Boxed Set: A Possessive Billionaire - Vol. 1-3: His, Body and Soul (7 page)

“I’m pleased to say that your judgment has softened, it’s much more mature. Hard work always pays off.”

Hard work, and letting yourself be pulled around by the hair and insulted in Russian. I smile despite myself. My professor looks at me, taken aback.

“I’m delighted that you find this amusing. Come back in three weeks. From now on I’d like you to think about your topic and your approach.”

Mrs. Granchamps looks at me with a kind and curious gaze as I pack my things back up.

“Something’s changed in you. You seem to be glowing. Happier, maybe? I hope this lasts, it can only help you do better work.”

Happier? I doubt it. I’ve cried all the tears I could, between my repeated disappointments and when my father left…and at the same time, she isn’t wrong. I feel better in my body. It’s like I wasn’t really alive before. I imagine that it’s love. Or just desire. Something has awakened me, in any case.

I haven’t seen Charles since the episode in the elevator with my father. I’ll wait until the opening tomorrow. I’m curious to see how he acts in his natural environment. As for myself, how will I act?

Look elegant without looking dressed up, I think that’s the secret. I can spend the entire afternoon in the bathroom, but I shouldn’t look like I have, that’s what Manon tells me. I bought new underwear for the occasion, underwear that you can’t see underneath my Dior dress. I’m going to wear it, I don’t really have a choice, it’s either that or the grey sheath from high school, and Charles made it clear that I need to forget about that. My black dress, my silk stockings. Jewelry? Do I dare wear Lady MacAllister’s diamonds? I should have given them back to him…No, I’ll go without jewelry. It seems a little immodest, I think. This dress, as light as a puff of air, and nothing else. But then again, it’s an art opening, not a royal wedding! No, I look good. I’m ready, perfect! Only it’s 5:00 pm, and the invitation is for 7:00 pm. Two hours to kill. I decide to take off my dress so I don’t wrinkle it. I glance in the mirror. I’m sexy. At least I think I am. I examine my reflection. Is he going to think I’m pretty? I’ve never been all that interested in my breasts. I think they’re alright. ‘Alright!’ That’ll teach me to spend my adolescence surrounded by books! How do men like them? I undo my bra and put my hands in its place. I shiver. I think of his hands. Warm, powerful. My eyes shine with a glow I’ve never seen before. Sensual. He’s going to like how I look, that’s for sure. I move my hands over my body as I remember watching his hands move. It’s demonic, it’s as if my blood begins to boil. I wish he was here, I’m on fire. In vain. And it’s 6:45 pm! Quick, my dress!

Glasses clink. Elegant laughter. I don’t know anyone and I feel like a child lost in the middle of a world full of aloof adults. Where are Elisabeth and Charles? I don’t know what to do with myself…I decide to look at the artwork, just to kill time. It’s hard to avoid it, since it fills up the entire space. The sisters are sculptors. There are, in fact, just two enormous sculptures. Like two mountains of red dirt in the middle of an elegant gallery. As I come closer, I realize that they are monumental virgins holding the child, executed with rather classical craftsmanship. Except the sculptures are made from clay (let’s hope) and Mary has a very disturbing expression. An abnormally large mouth, frozen in an appalling grin. Somewhere between suffering and pleasure. I don’t know if I find this beautiful, but it is fascinating.

“Disturbing, isn’t it?”

The man talking to me is rather disturbing himself. Incredibly tall, thin and as pale as a vampire. But his shining eyes betray his youth. He must be somewhere in his 30’s. My very recent experience allows me to tell from his perfectly tailored suit that I’m dealing with a rich guy. One of Charles’ friends?

“François du Tertre, nice to meet you,” he says, holding out his hand.

“Emma Maugham.”

“What a charming accent! Did you come straight from the United States to admire the virgins?”

“No, I’m a student…”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“No, I’m a friend of Elisabeth’s.”

“What a sweetheart, Elisabeth! I didn’t know she had such lovely friends.”

Now that the introductions are out of the way, he takes me by the arm and leads me towards the buffet, handing me a glass of champagne. At any rate, he knows Elisabeth, so I don’t really feel all that concerned. However, something tells me that his intentions are far from noble. It’s the look in his eyes, how his hand presses on my arm. This man wants me. It’s appalling and exciting at the same time.

My empty glass is almost instantly replaced by another. It’s hot, but I start to feel comfortable. My new friend keeps talking. Thanks to him, I know almost everything about everyone here tonight.

“See that guy dressed like a hipster over there? That’s Godefroy de Frimont. He does everything he can to look like an artist, though he’s about to take over his family business of dental prosthetics. The shriveled up old bag next to him, drowning in her fur, she isn’t his mother, despite how old she looks, but actually his mistress…the first and only from what they say…In the middle, of course, you know the two artists with the feline eyes. Not only do they share the same genes, they also share the same bed, a bed that they sometimes invite guests into…”

“Have you been a guest there before?”

“You’re pretty bold, Emma…and very perceptive! Actually, I have had the privilege. Believe me, they are true artists…”

True artists…He tells me this while looking at me in a more than explicit manner. It’s disturbing, this unambiguous desire. I continue drinking the flutes of champagne that he hands me while beginning to think about spending the night with him. After all, if Charles doesn’t want me, I have the right to “go get laid,” as Manon says. And this François is my kind of guy. Handsome, cultured, funny…Still no trace of Elisabeth or Charles.

But then again, I don’t really need them, I’m having fun on my own.

“Are you looking for someone?”

“I, no, actually Elisabeth…”

I don’t say anything about Charles, he didn’t seem particularly excited about seeing me here. Anyway, I don’t even know if he’s going to show up.

“If you want to see Elisabeth tonight, you’re going to need to find a way to get a hold of her…If you’re not an artist or an investor, believe me, it’s better to just give up.”

“Really?”

“Come on, let’s go have some fun.”

He takes me by the arm and leads me out to the street. A few doors down, we enter a dark area light by baroque chandeliers. Loads of couples are kissing, up against the walls…I’ve never seen anything like it.

“What do you think?”

“Really, I don’t know what to say…”

“Let’s have a drink, relax.”

He sits me down on a large velvet sofa and pours me a glass of champagne. I notice that he has his hand on my thigh. How long has it been there for? I don’t know if I really want to do anything with him.

“Do you have a boyfriend, lovely lady?”

“No! I mean…”

“A lover? A sweetheart?”

“Both, probably.”

“That’s sweet. I’ll bet he’s a nice student in your class.”

“Not at all! It’s Charles Delmonte!”

Why did I say that? What need did I have to justify myself? Anyway, it’s not true! If he finds out, I can only imagine it’d be over…

“Charles Delmonte, well go figure. It’s true, he’s always like the younger girls, the pig…”

“You…you’re his friend?”

“Very old friends, yes…the type that know everything about each other…”

He puts his finger over my mouth, giving me the order to be quiet. I don’t know what to say. I feel nauseous. I look at the people around me like I’m not a part of this world. François gives me a wink and pulls out a box from his pocket. He pours a white powder onto the glass table and lines it up with his credit card. I’ve only seen this in movies before. He inhales a line with a tiny straw that he also pulls out of the little box. Then he holds it out to me, with a devilish smile. How many times am I going to have to act like I’m so tough?

I look at the straw in my hand without really thinking. I’ve had enough to drink to start thinking that, after all, I should really experiment with drugs if I don’t want to die without having really lived it up. The problem is that I don’t really want to do it. Nor do I want to end up naked with handsome François. The more time passes, the worse the situation seems to me.

“Emma, are you daydreaming?”

“I think I should go home?”

“I thought you would be a little less inhibited…”

“But I’m not at all inhibited!” And to prove it, I finish my glass in a single gulp while looking him in the eye. He smiles, tracing a new line of cocaine with his blue credit card.

“Prove it!”

He challenges me with his eyes. What am I going to do? I need to stop this craziness. I’m not that kind of girl. I get up, stumbling, but he grabs me and pulls me back violently.

“So? Do you have to be so proud? You want to go back to the classy neighborhood?” He takes a little cocaine with his finger and tries to put it in my mouth while he holds me down with the other hand.

“Leave me alone, François …”

The alcohol, fatigue and fear wear down my resistance bit by bit. I feel my body sway, everything’s a blur. I don’t really understand what’s going on. What is all of this commotion? But it’s Elisabeth…and Charles…oh my god! François falls down at my feet, his face bloody. I don’t understand anything.

The next thing I know, I’m lying across the backseat of a car. I start to come to my senses. In the front, Charles and Elisabeth are talking, worried like two parents.

“The bastard, he did it on purpose, I’m sure.”

“Calm down, it’s over, he didn’t do anything to her.”

“Just think, what if we hadn’t gotten there?

“But why did you invite them?”

“You know I didn’t invite François, he invites himself everywhere, everyone knows that…As for Emma…I like her a lot and I thought that you’d be happy to see her there…”

“Do you think I liked saving her from that pervert at three o’clock in the morning? That’s really going to bring back great memories…Did you call the cops?”

“Yes, but you know they won’t do anything…After two or three phone calls, he’ll be free.”

“Just like last time.”

“Yes.”

Then complete silence. Elisabeth starts driving and they don’t exchange another word for the entire ride. I fall asleep.

I don’t know how long we drove for. With me in the backseat and my two friends up front. When I finally came to, I was in Charles’ arms. Elisabeth opened the door to my room and he gently placed me on the bed. Then they went to talk in the corridor. As if I was a sick child who needed to sleep. I don’t understand anything from their conversation. Charles seems extremely upset. Elisabeth tries calming him down, in vain, and after hugging him tightly, she leaves. Charles comes back into the room. He takes off my shoes and covers me with the bed sheets. I want to talk to him, apologize, explain, but I don’t have the strength. All I can manage is to whisper ‘I’m sorry…so sorry,’ before falling asleep again.

I wake up a few hours later, sweating. Charles is still there. He’s fallen asleep on the chair near my desk. I need to get up and go to the bathroom, but I can’t wake him. Oh no! What a disaster!

“Emma, are you okay?

“Yes, I…really, no. My legs feel like jelly, I can’t stand up…”

“That’s what I would expect.”

“This has never happened to me before…I mean, I’ve been drunk before, but this is different…”

“I think you’ve had something more than alcohol.”

“No way!”

“Without you knowing about it, Emma.”

“Oh, I see.”

He carries me to the bathroom, where he sits me on the edge of the bathtub.

“I can figure it out from here, you can leave.”

“Are you sure?”

“I promise, if I have a problem, I’ll call you.”

“Alright.”

I return to my bed a little while later in the arms of my bodyguard. He stays at my side all night long. He says that he’s not sure what François made me swallow but he doesn’t want to take any risks. I don’t ask him to go back home. Knowing he’s there makes me feel better. It’s the first time that someone has ever taken care of me like this – aside from my father, of course. For once, there’s no ambiguity between us. He’s just there to watch over me as I sleep, and make me drink water every two hours. I like having Charles there. Thoughtful, discrete, tender.

Unfortunately, when I open my eyes at 10:00 am, the chair is empty. The door is closed and I’m horribly nauseous. And I feel desperately alone. I decide to go take a shower to wake up and get my head together. Images from the previous night come back to me in pieces. And what if they hadn’t arrived in time to save me? What was this François capable of? After witnessing their hushed nighttime conversation, I’d say much worse…how could I have let myself be dragged along into this type of exploit? What am I becoming? All of this for what? For a man who slept with me twice and then leaves me when he no longer feels like it…I start crying under the shower. This is becoming a habit!

“Emma, everything alright?”

“You’re still here?”

“I went out to buy croissants! I’m going to make you breakfast. Do you need something?”

“Um, no…thanks.”

I don’t know what to think anymore. It’s best if I just stop…

“Are you feeling okay? Drink this, it’ll make you feel better…”

“There’s nothing you want to say to me?”

“Not especially. Not right now. Do you want me to lecture you?”

“No, not right now, actually. But you must really be worried about me if you’re sparing me the criticism you could make about my outfit…”

He looks at me, laughing.

“I’ve been holding myself back since you got out of the shower. But now that you mention it…are you planning on competing in some sort of athletic competition after you eat?”

“That sounds more like you! No, Charles. I just like wearing these sweatpants, that’s all.”

“Be quiet, please, you have no idea what you’re saying here.”

“Maybe I was drugged up even more than you thought last night…”

That sentence was a little too much. The conversation suddenly transforms from playful to serious. Or rather, it ends in an empty silence. I need to do something, otherwise he’s going to walk out like he did before.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I wanted to make joke and that obviously went a little too far.”

He looks at me now as if I just woke him up.

“I was the one who went too far, I’m sorry.”

But this whole story intrigues me, I have to find out more. Even if it spoils our first breakfast together.

“But this François told me that you know each other, that he was a friend of yours…”

“Everyone knows François in our circle…But nobody wants to be his friend, believe me…”

“What does he do? For a living, I mean…”

“Not much, he lives off his fortune. He lives for the next cocktail.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“He’s become…I don’t know how it all happened, but he started out as an occasional user, socially perhaps, and now he’s become a real addict. One of the worst types, those who know exactly when to stop but who cause all sorts of trouble along the way. He is extremely manipulative and, I don’t usually say this about people, but actually malicious.”

“A really bad guy!”

“Don’t joke around! I’m sure that at some point last night he scared you too! At first he’s a lot of fun and then he shows his true colors.”

“I can imagine…but he’s never been in trouble with the police?”

“He has friends in high places, whatever he does, he never has to worry.”

That was all he had to say. He shut up like a clam. Did I lose him again? He gets up, worried, his head somewhere else.

“Are you leaving?”

“I have to go make a phone call.”

“Ah. I wanted to thank you for saving me last night.”

“You’re welcome. See you soon.”

He leaves. It’s strange, he’s just thirty feet away, but I feel like he’s already off in another world. So distant. But when I think about it, I realize we’ve shared a rather unique sort of intimacy since last night: first he saves me from that awful guy, then he watches over me all night long, this morning, we share breakfast, a breakfast that he went out to buy himself. And then, he opened up a little. I guess that he hasn’t told me all that he knows, but it’s already something. If we’re not ‘together’, you’d still have to say that we’re close. Friends, maybe?

He said ‘see you soon’. What does that really mean? That he’s going to come back and see me later? But when? In an hour? For lunch? Tonight? Is he going to call me? Or is this just a way of saying goodbye when you live in the same building? If we’re friends now, maybe I can stop by his place whenever I want, just to say hi? I need to stop thinking about him all the time. That’s what drove me into the arms of that crazy guy last night. If things are meant to be between us, they’ll happen. That’s all there is to say. Now that these important decisions have been made, I should probably get back to work. Mrs. Granchamps has given me plenty to do. Three weeks to come up with an acceptable subject and hammer out a rough outline. It should be feasible. As long as I can put some serious effort into it.