by Kate Gilead
“Yeah, I’ve heard they had money.”
“They used a lot of the proceeds from their business to buy gold. And property. They amassed incredible wealth and carried on luxurious but intensely private lives. And, like a lot of wealthy people, they were somewhat…cursed, you could say…dogged by tragedy, scandal…and the press.”
“That must have been back in the day. You don’t hear anything about them any more.”
“No, but that’s because…well, they’re flying under the radar now. But the name, and the wealth associated with it, is still well-enough known to bring a lot of attention and notice. In their heyday, any sighting, gossip or scuttlebutt about them was valuable as gold for selling newspapers. That kind of notoriety doesn’t just fade away.”
“You know them pretty well.” It’s not a question. I think I know what he’s getting at but I wait and let him take his time.
He doesn’t reply, just steps over the low frame of the car and slides into the cockpit, then uses the rag to thoughtfully polish whatever is in reach. As usual, I’m mesmerized by the motion of his biceps and shoulder muscles as he moves his arms.
He nods. “They became as notorious for suing newspapers as they were for their cars or their money. All that fucking…money.” He shakes his head. “Ironically, the way they closely-guarded their privacy made any tidbit about them even more valuable.”
“The Streisand effect.”
“Yep. But for all their money and fame and notoriety, they were always just a family. A very small family of talented craftsmen and engineers, dedicated to their craft, to each other and to their privacy. They had a great product, which turned out to be a blessing and a curse.”
I say nothing, just wait, and listen.
He lets out a huge sigh. “The last Grimmetti rolled off the line in 1979. It was test driven around the family compound, then parked in their garage. Never raced.” Pause. “I’m sitting in it.”
His voice is quiet and inexpressibly sad.
“Why…why wasn’t it raced?” I caress the baby’s warm little back as I wait for the answer.
“The family was very small by then. There were only two brothers left. They didn’t know it at the time, but the older one was already dying when this car was made. Only a few days later, he collapsed, was hospitalized and kept alive by machines for the next two years.”
“Oh, how terrible.”
He nods. “An inoperable birth defect. Heart deformity. All their money couldn’t fix it.” He sounds so lost and sad!
“Mason…”
He holds up a finger. “The remaining brother was very involved with his sibling’s care, dedicating himself and their vast fortune to his recovery. It was all for nothing. The elder one died without heirs, leaving his share of the fortune to the surviving brother.”
I say nothing.
“The remaining brother stopped making cars and turned to other pursuits. Kept his head down, hoping to wait out the media interest. A few years later, he had a child. A son.”
He smiles, a grim smile. I just look at him, waiting.
“That son grew up and got tired of Europe, tired of living under a magnifying glass, with security and servants and paparazzi and the press, always the press outside the gate. European press are like wolves at a kill, picking over scraps and bones, did you know that?”
I shake my head.
“They’re brutal. Inhuman, some of them. Anyway, at sixteen, the son asked to be sent to America, where heat from the press wasn’t so bad. He enrolled in an elite boarding school in California and did everything he could to become American, including losing his Italian accent.” Pause. “He tried to become invisible.”
He gives the steering wheel a final wipe, and then his hands fall into his lap.
“The next year, both his parents were killed in a car crash on vacation in California.”
“Mason…” I whisper.
“Mario,” he says, climbing out of the car with a grunt. He comes to stand before me. He puts his hands on my shoulders and squeezes gently, looking into my soul with those warm brown eyes of his, now full of sadness and grief.
“That kid was me, obviously. Mario Grimmetti. At your service.”
Eight
“I…my God. That’s…a lot to take in. I’m sorry for your loss, Mason. Or, should I call you Mario now?”
“Nah. Call me Mason. Mario is a guy from another life.”
We head out to the patio and take a seat, where Mason talks for the next hour, solid. I let him, just listening, letting him unburden himself as he so apparently needs to do.
The sequence of events is roughly as follows:
After the highly-publicized death of his parents, Mason, or, then-Mario…as the sole heir of the Grimmetti fortune, was nearly hounded to death himself; by the press, by hangers-on, by inundations of every sort, including offers of business partnerships, sponsorships, marriage, friendship, guardianship and more.
Worse, he spiralled into the kind of depression, despair and loneliness any person would feel when they are orphaned in this vast world with not a single human being to really, truly care for them.
Money is no substitute for love.
In that state of mind, at just seventeen years old, Mario then had to begin the battle of his life against a child-protection arm of the government of Italy, which tried to impose a state-appointed guardianship upon him and have him brought back to Europe, where they would have access to his money until he reached the age of majority.
However, Mario, raised in a business family intimately familiar with such things, feared that the Italian government agency would find innumerable excuses to never return his fortune to his control. And thankfully, the state of California and the US government didn’t roll over so easily to the demands of a foreign nation. They refused to deport the young heir.
Mason was able to find a lawyer in California who helped him emancipate himself and legally change his name.
So Mario Grimmetti became Mason Grimmell, and vanished from the sight of the press, the Italian government and all the other bloodhounds sniffing after his every move.
Afterwards, he fled eastward, to Columbus, where one of his few friends from boarding school lived, and whose parents let him bunk in their spare room, paying rent while he attended college at OSU. He soon bought a small condo downtown, in which his own son was to be conceived years later.
In college, Mason honed his inherited talent with high-tech mechanics into a degree in engineering, specializing in robotics, and began working for tech firms.
He soon tired of being an employee and started MG Works. While hiring a business lawyer, he met my father at a lunch with the firm. They hit it off, became friendly, and eventually Mason would use my dad’s services for his divorce, and then, the custodial arrangement for Drew.
In the meanwhile, he dated as much as he could, trying to find someone to fill the hole in his heart, someone with whom to start a family of his own.
His prior marriage had been with a girl from an old, wealthy Italian dynasty, whose family had known his for years. Unfortunately, she was demanding, difficult, eventually informing him that she’d never have children for fear of ruining her figure.
“Geez,” I say sympathetically, “maybe you really were a poor little rich boy.”
He shrugs. “But maybe the Grimmetti curse is gone now. I have a child, a family of my own.” He smiles. “You see why I’m so happy to have my son, mother or no mother. And… yes, it is sad that his own mother won’t be raising him but, maybe these things happen for a reason.”
He clasps one of my hands between both of his.
“Because, now…I have you, baby.”
The next month rolls around. I’m still here.
There’s been no more talk about hiring a nanny. No more talk about paying me, either. We’re both coasting along, letting our growing feelings for each other and sweet baby Drew take their own direction. It feels so right, so natural.
It’s
a family kind-of direction, and that’s okay with me.
I have another month before I start school again anyway. Neither one of us is in a rush.
The baby’s growing so fast, it’s astonishing. He’s taking a full eight ounces per feeding at this point, and will soon be ready for pablum.
He’s awake and alert throughout the day now, his eyes following us where ever we go, his chubby fingers always seeking his toes and his head turning at the sound of his name.
His vocalizations are so cute and angelic; the sweetest chirping sounds emerge from little mouth as he learns to use his voice.
He’s so sweet and pure. Mother Nature sure knew her stuff when she made babies look and sound so adorable.
However, he’s still waking up once or twice through the night...which is the one thing about babies that Mother Nature could’ve put some more thought into…if you ask me.
We’ve been getting lots of photos and video. We were both there for his first smile, which happened when Daddy was tickling his tummy. I got the whole thing on video on my iPhone.
Mason’s been over his Poop Pukies for a while now. Which is a good thing, since the baby’s diapers are not getting any less stinky as time goes on. And he’s finding humor in it now, too, even developing his own Poop Grading System, announcing loudly into which category each diaper falls when he opens it.
Because, as he told me one day when dealing with a Defcon Six Toxic Explosion, “When life gives you baby poop, there’s fuck-all you can do, so you might as well have a laugh.”
One night, when the baby’s asleep, Mason shows me some plans that he’s been mulling over. They’re drawings for an indoor pool, to be built separately from the house, somewhere in the huge back area.
“So, what do you think?”
“An indoor pool, in its own building? That’s great, honey, but who’s gonna use it? You’re not big on entertaining, remember?”
“I’m not. But that’s going to change. There’s your family. Your parents, your brother, his friends…your friends. Everyone loves to swim. Don’t you think you’ll want to have them over sometime?”
“You…you mean…um…”
His eyes are shining.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Don’t you think Drew’s gonna need to have family around? Picture this,” he grins, holding his hands up, fingers splayed and thumbs touching, like a director framing a shot. “It’s a few years down the road. Christmas time. There’s a big tree, a roaring fire, and our kitchen filled with the smell of roasting turkey. Drew and his Uncle Stevie are playing with their new toys, and maybe, getting up to no good together.”
I smile. “Uncle Stevie?”
“Yeah! Uncle Stevie. Friends and family, filling up this big, empty house. Picture it: Summer time, people playing on that lawn out there, maybe with one of my drones, or taking an ATV for a spin on one of the trails. Friends going for a swim. Your mom and dad on this patio with us, maybe a couple dogs running around.”
Only a few short weeks ago, I’d have bolted from any guy who tried to paint a picture like this for me.
But Mason’s not just any guy. He captured my heart with his sensitivity, his caring, his determination to be a good father and his old-fashioned, stubborn perseverance. He might be a billionaire but he’s in a class of his own, head and shoulders above all the spoiled, snotty rich people I’ve known up until now.
Rich people, who, ironically, probably have a fraction of Mason’s money.
He reaches for me and we wrap our arms around each other, holding tight.
“I know it’s early, Sam. But I know my own heart. I’ve fallen in love with you. I don’t want you to go home. I want you to stay here, with me and Drew. You can go to school from here. Then, get a job or work here in the lab, or just take care of Drew. And me.”
He lifts my chin and kisses me tenderly. “And maybe, whenever you’re ready, we could give Drew a brother or sister.”
Yep. Only a few weeks ago, I’d have scoffed. But now…? Now, it squeezes my heart and fills me with giddy happiness.
“Oh gosh, Mason!”
“Is that a good oh gosh or a bad one?” He smiles down at me, hopefully.
I laugh. “Can’t you tell? I love you too. You walked into my life and completely changed it. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.”
More time passes. It’s the last weekend before my college semester begins.
The baby is bathed and in bed, in his crib in his own bedroom, which Mason let me furnish and decorate.
I’m having a shower in the master suite, where, naturally, I sleep now with Mason.
He had two built-in dressers installed in the master suite dressing room for me, and gave me three-quarters of the closet space.
“It’s hard to believe I have more clothes than a billionaire,” I’d said, when I finished putting my stuff away. Of course, much of it was purchased by Mason himself, who likes to surprise me with new pieces of clothing.
Especially, naughty clothing.
“That’s the way it should be,” Mason retorted. “No man should have more clothes than his woman. It’s not natural.”
Then he’d picked me up, carried me to bed and ravaged me.
That was a few weeks ago. By then we’d done the necessary medical check-ups, and that was the first night we dispensed with condoms.
Perhaps that’s why it was so good that night, I don’t know. All I know is, that night, he’d given me my first orgasm through intercourse alone.
I didn’t think such a thing was possible.
But every time we’ve fucked since then, my body has responded more and more orgasmically. Now, I have orgasms through vaginal stimulation much more easily. It’s like a secret pleasure tap opened inside me, primed by Mason’s loving and careful attention to my responses.
Now, in the shower, my mind replays flashes of our sessions, bringing the heat of those moments right back into my pussy and making me crave my man’s touch once again.
When I get out of the shower, I towel off and comb my hair, thinking dirty thoughts about his thick talented fingers and his thicker, talented cock.
When I emerge from the bathroom, he’s waiting in bed for me. Reading my mind again. He’s naked, his erection proudly jutting upwards as his eyes travel over my own naked body.
He whistles, very softly. A heated rush goes straight through my body and my nipples harden, a Pavlovian response to what I know is about to happen.
“I have plans for you, young lady,” he says, eyes on fire with lust. He stands up and strips our bed of everything except the fitted sheet and our pillows.
“I want to try something. If it works, there’ll only be one sheet to wash afterwards.”
“Oh, sweetie…I’m not sure I’m ready for anal. I’ve never…”
“No, no, baby. I’m thinking of something else. Something that I think your body is ready for.”
“What?”
He kisses me and pulls on my nipples with both hands, just the way I like it.
“Lay down and I’ll show you.”
Nine
I’m lying flat on my back on the bed, naked.
Mason puts a pillow under my ass and takes a position between my open legs, his eyes riveted on my pussy, spread and open to his touch.
He examines my tender valley as if he’s never seen it before, licking it tentatively, sending shudders through me, then running an inquisitive fingertip through my folds.
He inserts that fingertip just inside my entrance and makes tiny stirring motions.
My opening contracts and then relaxes, making my toes curl and uncurl restlessly.
Leaning forward, he pushes his tongue into me, tasting me and coaxing more cream to flow, smacking his lips with satisfaction before going back for more.
I moan softly, hips writhing towards him.
Gently, insistently, he flicks my clit with the tip of his tongue, over and over, making my whole pussy clench and relax in time with him; making my thigh
s jump and my feet flex.
Now I’m wet, and wriggling with arousal. One of his thick fingers glides inside me. Ohh god…then he turns it, so gently, so tantalizing that I have to lay still in order to absorb the sensations.
He searches, rubbing until he touches that spot that instantly blazes into pleasure, making my pussy grip his finger, making me gasp and my heart pound.
Now he curls that finger towards himself, very delicately, just barely tapping it on the inside of my body.
And at the same time, he applies his mouth to my clit, flicking and then sucking very gently, his mouth and lips applying consistent warm, wet, flicking, suctioning pleasure that soon begins to mount.
All the while that talented finger keeps rubbing and rubbing, making that luscious golden pleasure leap and grow. He increases the pressure, and keeps consistent sucking, licking and flicking... lips and tongue on my clit, and ohh….ohhhh…god, I…this is the most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt…this is….it’s…
“Mason,” I gasp, my voice hoarse, “Mason…oh god, don’t stop….don’t stop….”
My tunnel clenches in that first glorious contraction, and then it holds, the pleasure somehow both stretches outwards and spears itself deeply into me, capturing my clit as well in its delectable grip.
My breath catches and my stomach tightens.
Mindlessly, I grab my knees and pull them back, wanting more, wanting to give him everything, looking down to see him glancing up at me, eyes intense and blazing with lust.
Quickly, he changes his position and inserts two fingers, using his other hand now to press down on my belly just above my mons.
Pushing them upwards and into me, he uses his fingers to stroke harder, my juices squelching and smacking loudly, as he curls both those fingers against the upper wall of my channel.
Faster and faster he strokes me, and the fire that he started with one finger now blazes furiously, engulfing my pussy with a liquid pleasure, smooth and rich like butterscotch, and somewhere deep inside something relaxes fully and then squeezes, hard, under Mason’s knowing touch.