She winks at me and my stomach tightens nervously.
Does she know about Remington and me?
Why the wink?
Calm down, Veronique. She’s probably just happy that her kid actually seems to be getting along with his stepsister for a change.
Which begs the question: are Remington and I getting along?
Why isn’t he calling me?
UGH.
“Of course I’ll go to the Ball. Wouldn’t miss it!” I say.
Because now I’m apparently someone who goes to actual Balls in real life. I didn’t even know there were still Balls. I thought Balls only happened in, like, Cinderella.
“I’ll travel over with you guys tonight. How long will we be in Victoria?”
“As long as you want,” Diana smiles. “We’ll probably stay a few days and then sail around the islands, give your Dad a proper Seychelles tour. You’re welcome to come with us.”
“No, thanks, but you guys need your privacy. Have a real honeymoon!”
Dad smiles. “We won’t be gone more than a couple weeks, tops. Our whole life is a honeymoon. Will you still be around when we get back?”
I grin. Dad’s always been such a romantic. “Sure, if that’s alright. Since I’ve been healing my wrist, I haven’t been able to do any school stuff the last few weeks. Thanks to Remington I don’t have to worry about my finals, and now that I’m feeling better I thought I’d use Diana’s recording studio at the resort to start working again. So I was figuring on staying here at least another month anyhow, if that’s ok?”
Diana’s smile, if possible, brightens even more.
“Of COURSE!” She booms. It’s easy to see where Remington got his passion and intensity: with her voice and expressions, Diana Wilde probably could have been a great actress and movie star. Or maybe a motivational speaker. Or religious or political leader. Or, heck, just about anything she wanted to be.
“We are FAMILY now, Veronique,” Diana continues. “You know this, oui? You must not worry about asking permission or coming or going. Your father and I want you to feel free and welcome and wanted. It has been a month since you have come into my home. I hope it’s at least starting to feel like your home, too: your family home. You are welcome home, any time.”
I laugh, her words filling me with warm fuzzy joy – and just a little edge of fear. Family and home have not always been warm fuzzy thoughts for me. After my mom died, family and home made me sad. Family and home were a lot of work. Family and home were somber and full of struggle.
Now that has obviously changed, but the change still makes me a little nervous. It still feels surreal, unfamiliar. Yes, I am finally getting more used to it. Yes, I am beginning to accept this new reality.
Accepting Diana herself has been easy – she is such a kind, warm, happy person, it’s impossible not to feel affection for her. But accepting the wealth and luxury that Diana wants to shower on me? That’s been a little harder. That’s taken a little more time to sink in.
Guess time really does make a difference.
Seems like it’s been ages since I got here – and yet, it also feels like this all only happened yesterday. It’s easy to lose track of time on a tropical island. It’s easy to lose track of time when you’re obsessing over your dream man and worrying about what is actually happening between you. It’s easy to lose track of time when your entire life turns upside-down and changes in the best possible way.
Wow, wait. Did Diana say it’s been a month already?
Have I been in the Seychelles for a month?
“You guys have been married for a month?” I ask, astounded.
Dad grins. “Yup! Tonight’s our month-i-versary.” He grabs Diana and kisses her lightly on the lips. “We’ll have to celebrate, darling.”
“We’ll have to celebrate early,” Diana laughs, “So that we don’t gross out your daughter on the boat.”
I laugh and wave them off. “Please, I’m a grown-up. I can take it.”
“I know.” Diana smiles kindly. “We’ll send Chip to pick you up at seven, ok? And then we’ll see you on the boat. Get some rest!”
“Sounds good!” I call.
Dad and Diana wave and disappear back through the house, off to their own afternoon of luxury. I’m left alone in the infinity pool, my pleasant morning saddening giving way to a mini crisis as I mentally calculate the timeline of my adventure in The Seychelles.
It’s been a month since I got here.
A month.
I’ve been here a month.
A month is four weeks.
When was my last period?
My mind flashes back, flickering through intense memories: Remington and I tipping over in the canoe, Remington and I tearing our clothes off and eating each other alive in the ocean, Remington and I up against the tree, his cock deep inside of me, moaning and kissing and fucking up a storm.
Know what I don’t remember?
Condoms.
Know what else didn’t happen?
Birth Control.
Holy shit.
“Shereen?” I shout, clambering out of the pool. “Shereen, you there?”
I grab one of those Versace towels, too distracted to notice the cloud-soft comfort of the cloth, and wrap it around my barely-there Chanel bikini.
Versace, Chanel, Bentley…none of them can help me right now.
No one can help me if my suspicions are correct.
Quick steps take me through the open French doors and into the living room of my villa, just in time to see Shereen coming out through the kitchen to meet me.
“Oui, Veronique, what is up?”
I barely notice Shereen’s endearing attempt to use the American slang I’ve been teaching her.
“I’ve got a problem, Shereen. A real problem.”
My mind has shut out extraneous information and honed down to a laser focus on a very, very important mission. Nothing else can fit into my brain except for the knowledge that I have skipped a period. At this point, I’ve maybe even skipped two periods. How did I not notice? How was I so distracted?
I can’t actually remember my last period, but I know it was in Philadelphia. I’m suddenly feeling dizzy, like a ton of bricks has fallen onto my head. My body waves in the air like a tree in the wind.
“Whoa.”
Shereen catches me as I stumble and her face changes from her usual expectant expression to one of concern. She lays her manicured hand on my shoulder, leading me to the couch, and plops down beside me.
“What has happened Veronique? Mon petite siren, are you ok? What is wrong?”
I swallow, my heart pounding in my throat. I’m pretty sure I already know the truth, but I have to check. I have to be sure. I have to find out.
I take Shereen’s hand and cling to it like a lifeline.
“Shereen, I need your help,” I say.
She nods at me, her face ready and strong. Thank god for her. She has been a real lifesaver for me already, from the moment I met her in the Philadelphia airport until now, but I’ve never been more thankful for her competent, caring presence than right this very second when it feels like my world is imploding.
I must be pregnant.
I swallow. The words are hard to say aloud.
“I need a pregnancy test, Shereen. Fuck, I need a whole box of pregnancy tests. I need to be absolutely certain. I need you to get me an entire shipping crate of pregnancy tests, maybe a whole boatload of pregnancy tests, maybe a gynecologist, Jesus, I don’t know. I need to find out for sure if I’m pregnant, and I need you to keep it a total and complete secret. Please.”
Shereen nods slowly.
“Mon dieu,” she whispers. I can see the wheels turning. She turns to me and strokes my hair. “Mademoiselle, it is Monsieur Wilde, oui?”
The sound of his name brings tears to my eyes. I try and fail to stifle a sob.
“Shhh, shh.” Shereen pulls me in to a hug, muttering in French under her breath.
I don’t catch m
uch of what she says, but I am pretty sure ‘man slut’ is the same in every language. It’s not a comfort to hear this phrase from Shereen’s lips.
Shereen sighs. “I promise, Veronique. I’ll get you some tests. We will find out, and I will keep it secret, and you will be ok. Ok? No matter what, you will be ok. I promise.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, clinging to Shereen, wishing I could believe her. I need the test to confirm it, but deep inside I already know that I must be pregnant. I’ve never skipped a period before. My body is already telling me to face the facts.
But how can I? If I really am pregnant, won’t that change everything? Won’t that change my entire life, my entire reality?
How can I face the facts when I don’t know what they’ll be?
It will be ok.
No matter what.
Even if things don’t work out with Remington? Even if I am truly pregnant? Even if I end up having a baby…alone?
No matter what.
It will be ok.
Oh god. What the hell am I going to do?
Chapter Thirteen
Remington Byron Wilde
Victoria, Mahé Island, Seychelles
Africa
I’ve been away from North Island for three weeks. That’s three weeks to clear my head, to be away from Veronique, to get my act together and man up.
The Port of Victoria stretches out below me like a diamond necklace, glittering against the sunset. From the Governor’s summer mansion on the slope of the Morne Seychellois, the island’s highest mountain, I have a panoramic view of paradise.
My paradise.
Everything I see, I could have. I do have. In every direction there is glittering sea, vivid pristine bay, swaying palms, commerce, wealth. I feel like a king in his kingdom. Ships come and go in the port below, their activity exciting and profitable. The Governor’s mansion where I stand is close enough to the city center that the comforting sounds of voices and engines occasionally drift up through the warm evening air, a pleasant backdrop of soft sound.
Yet I’m restless.
I actually miss Veronique.
I am standing on a high balcony enjoying the view from the Mansion, taking a deep breath before the Governor’s Ball begins. Inside the mansion, the ballroom is lit with candles and brightened with tropical flowers. Waiters are dressed in tuxes with tails. Women are wearing gowns. Beauty is in the air, heavy like ripe fruit. Except for the cell phone in my hand, it would be easy to believe we had been transported to Colonial times, before independence and modernity. Everything is as glamorous as I hoped, and the guests are beginning to arrive.
Which is why I am out here, watching.
Any minute now a familiar car will drive up, a familiar door will open, and I’ll see the face I’ve been waiting for.
It feels like I’ve lived a mental lifetime since I left North Island just three short weeks ago. The last time I saw Veronique I was so determined to put her behind me, to close that chapter. And then what did I do? The exact opposite; I jumped on her like a lifeline and banged her up against a tree like a wild animal.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I’ve never felt so out of control before, so wild, so obsessed.
It’s been three weeks since I touched that sweet body of hers, and I have to admit: I’ve missed the hell out of it.
At first, when I got to Victoria, I found myself wanting to talk to her all the time. So I didn’t let myself, because I didn’t want to appear weak. I felt like I had to restrain myself, regain my self-control.
It only made me think about her more.
So I tried to distract myself with work, conferences, mergers, paperwork. I thought if I just ignored my insane infatuation with my stepsister, it would go away. She’s my stepsister, after all!
But work didn’t help.
I’d find myself in the middle of business conversations suddenly lost in a fantasy, reliving memories of Veronique’s body. Someone in a meeting would say something clever and it would just make me miss Veronique’s sassy conversation, or make me think of Veronique’s crazy life story. I’d go running in the morning and find myself wondering how Veronique’s wrist and ankle were healing.
Seriously, it’s as if she’s my girlfriend.
And she’s not.
She’s my stepsister, not my girlfriend.
Stepsister. Girlfriend. Stepsister. Girlfriend.
Ugh.
And then I thought…why couldn’t she be both?
That’s when I started freaking out.
Being with Veronique, making love with her – it’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before. Yes, it’s fucking hot – hotter than any sex I’ve ever had, and that’s saying something from a man who has had more than his share of access to whatever money and charisma and a big dick can bring. But it also feels…right. Like home. Spiritual.
Scary good.
Yet…how right can it possibly be ok to keep a thing going with my stepsister?
There are so many reasons it’s a bad idea. Veronique comes from a strange background very different than mine. She’s a mystery to me, an unknown quantity. I can’t control her and I barely even understand her.
After all, she leapt into bed with me after some rocky, tempestuous days together where it was clear we could have easily become enemies instead of lovers. And then she’s given me chances even after I’ve treated her like shit. Why? Is it possible to trust someone like that?
Is it possible to trust myself?
You can’t date your stepsister for fuck’s sake! It’s just not done – especially not at my level of public life and media scrutiny. I’ve barely cleaned up the last paparazzi frenzy with my fame-mongering ex in Hollywood and I don’t want a replay of that hot mess. The last thing I need is to dive into something even more sordid aka tantalizing for the press and the public to feast on.
Veronique is off-limits.
But let’s be real; I’m going to jump on her bones again as soon as I see her.
Because fuck yeah!
The fact that Veronique is forbidden makes her all the more irresistible. The fact that there are obstacles makes the challenge all the more attractive. I can’t pretend anymore that I don’t want to know her, be with her, and fuck her. Especially fuck her.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I’ve obsessed over the Governor’s Ball for weeks now, knowing I’d finally see her again. And now I’m pacing on the balcony, stalking like a hungry, picky lion: it has to be Veronique. No one else will do for me tonight.
Where the hell is she? It feels like I’ve been waiting FOREVER.
Ugh, finally!
A familiar vintage Jaguar pulls up to the curb. I recognize my mother’s favorite car from our home in the capital. My body tenses, goose bumps covering my flesh at the sense of Veronique’s presence. This is it! My hands grip onto the rail of the balcony, almost ripping the wood plank off in my sudden spasm of physical excitement.
Down, boy.
A valet opens the back door and familiar faces tumble out. Jacques, followed by my mother and – thank god – Veronique.
At the sight of Veronique, I feel my dick throb.
Wow.
Even from a distance, her body has a visceral impact on mine, making my carnal instincts spring to life. I shift uncomfortably, my pants suddenly too tight.
Damn.
And the night hasn’t even begun!
My suspicions were correct: just the sight of her is enough to make me wild with lust, and my stepsister hasn’t even stepped foot into the building.
She glances up, almost as if she’s felt me watching her, and her eyes sweep across the balcony where I am standing. I have just enough time to catch a glimpse of her hungry green eyes and her long black hair before she disappears through the vaulted doors underneath me, heading inside toward the ballroom. Electricity runs through my body: even from that brief glance, I can see that she still wants me, too.
It’s ha
ppening.
Taking a deep breath, I am surprised find myself smiling. I’m excited – why deny it? Finally, I get to take action instead of just brooding about Veronique. This night has been a long time coming.
Tonight is my chance to make up for the times I’ve treated her badly. Tonight is our chance to make love again in secret, to discover whether our chemistry is really important enough to continue to risk our reputations and our family’s respect.
I’m literally dying to find out.
Literally.
Dying.
Pants…too…tight…ugh.
Waiting just a few more minutes to get my erection situation under control, I shoot out a text message. I have a conspiracy in place, a surprise for Veronique, and I want to make sure it plays out like clockwork.
“She’s here. Black dress. Approach in 7 minutes. – R.W.”
A few seconds later, a response: “Oui Monsieur Wilde.”
Satisfied that my instructions will be followed, I step back inside from the balcony and swiftly find my way down the curved marble steps to the main floor. I can see my mother, Jacques, and Veronique chatting with Governor Elba and his wife Alice. They are old friends, good friends, but suddenly I don’t like the way the Governor is looking at Veronique. My hand curls into a fist at my side, ready to swing.
She’s too beautiful in her fitted, floor-length silk dress, her perfect figure tastefully on display. My stomach tightens with jealousy as I hear the Governor complimenting her appearance. No one else should look at her.
I want her to myself.
“Remington!” The Governor greets me. “I was just meeting your new stepfather and stepsister. Wonderful people! So glad you could all be here tonight.”
God, I am acting like a teenager. Of course the Governor – and everyone – will admire Veronique. It doesn’t mean he is trying to steal her: he is just being a good host. And even if he were flirting, what could I do about it? She’s not my girlfriend.
Yet!
I have to remind myself that I can’t just snake my arm around Veronique’s waist to claim her. I have to remind myself that, at least for now, I’ll just have to find other ways to keep her to myself.
I smile and shake the Governor’s hand. “Yes,” I manage. “We are all happy to be here. Together.”
My Billionaire Stepbrother Page 11