Okay, now I’m really annoyed. Now he’s simultaneously trying to seduce and insult me in what was supposed to be the safety of my own bungalow.
He sure doesn’t play fair.
“So what if my backpack is crappy?” I fume, “It was on sale at Target, ok! I got it for ten bucks. When was the last time you bought anything for ten bucks? Probably never, right? You’re probably too busy under-tipping the people who make ten-bucks an hour waiting on you to even notice how much of an asshole you are about money, you imperialist son of a bitch.”
Remington whistles sarcastically.
“Oh, now I am oppressing you? The evil rich guy and the innocent poor girl, is that it? Are those the roles you want to play? You like role playing, is that it? I’ll play with you.”
He steps out from behind the kitchen counter with the margarita pitcher in hand, and in one step is standing nose to nose with me.
I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
And worse, I can feel the heat radiating right back from my body.
There’s even heat radiating between us, all on its own, independently, without my consent or approval.
Heat is even throbbing between my legs. Heat is everywhere when Remington Wilde is involved. Heat seems to be seeping into my bones, into my groin.
Hot damn.
“Is this oppressive enough?” Remington murmurs. “Or should I get my imperialist whip and teach you a real lesson?”
Holy. Fuck.
I’m really curious what would happen if I said yes right now.
No, Veronique. No, no, no. You cannot let your new jerk of a stepbrother whip you. Do not pass go.
Swallowing, I take a deep breath and step back.
“Obviously I will just have to be the bigger person here,” I say through gritted teeth. “I am stuck here, and I suppose I am stuck with you thanks to our parents’ wedding, and since I do not know what on earth to do about it right now, I am going to go take a nap. I would really appreciate it if you would let me.”
With that, and as much dignity as I can muster, I gather my skirt and trudge up the stairs toward the bedroom.
“You don’t want to go in there,” Remington calls after me.
“Bite me!” I reply.
“Is that an invitation?”
“Fuck you!” I retort.
“You wish!”
What are we, fifteen? Rolling my eyes and groaning in exasperation, I push open the bedroom door.
And freeze.
On the bed are I don’t even know how many scantily clad women; every time my brain thinks it’s counted, someone moves and there are more of them. No, not women: supermodels. And oh, yup: I see nipples. They’re actually naked.
It’s like a Playboy just exploded all over my bed.
“You’re not Remington,” one woman says sleepily.
No shit, Sherlock.
Oh. My. God. I’ve just walked in on a supermodel orgy in my – well, sort of my – resort room.
A woman taps a thin line of white powder onto yet another girl’s belly and snorts it. Cocaine? Whoa. I didn’t think people still did cocaine, that’s how hip I am. Another woman pats an empty space on the bed next to her.
“There’s plenty of room sweetie,” she says. “Take off your dress and hop on in.”
“I – uh – no thanks,” I stutter.
Picking my jaw up off the floor, I wonder momentarily if I am having a stroke.
“Remington!” I shout. “What the fuck?”
“I’d have told you you’re the only girl for me, sis,” Remington retorts, “But you’d know that was a lie.” Remington’s voice in my ear startles me out of my shock and I jump three feet into the air. His hand is suddenly resting on my waist, his breath soft on my neck. “Care to join us?”
I spin around to face him, bewildered and inexplicably humiliated.
“Remington, please, why are all these girls in my bed?”
“You mean my bed. If you really need an explanation, you can watch.”
I can feel the all-too familiar sensation of my cheeks turning hot and red and tears prickling at my eyes.
Wait. Why should I be embarrassed?
I’m not the one that’s acting like a disgusting sex maniac. God, where did all these women come from? Two hours ago this villa was empty. Did Remington have them airdropped?
“No thank you,” I repeat, my voice growing stronger. “And I will kindly ask for the last time that you take your margaritas and your sex party elsewhere. Please. I need to be alone.”
Now Remington’s eyes flash.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” he says, his voice dangerously soft, “But you are trespassing on private property; property which I happen to own. If you want so badly to judge my lifestyle and have your precious alone time, then you can crawl back into the jungle for all I care. And take your father with you.”
“Remington!”
But he ignores the true pleading in my voice and turns to the bed, wading in to the sea of beautiful women, accepting an obscene amount of attention that begins to turn inappropriate alarmingly fast. Let’s just say Remington’s boxers don’t last for more than five seconds, and what I see leaves little to the imagination.
And he’s just as big in reality as in my wildest fantasies.
“Oh my god,” I choke, shocked.
Remington’s eyes flicker up, arresting mine. His gaze is defiant and challenging, an invitation and a dare. And I just can’t take it right now.
Because you know what? If these supermodels weren’t here, I’d probably accept that challenge. I’d probably take him on. I’d probably jump onto the bed and jump his bones.
And god knows what would happen then.
Completely humiliated, I have no choice but to flee the room. My heart is pounding. My cheeks are so hot with shame that they sting – shame at what I’ve just witnessed, sure, but mostly shame that I am jealous. Shame that part of me wishes I were in bed with Remington instead.
Stumbling down the stairs, I snatch my backpack and race outside, no idea where I am going.
Chapter Six
The next morning I awake to a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“Good morning Mademoiselle Veronique,” whispers Shereen. “You must get up, sleepyhead. Time for your family brunch.”
My eyes flutter open as I stretch lazily in my luxurious bed. Yesterday, after the Remington debacle, I found Shereen and she settled me in a villa just as decadent as the first, if slightly smaller, and I have to admit that I have never slept better in my life.
“Family brunch?”
“Oui. Your father, Madam Diana, and Monsieur Remington will all be there.”
I groan. “Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Oui Mademoiselle, but we must go and – what is the American expression? Face the music?”
“Yeah but I never asked for the music!”
“C’est la vie.”
Shereen is right. I can’t hide in this luxury villa and sleep all my troubles away. The sooner I sit down with Dad, Diana, and Remington, the sooner we can all try to understand each other and smooth things out.
And, hopefully, the sooner I can get back to school.
“Alright,” I decide. “I’m up.”
It doesn’t take me long to dress: all the fancy clothes are back in the bungalow with Remington and his orgy, so all I can do is change into the jeans and t-shirt that are crumpled in a ball in my backpack. Then Chip chauffeurs us down the lane toward the palatial villa where my Dad and Diana have set up camp.
It’s a gorgeous spot; every villa I’ve seen is beautiful, mostly glass, isolated and serene in its own private jungle. You can’t see one from the next, so each guest feels like they have their own personal tropical island. Whoever designed this place is a genius.
I step out of the car and see Dad waving to me from a stretching balcony, where brunch is set up on a long table overlooking the shimmering Indian Ocean. The scenery is
, as always, utterly breathtaking. And even more stunning is the contrast of facial expressions waiting for me at this “family” brunch; Dad and Diana are still love-drunk and glowing, and then there’s Remington tight-lipped and puffy-eyed from too many angry margaritas.
It’s all I can do not to laugh at him, and I subconsciously feel like I’ve already won this round.
Poor little rich boy. Didn’t get your way? Can’t control the entire world?
“Good morning sweetheart,” my Dad greets me. He stands briefly to kiss me on the cheek, and so does Diana. Her arms close around me in a firm hug.
“Welcome, Veronique! Welcome, welcome! I am so happy to finally meet you! Come sit and eat! Relax! Welcome to The Seychelles! Welcome to my family!”
“Thank you,” I say shyly, embarrassed by Diana’s openly affectionate and gregarious tone; I barely know her! But in spite of my shyness she has me smiling.
Shereen winks at me and melts into the background, helping the waiters set up our private meal. It’s then that I notice the only empty seat at the table is next to Remington.
Ugh. Great.
Right now I am too mad at him to feel fluttery or nervous in his presence. I barely look at him as I settle into my place. Diana and Dad beam at me expectantly.
Nobody says anything for what feels like too long.
“This looks delicious!” I blurt out, trying to cover the awkwardness. “I can’t believe how beautiful everything is here – the food, the island, the villas.”
“Ah, you are very sweet,” Diana laughs. “Yes, we pride ourselves on beauty here. My family was lucky to be able to build their lives and their business in The Seychelles.”
“You’re being modest my dear,” my Dad pipes in. “Diana has an eye for beauty, but also a talent for creating beauty wherever she goes.”
He takes Diana’s hand and kisses it, making her laugh happily.
“It’s true,” she chuckles. “I love beauty, which is why I love Jacques: such a beautiful, pure soul. Veronique, do you know I have seen all of the most beautiful places in the world. In fact, I am blessed to own businesses in most of them: The Seychelles, the Caribbean, the South Pacific, even the Mediterranean. But I tell you this is the best spot because of the people sitting at this table, and because of the love I feel for you all.”
She kisses my Dad on the cheek and reaches her hand out to squeeze Remington’s hand, but he retracts it like a petulant teenager. Diana sighs.
God, he’s such a jerk.
“I’d love to hear your story,” I manage. “How you guys met and fell in love. This was all such a huge surprise.”
Remington shoots me a dirty look.
Oh, whatever. Let him think what he wants about me.
Dad and Diana turn and smile at each other, lost in each other’s eyes.
“Well,” Dad begins. “I won a trip to the Seychelles in a game in Reno: a royal flush is what did it. The queen of hearts popped up on the river, and I felt the chill of destiny in my gut. I knew my life was going to change.”
“Isn’t he a great storyteller?” Diana interjects.
Remington rolls his eyes.
Seriously, are we twelve?
“It’s true,” Dad says. “I won a trip here in a game: resort stay included. The man I won the trip from was a one of those wealthy kids that never notices when he loses. He handed me his tickets and his resort voucher and his chips with a smile, then said, ‘Africa will blow your mind.’ And boy was he right.”
“You mean you hadn’t blown your mind before coming here?” Remington grumbles.
Under the table, I kick him. I can’t help it. He gives me another dirty look but falls quiet.
Dad ignores Remington’s insult and continues. “It was the moment I got here, Kiki, the very moment I set foot inside the resort, that I saw her across the room: the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And I knew I was going to marry her.”
“Oh stop!” Diana laughs, blushing.
“You fell in love at first sight?” I blurt, stunned.
Dad nods. “Diana was in mid-conversation with a group of Saudi Arabian sheiks, poised, classy and laughing. So I went up to them, patted a sheik on the shoulder, and said, ‘Pardon me Sheik, but may I join you? I’d like to meet my future bride.’”
Diana laughs and kisses Dad playfully on the cheek. “That is exactly what happened!”
Dad shrugs, his eyes twinkling playfully.
Remington shakes his head. “Really? That is it? That is the whole story?”
“Really,” says Dad.
“You are acting like a child,” Remington hisses at Diana.
Diana ignores Remington, addressing me. “I never met anyone like your father, Veronique. It was love at first sight for both of us. The life he has lived, the bigness of his heart, the way he sees the world. He is so full of curiosity and adventure and enthusiasm. In this life, when you find someone so special, you cannot let him get away. You cannot miss your chance. So I took my chance.”
She’s got a point: there is no one like my Dad. His verve, his passion for the moment, his charm and childlike joy – that is what makes it impossible not to love my father. I wonder if, in spite of the haste, Dad and Diana really do know each other deeply.
Maybe this crazy marriage wasn’t so crazy after all.
Remington doesn’t seem convinced, but he at least has the courtesy not to say anything nasty. It seems to be a truce for the moment.
Diana sighs happily. “I hardly know how to explain how Jacques has changed my life since we met a week ago. I thought when my first husband died I would never know joy again. But Jacques has shown me that there is still adventure and wonder in life for me. He has brought me a second chance at happiness.”
Now she reaches across the table again with both hands, taking a hold of both my and Remington’s shoulders. This time, he doesn’t pull away.
“I hope you kids can understand. I know it is fast, but life doesn’t wait until you are ready. Life and love happen on their own time. I hope that such a shock of joy can happen to you too. I wish it for both of you. Jacques and I are so lucky to have found it, and we have to share it with you. It is a part of your legacy now.”
Remington frowns as Diana reaches to her right hand, pulling off a ring and holding it out to him. The morning light glints so brightly off the stone it takes me a moment to truly see the gorgeous emerald-cut yellow diamond. It’s bigger than any stone I have ever seen before, even in the gossip magazines.
“Wow,” I breathe, in spite of myself.
Beside me, Remington’s breath has hitched. Stealing a glance, I see that his face is filled with emotion. He is fighting so hard not to show it, but I can see his jaw working and his brow furrowing.
So he’s not an impenetrable jerk after all.
“Your father gave me this engagement ring, Remington,” Diana says. “Son, I want you to know no one can replace your father. It is important to me that you understand that, but also that you understand that part of your legacy now includes this hope for life after what you think is the end, for renewal and resurrection and joy. When your father died I thought I was dead too, on the inside. But the heart can hold so much more love than you think is possible.”
To my utter surprise, I see that Remington is actually crying. He silently wipes tears from his cheeks, staring at the ring.
Diana smiles at him. “I want you to have this ring now Remington. It is your heirloom. Your father would have wanted us to live our lives to the fullest. So keep this ring until you find a woman who brings you true life, then you must give it to her. You can’t stay alone forever, son. You will find love too.”
I can feel the pain and the tenderness radiating from Remington beside me, and I realize that his love for his father must have been profound and deep. That explains why he’s been so angry, so combative about this wedding: he is struggling with his loyalty to his Dad.
Suddenly it hits me that Remington Wilde and I have more in commo
n than I thought; our love for our fathers drives us, shapes us, defines us, and makes this surprising marriage especially derailing.
I would never have thought it, but Remington Wilde and I are surprisingly alike.
“Your Dad would have been proud of you,” Diana concludes. “I know you are trying to protect me with all your objections, but son, you must respect my choice to move forward with my life. And you must move forward too. Here. Take the ring.”
Remington wrestles his feelings down and takes the ring from his mom without a word, keeping his eyes down. I avert my eyes, trying to respect the privacy and sacredness of the moment.
“That is not the only legacy we want to leave,” Diana continues.
“Diana, we don’t have to discuss this now,” says Dad.
“But I want to Jacques! Your poor daughter has flown across the world to be here, and you insisted on the surprise. She probably is exhausted, and I think she deserves to know that we have not forgotten about her.”
Diana takes my hand across the table.
“Veronique, your father has told me everything. About your how mother died so young, God bless her, and how you were always working so hard to take care of him from such a young age. I want you to know you do not have to worry anymore. When your father and I decided to marry, I insisted that we become true family. Family shares everything. What’s mine is his, and what’s his is mine. I know we are strangers, Veronique, but I also consider you my step-daughter.”
Dad shifts, looking a bit uncomfortable.
“Wait,” Remington interjects. “What do you mean, what’s yours is his? Tell me you made Jacques sign the pre-nuptial agreement, Mom. Please tell me you haven’t completely lost your mind.”
Diana’s eyes flash.
Now I can see where Remington gets his temper.
“Of course I didn’t make him sign the pre-nup! A pre-nup is an ugly thing, a mockery of marriage. The point of marriage is to become one.”
Remington leaps to his feet.
“Mom! The man is a poker player, he said so himself: a poker player who lets his daughter support him! Are you insane? Without the pre-nup you’re a sitting duck with our entire fortune at stake!”
My Billionaire Stepbrother Page 5