“Achille, he’s not what you think. Rafa was born terribly poor, yes, but he’s intelligent and philanthropic. He’s going to do great things.”
“Still defending that womanizer, I see” he said. “Your loyalty is admirable.”
We took the long way back to my room so that we could enjoy the view from the promenade, where Achille used my phone to photograph me next to a particularly beautiful yacht in the distance. It was after four in the morning now, but the hotel grounds were almost as busy as they had been during the day, attracting a nocturnal crowd that had nowhere to be and no one to answer to.
“Do you like that one?” he asked, pointing to the largest vessel in the marina, a stunner that had to be at least twice the size of the Coy Mistress.
“Of course, she’s a dream.” The ship was beyond magnificent, likely a superyacht well into the fifty-million-dollar price range, featuring several decks, a pool, a Jacuzzi and likely every creature comfort money could buy. At night she was even more resplendent, a beacon of light amidst the darkness of the sea.
“I have one just like it, named the Belinda,” he said, beaming with pride. “I had her custom made in the Netherlands a few years ago, but I keep her in St. Barts.”
“Tell me, is she named after someone you know?” I asked. “Every boat name has a great story behind it.”
“No, after a fictional character. I’ve always wanted my own Belinda, and now I have her.” He stared at me so strangely that I wondered if he was talking about the boat or me.
“If you mean The Rape of the Lock, you know it was satire. She was a beautiful aristocrat, but very spoiled and superficial. The card game was the highlight of her day.” Achille was one surprise after another. Outside of the English department, I rarely came across people who knew anything about literature aside from The Great Gatsby and Romeo and Juliet, but then again, he’d attended the best Swiss boarding school in the world. Even so, I was impressed.
“I know, and I don’t care,” he said.
At the entrance to my suite, Achille opened the door and waited at the threshold. I knew what he wanted, an invitation inside my room, my body and my mind. He really was a handsome man, tall, dark and statuesque, the epitome of what women most desired in a lover. There was no reason to deny him, especially now that Rafa tired of me and my jealousy, as I knew he one day would.
“I can’t ask you inside,” I said, my hand on the knob from the inside. “I’m sorry.”
“Of course,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “A woman like you doesn’t come easily.” He studied me, his eyes running the length of my body in a way that communicated desire but also a certain level of respect. “Amanda, I do want you, but it’s more than that. If you give me a chance, we’ll spend a lifetime enjoying the finest things the world has to offer, not just the occasional Saturday night date at some seedy little Miami nightclub.”
“Achille,” I said, looking down at my feet. “I love—”
“No, don’t say it. It’s not a question. It’s a proposition, and I don’t want an answer yet. He wants to live modestly because he doesn’t know any better, like some kind of modern-day Robin Hood. He’ll give away all his money to the poor and be broke again, living off you, still chasing women because it’s in his nature. In me, you’ll have an equal in all things. I knew we were the same the night we met, that we had to run in the same circles, and look, I was right.” Then, cocking his head to the side, Achille made one more promise. Unlike Rafa, whose entire demeanor changed when talking about sex, as if his whole being was governed by his desires, Achille’s didn’t. He was the consummate businessman in all things, even the most intimate matters. “And if you let me in your bed, amoureux, we shall explore every last one of your deepest desires.” I couldn’t help but think about the only sexual fantasy I’d ever had, to be watched while having sex, and a wide grin crossed his face as if he could read my mind. “That one—whatever it is—can be first.”
After Achille left I collapsed into my bed, finally able to let it all out in the privacy of my room. I wept for Rafa as I had the first night home after the cruise, when he told me it could never work between us, that he was too poor to ever give me the luxuries I was accustomed to. Even then I had already fallen under his spell, his soul the master of mine. I’d left Miami so sure of myself, my body and mind so satisfied that I’d forgotten what it was like to be alone, and now with time and distance between us, I remembered the cruel emptiness that had existed before him. Somewhere along the line he’d remembered what it was like before me, too, and decided it was better.
I saw Rafa’s beautiful face above me, his deep blue eyes softer when we made love, his shoulders hard and round under my palms, flexing and extending as he moved inside me. It was in those moments he was the most serious about what he regarded as his responsibility, to make me come for him at least twice, usually more. The first time was always with his fingers or mouth, or both, depending on his mood. One night he rubbed my belly as he worked me from the inside, commenting that he could feel my womb, where one day our babies would grow. It had been very romantic for me, but really, he loved to talk about any kind of human anatomy, either by showing me on our bodies or sketching it on a piece of paper.
Just the other day in the kitchen he’d given me a lecture on the dangers of drinking too much diet soda by explaining how kidney stones form and why they hurt so much when they exit the body, using a notepad from the junk drawer to draw two kidneys, two long tubes and a bladder on a notepad. Even though medicine wasn’t very interesting to me, he’d explained it all with such enthusiasm that it made me want to jump him right then and there.
But nothing compared to Rafa’s animal side, and the way he switched between his left and right brain was so fun to watch. One day he caught me staring at him through the window while he talked to the men installing the security system. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, captivated by the way his shirt clung to his wet skin as he worked outside in the Florida sun, leading them all over as he pointed and gave orders about the location of the cameras. I don’t know how he saw me from so far away, but later, after they’d left, he went straight upstairs to shower and then showed up in my office wearing just a towel.
“You were standing there, watching me,” he said, nodding in the direction of my office window. “Can I help you with something?”
“I wasn’t,” I said, pursing my lips. “There goes your oversexed imagination again.” I shut my laptop and casually tried to step around him, but instead of moving aside, he dropped his towel.
“Does this look like my imagination?” he asked.
I giggled, but he didn’t. Sweet Rafa was gone for the moment, and in his place was my sex god. A true Jekyll and Hyde in the best way, I knew who was here now, and he wasn’t in the mood to laugh about his hard cock.
“No,” I said, taking him in my hand. “This is definitely real.” He shut his eyes and smiled to himself, enjoying my caress.
“What are you going to do about it?” He slipped one hand around my wrist and the other behind my neck, then gave me a slow, seductive kiss that made me weak.
“I’m not sure.” Using my free hand, I gripped his arm and slid down his body until I was on my knees in the perfect position, then shrugged my shoulders. “Any suggestions?”
“Have a taste,” he said, placing my hands on his hips. “Then keep still because I’m going to fuck your mouth.” My belly did something strange when he said the word fuck, and faster than I thought physically possible, a pool of wetness formed inside me and puddled in my panties. He didn’t always talk that way, but when he did, it had an effect on me that was almost more intense than the sex itself, because it was like he was seducing my brain, too. Watching intently as he slid himself in, Rafa caressed the top of my head and cautioned me to squeeze his thighs if I wanted him to stop. Eager to please, I pulled him toward me, enjoying every moment of his careful, steady pace.
After a minute, he slowed and gave my hair a g
entle tug. “Eyes on me, mamita.” I looked up and was rewarded with Rafa’s tender smile, one that was surprisingly sweet considering what we were engaged in at the moment. “You love me, don’t you?” In response, I burrowed my fingertips in his pubic hair and then very gently rolled his testicles in the palm of my hand, a gesture that had always seemed warm and intimate to me. I used my body to communicate how much I loved him, and he felt it, returning my declaration of love by lurching forward and emptying himself with complete abandon.
It’s hard to believe, but that wasn’t even the best part of our day. After he returned the favor and made love to me twice, we finished the evening by relaxing in bed together as Rafa painted my toenails pink. Propped up against the headboard, I read while he lounged casually on his side at the foot of the bed, perpendicular to me, facing the television.
“Do you love me, handsome?” I peeked at him from behind the latest issue of my favorite academic journal, one foot flat on his back, the other tucked in the nook between his torso and arm. I couldn’t have had a more perfect view of his broad shoulders and back, each defined muscle undulating with every brushstroke.
“What does it look like, mamita?” he mumbled, head down. After finishing the first coat, he popped the cap back into the polish bottle and flipped through every single one of our three hundred channels.
“Use the guide,” I said. “B-R-U-C-E.”
“I know how to spell it!” he laughed, flicking the top of my foot. “Give me my glasses there on the nightstand.” He took them from me, then settled in to finish my pedicure and watch his Bruce Lee movie.
“Will you get us some Chardonnay when you’re done?” I licked my finger and flipped a page, savoring every word of the article on Japanese short fiction. I’d simply have to find a way to work Tanizaki into my next lecture.
“Yes, baby,” he said, looking over the top of his glasses to admire his work. “Hm. I’m not half bad at this.”
And so it went with us, a perfect mix of the erotic and the mundane, one ridiculously happy day after the other spent doing everything and nothing until the moment I walked in on the horrific scene in his office. I’d reacted out of pure jealousy and fear, my mind filling in the blanks with the worst case scenario, and after a week I’d pushed him too far. I thought about how I’d left my engagement ring there, reminding me of the worn t-shirt I impulsively grabbed on the way out. I found it and brought it back to bed, inhaling Rafa’s scent as I touched myself and called out his name.
By ten the next morning I was expecting Charlotte to turn up for the helicopter ride back to St. Tropez, so by nine I’d showered and made myself a cup of coffee. I sat by the open balcony doors in my oldest sweats and wet hair, enjoying the perfect weather but truly not giving a rat’s ass what I looked like. I took a sip of my usual American-style brew, but today it seemed watery and bland, lacking the sweetness and robust flavor of Rafa’s cafecito. I laughed to myself, remembering the one and only time I’d offered him some and he’d declined, explaining that behind closed doors, weak American coffee is called agua sucia or ‘dirty water.’ “In Cuba, we love everything about America except the coffee.” Pushing away my cup of agua sucia, I was just about to ring room service for an espresso when Charlotte pounded on my door.
“Mand!”
Poor Charlotte stood in the hallway looking like utter hell, so hungover it was necessary for her to sport sunglasses indoors. Arms crossed, she sauntered in and threw herself across my bed, every movement a concerted effort.
“Kill me now,” she said, face down, forehead on her wrists. Assuming the bell hop wouldn’t be far behind, I propped open the door and laid down next to her. She’d styled her dark brown hair into two long, skinny French braids that reminded me of the reins on a horse, a perfect complement to her equestrienne inspired outfit of tan riding boots over khaki colored breeches.
“Are you planning to ride when we get back?” I asked. As long as I’d known her, Charlotte’s philosophy had always been to chase away hangovers with vigorous outdoor activity at crack of dawn. I had no idea how she did it, but to her credit she never let a rough night stop her from having fun the next day. I, on the other hand, preferred to hibernate in the dark for at least twenty four hours, which made vacationing with her quite the battle of wills.
“I’ve already been riding,” she giggled, burying her nose in the crook of her elbow. “Chip’s friend James. He’s cute, don’t you think?”
“The one with the goatee? He’s alright,” I said, enjoying the feeling of being engulfed by the comforter. At this point I’d like to be swallowed up by anything until I no longer missed Rafa, which likely was an eternity. The minute it hit me, alone in the house, lying by myself in the bed where we slept together, I was going to lose it. Hard. I couldn’t be alone again, not after knowing what it was like with him. That fucking house had a way of chasing away everyone I loved.
“So change of plans, baby cakes. Bermuda.”
“No, I can’t,” I said. “Last night—”
“Hang on,” she said, yanking her vibrating phone out of a virtually invisible pocket. She rolled over on her back, firmly planting the soles of her muddy riding boots on the snow white duvet. Six months ago I wouldn’t have even noticed it, but now I saw everything through Rafa’s eyes. He would have been absolutely disgusted, not just at the germy shoes on the bed, but mostly at the utter lack of consideration for the person who had to come in behind her and clean up.
In spite of my seemingly endless thoughts of Rafa, it was at that moment, watching Charlotte, that I realized I hadn’t seen my phone all morning. I rummaged through my bags like a madwoman, then all over the room. Charlotte watched me frantically open every drawer and closet as she chatted away, sunglasses still in place, until Chip and Achille wandered in from the hallway.
“Hello, ladies,” bellowed Chip. He immediately turned to Charlotte, who continued her conversation while holding a finger up that meant don’t come any closer. Completely disregarding any sense of his childhood friend’s personal space, Chip gave her a brutal whack on the ass and dropped himself on the bed beside her.
“I hear you were a pretty cheap date last night,” he smirked, which prompted an evil scowl from Charlotte before she violently stabbed at the mute button. “I’m talking to my mother, moron, and by the way, slut-shaming c’est démodé.”
I barely paid attention to the nonsense going on behind me, panicked at the thought of losing my phone, when Achille came over and offered to help. Like last night, he was dressed in fashionable but casual clothes, perfect for yachting. His entire look was straight out of a J. Crew catalog except for the rather primitive looking multicolored beaded necklace tucked under his shirt.
“What are you looking for?” he asked.
“My phone,” I said from the floor, finding nothing under the bed except dust and a torn condom wrapper.
“You had it last night,” he said. “Did you check behind the bed? That’s where mine always falls.”
“No, could you?” I crawled over to the other side of the room and peered under the desk, the armoire and finally behind the curtains. Nothing. How the hell was I going to replace my phone quickly in France?
“Found it!” said Achille. “Told you, behind the bed. Never fails.”
“Thank you!” Taking my hand, he helped me up and held on just a millisecond longer than necessary, as if to remind me of his proposition last night. It worked, the memories of our conversation last night flooding back at once.
“My pleasure,” he said, letting go. “Ready for Bermuda?”
“I don’t think so,” I said, checking my phone for messages. Nothing more from Rafa, or anyone, except a comment from Kieran on my Instagram telling me to have fun and stay safe. A lump formed in my throat, the disappointment awkward and crushing.
“Amanda, come with us.” Achille’s voice was low and seductive. “Don’t dwell on it. Every day will get a little easier until one morning, when you wake up and wonder why y
ou even cared at all.”
“Come on,” drawled Chip. “You’re going to send this menace out alone in her condition?” Charlotte had finished her call and, finding it too much of a challenge to remain upright, lay her head on Chip’s lap.
“Don’t get a boner,” she said, pulling her sunglasses back down. “I’m too tired to slap you.”
“I’ll try to control myself.” Chip pushed her head a little further down his legs and leaned back against the headboard with a yawn. “Really Amanda, what’s the big? Bermuda for one night, then we’ll drop you in Miami and go on to LA. Did you leave anything important at Charlotte’s?”
The three of them stared at me all at once, ready to counter any further objection, but really, I couldn’t think of any reason not to go. I wanted to head home anyway, so it made sense to catch a ride with them instead of calling Kieran’s plane back.
“When are you going to LA?” I asked. “Right away, or later?”
“The day after we drop you in Miami. Why?”
“Never mind. I’d go with you to see my brother, but I need to stay in Miami longer than that.”
“Well, nothing’s written in stone, darling,” said Chip, with the cool arrogance of someone who can do anything he wants and has never known anything different. “We’ll play it by ear. Maybe James and the lot will find a distraction in Miami. He does like the party favors,” he said, glancing at Achille.
Three hours later, Charlotte, Chip, James, Achille and I were in the air headed to St. George’s. Of the group who had come with Chip and James from Greece, only two people had decided to continue on to the States, cousins Emily and Ashley Bloom, both nieces of a former president and first cousins to several senators from New England. To Charlotte’s mild disappointment, James spent most of his time chatting up both young women with a bravado that suggested more than a casual interest.
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