Unwrapped by The Billionaire

by Joanna Nicholson

  “Now you know why it was just a one night stand!”

  They laughed. They were still doing that when they stepped out on the street, but it didn’t last long.

  Arnaud froze. “What the...”

  “Oh my god!”

  *****

  “How could no one have seen anything!?” Arnaud barked at the police officer in French.

  The man shrugged, but Amanda wasn’t paying attention. Someone had smashed in all the windows of his Porsche Boxster, but he or she didn’t stop there. The tires had been slashed, the rearview mirrors were gone, the paint had been scratched all over, and dents showed where someone had taken a bat to it.

  Montemartre is a heavily populated part of Paris, but the area they’d parked in was a largely residential section. A crowd had gathered, but no one came forward to say they’d seen the vandal. Some, in fact, were smiling; meaning it could have been one of them.

  “Amanda, I have to go with the police to make a report. I’ll have my driver take you...”

  “It’s all right. I’ll just get an Uber.”

  “No! I want you home safely.”

  “Listen, hot stuff, I can take care of myself. You take care of that, first. Sheesh, they really did a good job on your car.”

  “That’s a good job?”

  “It’s an expression. I’ll be ok,” she said as she kissed his cheek. “Unless you want me to come with you to the station?”

  He shook his head then stopped and turned to the police officer he’d been yelling at moments before. The officer just shook his head. Turning back to her, he said, “No. I don’t want you to do that. But I want to take you home. My driver can be here in...”

  “It’s late. Let your driver sleep. You take care of this and I’ll see you... next week?”

  “Suis vraiment désolée...”

  Ignoring the officers and the crowd, she gave him a hug. On impulse, she also kissed him on the lips. “No, don’t be sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault. Sure you don’t want me to come to the station to hold your hand?”

  “I’d like you to hold something else,” he grinned. “But no. There’s no need. I’ll wait here till your Uber arrives.”

  He didn’t have to wait long. As Amanda’s car drove off, she looked back at him, then at the ruin that was left of his car. “Who could do something like that?”

  “Madame?” the woman behind the wheel asked.

  “Nothing. Sorry. Just thinking aloud.”

  The woman nodded and kept driving.

  “It’s just... my boyfriend. Someone smashed his car while we were having dinner.”

  “It’s all those illegals!”

  “Huh?”

  “Yes. They come in from North Africa and the Middle East, cause trouble...” she shook her head. “Only Marine le Pen can fix it. She’s like your Farage, yes? Your Nigel Farage? ”

  Amanda wanted to kick herself for opening her mouth. Just her luck to get stuck in a car with an ultranationalist driver. Le Pen, the French Donald Trump, running for the French elections on a campaign to curb immigration and break away from the European Union.

  She decided to keep her mouth shut and waited for the ultranationalist tirade that usually spewed out of these types. None came. To make it stay that way, Amanda kept quiet for the rest of the trip.

  She had just stepped on the curb outside her building when realization hit. The car was pulling out of the curb when Amanda ran after and began whacking the trunk. The car screeched to a halt.

  The rear right window rolled down and the driver leaned back, looking at her with a puzzled look. “Madame? Did you forget something?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend. I know I said that, but he’s not.”

  The driver let out a huff and shook her head. “Is there anything else, madame!?”

  “No. I just wanted to clarify that point.”

  Still shaking her head, the driver rolled up her rear window and drove off.

  Amanda likewise stood there watching the car recede into the night. Shaking her head, she couldn’t help adding, “French people. I mean, really.”

  She saw it even before she reached her floor. She paused on the stairs and crossed her arms as she frowned at the bouquet of flowers resting on the floor beside her door. Bending down to pick it up, she wasn’t surprised to find no card.

  “Well, well, well... it seems I really do have a secret admirer, what?”

  Nor was she surprised to receive flowers the next day at work.

  *****

  “If you get any more of these, you can start your own garden,” Savitri observed as she admired the new bouquet.

  “Mme. Dimanche has already started,” Amanda replied. “Help me with this zipper, will you? Have you seen the garden in my courtyard? The sudden profusion of flowers all come from yours truly.”

  “Where did he say he’s taking you tonight?”

  “To meet some friends of his.”

  “Ooh, some friends of his. Must be serious, then, eh? And how do you feel about that?”

  Amanda shrugged.

  “You’re lying and you know it. And you know that I know it. Even better, you know that I know that you know it. You are so busted, missy!”

  She bit her lip. “Is it that obvious?”

  “It is to me. So what’s the problem, then?”

  “Weren’t you the one who said that his sort don’t...”

  “Mandy! How much longer are you gonna live like a nun, what!? No scratch that. I know you don’t. But isn’t that why you came here? To start anew? How...”

  Amanda’s phone rang. “It’s him. He’s already here.”

  “Go, then. And stop overthinking everything. Shoo!”

  “Don’t forget to lock up!”

  “After I steal everything, of course. Now go!”

  Amanda had just stepped out on the sidewalk when she heard a low rumble. Heads started turning, so she craned her neck to see what the fuss was about when a silver Panoz Esperante GTLM Convertible stopped on the street before her. The two-seater had its top down, giving her a perfect view of the man driving it.

  “Impressed?” Arnaud asked with a grin.

  She nodded. “More than I was with the other one.”

  He looked offended. “What’s wrong with my Porsche!?”

  “Nothing,” she said as she got in. “Well, aside from the fact that it’s a wreck. It’s just that I like the look of this one better.” Then she gave him a peck on the cheek. “Why?”

  He made a mock crying face. “I miss my baby! Waah!”

  “You can afford to get another one, I’m sure. With all the bells and whistles, too. So listen, are you really sure this is a good idea?”

  “The convertible?”

  “No! This... you know, meeting your friends thing.”

  “Why not? I know Savitri. Besides, they’re not really friends. Well, not most of them. Just people I’ve known for some time... and get along with.” He grinned.

  “What? You have no friends?”

  “Very few, but most are out of the city, right now. Lots of acquaintances, though.”

  “Great. I feel better already.”

  And she did. It was a cool evening in late September and she was in a sports car with a hot hunk who was great in bed. With the top down, people stared at them as they passed. It made her uncomfortable, at first, but she learned to relax and enjoy the jealous glances other women made at her.

  But how long before you end up watching him drive past you with another woman sitting where you are right now? Amanda thought about that for a moment before telling her evil twin sister where to stuff it. Soon enough, no doubt, she told her twin. But for now, I’m gonna enjoy this while it lasts.

  They drove into the courtyard of what looked like an impressive building. She couldn’t tell if it was a private residence or a hotel of some sort, but when she asked Arnaud, all he said was that it belonged to a “friend” of his. He jumped out of the car and smilingly t
ook her arm as he led her into what looked like a ground-floor office and library.

  “Arnaud!” boomed a very tall and skinny man with a long, white beard. He gave Arnaud a tight hug, shaking him from side to side as he laughed. “Oh, it’s been so long! Where have you been, my boy!? What mischief have you been up to, what!?”

  “Busy, as usual,” came Arnaud’s muffled reply as the man continued to shake him.

  The man laughed again and pushed him aside as he took a step toward Amanda. “And I take it this is she?” he said in a Scottish accent. “Oh my dear!” he cupped her face in his hands. “You are a beauty to behold, indeed! I am Duncan, and absolutely, positively delighted to meet you at last!”

  Amanda grinned, warmed by the man’s genuine enthusiasm. “Has Arnaud been talking about me?”

  Duncan let her go and stepped back as he clasped his hands dramatically before him. “Oh! Oh my dear, has he! But from the expression on you, I take it he’s said nothing about me. Oh, so typical. I’m Arnaud’s godfather. Mind you, I’m a dyed-in-the-wool Protestant, but the senior du Lac was such a good friend of mine, I didn’t mind dabbling in heretic Catholic practices, ha ha!

  “But don’t let’s stand here! Come! Come on in! Dinner’s about to start shortly. Ermm... or so I believe. This way, my dear. This way!” He offered his arm and promptly walked away forcing Arnaud to follow.

  Though charmed, Amanda’s nervousness returned. What if I use the wrong fork or knife? What if...

  But she needn’t have worried. “Dinner” was a casual affair on the building’s roof deck in the form of a barbecue. A huge beef carcass was burning on a spit as a heavily mustachioed man barked orders in rapid Spanish to a small team of people who carved chunks away. People stood grouped in small clusters, a few of whom raised their glasses toward Arnaud by way of greeting.

  ”So Duncan owns this building?” Amanda asked.

  “Yes, but he only occupies a portion of it. The rest is a library devoted to historical archives.”

  “So how come you never told me anything about him?”

  He shrugged. “It never came up.” Two people started waving at him. “Come, I should introduce you.”

  The couple, a middle-aged husband and wife team, were polite and courteous, but neither smiled. Amanda had gotten used to that. Most French don’t actually smile at strangers because many consider it inappropriate. Smiles are usually reserved only for those one knows. A slight curling of the mouth at the corners is about the most one can expect, usually, but not in this case.

  “Eh, may I steal Arnaud for a moment, Amanda?” the husband asked as he led Arnaud away, not bothering to wait for a reply.

  “Oh, not at...” she said as the two men walked away. Arnaud gave her a guilty, apologetic smile as he was taken from her.

  “You must forgive my husband,” the woman said. “Those two never stop talking business, I’m afraid. I am Maya.

  “Not at all, Maya. I gathered, as much. May I ask how long you’ve known Arnaud?”

  “My husband and he grew up together as children. And you?”

  Amanda suddenly felt self-conscious. “About a month,” she replied. The woman had absolutely no facial expression, whatsoever.

  Maya nodded. “Still, you seem to be good for him.”

  “Oh. Ermm... why thank you.”

  “Better than...” Maya shook her head. “I’m sorry. Have you tried the barbeque? Come, you must try it. That man,” she pointed to the one who was still barking orders, “is a famous Argentine cook.”

  A waiter handed her a plate of steaming meat with vegetables on the side, while another walked up to her with a tray of what was probably champagne. By the time she got both, Maya had gone.

  Left alone, she wandered about looking for a place to sit when Duncan came striding up to her. “Did that godson of mine abandon you, my dear? That git! You must forgive him, Amanda. He’s French and they’re like that, I’m afraid!”

  She looked self-consciously around, but though a few obviously heard, they all smiled indulgently. Duncan must have played on the ancient Anglo-Frankish enmity with relish long enough for them to get used to it.

  “Ah, I see you got some food. Come, sit down here.” He led her to a small table with two elderly women. “This is Camille and that’s Sylvie. And this is Amanda. Say ‘hello,’ ladies. Oops, do excuse me, please,” he huffed as he shuffled off to greet someone else.

  Amanda couldn’t remember who was who, but she was stuck so she sat with the women.

  Fortunately, Camille had no qualms about smiling at a perfect stranger. “Who are you here with, if I might ask?”

  Amanda felt relief! The woman spoke in perfect Received Pronunciation. “Oh, you’re British!”

  “Not really,” Camille replied with a grin. “I’m French. Only that I spent a part of my childhood there. Britain, you understand? As did Sylvie, here. But you didn’t answer my question.”

  “I’m supposed to be here with Arnaud, but...” she finished with a shrug.

  “Oh, so typical,” snorted the other woman before diving back to her plate.

  “Quite,” Camille nodded as she looked around. “Well, he’ll turn up eventually, I’m sure. Might I be bold enough to ask how long it is you two have been together?”

  Amanda swallowed her food and wondered if the whole night would be like this. “Ermm... about a month-ish?”

  “About time, too,” Sylvie piped in, waving her fork in the air for emphasis.

  “And, may I ask how it is that you two met?”

  “Stop pestering the child,” Sylvie huffed. “You must forgive her, my dear. She’s a nosy one.”

  “As we are Arnaud’s aunts, I think it is our prerogative to ask, don’t you, Sylvie?”

  Amanda’s eyes widened. “Is this a family gathering?”

  Camille shook her head, “Not really, no. It’s a casual gathering of friends and some family held by a mutual friend,” she finished by pointing at Duncan who was busy shuffling back and forth. “But you didn’t answer my question, my dear. Bad habit, that, you know.”

  Amanda smiled. “He nearly ran me over.”

  “As I said,” Sylvie raised her knife, “oh so very typical.”

  “No, I mean literally. He was in a speeding limo while I was crossing the road, and... Well, thank goodness he didn’t.”

  “Thank goodness, indeed,” Camille nodded. “So how are you two getting along, what? A month you said? That’s progress.”

  “Especially since it’s been well over a year since he brought a woman over to one of these gatherings,” Sylvie added. “I was beginning to think the boy had turned gay.”

  “That’ll be enough of that, dear,” Camille chided her sister. “You seem intelligent,” she told Amanda. “Not an actress or model, I hope?” Amanda shook her head. “Definitely intelligent, then, thank goodness. What is that you do then, if I might ask?”

  Amanda took a sip of her champagne to wash her food down and to buy herself time. “I’m a botanist. For the MNHN?”

  “Definitely intelligent,” Sylvie nodded. “For a change. Now stop pestering the child, Camille, lest you drive her off. The boy’s been walking on cloud nine, lately. For a change. And about time, too!”

  Camille sighed. “Yes, I suppose. Anything to get his mind off of Sophie.”

  “Sophie?” Amanda asked with a sinking feeling

  “His god awful wife,” Camille rolled her eyes as she waved both hands in the air.

  Sylvie slammed her hand on the table. “Damn it, Camille! Now look what you’ve done, you nosy twat! You’ve gone and upset the poor girl!”

  Amanda put down her glass and said a shaky goodbye to the two women as she looked for the stairwell.

  “Oh, Amanda, I’m so...”

  But what Camille was so “so” about, Amanda didn’t hear as she fled the roof deck.

  “Amanda!?” It was Duncan. “Amanda!”

  She made it out to the courtyard when Arnaud finally caught up with her
. “Amanda! Wait!”

  She had no intention of doing that as she made a beeline to the open gate. Her cellphone was in her hand as she speed dialed Uber.

  “Amanda! Wait! Please!” He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “Amanda, what’s wrong?”

  “So who else was I supposed to meet up there, huh!? Your wife!? Sophie!? Let go of me, you bastard!”

  “Amanda, you don’t understand! Please let me explain!”

  She stopped in her tracks and took a deep breath. “Listen, you. It was fun, alright? And the sex was great. But that’s all you ever were about to me and clearly, that’s all I ever was about to you. But there’s one thing I draw the line at and it’s this: I don’t take other women’s husbands.”

  “Aman...”

  “I don’t take other women’s husbands! Because I know exactly what it feels like to be the one cheated on! Understand!? I know exactly what it’s like. It hurts!”

  He stood stunned in the courtyard, his mouth moving soundlessly as he tried to say something. She hoped he’d say it was a bad joke, that what his aunts actually meant was something else. But he didn’t because he just couldn’t. He made one last tentative step toward her.

  She fled the courtyard, onto the street, and into the night fighting back tears.

  Chapter 7

  It was a cold November evening as she jogged through the Jardin des Tuileries, but early enough that the winos, drug addicts, drug pushers, and prostitutes hadn’t yet reclaimed it. Although the city’s authorities had been promising to clean up the park, they had other things on their minds as continuing budget cuts slashed the number of cops they had on hand to keep the place completely safe and clean.

  Amanda didn’t mind. It was far more beautiful than some of the parks near her home in London. And though tourist season was pretty much over, Paris was already putting up Christmas lights – flooding the park with a cacophony of blue and white sparkling lights.

  Arnaud hadn’t liked it and had suggested that she jog elsewhere, but she refused. It was close to where she lived and she actually knew some of the park’s regulars by name. Even some of the cops who vanished a little past sun down would wave at her as she did her laps, giving her a sense of security.