by Hughes, E.
“When I was twelve years old my mother ran away with her lover and I never saw her again. My father is the only family I have.” I tried to hide the hurt in my eyes, but I could tell by the sympathetic expression on Ethan’s face, that he’d seen straight through me.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Ethan said, linking his elbow through mine. I tried to shrug him off but he held firm.
“My father gave her millions in the divorce settlement on the condition that she stay away from me for the rest of her life. So she signed away her parental rights and never came back. I hated him for it. Until I realized, he did it to expose her. To show me where her priorities are.”
“So the only person in the world who ever loved you was Daddy, and now you feel obligated to pay him back.”
“Something like that. I won’t disappoint him like she did.”
“Afraid of disappointing him or afraid of him?” He lifted a brow.
“Why would I be afraid of my own father?” I snapped. “You’re the one who’s scared! Just like everybody else.”
“I’m more afraid of his daughter.”
Ethan came to a stop in front of me. I parked my hands on my hips, lifting my chin defiantly. “You should be. I always get what I want.”
Ethan brushed an errant strand of hair away from my face, fingers pausing to softly caress my cheek, tracing down the side of my neck.
“Spoken like a true Byron. You’ll get what you desire eventually, Elizabeth…just not on your terms.”
“Is that what happened between you and Daddy? He got a contract and you won a green card and a little guanxi? ”
“Not at all. I’m not interested in moving to America. At least long term…”
Now we were getting somewhere.
“Then what was the point getting married?”
“You.”
“Me?”
Ethan sighed. “One day we’re going to have a talk.”
“About what? The birds and the bees?”
“I thought I gave you a lesson in that last night?”
“Touché.”
Ethan’s fixed his gaze on the sidewalk. He was quiet, but there was an amused look in his eyes.
“I’m going back to China someday. But it’s nice to get away. I’m not exactly what you’d call welcome, in my country.”
Ethan tucked his hands into his pockets and his jaw tensed. For a moment I thought I saw tears welling up in his eyes.
“Decades ago, before you and I were even born, my father was one of the first rich businessmen in China. He started as developer of course, building high rises and apartment buildings for years, before winning a major government contract to build an apartment complex in Shanghai. One day, four years later, one of the buildings collapsed crushing hundreds of people to death. The people were rightfully very angry, many of them looking for their loved ones, many of them demanding answers from my father. He was arrested and sent to jail. In China, malfeasance that results in loss of life is punishable by death. My father couldn’t explain why the building collapsed…toppling like a block of Lego’s’ until he hired an outside expert who determined that an inferior metal had been used in the building’s infrastructure. The judge in the case dismissed the charges against my father after he produced documents that proved he had actually purchased stronger materials from a contractor who he learned had cheated him. As it turns out, the contractor had used the same inferior metal in numerous projects around the city, all of which had collapsed over the years. Needless to say, the contractor and his men were sentenced to death for their actions. But it was too late. My father’s reputation had already been ruined. We lost face. The people hated him. He was effectively blacklisted until he met Eugene Byron.”
“I think I understand why your father helped Eugene after the Byron Energy scandal. What I don’t understand is why people in China hate you.”
“I’m a second generation rich kid. Some people think the contractor who used the inferior steel was a scapegoat and that, as a second generation rich kid, I’m profiting from the pain of others. There are people in China who think they’re above the law because of their wealth. I try to lead a normal life, but it’s hard to escape the stereotypes when you’re rich in a country with millions of poor people. When I was growing up people teased me, told me I was from a family of killers…that I was a killer. Hell, I wasn’t even born when the building collapsed.”
“I’m sorry you experienced that,” I offered sympathetically, gripping his hand.
“I don’t need pity. It only made me stronger. Besides, I had something else to look forward to. So I looked west.”
After wandering along in complete silence, quietly enjoying each other’s presence, we stopped by the Bellagio and sat near the fountains to watch the fifteen minute choreographed water show. The fountain shot spiraling water into the air, coordinated with colorful displays of light and classical music before an awestruck audience. We sat on the stone surround and finally, Ethan took my hand, entwining his fingers with mine.
“This is so…beautiful!” I cried, above the roar of water rocketing into the air.
“Not as beautiful as you,” Ethan replied, swinging me into his arms. I was held captive by his magnetic gaze as our lips touched. The wild jets of water soaring above us seemed to exemplify how I felt in his arms, lips pressed against his lips, body crushed against his now wrinkled suit. I thought about all the naughty things I would do to him if he didn’t push me away whenever I got too close. Suddenly, an out of control stream of water from the fountain rained on our heads like a tsunami. Ethan swung his jacket above us as I shrieked and ran for cover while lights from the fountain blinked off, shrouding the entire area in darkness.
“My dress!” I wailed, hair clinging to my face. Ethan wasn’t far behind. He shook water from his shirt and jacket, laughing.
“You did that on purpose!” I cried.
“That water jet on the end was going crazy the entire time.”
“My heels! My dress, my hair!” I whined.
“Take your shoes off.”
“They’re ruined!”
I kicked my heels off, stamping my feet down on top of cold wet cement. Ethan turned his back and squatted. “Get on.”
“You want me to get on your back?”
“You could always walk barefoot.”
“Fine…” I whined, begrudgingly climbing on.
I locked my legs at the ankles across his stomach as he carried me piggyback style all the way back to the hotel, which was only a few blocks away. I pressed against his muscular back, occasionally sliding my hands down ripped arms. He finally set me down when he reached the hotel lobby.
“That was fun.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
A few hoity-toity onlookers gawked at us as we shook water from our clothes onto the floor, laughing. We took the elevator up to the penthouse suite, Ethan discarding his wet clothes as we entered, starting with his jacket which he hung on a chair, then his shirt, which he flung across the room. If the Herve Leger bandage dress was tight before, it was like a second layer of skin, soaking wet. I tugged at the zipper, twisting clumsily until I fell head-first behind the sofa, smashing my elbow.
“Ow! Ethan?”
He unbuckled his pants, stripping down to a pair of black underwear.
“Can you help me get this damned thing off? It’s like a straitjacket.”
Ethan was half-out of his underwear as I stumbled back to my feet. He sauntered across the room, unzipped the back of my dress, then shooed me away, trying not to look.
“In the bedroom… now.”
‘Avoidance will get you nowhere,” I warned.
He turned away as I inched out of the dress, stripping down to my underwear.
“Nothing to see here,” I teased, parting with a sexy smile as I left the living room.
I closed the bedroom door and tossed the navy blue bandage dress on the bed, unsnapped my bra, and peeled my panties off. A cold
blast of air from the air conditioner slapped my skin, covering me with chill bumps from head to toe. The door knob turned, and Ethan slunk in. My eyes slid down his six-pack and followed the angular curve of his waist down to his muscular thighs. He peeled his underwear off then reached out, swinging me into his arms. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?”
A stream of moonlight poured in through the window, flooding us in luminous pale light. I slipped into Ethan’s embrace, silken flesh pressed against his hardened physique. Dark bedroom eyes flickered with desire. I gasped as he bent his head, moving to trace the swell of my breasts with his mouth, stroking them gently with his hands in clockwise and counterclockwise motions. Ethan groaned and gathered me close, his chest tightening as my hand roamed down his stomach, and further still to hold his thick slippery length until it moved in and out my palm.
With kinetic waves of pleasure flowing through us we finally moved from the door, gravitating away from the cold grip of air, finding warmth in each other’s arms. Ethan’s lips touched mine and between expert kisses, my feet were off the floor as we slid onto the bed. But I would be the one to object this time.
“No!” I said, pushing at his chest.
Ethan blinked, confusion haunting his dark brown eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m saving you the trouble of stringing me along,” I droned.
“Not this time,” he answered, slowly guiding my hand away from his chest.
One look at his face and I knew he was serious. Ethan kissed me again, feverishly positioning my body until my legs were slung over his thighs, hips bearing down until his length was nestled into the slick moist warmth of my core. Moaning raptures, I clung to his muscular backside, guiding each deepening thrust, relaxing against him as he pushed deeper, and harder until I was full, clenching every inch of his manhood until I wanted to weep. Then I remembered something that no couple in throes of passion should ever forget. His wallet...
“I don’t have anything,” Ethan answered. “You’re not on birth control?”
“Not exactly. It gave me acne so I stopped taking them.”
“Just this once, I’ll be careful,” he pleaded.
After making love Ethan, planted a kiss on my forehead and rolled off, pulling me into the nook of his arms. His body spooned against my backside as I tried to still my quivering thighs.
“You okay?” he asked, kissing the curve of my shoulder.
I nodded, too emotional to speak.
“You sure? It wasn’t too soon, was it? I didn’t hurt you…”
“It’s a lot to take in,” I managed. “My life has changed so much…”
“We’ll take it slow if that’s what you want.”
“We’re way past slow, Ethan. We’re in
Hyper-drive.”
I rolled over, squirming into his arms. He kissed my forehead.
“You’re not upset?”
“I’m happy,” I assured him, holding his gaze. A little too happy, actually…
I said nothing about our relationship or where we stood. I didn’t want to scare him. He might push me out of bed or run screaming and running for the hills the second I mentioned the brevity of our marriage. Three years, nothing more. The man I was married to had just become my lover, in every sense of the word. But to accept Ethan completely meant I was allowing my father to control my life. He arranged the husband, the wedding, and the marriage and I wasn’t about to let him get away with it. In a few years Ethan would get his green card and then it would be over. Whatever physical attraction we felt would be out of our system long before then which strangely, made me sad. Casting my worries aside, I kissed the tip of Ethan’s nose and then his chest.
We made love again that night. And once more in the morning just before dawn. Afterwards, we lay in bed, basking in the glow of post-coital bliss for an interminable stretch of time, too wound up to sleep.
“What if…” I asked, entwining our hands together, “there wasn’t a deal between Byron Industries and AmeriAsia?”
“We would still be together… eventually.”
“How is that possible? You would be in China and I would…”
“Have a boyfriend?” Ethan chuckled, completing my sentence. “Fate has a way of bringing people together.”
“You think we’re fated?”
“Destined,” he corrected.
“You should have told me you were crazy before last night.”
“I’m crazy about you,” he quipped.
I hooked my arms around Ethan’s neck and draped my leg over his hip.
“I can live with that,” I purred.
He drew me into his arms and kissed me as if it was the most natural thing in the world for us to do. I looked at the digital clock on the nightstand. It was well after 7a.m. Where had the time gone? With Ethan’s arms locked around my waist I stared ahead, eyes transfixed on the ceiling wondering if we were thinking the same thing. What would our fathers say about our mixing business with pleasure? They wouldn’t know. They couldn’t know. Not if I could help it.
Somewhere between eating takeout, working, and making love we finally managed to get some sleep. Then we were up again, exhausting ourselves on our laptops and cell phones eventually sleeping the hours away in ratty t-shirts or nothing at all, day and night blurring together. Contracts from Diane arrived a few days later by courier. I signed them quickly and sent the delivery man on his way without mentioning them to Ethan.
We left the following day for Paris, leaving our work on the Gold Dust for assistants and other staff down the company’s chain of command. It was the first vacation I had in years...and for Ethan, his first vacation ever. So I stole his cell phone and made him promise not to mention or so much as think about work while on our “honeymoon”.
“I can’t think about anything else when I’m with you,” he insisted, eyeing me like a lovesick puppy.
I tossed Ethan’s phone into my bag after turning it off and then we were on our way.
Our two week trip to Paris went as expected. We eagerly took in popular landmarks like the Eiffel Tower and the Notre Dame Cathedral. We even walked down Le Avenue des Champs-Elysées and visited the Tuileries. Paris was as chic and elegant as I remembered, especially the gorgeous architecture, much of which had been designed from the cool cream-colored limestone that had been imported from Oise to destinations like the Place de la Concord. Overall, Paris had provided us both a much needed break.
Back in the real world, life was sailing along. Diane kept me updated on the project. I wasn’t supposed to check emails or text messages, but did when Ethan wasn’t looking. It was nice to come up for air every now and then. Claudia called in tears about Wayne, they were having problems. She was hysterical so I could only make out part of the story through the crackle coming through my phone. So I promised her I would visit when I was stateside again.
Two weeks later as I packed our luggage for the trip home, I flipped through the dozens of pictures I’d put in a scrapbook, wondering if the photos were memories of our honeymoon or something to have on record to prove the legitimacy of our marriage to immigration.
I stopped at a picture I had taken of Ethan at the Louvre. The man was unnaturally handsome. It was like the gods descended from the heavens to personally bless him not only with the gift of beauty, but the presence of power. In Paris, I couldn’t help but notice how women stared at him, or cut their eyes sideways, a smile curling the corners of their mouths, some of them blushing, fluttering eyelashes lowering as they looked down or away, awkwardly chewing their lips as they waited for Ethan to notice them. He seemed oblivious of the attention, even from other men, who stole an occasional glance when they thought no one was looking. At our hotel, some had even ventured to ask his business in Paris, their greedy little eyes beaming with interest. A wealthy Chinese businessman…one they assumed would blindly invest in whatever scheme they’d concocted. I saw women in the background of all of our pictures, gazing over at him, at u
s. That’s when I noticed the face lurking among the crowds at the Louvre. There was nothing unusual about this face, only that I’d seen it before. My heart raced as I flipped through the rest of album, where the same man appeared again and again, lurking in the background in several of Ethan’s pictures. Someone was following us! I gasped so loudly, Ethan rushed into the room like there was a fire.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling beside me.
“There’s a man lurking behind you in all of your pictures,” I panted, flipping through the scrapbook as I pointed out the leather-clad thug in each one.
“I saw him in Vegas at the Palazzo and standing outside at the chapel after our wedding.”
“Are you sure?” Ethan asked, in an eerily calm voice.
“Of course, I’m sure. He’s in several of our pictures at different locations on different days. He’s obviously watching us.”
Ethan shut his eyes and sighed like he was pissed.
“It’s the paparazzi again,” he said.
I watched as he paced around in a circle then kicked a nearby chair. He acted more like a man who was guilty of something, than someone annoyed by the press.
“Just because a handful of people on Wall Street know who we are, doesn’t mean we’re famous.”
Ethan walked away, returning a few seconds later with a French gossip magazine. He opened it and flipped through the thick glossy pages until he found the right one. I looked at the article. There were several fashionable women, actress and models alike, and then a picture of me and Ethan with a caption written in French.
“What does it say?” I asked.
“They refer to you as the stylish daughter of business tycoon Eugene Byron.”
Ethan spoke a moderate amount of French, which had been useful in helping us get around in Paris. Ethan smacked the magazine down on top of the coffee table. Seeing my picture in a gossip magazine with a gaggle of airheaded socialites depressed me.
“You okay?”