“Do you like it?” He asked.
“It is beautiful,” I said, and meant it.
He had reserved the swan table, the night before. We were led down the side of the restaurant, and onto a jetty. The waiter was dressed in a golden suit that reflected the light of the touches on the side of the jetty. We stopped at a wooden boat shaped like a swan. There was a set table in the boat, and a flaming torch the swan held in its beak, lit the night.
“Enjoy, gentlemen,” the waiter said pouring wine into the empty glasses. We stepped into the boat, it was surprisingly sturdy. Once we had sat down, the waiter gave us a light push, and using that momentum we glided away from the pier.
“It is very popular with honeymooners. It is a thousand a night, just to sit in this boat. I ruined the evening of one Mr and Mrs Schmid, to make ours all the more special.”
“That was very sweet, of you. I do hope their marriage survives it.”
“Phaa marriage, silly concept really.” We toasted to marriage, and how silly it was, then drained our glasses. It was the nicest food I had ever eaten. The waiters, rowed out to us on gondoliers with entrees. Henry was his usual charming self, and I found that I was staring into his eyes. He had such a beautiful mind, his intellect was clear and concise, it said what was needed, and nothing more. I loved him, but it was too soon to think such things, and I had never loved romantically before, but I knew it was true. After he told a joke that had me in stitches, it slipped out.
“I love you,” the words were out. He just looked at me, but his expression stayed the same, then he smiled.
“That’s nice,” He said then changed the subject. Embarrassed, I went along with the subject change. But the damage was done, and the evening tainted. We both retreated to our food. With a blank gaze, I twirled my fork around in my pasta. It was too soon. I knew that, why had I said it? Because it was true, I loved this man. He was everything I did not know I was looking for.
The waiter rowed out to our sawn boat, on a gondolier. “How is everything?” He asked.
“Everything is good,” Henry responded.
“Would sir like to order anything more,” The waiter asked in his thick French accent. “Mr Macquarie said we are to treat you to anything you like.” Henry looked at him and put a transparent smile on his face. “No, in fact we would like to leave.”
“Leave?” I asked.
“Yes” Henry said. “Is there anything keeping you here?” His tone was straight and blunt.
“I will row you back now, sir.” We got into the boat, but I could not stop thinking about why Henry was acting this way, he was different. The conversation was forced, or it did not happen at all, and the way he snapped at the waiter. I decided not to approach the subject until we were back at his apartment.
He opened the door and let me enter first. I had been going over what I was going to say in the silence of the cab, and was just about to say my piece, when I felt him undoing my buttons. This surprised me, but I let it happen. He silently undressed me. He disappeared for a while, and returned with lube, then we fucked. It was clinical, worlds apart from the passion, which he had thrust into me all those other times. I made eye contact, and his blue eyes were vacant. What was wrong? I wondered. We had made it into his bedroom, while fucking. I tried to hold him around the waist, but he rolled further away on the massive bed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, no longer able to tolerate this cold shoulder.
“Nothing,” he said. “I am just tired. Go to sleep, and we will talk in the morning.”
I awoke, got up, and had a shower. Henry was not in the bed, but he was an early riser, so I thought nothing off it. When I walked down the bedroom corridor and into the living room, I found him. He was sitting on the couch, next to a suitcase.
“Are you going somewhere?” I asked, not wanting to make assumptions.
“Sit down,” he said calmly, and gestured towards the couch, and like the lost puppy I was, I obeyed. “John,” He began. “I have lied to you,” my heart beat a little faster, and I began to worry.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, If I am just to come out and say it, this is not my apartment.” I laughed, but as he maintained eye contact and the smile never cracked his face. It became more of a nervous chuckle.
“Ok, you are renting?” I asked.
“It is much worse than that,” he said and sadness crept into his eyes.
“Are the owners tied up somewhere?”
“Do you know what a Mayfly is?” He asked me.
“A bug,” I said.
“Yes it is a flying insect that has a lifespan, between thirty minutes and twenty four hours,” he said.
“A bug that lives for a day?” I asked.
“Yes”
He turned around the MacBook that was in his hand. On the screen was a website, “The Mayfly” I read aloud. It was a blog. I scrolled down and saw photos of Henry’s apartment, filled with dancing people, It was the party, and I saw photos of myself.
“I still don’t understand,” I said. There was a feeling of dread closing in on me, and a heavy weight hung in the pit of my stomach. I unclenched my jaw and tried to listen to the words, coming out of Henry’s mouth.
“I am the Mayfly, an internet sensation.”
“I have never heard of you.”
“The internet is a big place. I live for a day, sometimes a week at a time. I settle down in a city, tell everyone an elaborate lie. Then I live the lie, and throw a big, party with the kind of people the lie attracts. When my time is up, I move on. I pretended to be the exuberant new owner of a world-renowned restaurant. All the people you saw the other night, I met earlier in the week, and invited them.” I could not believe what I was hearing. This must be a joke, but the way he said it all. He spoke the words, as if they hurt to say them, it must be the truth. I felt a rage building up in me, and it overpowered all the other emotions competing for attention.
“Who does this apartment belong to?”
“Mr Macquarie, an elderly gentleman of questionable taste. The light green and blue really is a bit much.”
“The waiter said the name in the restaurant.”
“Yes, he owns that too.”
“Mr Macquarie is a fan of my blog. He was going away for the week, and he agreed to let me use his apartment.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“The same reason anyone does anything, money. I just advertised his restaurant to over a million people. That little party, added to the asking price on the apartment if he ever decided to sell it. Now, he gets to lie to all his wealthy friends about the mess we left behind. Mr Macquarie has worked his whole life to get to where he is, so a character like me rightly fascinates him.”
“Where do I fall into your little game?” I had started yelling.
“You were meant to be the love interest, nothing keeps them reading like a love interest.”
“That’s just fucked up” I kicked a glass bowl off the coffee table and onto the floor. Henry did not even flinch as it hit the ground. “Practiced at this, are you, telling your lovers that it was all a game?”
“I normally don’t tell them. I leave a note, much cleaner that way,” he said, gesturing to the broken bowl.
“What makes me so special?” I asked.
“You love me,” he said it in a whisper.
“What do you fucking care?” I said.
“I care a great deal, I believed you at the restaurant. You do love me,” he said.
“I don’t love you, it slipped out. It has been less than a week,” I said.
“I have been with many men, and I know that what we have is something different. You idolize me, follow me around, and would do anything to please me. Now either this is an obsessive personality disorder, or you truly believe that you love me.”
“You lied to me; maybe I loved the person I thought I knew,” I said.
“But you never knew me, there has not been enough time to know me, so if y
ou really had those feelings, than you had them not for the façade, but for me,” he said.
“That’s some fucked up logic!” I said.
“Well, never mind then,” he said and looked down.
“Never mind what?” I asked.
“I was going to ask you to come with me John.”
“I can’t go with you, I said.
“Why not? Live my life for a while, see if you enjoy it. You will travel the world,” he said.
“And what do I do, when you grow tired of me, and move onto the next one? What will your readers think?” I spat out.
“John, it should be easy for me to walk out that door. I am going to Rio next, for Carnival. It is in my very nature to sever all ties to this boring shithole of a city, and get on a plane, but I had to at least ask you before I left. Whether I like it or not, you mean something to me too, and I want to see where it goes. You have no reason to trust me, and I might leave you for a hot Brazilian, however, I am asking you to come anyway,” he said.
It was a terrible speech, and a part of me wanted to say yes, right there and then. I did the more sensible thing, I brought my arm back, and then hurled a closed fist into the side of Henry’s face. He staggered for a bit, looked at me in shock, then fell face first onto the floor. I was as surprised as he looked. The anger had overcome me, and I acted. He was unconscious, and I thought about helping him, but did not really care if he choked on his own vomit.
I picked up his MacBook, and I didn’t know how, but I was going to destroy his reputation. If I said some hateful things about Africans, or that women are inferior, the internet would descend on him with its hate. I was about to click on the homepage when the post under a photo of me caught my eye.
“He makes it hard to continue. John, a common name belongs to this extraordinary man. I almost told him everything, but I know that doing so will just end what we have sooner. He is clever and funny, a master of the lost art of conversation. There is never a dull moment. He fucks like an animal, but is the man you want to take home, to meet your parents. In another life, he could have been the one. He lives in the moment and says what’s on his mind. I told him after the party, when he was worried about all the rich and successful people I surround myself with, that it was nice to be around someone so them. The irony, I know.”
I found the first post related to me and read it.
“I meet a guy named John at a bar last night. It is a funny story, his friends thought he was gay and tried to hook us up. He insisted he was straight, once deducing their intentions. The evening continues, he gets a few drinks in him, and next thing I know we are locking tongues. The girls assure me that he is the kind of man that does not bother defining himself, he just lives. He came around today, and I have it on good authority that he is gay. We fucked violently, and he took my cock like a champion, loved every inch and second of it.”
“The next challenge for the Mayfly is to die, so he can live. I address this to John, I am going to tell you everything, I think I owe you that. I hope that you read this, after I am gone. I hope that I did not hurt you, and you find someone who deserves you. I was not myself tonight at dinner, when you told you that you loved me, I could see in your eyes that you meant it. It frightened me, and I was already struggling to leave you. I will ask you to come with, and if you say yes, I will be the happiest man on the planet. I promise not to beg, I want it to be your decision. Tears stream down my cheeks as I write this. We built our relationship on a lie, and the only way to fix it is by ripping out the foundation.”
I finished reading the post. I could not be angry at Henry, he had beat himself up about this decision and most of my anger went into the punch. I was sad now, sad that I had fallen for his lies, and sad that I loved him enough to consider forgiving him for all of it. He had come to, while I was reading the article, and he sat propped up against the couch cradling his head, a cautious distance away from me. I looked him up and down, and looked at a picture I did not remember him taking. We were alone, in each other’s arms surrounded by the party. I saw happiness on our faces that was worlds apart, from the state we were in now. With a gulp I spoke. “Will you help me pack?” He looked up and smiled.
“Are you sure?” He asked.
“I am.”
The rest is history. We lived as mayflies, traveling from city to city. I saw the world as he promised, and we fell in love, proper love, not the puppy love that convinced me to drop everything and be with him. Jen and Sandra thought that I had gone mad, but we kept in contact, with a new number every week. I lived one week at a time. We partied, fucked, and never worried about a thing. We might settle down one day, but a mayfly does not think these thoughts. We are the new young couple that moved into the big house on the hill. Tonight there is a party, which only the pretty and successful are invited to. I love my new life but most of all, I love Henry.
**********The End**********
His Property
Description:
A controlled life suddenly transformed by unusual circumstances would be fitting for how the redheaded beauty Raven entered Lysander Byrate's life.
With an ex-boyfriend turned stalker who refuses to let Raven go, the desperate Raven needs something or someone to keep him safe. With nowhere to turn he meets the gorgeous, wealthy, ex-military man Lysander who seems to be his only hope. The only problem is he’s straight and doesn’t want anything to do with Raven’s unusual proposal.
With something to prove and an undeniable confidence, Lysander accepts Raven’s request and an arrangement is created. Raven nor Lysander ever expect for something real to be emerge, but with Raven’s crazy ex still on the loose and Lysander’s sexuality up in the air, anything can happen.
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Amidst the noise of the city life at night, there was a disturbance occurring close to a well known high classed club called Rose Red. A woman among others watched three men gang up on the woman's date. She urged the leader of the trio of men to stop, but he paid her no mind, and swung at her date, landing a punch right in his jaw. The crowd gasped, but no one made a move as the fight began to escalate with the other two joining in.
“What's going on over here?” a voice floated out over the crowd to the fighters.
People parted and allowed a man to pass through them. He had long, lazy black hair and silver eyes that shined with annoyance. He wore a black suit with the jacket unbuttoned, and no tie. A cigarette was being held between his lips, and he looked extremely pissed off. The three looked confused at the arrival of the man, but the fourth swallowed hard.
“Boss… Why are you here?”
“Someone complained there was a fight happening by my club, with one of my employees involved in it. However, I would have let you off easier if you were winning. I should fire you for not being able to take down these weaklings.”
“What you say, you bastard?!” one of the men yelled in anger.
He charged at black haired man, who made no attempt to dodge him. With a yell, he swung his fist only to have it caught and twisted painfully. A pain filled cry came from him, followed by a grunt of agony, as the man's fist met his stomach in a violent punch and his elbow came up, cracking his jaw. The man fell onto his back, writhing in pain with the other two looking horrified.
“W-Who… Who the hell are you?!”
“Lysander Byrate, someone who doesn't take shit from punks like you.” He gave them a cold glare. “Now scram before I get serious.”
Without a word of protest, the two men grabbed their friend and ran off. The woman helped up her lover, and they both looked to Lysander who turned away from the scene. He started to walk off to the silver Mercedes Benz waiting for him, but then looked over his shoulder at the man.
“I'm deducting your pay for getting me involved in that stupid fight.”
The man lowered his head. “Y-Yes boss...”
26 year old Lysander Byrate was a man who took no shit from anyone, and had a pretty hard heart due to h
is time serving as a marine. After leaving the military, he opened up his nightclub Rose Red, that slowly but surely began to get a name for itself. The club's staff shifts went from 8 in the evening to almost 3 am, sometimes further than that. Lysander would drop in three times a week, making sure the employees were doing their jobs. He honestly hated having to look after them, but his financial adviser Reevis, assured him that doing so would ensure the safety of his properties and his money.
After moving away from the fight and getting ready to climb into his car, his suit jacket sleeve was grabbed and a voice behind said, “Hey you!”
Lysander turned to see a shorter young man, most likely in his early 20s, with long and curly bright red hair with eyes to match. He wore a long sleeved white shirt, the ends of the sleeves covering the majority of his hands, tight black pants and black flats. It was almost hard to tell that he was a guy due to the manner he was dressed in, but something in Lysander could tell that he wasn't a woman. He frowned and pulled his cigarette from his lips, blowing out a puff of smoke.
“Can I help you, shortie?” he asked.
The man frowned. “Yes you can! I saw how you took down that guy like he was nothing. It was incredible!”
“Gee, thanks...”
“I'm not done.” The man took in a breath and puffed out his chest. “I have a proposal for you: pretend to be my boyfriend, and keep me safe from my crazy stalker.”
“Fuck no.” was Lysander's blunt response.
“What?! Why not?!”
“I'm not gay.”
“That has nothing to do with it!”
“I don't care.” Lysander flicked his ash at the young man and tossed away his cigarette before climbing into his car. “Find someone else to act as your gay lover, cause it ain't gonna be me.”
“But it has to be you! It can't be anyone else! Please, please help me!”
Omega Wanted: Bad Boy Mpreg Romance Page 69