by Pamela Ann
“That’s reassuring to hear, Isobel.”
If I didn’t see the warmth in her eyes, I would’ve assumed this woman was out to get me because she herself was in love with Hugo. However, there was something in her expression that told me her coming here to warn me had been done with good intentions, thus I went with my gut, truly believing her.
“Do you have any plans today? I have a spa appointment, and it would be lovely if you could join me.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’d love to join you.” She beamed at me before taking another cigarette out and lighting it with gusto.
We spent a few hours at the spa getting massages, facials, and manicures. During that time, we chatted about our lives with a few helpings of Rosè.
I found out she was twenty-eight and had fled Paris when things hadn’t panned out with her affair with the married man that had lasted for five years. Chantel was apparently in college when she dropped out and had left Paris to heal her wounds. As much as I tried to pry the name of the man in question, she would make this small laugh and brush the subject off. So I abandoned the subject, leaving me wondering about her life.
In return, I spoke about Damen—my first love, and the love of my life. Though she didn’t ask much about my deal with Hugo, her empathizing about my situation made me feel a little better. Apart from Father, it was great to know there was another human being I could openly talk about it with since my father was such a coldhearted bastard. I didn’t even doubt that, after this deal, he’d go on thinking this was simply a mandatory duty as his daughter. He wouldn’t dare say thank you because that would be beyond his capabilities. Bemoaning about my unfortunate father wouldn’t get me anywhere, however, therefore I left him out of the picture and vaguely described him as a non-parent, parent.
The rest of our time, we didn’t speak much about Hugo or his history. It was spent about her reminiscing over the beauty of Paris and how she’d love to go back someday. When she was ready to face her wounded past, she’d make that trip to memory lane.
Entering the vast foyer, Chantel and I had just arrived at the villa when the house vibrated with sounds—and I meant heavy moans and pounding.
The echo of a woman’s screeching and screams as she was being pleasured made me stop in my tracks. Standing in the middle of the circular foyer, I stared ahead in the vast, freshly waxed, marbled hallway, mystified and visibly in shock. There was no doubt that it was Hugo’s skillful efforts that made the woman shout to the rooftops. And since I was with Chantel, the woman singing his praises was Sherry.
Was this an insult to me? Maybe I was overreacting, but I somehow felt offended, because last night he blatantly dismissed me like I was some rubbish.
Chantel came up behind me. “Have you ever seen him in action?” Her question made me frown.
Shaking my head, I glanced back at her, wondering what she was thinking about.
She winked at me before taking my hand. “Come, he usually doesn’t mind.”
“Usually doesn’t mind?” I parroted like a frightened idiot. “Hell, no. I’m fine.”
Was she out of her loony mind? What she was suggesting was shameless. Besides, if I said yes, what did that make me? A very curious individual? My mind kindly provided.
Her hold tightened, pulling me farther into the house while I tried to stop her, but she didn’t care. Maybe because she had no clue about some of my secretly hidden insecurities when it came to Hugo.
“You’re such a shy girl. We can hide if you want.” She kept on pulling us farther in, and the sounds became harsher. It was much more profound, echoing against the walls, and I couldn’t help that I was getting goose bumps from Sherry’s animal dying-like sounds.
“Come on, you have to see.”
Dammit. As much as I hated to admit it, I was beyond curious.
“And you promise he won’t see me?”
“He won’t if you don’t make a sound…”
Feeling like the ultimate peeping tom, the temptation of seeing him in action overrode rational thought. The two hadn’t even bothered shutting the double doors in his library. They’d simply gone at it, uncaring of the helpers and other people that could easily witness them mate like rabbits—well, more like Hugo not having sex, but fucking to be precise. Yes. I hadn’t known what fucking meant until that very moment.
“Look at how he thrusts. Only a man with enough muscular strength on his lower back and arms and a great sense of rhythm can thrust perfectly like that,” said the woman, whisper-hissing into my ear, who thought Hugo was the ultimate sex god. She’d admitted as much.
As much as I would like to quietly think of a snarky comment to make myself feel better, I couldn’t help noticing the power he exuded with each thrust. The only thing I could think about was him thrusting and how it would feel to be spread eagled on his antique desk, wide-eyed, gasping for his next invasion, feeling thrilled and utterly consumed by one man—Hugo.
“Watch how he dominates. He makes you come undone. With one touch, you just want to do anything to please him,” she went on with her words of awe and worship.
I couldn’t fault her. No wonder she was fine with this arrangement. A part of me wondered what it would be like to have him like this. At the same time, I knew my imagination would never turn into reality. I was a controlled woman who didn’t give in to her urges of sexuality. I wasn’t carnal; I was in love with Damen. No more, no less.
“He makes a woman tremble.” Chantel gave me a quizzing look. “Don’t you think so?”
Her whisper-hissing aside, it annoyed me she was saying the right words about Hugo’s masculinity and sexuality. Because, yes, as much as I would hate to openly admit it, I, too, trembled. I, too, became so sexually aroused I felt the wetness in between my legs before I realized what it was, and it bothered me greatly.
Six months, and I would be out of here in a heartbeat. Hugo and his odd sense of lifestyle wasn’t my problem. I was his plaything, yet I couldn’t allow myself to subconsciously submit to him even if my body had never felt so entranced until Hugo touched me seductively. Damen’s techniques were mediocre compared to his, but I would never submit to them. This was obligation. He was obligation, nothing more.
Loudly grunting my dissatisfaction, I was about to spin around and leave Chantel to her voyeurism when those dark depths snapped at me, connecting our eyes, when it struck me.
I had met him before.
But the question was, when? Because I couldn’t recall.
Chapter 12
Isobel
I immediately fled the scene with my heart pounding against my chest. Seeking the comfort of my own space, I rushed towards the right wing of the house and inside my bedroom. Once in there, I shut the door behind me before leaning against it, eyes closed as the images of him played in my mind, as I tried to remember where and when I had seen Hugo before. Maybe it was something about his side profile that seemed to have triggered a sense of familiarity about the man.
My God, what was that downstairs? Was this how he conducted his private life? Whereas his public persona held him in high regard, the opposite applied to his personal affairs. Yet everyone seemed to have accepted it. There was no talk of protest or any disgusting comments. Why was that? I wondered.
It was infuriating if I came to think about the fact he had left this morning without saying anything to me personally because he was in a rush to take care of a “personal matter.” Then he books me a spa appointment, only to find him engaged in his sexual exploits in his library upon my return. Whatever good opinion I had possessed of him had just turned to nil. It was obvious I wasn’t truly needed. Couldn’t he be less narcissistic and assign me somewhere I could use some brain activity? I was majoring in Journalism, I was certain I could be of some use somewhere in his vast selection of businesses. Being his plaything was boring, and that’s all he ever did, play
He played with my mind and my emotions.
Sex was already covered by Chantel and Sherry. I was the fourt
h wheel he only summoned when the first two options were both exhausted.
I had always wondered what it was to be a socialite, what it meant to be pampered to the point one’s main goal was simply to look pretty and shop until you dropped. Being chauffeured around with a limitless credit card where I could shop for whatever I wanted. Doing whatever my heart desired only proved what I had known all along; I simply couldn’t be a man’s trophy.
Watching my mom deteriorate had only made me want to thrive harder to become the polar opposite of how she had gone about her life. Everything had halted the moment she’d gotten engaged. From then on, it was wedding, marriage, making a home, and then having babies. She said it herself before she had a miscarriage, that this was a woman’s role in life; to provide a home for her husband and children. I had nothing against marriage or having children, but I would certainly make sure the man I chose to marry would accept and respect my choices, that I would have a job of my own, regardless if we had children or not. Because one thing was clear to me; women felt obligated to give up their hopes and dreams the moment they said their I dos. Then they started losing their identity because they’d be too consumed in their new life, trying to please their in-laws and husband so hard they’d lose track of what had made them happy in the first place.
I’d rather stay single than have a life like my mother’s. I wouldn’t even settle for a life like Sherry’s or Chantel’s, even though they would want for nothing when it came to material and monetary aspects. Even then, I wouldn’t dare. Leading a lavish and glamorous life was amazing, but I’d rather be borderline poverty and be with the man I loved than live a meaningless life.
Peeling my clothes off, I changed into a soft cotton robe before I pulled my hair into a haphazard bun and sat on my bed, turning on my laptop.
I had one email from my friend Clara. Opening the mail, my lips broke into a smile when a picture instantly downloaded into view, showing my friends sunbathing with drinks and cheesy, happy smiles plastered on all of their faces. It also included Damen.
Are you still in Monaco? When will you be back? Island hopping isn’t the same without you. We miss you!
Staring at the picture, I could only imagine how much fun I was missing. I had been saving for six months for this trip because my father would rather keel over than give me an allowance. I was fine with it, working part-time while in school was tough, but it taught me discipline and how to budget my money. For six months, I had saved every extra penny, knowing it would all be worth it come summertime. Obviously it hadn’t panned out the way I had pictured it because my father had come out with threats and demands. I was supposed to be spending my summer with Damen. This was supposed to be our time together without projects, exams, and other obligations we faced in our daily lives.
Poor Damen. Ever since we started dating, things hadn’t been easy for us. Nor did it help that my father was so against it, calling Damen dirt and saying he was only after our money. I remembered thinking, what money? Did he not realize he gambled most of our riches away? That we were nearing bankruptcy, but his father always tended to find a way to help him somehow?
Though Damen and his family didn’t have the riches they used to have, the only thing that mattered to me was how much he loved me. I trusted him with everything. I was sure my friends were doing their best to keep him well and happy. By the looks of it, he seemed like he was enjoying himself, so I supposed I shouldn’t worry as much.
Sighing, I put my computer aside, feeling a bit blue because my summer plans had never happened. Instead of enjoying the company of my friends and having fun, I was stuck with an unconventional womanizer who seemed to have a secret about this woman who had fallen for him. Chantel and Julien said never to fall for him, yet they never clarified what the hell happened to her. They gave mild warnings, yet no explanation. It was as if I should just heed it without thought. It wasn’t like it was a possibility because it would never happen, but what had really happened that got Hugo so bent up?
A knock came at the door before it was opened and in came the very sex god incarnate himself. “Isobel?”
Shutting the door behind him, he was dressed in white, linen, drawstring pants and a white, fitted, cotton muscle shirt, glaringly showing off his toned physique. His hair was wet, indicating he was freshly out of a shower and not hot and sticky from his extreme thrust-filled workout less than hour ago. He looked more than hot and sexy, and his presence merely irritated me because, well, for such a narcissistic pig, it would’ve been fair if there was something physically unattractive about him; long nose, too wide eyes, a unibrow?
Annoyed and irritated that I even noticed how good he looked, I made an effort to get out of bed, tightening the belt of my robe before I decided to glance back towards him.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Mr. Xavier?” Hiding my temper wasn’t truly my forte. Furthermore, since we were going to be living in the same house for quite some time, it was better off if I acted like myself and not the woman who was basically jumping to meet his demands because I felt indebted to him. I was, in a sense, until the contract was up. Still, I was done playing nice to His Royal Highness.
My barbed attitude didn’t go unnoticed. “So we’re back to Mr. Xavier again?” he asked, pausing in the middle of the room, standing tall and definitely in command.
“I’m working for you, do I not?” I paused. “Mr. Xavier it is then.”
He drilled holes into me, obviously feeling the heavy dose of my nasty, unpleasant manner. “I’m hoping this change of attitude wasn’t from what you witnessed downstairs?”
Amongst other things, perhaps. “You think it’s because you openly fuck your girlfriends where anyone could just watch you successfully nail them into your table?”
“You knew what you were getting into when you signed the contract, Isobel. So don’t give me this shitty attitude because you just got a wakeup call.” The cutting look he gave me merely inflamed my anger more.
Trying to calm my breathing, I didn’t bother continuing the discussion about the contract and his indecent behavior. “Do you need something, Hugo?”
“My aunt is coming to town, and I have a favor to ask.” Placing his hands inside his pockets, he then cleared his throat when I gave him a blank look. “She’s not very fond of my lifestyle.”
“I doubt anyone is.” I couldn’t help blurting it out; it was as if my mouth was possessed and had a mind of its own. “Except for you, of course,” I sarcastically added another layer of barb.
His chocolate eyes darkened from my incessant behavior. “Careful, ma belle. Don’t overstep yourself with these snide comments. I can only tolerate so much.”
Fine. I intended to keep my mouth shut before I said something I’d regret.
Taking my silence as a green light, he continued with his explanation, “I have to send Sherry and Chantel to travel for the next few weeks until my aunt and my cousin’s stay is over. You’re closer to Elena’s age, therefore I’m requesting if you could play chaperone.”
“Are you asking me to be your cousin’s babysitter?” He was sending his girlfriends away because they were too precious to be bothered by his aunt, and I was the dispensable, contractual woman whom he could order about. Great. I was his substitute personal assistant, somewhat plaything of a lover, his aunt’s entertainer, and a partial babysitter. I wondered what other skillful assignments I’d get after this.
“Don’t be so overdramatic. Elena’s in her early twenties. Hardly a baby.”
Whatever. I needed something to cool me down. Maybe I could take one of his vintage bottles of reds from his impressive wine cellar after this conversation. Giving him a haughty look, I conceded that it was best to follow his orders instead of defying him. It was too early to provoke him anyway, and even though the contract was signed and sealed, there was still a part of me that was afraid he could easily void it out and call the police on my father. As much as I hated my father, I couldn’t fathom hurting my mother; she was alrea
dy going through so much pain that the news of my father getting into trouble again would basically push her over the edge. I was scared that, one day; she’d snap and end herself.
“Isobel?”
My mind had wandered off again.
Shaking my thoughts off my parents, I gazed at him. “Hmm? What?” I asked, blinking a couple of times.
He frowned at me. “You still haven’t given me your answer.”
Drat. Chaperone was to be me, then. “Yeah, I suppose I don’t have much of a choice.”
“You always get to have a choice, that’s why I’m asking for your permission. Don’t think that, since you’re under contract, it means I get to tell you what to do without your consent.” He was getting worked up, nose flaring, jaw locking, and the lot. “I’m not a tyrant and I certainly don’t work like that. It’s best you remember this fun fact.”
Did I hit a sore nerve? It looked like it.
“Well, that’s comforting to know.” I licked my lips before looking away from his too delectable profile. “I’ll do it.”
“Good,” he said after a full minute. “Thank you.”
Dammit. Even when sparring, he acted polite and gentlemanly. “Okay. You’re welcome.”
“I have a business dinner to attend to. Have a goodnight, Isobel.”
Who was his plus one? I was dying to know, yet I didn’t even dare ask the infuriating question.
“Night,” I finally said before he opened the door and exited my room.
Fifteen minutes later, I was left staring at the door, wondering what was wrong with me. In the beginning, I had been grateful he even considered my father’s proposal, but in the span of a week, hate and anger had somehow managed to wiggle their way in, making me question why the man evoked so much emotion out of me. Given that it was hate, anger, and displeasure, why did I care to feel hate, anger, and displeasure? I was left more confused than an hour ago.