Amour Battu: Timeless Love: A series of Standalone novels Book 2

by Mj Fields

  “Which one of those draws you to it the most?”

  “I like Knightsbridge, but love Sloan Street that’s very close to there.”

  “Could you see your designs there?”

  “de la Porte’s brand would do well there. But,” she laughs, “Never mind.”

  “I want to hear what you have to say, tell me.”

  “I can imagine my dream designs in something similar to The Closet in New York. A boutique with more one of a kind designs. A place women can go and have an individual experience. One that makes them feel beautiful, not simply shopping off the rack. Something much more intimate.”

  I hate shopping. Hate. It. But fuck, if I wouldn’t want to see someone who loves fashion melt in a place like she imagines. No, not someone, her.

  She laughs, “Is that why you really called?”

  “No. I spoke to Bass this morning and your friend Autumn walked in and asked a million questions about Celine and why I was in London, so I think it would be a good idea to let your mother know that Ines messaged you.”

  “What did Bass say?”

  “He’d prefer she didn’t know, and I understand that. However, Autumn is asking a lot of questions as to why I was in London, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to ask more.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, when I told her I met Celine in London, she wasn’t satisfied with the answer that she was scouting locations for a new storefront, and because of your conversation with her yesterday, Autumn knows she works security. I think she’s reading this wrong.”

  “This meaning?”

  “Natasha,” I sigh. “She’s the one who began this fake boyfriend shit, and I have no desire to betray your confidence by telling her I found you getting shitfaced.”

  “So, you think I should tell them she messaged and,” she sighs now. “I hate lies, hate them. How do people keep them straight? Why would they want to?”

  “Autumn put us in an odd position. Not that I don’t think it’s helpful in giving you the ability to better focus without little dipshits drooling down your back, but if you tell your mother Ines messaged you, then you can let Autumn know the same. I’d hate for Autumn to run back and tell your mother before you had a chance, and I really dislike her looking at me like I’m bullshitting her.”

  “This is crazy. Mom doesn’t need the stress.”

  “I know, and I know that’s what Bass will say, too. But you and your mother appear to have a very open relationship and if I were her, I’d want it to continue that way.”

  She’s quiet for a minute then she whispers, “Should I tell her about the bar, the–”

  Fuck no!

  I interrupt, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “Me either,” she says under her breath. She clears her throat. “I hate that bitch.”

  “Yeah, but–”

  “I know. But, Oliver, Mom won’t like that Bass didn’t tell her and I don’t want to cause issues with them. They’re just starting out. They’re happy. And she’s still a bitch.”

  “Your mom’s not always going to be happy with choices Bass makes, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be happy, Natasha. You and she are close. Men like Bass and I may not have had that, but we sure as hell would have liked to.”

  Reel it in, man.

  “I think it would be best if I tell her in person.”

  “FaceTime her,” I say, looking at my computer and Googling Sloan Street and clicking the map. It’s just on the opposite side of Hyde Park, less than three miles away from her school. “Wait a minute.”

  “Wait a minute?” She asks confused.

  “Hold on, Natasha.” I hit a few keys and see a brick building, painted black. It’s on the corner and appears to have been a restaurant. It’s five stories, the first three commercial, the top two open space.

  I shoot Celine a message asking her to check it out and sit back feeling relieved.

  “I spoke to Bass earlier about an idea of expanding de la Porte’s physical presence. We’re currently in two of the Big Four. If we expand to London as a test, Milan could be next.”

  “London,” she repeats and I hear the smile in her voice. I like it.

  “I think I found the perfect location. I will have Celine look at it. It’s new to the market and–”

  “Where?” The excitement in her voice lessens the worry that she’ll read my intentions wrong… or right in this case, but I prefer her to remain naïve to the bullshit in my head.

  “Sloan Street.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “He’s open to the idea of expansion, and is going to discuss it with your mother, so yes.”

  “It’s just a few blocks away, I can go check it out.” Her voice carries so much excitement I wish I could see her face.

  “Natasha, Celine is looking into it, and if it’s a safe neighborhood, it’s something you, your mom and Bass should check out together.”

  “And you, Oliver!”

  She now sounds giddy, and my need to share in that drives me to ask, “What are you imagining?”

  She lets out a sigh. “When I close my eyes, I imagine ‘la Placard’, London.”

  What I wouldn’t give to be able to close my eyes and see what she does. “Christ.”

  Her voice is tenser when she asks, “Does that sound ridiculous?”

  “No, not at all, I was just thinking.” I stop before I let my fucking thoughts fly out of my mouth, and sound like a little bitch.

  “Thinking what?”

  When I don’t answer immediately, she laughs, “Come on, tell me.”

  So I do. “The way you see something in your head when you haven’t even seen the building–”

  “Does it have windows on each corner of the storefront?”

  I look at the screen. “It does. How the hell do you know that?”

  “Does it have a black double door entry on the Sloan Street side?”

  Holy shit, I think as I shake my head and answer, shocked, “Yeah. How the hell–”

  She starts laughing. “I can use Google, Oliver.”

  I chuckle, “I suppose you can.”

  “I’m going to go see it. It’s perfect.”

  “Natasha,” I warn.

  “Oh my God, Oliver, it’s three miles away.”

  “And when Bass and your mother come and check it out, do you think your mother will be able to tell if you are truly excited, or if you’re faking it?”

  She huffs, “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  “When can they come?”

  It only takes an hour to secure a showing for the next day. When I spoke to Bass, I told him I’d fly in tomorrow morning and stay with Maisie and he and Angela should take the flying Love Shack to Paris, christen it, and take Natasha to see it. Then Natasha could fly back to Paris with them and then onto New York, and I’d catch a commercial flight back Sunday.

  Both Bass and I agreed it would work out best for all, and I’d get to see Maisie without interruption.

  29

  Natasha

  Standing under my red umbrella outside of the Audi, I watch my mom and Bass’s plane circle before it lands, trying to come down from the high of this past week.

  The high of my first dance, the high of waking up hungover from my first experience with alcohol, the high of telling a bully to basically suck it, the high of feeling less pressure to date, from society and my friends, namely Shana, the high of possibly bringing my favorite place in the world, ‘la Placard’, to London, and yes, the high I get from breathing in the air around Oliver.

  Tragically Beautiful.

  I hear Celine clear her throat from behind me and I look over my shoulder. “Are your feet ever firmly planted on the ground?”

  I laugh, because every time I’m around her she makes a similar statement. And I give her the same sort of reply, “Not if I can avoid it.”

  “Well then, I suppose I’m doing my job.” She winks.

  “You are, and I hope I�
��m not making it terribly challenging.”

  “I can’t give you names, but I can tell you, compared to the divas I’ve dealt with in the past, you’re a breath of fresh air.”

  I know Celine has served as security for people whose wealth is nearly unimaginable. Only nearly, because I have been blessed to have a mother who worked for a man with unimaginable wealth, and I’ve been allowed into de la Porte and blessed to breathe in its magic. And I’ve been blessed to have been given a warm blanket of protection, by a mother who encouraged me to dream.

  Unlike Bass and Oliver.

  Curiosity gets the better of me. “Do you have tattoos like Oliver?”

  “No identifiable markings as of yet.”

  “So, how does he have as many.”

  “It’s a choice.” She shrugs. “In the Army, you just have to make sure they’re not visible with a tee shirt on, so above the elbow a bit, no neck. Clearly, he added to his since he left service.” She smirks, “Damn, you’re an art lover, so you must think Oliver is–”

  “Not like that.” She laughs at my interruption. “No, really, he’s not my type.”

  She nods and looks at the plane, now descending. “He’s everybody type, girl. Hell, there were moments in the desert that I was in need of a connection and I even went for it.”

  “You slept with Oliver?” I to act like it doesn’t bother me, but for some reason, it seems to.

  “He talked me out of it,” she laughs. “I mean, he fucked half the desert and declined me.”

  “Why? You’re beautiful.”

  “A couple reasons. First, I was drunk. He made it clear he doesn’t hook up with drunk women, especially those who seem emotionally unstable.”

  “He called you unstable?”

  “I’m a lesbian, Natasha, I was trying to just… feel something other than death and destruction. When I woke up feeling like shit because I’d thrown up all night, he was sitting in his bed shaking his head. I was embarrassed and bitchy. He put me in my place. Told me I should be thanking him. Then he told me I’m not his type anyway. Oliver has a type and I’m not it.” She shrugs.

  “What’s his… type?”

  “Over there?” She laughs. “Mostly, not single.”

  “He slept with married women?”

  She tells me, “I assume, he slept with whoever he knew wouldn’t want anything more from him. Some men just aren’t built for relationships, he’s one of them.”

  I nod in understanding, because I see it too, but I see it differently. I see it as he doesn’t deem himself worthy. I know he is. I know he is very capable of ticking off all of Autumn’s list’s boxes.

  God, I hope someday he realizes it. That hope is deeper in me than the scars he covers with ink. I’ll make sure he knows it.

  I look over at Celine and she points to the descending plane. “The ‘rents are coming.”

  I take in a deep breath, inhaling what’s present.

  When the plane lands I can’t help but feel the warmth that accompanies the proximity of the kind of love all mothers should have for their children.

  When the door opens and Mom steps out in a long winter white, wool coat I see the same smile I now wear cross her face. The slight lowering of her shoulders indicates she too was anxious to see me, and it’s now alleviated. Bass steps out behind her and wraps a Burberry scarf around her shoulders and places a kiss on her cheek, causing her to blush when our eyes meet.

  It’s adorable that she’s seems uncomfortable with his affections in front of me. I can’t help but giggle to myself because, hello, clearly, they’re affectionate with one another, or she wouldn’t be forty and pregnant.

  I make a mental note to do some extra gushing at the fact that I’m going to be a big sister so she can relax a bit.

  I look over at Celine who smiles, steps back, and lifts her chin in their direction. “Go get her, girl.”

  Behind the smile, there’s a sadness in her voice, and I make another mental note to ask her, or maybe Oliver, what her relationship with her mother is like.

  As they come down the stairs, I hurry to get to the bottom of them before she does.

  “You look beautiful, Natasha.” She hugs me like we’ve been apart for years, when it’s been less than four days.

  “And you’re glowing.”

  She laughs and hugs me a bit tighter. “I can’t be already.”

  “I’m not sure it’s because of my baby brother or sister, or the man behind you.”

  She steps back and smiles all the way to her eyes. I take her hand and walk toward the car and look over my shoulder. “Hey Bass.”

  “Hey Natasha.”

  Celine opens the door and Mom and I get in the back. Bass walks around the car and gets in the driver’s seat, Celine raises a brow and I laugh as she gets in the passenger seat and then I look at Mom.

  She takes my hand. “Bass said Oliver had mentioned expanding a bit. Do you think London is ready for de la Porte?”

  I nod. “I think London is definitely ready for some change.”

  The building Oliver found on Sloan Street was an old pub and restaurant. And although I’d seen it online, and thought it would be prefect, nothing could have prepared me for how perfect it actually was.

  When we arrive, we’re met by the realtor and a building inspector that Oliver had found. While the inspector walks around, the realtor talks to Bass, Mom and I take the stairs to the fourth floor where we walk around and look at all the possibilities. Inventory storage, offices and rental property are on the list first and then I mention that it would be a great place for her, Bass, Maisie, and the baby when they came to visit. When we find a cargo elevator, we both give each other a look that solidified that’s what it would be… if the inspector came back with no major issues, and Bass and the realtor agreed on a price. When we take the stairs to the fifth floor and find an antique sewing machine, and an old dress form mannequin, both of us laugh.

  We stand in front of the old windows and look out over the busy streets below, and as I close my eyes, mom asks, “What are you imagining?”

  It hadn’t dawned on me until then. Oliver asks me that same question, the one only my mother had ever asked me before him.

  “I’m imagining how peaceful it would be to sit here and draw.”

  “What would you draw?” she whispers as if she doesn’t want to interrupt my thoughts.

  “I’d draw a wedding dress, and a christening gown,” I grin.

  “Well then,” she says with a smile in her voice. “Then we’ll have to convince Bass that this place is perfect regardless of the work it will take to make the building match our feelings for it.”

  “Then let’s make it happen,” Bass says from behind us, making Mom jump.

  Sitting in a pink booth at Sketch, the realtor Bernard, orders a bottle of champagne to celebrate de la Porte’s acquisition of what will be London’s ‘la Placard’.

  When the glass is put in front of me, I glance over at Mom who shrugs. “You’re of legal age here, and you’re with us. If you want to drink it, now’s as good a time as any to experiment.” I look back at the glass and she adds, “If you haven’t already.”

  Guilt immediately sets in and I can’t even look at her. For as long as I have known, I have always confided in her about everything in my life.

  Until now.

  I shake my head and pick up my sparkling water instead.

  After a bit, the realtor leaves us, and we order dinner.

  A few minutes after that, I can’t stand it anymore and I look at Mom.

  She begins, “Honey, whatever it is–”

  I word vomit immediately, “I’ve experimented.”

  “And?”

  “I really wasn’t that good at it.”

  She cocks her head to the side, non-verbally asking me to continue.

  “I threw up.” I hear Bass chuckle and then Mom glares at him.

  When she looks back at me, she asks, “What did you drink?”

  “We
ll, a shot of gasoline first.”

  “Excuse me?” she asks.

  “Tequila,” Bass and I both answer.

  “Oh for God’s sake, Natasha.” Mom shakes her head in disbelief.

  “Then Apples and Pears, like a sparkling cider, and that wasn’t bad.”

  “But it made you throw up?”

  “No.” I hang my head in shame. “The second shot of tequila did.”

  “Were you at the dorms?”

  “No,” I huff. “I was at a bar.”

  “What bar?”

  I palm my face and shake my head.

  “You don’t remember?” She is trying to remain calm, but I can tell she’s getting upset.

  “I do, but the name is,” I shrug.

  “Natasha–”

  “The Spread Eagle.”

  Bass barks out a laugh and I close my eyes. “Shana has a thing for bars with obscene names. The week before it was a bar called The Cock.”

  When Bass laughs louder, Mom clears her throat and I open my eyes. “I’m more concerned with you getting so drunk you threw up, not the name of a bar. And even more so about how you got home.”

  I sigh, “Well, Oliver happened to be there with Celine and I kind of threw up on him.”

  To that Bass laughs even harder.

  Mom rolls her eyes at him and looks back at me. “And what did you learn from it?”

  “I hate tequila, throwing up, and Oliver isn’t as much of a jerk as he comes off.”

  Mom nods.

  “And while I’m verbally vomiting all my indiscretions, Ines messaged my Instagram page, and yes, I replied. The woman, Celine, is security hired by Oliver, to basically babysit me because he thinks she’s evil.”

  Her response is calm. “Has she messaged you again?”

  “I haven’t checked in a couple days, but Celine has all my social media information, and I share my location with her. If I decide to go out, she’s supposed to be within reach just in case.” I finally look up at Mom. “And I didn’t hide it from you because it makes me sound like a fool, Mom, but because I want you to have a stress-free pregnancy.”