Couture Love

by Fields, MJ

  Stepping onto the patio, I hear Suzy yell, “I can’t do all this. I have two children of my own, Danny. I can’t handle those twins. They hate me. And Shelby, the snide comments and all the teen angst that comes with her, darkens my aura! I want—no, need—the nanny back so I can shower and get pretty for you when I want to. And I can’t when they’re all here!”

  “And you wanted the stonework done, and the caterers for the board members dinner tonight, and you fired the nanny—”

  “She was flirting with you!”

  I walk to the door and watch the show unfold.

  “And I only have eyes for you, darling.”

  “What am I going to do with all of them? God, Danny, why did you have so many damn kids?”

  I step closer and see him hugging her, rolling his eyes as he does so. “As soon as Eric gets here, they’ll be all over him.”

  I’ve been here, Father, I think to myself.

  “You can soak in the tub and hide away in our suite until it’s time to entertain.” He steps back and looks at her. “You’ll dazzle them.”

  “Did you get me the dress I wanted?” The tears are gone, and she’s in full pout mode.

  “Of course I did and spared no expense. I even got you matching shoes.”

  Fuck you.

  “Are you planning on going in or just standing here like a creeper, watching the two of them bullshit each other?”

  I jump at the sound of Shelby’s now monotone voice then turn and look at her. I’m further startled when I see her.

  “What the hell did you do to your face?”

  She’s gone full emo. Died her hair black, black eyeliner caked on, mascara thicker than a drag queen’s, and all her clothes, which there are barely at all, are black. Black bikini top under her fishnet shirt and matching stockings under her short-ass black shorts. I glance down at her feet to see she’s wearing black high-top Converse.

  “What? You don’t like it?”

  And she’s talking different, quieter. Thank God.

  “I don’t get it,” I look her up and down. “Why the change? And Shell, you’ve lost a ton of weight.”

  “That’s what happens when you stick your finger down your throat.”

  “What!”

  “It’s a joke. But now you’ve caught their attention.” She walks past me and into the house. Glancing back, she smirks, as if to say, I’m about to fuck with them.

  I’m not sure if I should let her or pull rank and insist on going first.

  Seven

  Autumn

  Having decided to come to the Hamptons on Thursday instead of Saturday, making it an even longer weekend, I rented a room for the two nights. Our cottage at the De La Porte estate wouldn’t be ready until Saturday, which is tomorrow.

  Angela surprised me last minute by doing the same. When I offered to share a room, she told me that she didn’t want to impose, knowing I had planned on Autumn getting her “groove back.” It just so happened she had more faith in my plan than I did. Go figure that she was correct.

  Typical Angela.

  When she messaged this morning, telling me that she was hungover and going to sleep it off for the day and the night, that we would catch up tomorrow, I assumed it was because this is the first time her beautiful Natasha wasn’t joining us.

  I offered to bring ice cream, wine, and watch movies with her, but she declined. I understood. Sometimes we need those moments to revel in our misery alone. I would only allow her one day, though.

  One.

  Angela is now an empty nester, and I can imagine that, for a single mom, it’s harder than that of a happily married couple sending their child away. At least then they have each other. But she has me, and I promised Natasha to keep her busy, to push her to laugh more, date more … live more.

  Tomorrow, we move into the cottage and will join a few of the department heads that have been invited to stay on the sprawling grounds as well. Jean used to handpick the employees that he invited to join his right-hand, Angela, and her right-hand, me, based on performance. This year, Angela and I picked … literally out of a hat at the last minute.

  Since Jean passed, she and I have been too busy keeping the board appeased and the daily operations running smoothly. It has not been easy.

  After spending the day packing up my room to move into the cottage tomorrow, I decided to keep my appointment for our couple’s massage, but to do so alone.

  While in the cab, I do something silly. I send a snap.

  AutumnsSeason:

  - My other half bailed on the couple’s massage. One hour to Helga and her magic hands.

  When he doesn’t reply, I’m tempted to delete my account.

  How embarrassing.

  I once read that when a person begins to date again after a marriage or long-term relationship ends, they revert back to the age they were when they began dating. So, I, Autumn Jora Raynes, come with all the knowledge, insecurities, “game,” emotional scars, and wisdom or, better yet, the lack thereof of a sixteen-year-old virgin, whose one and only love shattered her heart into itty bitty pieces.

  “Left on Read” once, and I’m ready to delete the app.

  I can’t imagine having all this technology in my hands when I was in high school. A cell is one thing, social media being the norm … good Lord. Not long ago, I wanted to kill the kids that blasted Natasha’s toddler pictures, pre-surgery, all over Instagram.

  I still do.

  I look at the time and see I have an hour, so I decide to go take a long, hot shower and exfoliate before my massage.

  I look one more time to see if Eric has read my message and wished I hadn’t.

  He read it, and he didn’t reply.

  I shove my phone in my bag and strip out of my sundress as I head to the bathroom.

  After my shower, I have thoroughly washed all the teenage angst out of my hair and off my body, which is when I discovered the hickies on my tits and decided that I am a woman … not a girl, and this is just a hook-up, not a damn prom date or proposal. I’m a woman with a kick-ass career and friends who I adore, friends who love me for me, and not me as part of a couple.

  Me.

  After putting on a new sundress—sans the bra—throw my just-blown dry hair in a messy bun, and decide against applying any makeup, because … who cares, I grab my bag, fight the urge to check for a message, and head out the door.

  * * *

  Walking up to the reception desk, I am greeted with a pleasant smile. “Welcome to the Oasis.”

  “Thank you.” I return her smile. “I’m Autumn. I was supposed to—”

  “Autumn of Queens?” she asks.

  I cover my mouth as a giggle erupts and look around.

  “Your gentleman’s not here, but he did insist that you skip the massage and splurge on anything else you’d like to pamper yourself with today.” She stands up and walks to the counter behind the desk. When she turns around, she’s holding a bottle of Dom.

  I don’t hold back the laugh this time.

  “We told him we had champagne, but he insisted on Dom.” She hands me the bottle and an envelope.

  I set the bottle down and tear open the envelope.

  Autumn of Queens,

  Don’t you dare let anyone else put their hands on you this weekend. Not Helga nor Harry, no dicks, or chicks. You understand what I’m saying?

  Your body is mine.

  Get your nails done, your toes, a facial … Although, now that I mention it, if that’s what you crave, I’m more than willing to provide that, along with a full body massage tonight.

  Be ready for our date. Eight p.m. sharp.

  The thought of seeing those eyes, that smile, tasting and touching you has been the only thing getting me through this fuck-tastic day.

  Yours,

  Prince Eric.

  “You okay, doll?” she asks, and I look up. “You have a tear.”

  “That’s the sweetest thing any man has ever done for me.”

  * *
*

  My day was spent being pampered while texting my mother and doing exactly what Eric suggested—saying I had been hacked. I hated lying to her, but the alternative, the truth, would have resulted in a two-hour call about self-respect and suggestions on how to proceed with caution yet live my life for me.

  I also spent the day declining calls from my ex, Stephen, and deleting texts from him without reading them.

  The silver lining was the dozen messages back and forth with Eric, thanking him and trying to get information about tonight out of him. He gave me nothing … except butterflies.

  I have dressed in “comfy, casual, warm-ish attire,” as he had suggested. I’m wearing my favorite black designer skinny jeans with ripped knees, a black fitted tank top, under a loose, knit, burgundy sweater. My hair is down, in beachy waves, and my makeup is much more casual than last night. I second-, third-, and fourth-guessed that decision but ultimately decided to tone it down. After all, he did say casual.

  Pacing outside the hotel at seven forty-five, I find my stomach growling and realize I haven’t eaten anything of substance all day, except the cucumbers in my water at the spa, a couple crackers, and drank about seven cups of coffee.

  I look at my watch and see it has been exactly one minute since I last looked. I make the quick decision to head in to see if there’s a vending machine with something to shove in my mouth before Eric arrives.

  I quickly hurry inside the automatic doors and am walking through the lobby when a large hand flattens against my belly and pulls me back against a warm, hard body.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I lean into him. “I thought I forgot something.”

  My stomach takes this opportunity to protest in a loud grumble, which I’m sure only I heard but am embarrassed he may have felt.

  “Like eating.” He squeezes my tummy a little.

  “Busy day at the spa, you know.” I laugh as I turn to him and look up. “Did I say thank you yet?”

  “About ten times.” He kisses my nose. “I have food in the Rover. Let’s get out of here, get you fed, and then you can show me your appreciation.”

  Holding my hand, he leads me back outside. I’m purposely two steps behind so I can check him out. He’s wearing dark jeans and a dark gray sweater; both pieces fit his muscular build. His shoulders and ass are spectacular. His large feet are in black and gray slip on sneakers; Vans, I think.

  Working in the fitness world, I’m surrounded by a much leaner look, but I can say with all honesty that a more athletic build has always ticked my box.

  He has on a watch. I don’t know why this is a thing for me, but it is. A man wearing a watch looks more polished and poised. The fact that it’s not an Apple watch makes him look even more sophisticated.

  He drops my hand as he opens the door to his Land Rover. “Autumn of Queens, your chariot awaits.”

  “Thank you, Prince Eric.” I curtsy before stepping in.

  One leg inside and my other leg toes on the ground, he steps in, filling the door. “Need some help?”

  Before I have a chance to say a thing, he slides his hand beneath me, gives my ass a quick squeeze, and slides me in the rest of the way.

  “Thank—”

  He kisses me, stopping the next word, stopping my heart, stopping the world from spinning.

  When his lips leave mine, my eyes remain closed, and I hear his soft chuckle before the door closes.

  Once he’s in the vehicle, he turns it on. “What’s your musical pleasure?”

  Your voice, I think but definitely don’t tell him that.

  Hook. Up, I remind myself.

  “I like a little bit of everything actually. Yours?”

  “The little sounds you make when I kiss you, the gasps when I sink into you, and the cries when you come.”

  For the love of all things … swoony.

  I lean in toward the dash and say, “Siri, play Autumn losing her mind.”

  The dash display lights up with, “Here’s ‘Red’ by Taylor Swift.”

  “Abort! Abort, damn you.” I laugh.

  “Not a Taylor Swift fan?”

  “Not anymore,” I grumble as the song continues to play.

  “Siri, play Autumn’s gonna leave this vehicle.”

  The dash display lights up with, “Here’s ‘Autumn Leaves’ by Ed Sheeran.”

  “Much better, bitch.” I shake my head and flop back in my seat.

  “You all better now?” he asks, drawing my attention back to him.

  “I am, thank you.”

  “You and Siri have a strange relationship.” He quirks an eyebrow.

  “She hates me.”

  “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

  “You’re awfully sweet, you know?”

  “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  “Is that so?”

  He nods as he puts the vehicle in drive.

  “Like right now, I probably looking cool, calm, and collected, when all I want to do is kiss you until your pretty red lips are bruised.”

  “Well then, do it.”

  He hits the gas. “If I do that, I won’t stop. If I don’t stop, I won’t be able to feed you. If I don’t feed you, you’ll have no energy for the plans I have this evening.”

  “Big plans.”

  He throws his head back slightly and laughs.

  “You could still kiss me.” I lean across the console.

  “Any man who could keep driving while kissing you isn’t giving you or the kiss the attention it deserves.”

  “Well then, road head’s out of the question then, huh?”

  His head snaps over to me, both thick, black brows perched higher.

  I sit back with a smug smile. “You aren’t the only one who has plans.” I hold my hands several inches apart. “Big plans.”

  He reaches over and pulls one hand farther from the other, putting more space between them. “Mine’s bigger.” Then he takes my hand and places it between his legs, “And getting even more so the more you tease.”

  I squeeze him. “I’m no tease, Prince Eric.”

  He stops at a stop sign and looks at me. “No, you’re not. You’re fucking perfect.”

  Something between us, something odd yet beautiful, passes. I’m not sure what it is, and I don’t want to read into it, so I shake the thought, sensing him doing the same.

  He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses it. “Buckle up, gorgeous.”

  After I buckle, and he does, too, he takes my hand back, but he doesn’t place it on his crotch this time. He places it against his chest.

  The rest of the ride is quiet, except for the music playing on the radio and the sound of my heart beating against my chest, thumping in sync with his heart against my hand.

  In twenty minutes, we’ve shared a thousand glances and a million unspoken words.

  He takes my hand and taps the dial of the radio, turning it off. “Have you been to Montauk Beach?”

  I clear my throat of lust and need before answering, “No.”

  “It’s quieter, darker. The best place to see the stars and listen to the ocean.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  “I considered taking you to a planetarium to teach you more about the stars but decided that, if someone else was giving the talk, I’d be taking advantage of the dark and you’d learn nothing.”

  “That was thoughtful of you.”

  “Self-less.” He chuckles.

  “Totally. Have I said thank you—”

  “Shut it, woman,” he interrupts me. “That was a completely selfish act. I couldn’t come when you invited me—houseful of family and obligations. And then the thought of missing those fucking sounds you make or sharing them with anyone kind of rubbed me the wrong way.”

  “I promise tonight to rub you the right way.”

  He chuckles as he pulls down a sandy drive and stops. Then he kisses my hand before releasing it. “Can you grab the tire gauge and permit out of the glove box?”
/>
  “Tire gauge?” I say while opening the glove box, hoping I know what one is when I see it.

  “Gotta make sure our pressures not too high or we’ll get stuck out there.”

  “You can drive on the beach?”

  “With a permit and only in this area, yeah.”

  “I’ve never driven on the beach.”

  “You want to drive?” he asks as he takes what I hope is the tire gauge.

  “No, of course not.”

  “If you change your mind, let me know.” He winks as he shuts the door behind him.

  I check my face and apply some coconut oil cream while he does whatever it is that he’s doing with the tires.

  Eight

  Eric

  Kneeling on the ground, I hit the Safari app on my phone and pull up the video showing me how to lower the tire pressure to 16 PSI, which is apparently the optimal pressure for my vehicle to drive on sand.

  It’s a good fucking thing I had the ability to learn shit like this myself. The first time I blew a tire, I had to call AAA to have it changed, and my buddies laughed because I didn’t know how to do it myself.

  It was all in good fun, but shit like that burned.

  I am so sick of burning.

  Shelby is burning right along with me. She let them have it today. The shit that came out of her sixteen-year-old mouth had me in stitches. If they only knew she was doing it for attention, they could easily avoid the drama. I told both of them that, too, but it’s human nature to tune out what you don’t want to hear. Just like it’s human nature to feed off someone else’s misery to avoid your own.

  Tomorrow, I sigh to myself. Today was Shelby’s day; tomorrow is my fucking day to toss my maxed-out credit card and depleted bank statements at him and ask where the fuck my money is.

  “The drive did you good, son.” He clasped my shoulder. “Something about that open road.”