Although I could formally claim to suffer from genophobia, Blaine had fucked it clear out of me. There was nothing between us that was forbidden if he was in the mood for rule breaking and I learned that all to quickly.
On the third day of my period, he surprised me in the shower and fucked me until my insides hurt. When he pulled out, I gushed blood but thank God for running water in the shower. He quickly soaped, rinsed himself off and got out before I was finished shampooing my hair.
Lesson number three: Do as I was told or face the consequences.
Blaine didn’t want kids. In fact he hated the little bastards and failed to turn into a complete softy when he saw a baby. I was on the fence about the whole idea of children so he made the decision for both of us. He scheduled an appointment with a gynecologist he got from Jamie—the female Meridian studio exec we had dinner with at The Polo Lounge—and had me fitted for a non-hormonal IUD.
I almost didn’t make the appointment, tempted to back out but if I didn’t get it fitted while I was on my period then I would have to wait until the following month. We would have to use condoms until then and Blaine almost went ballistic over the phone.
That was completely unacceptable to him and he told me as much coldly and succinctly without a care to how I felt about the situation. I made my appointment, despite it being in West L.A. and leaving with only an hour to spare in Southern California traffic, which was unreal and worse than Bay Area traffic up north.
Doctor Greenberg fitted me for my IUD the same day, gave me a bunch of pamphlets to review and sent me on my way. I was home by six p.m., just fifteen minutes before Blaine walked through the door that day.
I was intelligent, and had graduated from one of the top universities in the world, but so did my lover and he outsmarted me every time because I couldn’t see straight when it came to him. He wasn’t smarter than me—in fact, our IQs were only singular numbers apart with mine being slightly higher than his—much to his chagrin.
What the fuck did Intelligent Quotient matter when he had a dick, I had a vagina and he used both our genitals like they were his own personal arsenal of weapons? I’d begun to question exactly whom I belonged to: Blaine or me?
“Why are you so quiet?” he whispered into my ear, shattering me from my contemplation.
“No reason. I don’t want to share our most intimate moments with the driver, that’s all.”
Blaine’s hands began to caress my scalp before his lips kissed my temple. “Still so shy. I wonder if you followed my directions when we were at the airport? I sincerely hope you did. I wouldn’t want to have to punish you on the first night of our vacation.”
My heart thundered in my chest and I swallowed before I replied, “Yes, I followed your orders—sorry, directions—down to the letter.”
“Was that a Freudian slip?” It was more of a statement than a question. “Not that it matters but I don’t give orders, sweetheart. You can follow my rules or you can go but you always have a choice—don’t ever forget it.”
“I’m confused. What do you mean I can go?”
“I don’t have a wedding band on your finger, Victoire.” He never called me by my full first name and just hearing it run off his tongue sent a sudden chill down my neck and shoulders. “I meant you have money—our joint business checking account. You don’t have to stay with me. You can find a place of your own and we’ll deal with one another in a business capacity only.”
Tears pricked my eyes but I refused to let them fall. “You mean . . . you could just forget about me—like that?”
“I didn’t say that. ’Course I couldn’t, honey. I would be at your place every chance I got but whether or not you would allow me inside . . . well, that would be your choice, not mine.”
Now it was my turn to smile sarcastically. “I do believe you’re implying a certain message with a double entendre, Blaine.”
“Maybe I am and maybe I’m not. However, you would have to suffer the consequences when I left without giving you a cuddle, kind word or a kiss on the lips. I don’t do intimacy with casual lovers.”
I wanted to respond to his off-handed comment but before I could think of anything to say, we’d arrived at the gorgeous estate in Southampton.
The gated home, less than a half a mile from the beach, was indeed gorgeous. Built in 1996, it was on one point nine acres of land while the home itself was almost eleven thousand square feet. It had seven bedrooms, eight and half baths with formal living rooms, dining rooms and lots of outdoor space. Surrounded by lush trees in bloom, the property maintained its utmost privacy from neighbors. We could sunbathe in the nude and no one outside of the property would know.
I looked around in awe as Blaine gave me a full tour and told me about the history of the estate and how his parents had built the place from the ground up. My jaw almost hit the floor when he told me the place was worth almost fifteen million dollars.
“My God. Just this place alone and none of you use it year round?” I questioned in complete and utter awe.
“Well, both parents come from money so it’s not like they can’t afford to maintain all their properties. My mother pretty much owns this place and Dad owns the one in Martha’s Vineyard. You see, everything is equal with my parents. Almost to the point where my father has been mostly emasculated by my dear, sweet mother.” The irony in his voice was not lost upon me as we walked side-by-side up the winding staircase to a bedroom that was next to the master suite.
He pointed towards it casually. “Where my parents sleep. That suite is off limits. Mine is almost as big and not quite as opulent but it is more than adequate, I can reassure you.”
He opened the double doors to his bedroom suite. Although most of the downstairs rooms were done in colors that had names like peanut butter, harmonic tan, and crème brulee, his room was completely dark and masculine.
The walls were slate blue with heavy wood furniture including a California King bed with black sheets, pillows, skirt and comforter; an armoire made from solid oak that stored a state-of-the-art flat screen television, and a large walk-in closet, which led directly to the bathroom. There was a separate shower and an old fashioned, claw foot bathtub next to the large stall that could easily accommodate two people.
The whole place had recently been dusted off and it sparkled in all its cleanliness and bore the tidy signature of Blaine.
Our bags had already been deposited in the room and after I finished a quick exploration, I realized Blaine hadn’t followed me. He was standing near the French doors, which had the perfect view of the back yard, where a large pool, separate Jacuzzi, tasteful, elegant pool furniture and a gazebo were all situated though none of it looked crowded.
There was an area to the side where a built in barbeque pit replete with a stereo system and the smell of cooking food wafted straight up to us the moment he opened the double doors and stepped out onto the balcony.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Blaine questioned under his breath.
“Who?” I inquired as I walked towards him yet stopped several feet away the moment I saw his hands flexing into fists over and over again.
“Nothing, no one.” He strode back into the bedroom and closed the French doors. “Go put on a swimsuit. We’re going downstairs to mingle with everyone.”
I nodded silently and wandered over to my luggage. I hoped I had brought a swimsuit that would cover up Blaine’s love bruises—at least until they healed.
Oh, and I learned another lesson.
Lesson number four: Don’t ever question Blaine about his past.
If he wanted me to know, he would tell me in his own time but some part of me didn’t want to find out. I feared a man in his line of work had a lot of skeletons to hide over the years. If they were all suddenly exposed to the light of day, it might just tip him over the edge but I would definitely be left insane behind them.
In the end, it just wasn’t worth the aggravation or the knowing.
Sometimes, ignora
nce is indeed utter and peaceful bliss.
“You must be the gorgeous Victoire I’ve heard so much about over the last two days from Zavi and Zed?”
I still wore a modest cover up over the one-piece bathing suit I’d chosen because I had a huge hickey—courtesy of Blaine—right below my left rib and if I’d worn a bikini, it would have been put on display.
“Yes, I am,” I replied to the gorgeous woman who smiled back at me.
She was older than me but not by more than a couple years at the most and she had the most gorgeous skin. An olive complexion so dark, it almost bordered on a rich tan that was completely natural and definitely not acquired by the sun. Hazel-green eyes complimented a beautiful face with a pert nose, full lips and high cheekbones. Her hair was bone straight, as if she’d flat ironed it—from the curling tendrils near her temple, the smart look she nailed was not completely natural.
Of course she would be in a bikini to show off a gorgeous figure. Not so thin, a harsh wind would blow her away, she actually had some meat on her bones. Though we were the same height, she was a good twenty pounds heavier than me but it complimented her shape giving her the perfect hour-glass figure, slim arms and thighs but they were fleshed out and real, not my Victoria’s Secret catalogue model thin that oftentimes disgusted me.
My metabolism was faster than it should have been. I had a lot of nervous energy anyway yet living with Blaine and becoming intimate with him hadn’t helped my situation. It actually made it worse. I had to eat that much more just to maintain my weight lest I waste away entirely.
“How rude of me,” the young woman began again. “I’m Jocelyn Avery. My parents have known Zavi, Zed and Blaine’s parents since we were kids.”
“As in Sir Blake Avery and his wife, Dame Olivia MacMullen-Avery?” I questioned and tried my best not to lose my shit.
Jocelyn was not only the “woman Blaine refused to talk about,” she was also the daughter of a talented director and one of the first men of color in the UK to become a Sir, ordained by the Queen herself, and her mother was a talented actress—she’d been nominated for an Oscar more than ten times and had won three for best actress. She and Meryl Streep held a tie for women with the most Best Actress Oscars.
Her parents made a stunning couple since her father was British of Jamaican descent with skin a warm brown, the color of varnished oak while her mother was Scottish with alabaster-white skin, strawberry blonde hair and ice blue eyes.
Jocelyn had an older brother, Blake MacMullen, who refused to become famous off his father’s name and used his mother’s maiden name instead. He was handsome and lusted after on this continent as well as across the pond. He currently dated an English actress, young sensation Lauren Ward, who’d starred in a popular children’s collection of novels and was now an adult at the ripe age of twenty-three.
“So, are you here for the summer?” I found my voice and felt embarrassed I knew so much about this young woman and yet I didn’t know her.
All I understood was she owned Blaine’s heart in its entirety but with her being British, her firm austerity and pride refused a rekindling of their relationship. I had nothing to fear from her but that didn’t mean I had to like her.
“Nope. I just came by to spend some time with Zavi and for us to catch up for old time’s sake. Well, that’s putting it a bit dramatically but what do you expect from the daughter of two show-biz parents? Forgive my stiff formality. It’s my proper upbringing in me coming out.
“Zavi and me—well, we desperately needed to be reacquainted with each other again, full stop. I’m afraid it’s been a couple months since we’ve spent any time together.”
last ‘Though raised partly in America and partly in UK, her English accent—by way of being a London Sloane Ranger and a posh, upper class Brit—was pronounced on purpose to make her seem more refined than us regular Americans who bore no accent yet were born to immigrant parents just the same.
I spoke fluent French and Danish along with English but one would have never known it except for my frequent use of enunciating most words and only falling into the habit of “lazy English”—albeit on rare occasions.
“Zavi . . . not Blaine. Even though he has a girlfriend sitting over there next to Zed?” I wondered as I pointed out Brigitte who lay on a lounger side-by-side with Zed.
They were both looking bored by way of being too stoned; they probably couldn’t remember their own names.
“Is that your subtle way of reminding me I can’t visit mates I’ve known my whole life?” She smirked before her hazel-green eyes narrowed. “You’re Blaine’s new piece, aren’t ya? Where’s he hiding anyway? Don’t tell me he’s frightened of seeing little ole me again.”
“I think he’s terrified. From what I know, you broke his heart and he can’t move on past you and what you two shared together—”
“That’s enough, Vie.”
Jocelyn looked downright annoyed as she gazed past me and her eyes met Blaine’s. I turned toward him, an imposing figure in a pair of black board shorts and nothing else; both his tattoos on display. It was only after the fact I realized Zed had copied him and gotten a tattoo in the same spot as his older brother. Blaine’s just happened to be that of a broken heart. A little over the top maybe but it was designed as a mosaic of sorts.
“You told your girlfriend I broke your heart?” she questioned incredulously.
“No,” Blaine began as she shook his head. “Actually, I implied you were dead. But to be perfectly frank since we’re ‘sharing’ our feelings, yeah, you did fucking break my heart you black-hearted bitch.”
She laughed out loud. “I broke your heart? Blaine, let’s be honest here—you don’t have a heart to break. You never did. And even if you lay all the blame at my feet, our relationship ended because you couldn’t keep it in your pants and you would never admit you loved me. How could I break a heart of the man who never once told me I meant anything at all to him? You ever ask yourself that? I left because I might be British but I’m not dead and I needed more than man with a stiff dick and a pulse. I needed a man with a bit of . . . heart. Someone who could verbally articulate their emotions toward me.”
Blaine turned away from her and strode to the outside bar where he poured a generous helping of expensive vodka in a tumbler and knocked it back. “What are you doing here, Jocelyn?”
“I’m here because Zavi and Zed invited me and . . . Zavi and I are engaged.”
My heart almost lurched to a painful stop as the tumbler in Blaine’s hand fell from his hand to the ground where it shattered on impact.
“What?” I questioned out loud. “How is that possible? Brigitte is his . . . his girlfriend.”
Jocelyn smirked again. “Yes, I heard you the first time. But she wasn’t his proper girlfriend—she couldn’t be when I was here in New York waiting for him to arrive so I could leave with him after Labor Day. We just closed escrow on a house in Bel Air. It was Mum and Dad’s gift to us—well, and also, his family already paid for the wedding so everything’s already set in motion. We will be married in less than three months, before I start to show.”
“But you just said the reason why you left Blaine was because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”
“Right but Zavi and Brigitte had a ‘friends with benefits’ type of thing going on and I understood that. I wasn’t there and a man has certain needs. I’m not an idiot. Besides, he already confessed to his improprieties when we spoke on the phone. There are no secrets between us.
“Now that I’m going back to L.A. with him, it’ll stop and he will become a fiancé respectful of my condition. He will also be a proper husband once we tie the knot. You see, I’m two months pregnant with our child so let him get his philandering out of the way now. Better than when the kiddies come.”
She walked over to Xavier and kissed him as he wrapped his arms around her protectively. “I’ll be at Mum and Dad’s. Come on by for dinner. That way when they start to party hard, you won’t give in to t
emptation.”
“I’ll be there by six—”
“Make that five-thirty—you know dinner starts at six, you silly muppet.” They kissed again before she pulled on a pretty sundress cover up and flounced through the house without a care in the world.
I don’t know if I was prepared for the scene that was bound to go down. Not because Blaine looked heartbroken while Brigitte seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She’d woken up and knew the truth. She would never land a Pascal-Baasch brother because he’d already become engaged to another woman in their “circle of friends”—or rather their parents’ society friends.
I felt a tiny bit of pity for her but most of all I couldn’t believe she would be so stupid. How could she ever think she had a chance when men like the Pascal-Baasch’s didn’t marry women like her? Hell, they barely married women like me and that was only because my parents came from money even if they treated it with a dislike bordering on criminal and hoarded it like there was a goddamn U-Haul they could use to drive it to heaven with them.
“All this time . . . you two had a courtship and yet you didn’t bother to tell me?” Blaine questioned Zavi coldly.
“What difference does it make? After you made her abort the baby, she was devastated. She broke your heart, brother? What about the fact you broke hers first? She really, really wanted that baby and when she tried to refuse you, you froze her out—turned ice cold. You’ll run every good woman away from you if you keep acting the way you do. And just to think, all this time, Zed and I have worshipped you and looked up to you when . . . truth be told, there’s really nothing all that special to admire about you.”
“Wait—”
“No. I’m packing my shit and I’m spending the rest of the holiday weekend with Jocelyn’s family.”
“You motherfucker—you can’t just toss me to the side with no explanation!” Brigitte shouted as Zed tried to calm her down.
She was shouting to the wind—Xavier had already gone back inside and disappeared from view.
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