the symbol of his commitment to another man, and between us we were able to slide it free. I’d had to disembark Caspian’s lap as we struggled, which left us sitting side by side again, the shadow of a ring between us like this was fucking Mordor. Caspian reached into his pocket and pulled out the platinum band that Nathaniel had given him earlier.

  “Say what you like about him”—it came out slightly more grumpily than I’d intended—“but the man had good taste.”

  Caspian said nothing. Just stared at the twin circles resting on his palm.

  “Can you return them?” I asked. “Is that a thing you can do?”

  With the decisive swiftness of a paper cut, he pressed the button that lowered the tinted window next to him, and tossed both rings into the night. It was impossible, of course, over the thrum of the engine, but I almost thought I heard them chink as they bounced away to roll into the gutter or catch in a pavement crack or line the nest of an unexpectedly glamorous pigeon.

  I blinked. “Wow. That was…”

  “I’m sorry.” He gave a little cough. “I may have overreacted. But I didn’t want to ever have to think about them again.”

  “Perk of being incredibly fucking rich, I guess.”

  He held out his newly naked hand, and after the slightest of hesitations, I took it. “Are you angry with me?”

  “N-no. I’m trying to balance my middle-class dismay that you just, like, threw away however many thousands and thousands of pounds’ worth of jewellery with…being glad you did it.”

  “Perks of dating someone incredibly fucking rich.”

  That made me laugh. “You are a bit of a get out of guilt free card.”

  “I should hope so.” His fingers pressed between mine, nothing but skin on skin. “Because I intend to spoil you quite terribly, and won’t have you feeling guilty about it.”

  I was about to explain that I didn’t need spoiling, only him, when the car drew to a slightly unexpected halt. Caspian climbed out first, and came round to help me out, which wasn’t remotely necessary—me and Meghan Markle totally having car door–related manoeuvres sewn up—but what the hell. Besides, I was in a floor-length frock and would likely have nose-dived into the pavement without Caspian’s supporting arm. And so with surprising grace for, well, me, I succeeded in exiting the vehicle.

  And found myself in a wholly unfamiliar part of London.

  Chapter 43

  Are you kidnapping me?” I asked. “Because if you are…that’s hot.”

  He reached for my hand again. And, wow, I was adapting to touchy-feely Caspian incredibly fast. Almos
t as if remote, wary, locked-away Caspian was a piece of a dream I was already beginning to forget. I gave his fingers an anxious squeeze before I got all Zhuangzi and the butterfly, and started wondering if this was the dream.

  Caspian returned my squeeze. “Is it still kidnapping if the subject is enthusiastically consenting?”

  “Don’t ruin this for me.” I paused, glancing up and down the empty street, with its rows of painted, bow-windowed houses and the cheerfully graffiti-muralled off-licence right next door to a hipster bakery. It looked very much like my kind of place. Not at all like Caspian’s. “Where exactly are we?”

  “Notting Hill.”

  I gave a little skip. “Oh, I keep meaning to come here. Go to Portobello Market, and The Gate, and nose into all the weird little shops, and post endless Instas of myself eating biscotti and reading Sartre in quirky cafés.”

  “That’s”—Caspian seemed to be struggling not to smile—“quite a specific vision.”

  “Yeah. And I don’t even like Sartre.”

  “I see.”

  “Or biscotti.”

  He turned into me, stifling an amused sound in my hair. I hoped someday he would learn to laugh freely, but until then, or even if he never did, all his secrets would be safe with me. As cherished as his kisses. “Why haven’t you? Visited I mean.”

  “I don’t know,” I admitted. “Somehow never got round to it. That’s one of the most awkward things about living in London: All this exciting stuff happening nearby, and you still end up eating Twiglets in your pyjamas and watching an illegal stream of Drag Race. Well. If you’re me. Probably you reshape the world’s economy.”

  “Not every day. In any case,” he went on vaguely, “perhaps in the future you will have occasion to spend more time here.”

  “Yeah, I could spill orange juice on Julia Roberts.”

  “Pardon?”

  “God, you’re hopeless. I love you.”

  He made flustered motions. “Shall we walk?”

  “Sure. Though since you normally get a chauffeur to take you to the bathroom, I’m beginning to think you’ve been infected by alien brain parasites. You haven’t been infected by alien brain parasites, have you?”