by Hazel Parker
* * *
We honed in on the final details and reached a handshake agreement. Gio and I would have paperwork to do at a later time, given that ours was actually a business deal and not just a backroom deal, but naturally, such a contract would never mention the name “Layla Ferrari” or even “Ferrari” in any capacity. It was a sort of mutually assured destruction side deal where we both understood things would turn ugly very fast if the handshake deal was violated.
Gio looked, frankly, a little disgusted at how the deal had gone down; perhaps he had hoped for the thrill of something more violent or more intense. I knew that this was far from the last time that any of us would deal with him; I worried what would happen when Alf passed away. Though he was a healthy man, he was still an elderly man; health was as quick to disappear as a fire removed from its source of oxygen.
We emerged out of Rao’s to see all of the other Ferraris sitting at nearby slot machines, not playing, keeping an eye and ear out for what may have transpired. Alf only said one thing when they got close.
“The deal is done.”
He didn’t say a word more as we took a limo back to our private plane, back to home, and back to safety. No one asked any follow-up questions; I was pretty sure everyone understood that “the deal is done” meant that Alf had kept his family safe. No one needed to know the details in order to keep operations running and lives secure.
When we got on the plane, almost everyone fell asleep immediately. They followed Alf’s lead, as he had fallen asleep—or at least appeared to—before the wheels even got off the ground. I sat in a window seat next to Layla’s father, but he, too, was asleep.
I could not fall asleep.
I could not help but think about how bad I felt for having dragged Layla and her whole family in. I thought about how I could make it up to her. The truth was, however, that no amount of travel, gifts, or surprises could make it up to her. There was only one thing that really could.
Commitment.
I had never really doubted that we could last, but I had also never really given it serious thought. It was just the sort of unexamined belief that needed examination, because if I was wrong, it was going to pop up in a way that would hurt her even more down the line.
Where would we live? That made no difference to me, and I truly believed it. To be frank, being a billionaire meant that the world was my home; I could be anywhere in the globe within a single day, so if I grew tired of the United States and needed to return to France for a spell, I could do so within the span of a day and do whatever I needed to back home.
What would my work look like? I would have to be more hands-off, but in some respects, that was a welcome development; although Gio and I would be tied by contract, in some respects, the less I knew about what would happen, the better.
How would I grow myself? How would I forgive myself for what had happened with Justine, Tony, and Boris?
That…
That was a harder question to answer.
Maybe I never would forgive myself for their deaths. Maybe, even though it wasn’t my fault that they got in a crash, I would forever carry the burden to my grave. Maybe that would be something that would disrupt us.
But as far as I was concerned, it was not something that could prevent me from committing to Layla. She would surely have questions about it, and there would surely be moments down the line when it affected me somehow, especially when we had kids. When. Already thinking it will happen.
But if the commitment was there…
“Pierre.”
I turned to see Bill Ferrari had either awoken or given up sleeping, likely the latter for how little time had passed since we’d gotten in the air. He had a weary and exhausted look on his face, but not a particularly bitter or frustrated one.
“In all of the nonsense that has happened today, I never got to ask you something. What are your intentions with Layla?”
For all that I had just thought, I wanted to say it was private. I was comfortable opening up to Layla, but there were very few souls otherwise who knew my past and knew what I wanted to do.
But after a day like today, there could be no hiding behind the false appearance of privacy. Whatever privacy the Ferrari family had hoped to keep from me had gone up like paper in a fire.
“I am quite serious about her,” I said. “And I believe she is as well.”
“And what does that mean?” Bill said. “I don’t want to hear clichés. I want to hear steps.”
“Very well,” I said. “I am not returning to France on Sunday. I am staying here in the USA. I am going to be in a monogamous, loving relationship with her that I hope someday results in marriage. Everything I do henceforth will be done for your daughter.”
Bill looked at me for a few more seconds, as if trying to see if I would crack or somehow reveal that I had ulterior motives. But I did not. Everything that I said was sincere.
“Very good,” he said. “Welcome to the family, Pierre.”
I chuckled. It was not the warm words of a father congratulating me on making a commitment. It was the exhausted conclusion of a man who recognized I really had no choice, one way or the other.
“I am ready for all that entails.”
“Good,” Bill said as he closed his eyes again. “Because you’re trapped in regardless.”
Chapter 23: Layla
Logically, I knew that the chances of Pierre and my family getting hurt were slim. The last thing Pierre had texted me before he’d gone into the meeting was that they had arranged to talk at Rao’s again, which greatly decreased the likelihood of violence. Whoever this Gio character was, he couldn’t possibly want to be arrested.
But emotionally, I craved Pierre’s return. I needed to see my grandfather, father, uncles, and brother safe. I had to know that they were back in the Bay Area, away from the Nimicos, away from the chaos, and in safety.
I actually drove back to my apartment, refusing to stay at the Ferrari Estate, hoping that it would provide some sort of comfort, some sort of distance from the madness that had enveloped my life. In some respects, it worked; I was in my comfort space, not my grandfather’s space. But it didn’t magically bring them back.
Shortly after ten o’clock at night, I got a text from Pierre that made me feel a massive amount of relief.
“Just landed. Coming back to you.”
I wanted to smile with joy at that text, but mostly, my body just felt relief that it could sleep tonight. I texted Pierre to instead take an Uber to my house, a request that he happily agreed to. I didn’t even want to know what sort of pressure the rest of the Ferrari family had put on him. I couldn’t have imagined it was the kind of pressure that most men could handle.
Fifteen minutes later, I heard a car pull up. I looked out my window, saw it was Pierre, and stepped out, even though I had stripped down to my pajamas. As soon as I saw his face—one not of sadness, but of the grim satisfaction of having finished a job well done—I breathed easy, smiled, and ran down the steps to hug him. He held me tight, and we didn’t even kiss at first; we just held each other in our arms, wanting the other to know they had the full love and embrace of the other.
When we finally did kiss, it was more like the cherry on top of the hug cake; it was quick, and given the chill outside, we both hurried back to my apartment. I shut the door, watched him take off his shoes, and just smiled.
“You came back.”
It was such a simple observation, and perhaps a predictable one. But after what had happened five years ago, I took nothing for granted. Nothing could have pushed away Pierre as easily as this, and yet...he came back.
“Of course.”
“Well, you say of course as if it’s so easy, but you had more reason to walk away now than you did last time,” I said. “What changed?”
Pierre smiled, put his arm around me, and led me to his couch.
“I had always had it in my head that I would stick around with you,” he said. “But I hadn’t given it any de
ep thought. I hadn’t figured it out. When I was on the plane ride home from Las Vegas, though, I knew I couldn’t keep looking ahead. There was probably going to be no other time in which I would have space to myself, nothing to worry about except us, and the isolation of an airplane to think.”
Even though I knew this was headed to a good answer, I still felt all too curious to know more. I couldn’t contain myself from wanting to know all the details.
“I asked myself every question that was worth asking. Where would we live? How would having kids go? What would our fights look like? What color wallpaper would we want? I mean, it’s sort of funny, but I really wanted to make sure I left no stone unturned, that I didn’t leave anything that was bound to make the relationship spiral out of control.”
“And?”
Pierre smiled and pulled me in close against his chest.
“There was only one question I had to ask myself at the end. Was I in, or was I out? I could negotiate your safety no matter what, but my feelings for you, I had to negotiate for myself. So, I did what I told you to do. I listened to myself.”
“And?” I said again.
Pierre kissed me and whispered his next words.
“I say yes.”
Oh, God.
Never had words been uttered that were so lovely, so sexy, and so meaningful at once. Pierre had just said yes to me. I had wanted him, perhaps even all this time, and now, finally, I had him.
And I was not going to let go.
I pulled him back in for a kiss, but this time, I straddled him, raising my legs and pressing my hips into his. I was so aroused right now, but it was not the carnal kind of aroused; it was the emotional kind, the kind that knew I was with him and him only from now until, well, yes, the end. I kissed him for what felt like an eternity, and all the while, my hands went all over his body.
He kissed my neck, and I felt enthralled in the passion for him. I took off my shirt for him, the only thing I had on top. He kissed both of my breasts, and I arched my head back, pulling him in closer to me. I wanted to feel his mouth all over my body; I wanted to feel him all but becoming one with me.
I reached down and pulled off his shirt and pressed my bare chest against his bare body—even just the warmth of his lithe but ripped shoulders and chest was enough to arouse me.
And then he sat up from the couch, twirled me around, and had me on my back in seconds. He reached down and yanked down my pajama pants, leaving me completely naked. He ripped his pants off too, but for a split second, he fumbled around, looking for a condom.
“We don’t need that,” I said.
“You’re sure?” he said.
I sat up, kissed him, and pulled him down on me. He wasn’t in me yet, but I could feel his stiff cock rubbing against my clit.
“We’re in this for the long haul,” I said. “We don’t need protection. We have each other.”
It was all Pierre needed to hear. He reached down, inserted himself, and buried inside of me.
“Oh…” I gasped.
What happened in the next several minutes was unlike anything we’d ever had before. Even the emotional sex that we had had in the hotel room that had brought us back together had felt very, very different. That was the release of frustration, heartache, and bitter disappointment over five years, but it still came from a place of hurt and sadness.
This, however...there was only joy and gratitude here. Our mutual pleasure was not the unshackling of pain, but the building of something special. It gave the sex we had a special kind of connection, one that I had never quite felt in my life before.
He made me come once from when I was in my current position, in large part because not having rubber on made it feel so fucking raw and good, and then again when I mounted him and rode him with his back against the couch. I’d probably have to do some deep cleaning, but truthfully, I had no care about anything in the future while I was with Pierre.
The only thing that mattered was our connection and our love.
I usually didn’t get swept up in my head during sex, because it was a blessing to be so sensitive that it was all but impossible for me to get caught in my head. But as I looked up at the man that I knew—I just knew—would become my husband, even as he was deep in me, or perhaps because of it, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander.
For five years, I’d hated his man with every ounce of my being. I’d always heard people say the opposite of love wasn’t hate, that hate was merely love crying to be recognized properly, but I always found that to be bullshit. I really didn’t want anything to do with him.
But now, I couldn’t imagine living life without him. I couldn’t imagine that our future would not involve each other. He, the handsome, mysterious, yet fiery Frenchman, with me, the passionate, a little awkward, but also fiery marketer and saleswoman of Ferrari Wines.
We’d make a hell of a fucking team. And it wasn’t because we could make each other orgasm like crazy. It was because we loved each other.
In fact, even the orgasms we had right now took a back seat to the intimacy we shared for each other. Yes, when he approached orgasm, he lost himself in the moment, but even then, it was a buildup spent looking into my eyes, trusting me, loving me, being with me.
And when he finished, when he had laid the last of his seed into me, when he had quivered and shook for the last time, he collapsed into me, almost like his body was melding into mine. I kissed the side of his neck and gently stroked his back.
“Oh, Pierre,” I said, his name as beautiful as any song I had ever heard or sunrise I had ever seen. “I promise that I will always be here for you. I will always commit to you. I will be by your side.”
He murmured something, turned his face, and kissed me.
“And I, too,” he said. “I will never leave you again. We may fight, we may argue, we may have differences, but I will never, ever leave you by yourself. So long as you’ll have me.”
I laughed and squeezed him even harder into me.
“Silly. Grandpa may hate me, but at least now, I got my man to get my share of the inheritance.”
“Oh, this is what it’s all about,” Pierre said with a laugh.
“Yup! Be with a billionaire so I can be a millionaire!”
We both shared a laugh, hugging, rolling, and just acting like goofballs. Maybe our future would hold a lot of trials and tribulations; maybe we would have some serious fights; maybe life wouldn’t be the permanent laughter of a Frenchman and an American.
But it sure would be full with love.
“Well, no matter what the money says, Layla, you can know that I will always say this. I love you.”
It was the first time he had ever said that to me. And yet, deep inside, I knew he’d felt that way for at least the past week, maybe even longer. He’d just had to find the courage to accept it.
And I’d had to find the courage to let myself love, to take the risk of being vulnerable. But I had faith in Pierre. And because I had faith in him, I had more than that in him.
“And I love you too, Pierre.”
Epilogue
Two Months Later
Things had seemed to calm down at the Ferrari household, though I knew well enough from Layla that the calm exterior rarely signified a peaceful interior.
I had gotten used to life in America, though there were still some things I could not wrap my mind around. The notion of “fast food” seemed downright contradictory—was food not meant to be enjoyed slowly and casually, in a calm and relaxing manner? I was also befuddled by how warm and open people were; they would talk to you without even knowing your name.
But I supposed that part of the fun of moving to a new country was learning the new customs, and there was no better way to do it than with the woman I loved by my side. Layla and I had not yet gotten engaged, but I already had my eye on some diamonds. There was no real reason for us to wait until a certain time had passed; we both loved each other and both understood that neither of us were going anywhere. Lay
la would still have moments of anxiety, but she understood they were fleeting, and I understood she had good reason for feeling them.
For at least this cool fall afternoon, though, there were no real anxieties to be felt. The Ferraris were hosting a cookout at the house, and everyone was back under one roof. Although some tensions were visible if one knew how to look—for example, Bill and Uncle Nick barely spoke to each other at all—there was no overt fighting or arguing. Alf did not speak to me much, but there was a silent understanding that went through us, a nod toward each other that signified we understood the value of the other.
No one else, not even Layla, could understand what the two of us had been through with Gio. And at the risk of repeating the same mistake Alf had made with not telling his grandkids everything, it was my hope that no one else would have to understand what we’d gone through with Gio. If they did, it meant they had gotten tangled up in their own drama.
Brett came over a little later than expected. He came up to me and shook my hand.
“Things are calm now because of you,” he said. “I underestimated you, Pierre. You did well. But it’s up to you to live up to it now.”
I nodded, and he kept walking. His wife, Chelsea, smiled and said hello but kept walking with her daughter in her arm. I had to imagine that knowing her father was involved with the Nimicos had brought their own trouble to her, and I could not bring myself to try to engage her. I would leave it up to her how much she wanted to say.
“Oh, darling,” Layla said. “I don’t think you’ve met Leo yet.”
I turned around and saw a man in long sleeves, with spiked hair, standing away from the action of the cookout. He looked like he had only come under the threat of punishment, and yet he very much looked like a man old enough to have his own job and place. It was…
It was actually interesting looking at his expression. I had seen that look before.
“Leo, this is Pierre, my boyfriend.”
“Oh, another French asshole,” Leo said. “Ciao. Or bonjour. Whatever.”