by Cynthia Dane
“Really?”
“Really.” Miguel handed her a glass of champagne and pointed to the marina down below. “This is my favorite residential view in all of Monaco. The unit above this one was empty, but it wasn’t the same. I could imagine what the view was like from here, and immediately went downstairs to see if the owner was willing to sell.”
“I take it he wasn’t.”
“Nope. He was a widower, and this was where he and his wife lived for decades. Felt kinda bad, but you know how I am, mi amour. When I want something, I get it.” He clinked his glass against hers. She knew what he meant.
“Hmm.” Judith sipped, eyelashes fluttering. “What an asshole move, though.” Her tongue clicked in her mouth. “Almost turns me on. I said almost.” Her hand was on his chest, holding him at bay. “Now, show me your room. I want to see if you’re one of those douches with the computerized wardrobe.”
He was. Not that he ever used the damn thing, but when he told the renovators that he wanted all the extras, no cost prohibitive, he ended up with more than he bargained for. That included a computerized wardrobe that would keep track his outfits and make sure he never wore the same one twice. Most of his suits looked the same, anyway. All he had to do was change out the ties and cufflinks.
Today he wore gold cufflinks, but no tie. Miguel leaned against the bedroom doorway while Judith ran to his bedroom window and took pictures of the view. She then turned, giggling over the bed that came complete with automated bed-maker. Now that Miguel did make use of.
He approached Judith, swinging one arm around her torso and nuzzling the nape of her neck. “Are you impressed, my princess?”
She still giggled. “It is pretty impressive, but don’t call me princess.”
“Aw, por que? You’re regal enough for me. I would know. I dine with plenty of princes and princesses around here.”
“That’s the name my boss’s husband calls her. Too much baggage, sir.”
“Is that how you want it?” He kissed her hand before backing away, her hand still in his. They looked like they were about to start dancing. “We can do whatever you want this weekend. The choices are yours.”
There was nothing innocent about those batting eyelashes. “You know what I would like to do, sir. Why don’t you have a seat? You deserve a reward for how much you’ve spoiled me already. Time for me to spoil you.”
Even though he knew that was her standard lingo, Miguel still felt a lump of more than desire in his throat. It almost felt wrong to sit on the edge of his bed and let Judith do whatever she wanted to him – all of which ended much in his favor, of course.
They didn’t leave the apartment for the rest of the night. Everything they needed was right there, from the high-tech shower to the automated food delivery services. There was plenty of time the next day to take Judith out and show her the sights.
***
“You’re kidding!” Judith cried, as they hopped in the standby Maserati after breakfast the next day. “You can really walk from one end of the country to the other in an hour?”
“Yes, but I don’t recommend it.” Miguel pulled out of the underground garage and waited for traffic to let him through. “The roads here are steep and narrow in places. The sidewalks are wide, but accidents happen. It’s better to drive. Easier to see things that way.”
“Parking isn’t a problem when you’re rich like you.”
“To be fair, everyone but some of the staff and tourists here are beyond rich.” Finally, an opening occurred. Miguel zoomed between a vintage Lambo and a stretch limo. “Although I am still one of the richest.”
Judith rolled the window all the way down. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in this part of Europe unless my date was a hot billionaire. So, you’re doing well in that department.”
As they stopped at a red light, Miguel leaned over and kissed her cheek. The limo behind them threatened to hit the bumper. “Want to meet some rich women? My sisters want to have lunch.”
“You have sisters?”
“Haven’t I told you before?”
“Probably. It’s hard to keep track sometimes.”
“I have two younger sisters.” The light turned green. “Dolores is one year younger. She married a French banker, but comes here sometimes. My youngest sister Maria has graduated from university and lives with my family here. My mother is determined to get her dating an Italian or a Pole or… I have no idea. I think some sheikh might be in there too.”
“You know what I like about my job?” Judith held her phone up so she could snap pictures of the scenery going by. “I get to date whomever I want. If I were born into this lifestyle, life would be pretty miserable for me.”
“Whomever you want? You mean if they have the means to afford you, right?”
She turned her pearly-whites toward him. “Like I said. Whomever I want.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Ms. King.” Once they were free on the road, Miguel gunned the gas and whipped down a steep hill. “Now let me show you the most beautiful city in the world!”
Monaco may have been small, and it may only take ten to twenty minutes to drive from one end to the other, but there was still plenty to see until lunch. Miguel took her past Monte Carlo, crawling in tourists and their cameras. Then the Prince’s Palace, which flew the Monegasque standard to show that the Prince was home. After that it was the oceanography museum, standing proudly in a cliff face. Many times Miguel asked Judith if she wanted to get out and explore by foot, but she insisted that she was fine with driving around for now. When pressed, she coolly said, “Someone made it difficult for me to walk today.”
Miguel grinned at himself in the rearview mirror. “Later, then. It’s almost lunchtime. After that, I want to take you to the marina.”
“I want to see your big boat.”
“Oh, you will see my big boat.”
He pulled to the side to finish texting his sister Dolores. She asked him to meet her and Maria at an obscure restaurant that was invitation only, at the top of some shopping building Miguel never paid much attention to.
Miguel tossed the keys to a valet before looping his arm around Judith. The doorman to the shopping center nodded his head, instantly recognizing one of Monaco’s most darling sons. “You are awaited upstairs, Monsieur.”
“Did you tell your family that I was coming?” Judith asked in the elevator. It offered a full view of the outdoors, and she talked whilst taking in the ocean view during their ascent. “Sounds like it’s you and your sisters otherwise. I don’t want to intrude.”
“I told them I was on a date and that I would bring you by for lunch.” Miguel shrugged. “On one hand I want to see my sisters, but on the other, it’s not at the expense of spending some valuable time with you. Then again, Dolores was piqued after that. She likes to get into my business, so I may as well introduce you on my own terms.” He kissed her cheek. “Especially if we’ll be spending more valuable time together in the future.”
All it took was some breath blown into her ear, and Judith was shuddering in his embrace. I may have given her a thorough once-over last night, but she’s the type to always be ready to go. There was so much about her that made her his perfect woman.
The restaurant only seated a few at a time. That wasn’t what made it so exclusive, however. Nor was it the lack of any advertising. No, what made it so special was the food and service. A man (or woman) could order anything he had an appetite for. It didn’t matter where in the world it came from, or how much it cost, or even how difficult it was to procure. One ordered, and one got it within ten minutes, no questions asked.
This meant an endless menu. Miguel hoped his beautiful date had an empty stomach. Too bad they ate a hearty breakfast back at his apartment.
Both of his sisters were already at the back table, secured in a corner and overlooking the marina. The view here was much closer than Miguel’s apartment. Ah, yes, there was his yacht. Now he was aching to go out on the water for a few hours. Perfect after
lunch fun!
First, his sisters.
Dolores stood, her Dior dress falling simply on her frame, but no less extravagant than he had come to expect from the middle Bolivar child. Miguel may have been older, but his little sister was far sager and, he would dare say, quicker than anyone else in the family. There was a reason she had been able to snag one of the richest bankers in France for a husband. The wedding was two years ago, and yet the Bolivars were still recovering from the insanity it brought to their lives.
“Hermano,” she greeted coolly, exchanging kisses on the cheek. It was the first time in a long while Miguel stopped holding Judith’s hand. “So good to see you. I didn’t think we would meet up in Monaco until Papa’s birthday.” Dolores looked to the woman by his side. “Who is this? Your date? ¿Cuáles lenguas habla?”
“Si, this is Judith.” Miguel put a protective hand on her shoulder. “She speaks English.” He grinned. “Plus a little Spanish. She’s American.”
“Ah. American.” Dolores smiled, but Miguel knew it was the fakest one in her repertoire. Doesn’t matter. She’s like that with all strangers. “You’re already making nice with the locals over there, I see.”
“It is where we met, yes.” Judith extended her hand. “Judith King. Pleasure.”
“King?” Dolores daintily shook her hand before yanking her own away. The coifs of blond hair on her head shook with the movement. Dangling, beaded earrings jingled. “That’s quite presumptuous of your ancestors.”
“She has a dry sense of humor,” Miguel muttered in Judith’s ear. To her credit, she did not falter in her polite demeanor. “This is Maria, the youngest.”
“Pleasure,” she said lightly, with the thickest accent out of the three of them. Her natural languages were Spanish and French, as opposed to Spanish and English like her siblings. Although she was London educated, so her English accent was quite… British. “I’m sorry if I should have heard of you before today. I’ve been out of the loop.”
“No worries, Marlita,” Dolores said, using the family’s nickname for the youngest Bolivar child. “Nobody had heard of Ms. King until this morning.” She flashed her brother a frustrated grimace. “As usual, our brother has kept to himself.”
“Let’s eat, huh?”
They sat around the table, Judith between Miguel and Dolores. Hilariously enough, it was not Judith who looked most out of place at the table of heralded Europeans. It was Maria, with her golden skin, dark brown hair pulled into a ballerina bun, and loud jewelry that clanked with every movement. She also wore the shortest skirt and had heels as long as her calves. Even so, with as garish as she was in such a fancy establishment, she was still far friendlier than the Queen Bee of the trio. Dolores never once took a derisive eye off Judith, who sat with perfect posture and even ordered a modest meal using her best French that she had picked up from one day in Monaco. Brilliant. She is simply amazing. Of course a lot of her abilities came from her extensive experience in these types of settings, but Judith was a natural chameleon. She could blend in anywhere, and if she couldn’t, she could fake it. She had said many times that she only spoke a little French. Yet her accent was flawless when the waiter came around.
“A bottle of wine for the whole table,” Miguel ended his order with. “Something red from 1922. Whatever that is.” When his sister raised an eyebrow, he explained, “1922 is never a bad year for wine.”
“So sure of yourself.” Dolores cracked a wicked smile. “Don’t let him boss you around, Ms. King. He was bossing me around for years before I finally stood up to him.”
“Ah, yes, the infamous salad in my face at Christmas dinner.” Miguel had been one ornery twelve-year-old. When he was that young, he was picking on Lola whenever he had the chance. (Now only her husband and mother were allowed to call her Lola.) “How could I forget?” All it took was one snide comment in his sister’s direction at Christmas dinner, and suddenly sly little Lola had belted half a dish of romaine in his face. Miguel had practically drowned in vinaigrette. After that, Dolores became bossier, more of a pain in the ass than a fun target for Miguel’s misplaced mischief. Later he found out that’s when she started going through puberty.
“Did you all grow up here in Monaco?”
The three of them glanced at her, Dolores with a slight sneer to her lips. “Dolores and I moved between here and Valencia a lot. Maria came into her own when the family finally settled here, yes. So in a way, we all did grow up here.”
“Miguel and Maria went to the International School, but not me. I went to a boarding school in France.” Dolores had a look that implied she had said too much.
“That’s right. Papa said you needed to improve your French, dear hermana.” Maria was smiling too. At least hers was genuine. “I didn’t have that problem.”
“Yes, well… I can inform you that my French is perfectly fine now. Pierre has made sure of that.”
After the collective eye roll, they went back to friendlier topics, playing catch-up in business and family. Miguel talked about establishing business in the States and even his recent naval acquisition, to which both sisters rolled their eyes, having never shared his love for sailing. Maria talked about taking a fashion internship in Milan, although she was still on the fence about it. “You have it easy,” Dolores mumbled in Spanish so Judith couldn’t understand that well. “You’re the youngest, so you get to do whatever you want. Miguel has to improve the business, and I had to marry rich. You better appreciate your ability to fuck off to Milan and become a fashion intern.”
“It’s paid, though,” Maria muttered, completely clueless as to why Dolores was riding her ass. “What about hermano? Isn’t he supposed to marry well too?”
“Of course he is! He’s carrying the Bolivar genes, isn’t he?”
Miguel glanced at Judith, obliviously chewing her food without a sound. Lucky. I’d love to not know what my sisters are saying. “I don’t have a timeline, though,” he said with authority. “Not like you, Lolita. You had to marry before those eggs dried up.”
“Why you…”
Judith glanced up as the atmosphere turned dark. She caught Dolores’s eyes.
“Sorry. Won’t call you Lolita again,” Miguel said in English. “Didn’t realize it was still such a sore spot.” He knew.
Now that the gauntlet had been smacked in her face, Dolores would take off her dainty church gloves. “So, Judy, was it?”
Judith put her fork down. “Judith, if you will.”
“Right. How did you meet our brother, again? He never once mentioned you until this morning. Quite the shock, really. He never brings his women around.”
His women? Miguel furrowed his brows.
“Forgive me. I sometimes forget my manners in English. I mean… he never brings his girlfriends around. You’re the first one we’ve met in years. Who was the last one? That Nigerian model?”
“Ambria.” That relationship had lasted about two months, and was the rare event since Rosa in which Miguel was not dating a working woman. Not that kind of working woman, anyway. “How kind of you to remember her.”
“Before that it was Rosa.”
“Yes. It was Rosa.” What a low blow. Dolores was one of the few who knew the details to that relationship. Back when Miguel drunkenly thought he could confide in one of his closest family members. Fuck me for thinking she and I are that close. He had since learned his lesson. He loved his sisters, but Dolores was a pain in the fucking ass. There was a reason her name meant sorrows. “Now it’s Judith.”
“Should I tell Mama and Papa?” Dolores sneered. “I’m sure they would love to know you’re seriously dating someone again instead of fucking around with the models and charming burlesque dancers.”
“Now, now, that was only once.” When Miguel took one of his dates on parade right in front of Dolores on a date with husband Pierre. “I’m a man of more refined tastes now.” He rubbed Judith’s bare knee. “Judith is one sophisticated lady.”
“What is it that you
do for a living, Ms. King?” Dolores propped her elbow on the table. “I’m eager to know.”
To her credit, Judith was quick to answer with a stock thought. “I help run a lounge near where Miguel lives now. So, businesswoman, I suppose you could say. I work for myself and always have.”
“Interesting. A lounge, you say? I take it that it’s quite fancy.”
“Quite. You could say it’s akin to this type of restaurant in terms of exclusivity.”
“Judith works in one of the finest American establishments I’ve ever had the pleasure of visiting.” Miguel cleared his throat. “It’s where we met.”
Maria absentmindedly chewed her food; Dolores studied Miguel’s expression. “I’m sure it is. Muy interesante.”
The pain of the family lunch came to an end shortly thereafter. Dolores had an appointment, and Maria wanted to go shopping with some friends. A bevy of tanned beauties waited for her outside, each of their skirts so high that Miguel felt like he was on a party yacht in the Caribbean. When in Monaco…
“I hope to see you both again soon,” Dolores said outside, putting on her sunglasses. “It was interesting meeting you, Ms. King.” She tucked her purse beneath her arm and marched off, raising her other arm to herald her driver. A black sedan pulled up along the curve, and soon Dolores disappeared behind tinted windows.
“She seems cheery,” Judith said. “Both of them. Ahem.”
“They’re easy. It’s my parents who can be rude.”
“So I’ve gathered.”
Miguel turned her toward his parking spot. “Day’s beginning! Let me show you the other great love of my life.”
The Mediterranean was particularly bright and blue that day. Half the boats in the marina were out cruising, sailing, or puttering around in the harbor and beyond. One particularly loud vessel, full of reveling party-goers, made a splash as they cruised by with Bruno Mars blaring and what looked like a local French celebrity pulling down his swim trunks to show all the bikini-clad women what he was really packing.
“This place is fun,” Judith said, following Miguel down to the docks. “So where’s your nautical mistress?”