Boxed Set: Dominated by a Billionaire - Part 10-12: Irresistible Billionaire (4 page)

"Mr. King, why have you waited until now to react to all Mr. Johnson’s sordid statements?" Margot questions, to get things started.

"Because I have other priorities," Vadim replies, harboring his nonchalant smile. "I’m lucky enough to have a thrilling job, a very full life and above all a marvelous woman with whom to share it. I don’t have time to waste with the allegations of a criminal offender who has lost everything and is most likely just trying to attract attention."

"So you deny everything he has said about your past?" Martha continues, squinting her eyes as if they were equipped with a lie detector.

I stretch slightly, fold my arms across my chest and look away, before making eye contact with Adrian, standing up behind the cameras, who is motioning to me to change positions and get my forced smile back on.

"I’m here to tell the truth," my lover announces in his deep voice. "I have absolutely nothing to hide: everyone knows that I came from nothing, that I didn’t exactly have a dream childhood. But I didn’t sit around feeling sorry for myself, I decided to move on and change my life to build the one that I have today. That’s the best decision I have ever made."

"You haven’t answered the question about your past," Martha interrupts, without softening up.

"I’m going to if you don’t interrupt me, Ms. Boyle," he replies gently, with his killer smile.

"Please, go ahead," the interviewer says with a forced laugh, not entirely able to hide her slight irritation.

"This Mr. Johnson and I crossed paths when I was a teenager; he tried to take the place of my father, who I lost when I was very young, as you know. And this man, if we can call him a man, took advantage of his power to manipulate me, getting me mixed up in some messy business. I resisted, thanks to help from certain people that I will never be able to thank enough," Vadim says, lowering his voice and looking at me knowingly. "And Johnson was sentenced," he resumes more adamantly. "I still think that his place is in prison and nowhere else. And believe me, I will do everything I can to get him back there, so that no other troubled youths will ever cross his path."

"Are you still mad at him?" Margot insists, trying to get her little tearful moment.

"He inspires pity more than anything else," my lover says, softening up. "He tried to ruin my dreams…The poor guy, he had no way of knowing they were indestructible! When you have the passion of youth, when you're choked up with rage, when you have the willpower to succeed… And when you have love: what can stop you?"

As he says those words, Vadim slips his hand in mine, our fingers intertwine, and he stares at me with his beautiful, loving eyes. I look back at him and my smile widens spontaneously. Everyone on the set is aware that this declaration has been carefully planned. But only the two of us know to what extent it is true, sincere and profound.

The interview goes on for several more minutes. My King’s eloquence, humor and values make him glow, alternating between hard-hitting words, wit and fun. His sex appeal is at his height and I can’t keep from lapping up each and every one of his words and devouring him with my eyes. When I realize that I may be coming across as an airhead, I say one or two things – striving to be cheerful, nice and sweet, as requested. I think I’m doing pretty well, but I’m sure I’ll be edited out anyway.

Oh, the hardships of a star’s wife…

"Keep the dress on, we’ll send it back later!" my lover exclaims, the interview hardly over, dragging me by the hand towards the recording studio exit.

"What about my stuff? Where are we going?" I protest, looking back behind me.

"Faraway!"

Vadim practically throws me into the car waiting for us outside. The silent chauffeur drives as if he knows perfectly well where he is going. I’m still the only one not in the know – as usual.

"After that farce, you certainly deserve a little weekend getaway!" my secret-keeper explains, kissing the tip of my nose.

"Where? Just the two of us?" I say, getting excited, my eyes wide-open.

"Hmm… almost. The good news is that we’re going to London! I know you've been dying to go back and I want to see where you grew up. The bad news is that Alistair and Kali will be along for the ride. They insisted on we stay with them..."

"Grrr! That’s why people always give the bad news first!" I whine, kicking my feet like a spoiled kid throwing a fit.

"You know that the interview is over and you don't have to behave like a princess anymore?" he teases, faced with my reaction.

"Vadim King, tell me you haven't really done this to me! Who knows, maybe they live in some huge apartment where they switch partners with five other couples!"

"You still don’t want to run around with sweet Kali?" he jokes again, trying get me worked up.

"Driver, please stop, I’m getting out here!" I say, pretending to flee.

"All right, enough, Kate Middleton! We’ll just go out to dinner with them. I just so happened to have booked a suite at The Savoy for us."

That magical word makes me shut up immediately. The Savoy is a 5-star hotel located along the Thames and is an institution in itself – where the cost per night has at least three zeros. Comfortably settled in the jet that takes us to the other side of the Channel, my eyes are already gleaming, even though I haven’t seen anything yet. But I’ve been dying to ask one question since the end of that damn interview.

"Did you really believe what you said? When you said that certain people had helped you send Keith to prison and… that you could never thank them enough?"

"Yes, I owe it to my lawyer. To Felix, to Clémentine and a few others – those who didn’t let me down at the trial," he answers harshly.

"I knew you weren’t talking about me…"

"You left," he sighs. "Do we have to talk about all that again?" he adds, getting annoyed.

"If you’re still mad at me for what happened twelve years ago, yes!"

"I know that you supported me, in your way. I know that you had your father intervene to get me that lawyer that I couldn’t afford. I know that it is also partly thanks to you, Alma. Happy?"

"No… there’s something you don’t know."

"Hmm. So I see you don’t tell me everything either," he says in his serious, deep voice.

"Vadim, I never told you because it would have driven you crazy. When I asked my father to help you, he accepted. But only under one condition: that I come back to France and never see you again. That’s why I left. That’s the only reason…"

"So, to sum things up," he interrupts me, with a bitter grin on his face, "if you stayed, your father would have let me rot in jail. If you left, his damn lawyer would help me get out."

"That’s right. That was the deal. Between our relationship and your freedom, I had to make a choice," I say, misty eyed.

"You’re right, it does drive me crazy. Edward Lancaster is even more twisted than I thought. And you, you are the most courageous and most unbelievable woman I know," he whispers, stroking my cheek. "For the past twelve years, I’ve been asking myself why you did it," he adds, even more softly, his voice full of emotion. "I finally know that you sacrificed yourself out of love for me."

His lips rush towards mine and don’t let go for the rest of the trip. One of the numerous advantages of a private jet: being able to “get it on, onboard,” literally.

Hmm…

Still clinging to each other, we settle down at The Savoy, which manages to blend all the symbols of modern luxury with an Edwardian style – Edward again – and a little Art Deco here and there, in the purest London tradition. I’ve never seen anything like it. In our suite, the direct view overlooking the Thames is breathtaking. Fortunately, the weather promises to be summer-like for our May weekend getaway. I look out the window for a while, at the
London Eye
in the sun, Big Ben in the distance, this whole city that I love so much and in which I spent part of my childhood.

On Friday night, we meet up with Alistair and Kali at the hotel bar, then go with them to the 3-star restaurant owned by to the famous English chef, Gordon Ramsay. The pretty Indian brags about having been personally invited by the owner, but strangely enough, he doesn’t make a single appearance throughout the whole dinner. I’m not sure if he is there or if he has even heard of Kali Shankar – lawyer and professional liar. We had to refuse at least a dozen times their offer to “continue the evening elsewhere” before the rearing-to-go couple left us to spend their evening in a private club somewhere in the Mayfair district.

Our night was just as short and “private” but in a totally different way…

On Saturday morning – I’m the one in charge, for once! – I take Vadim shopping on New Bond Street and Kings Road, the "in" place for
made in England
luxury goods. The shop windows of Vivienne Westwood, Alexander McQueen and Stella McCartney appear one after the other and I end up coming out of Burberry's with the trench coat of my dreams – given to me by my knight in shining armor who couldn’t resist buying it. Then we switch to another area and another atmosphere, and go on a lovers’ stroll through the crazy Camden flea market. We take a break to eat the world’s best Scotch eggs – with our fingers – on the terrace of a pub along the canal. A group of American tourists recognizes Vadim from afar and we set out running to avoid a mob scene. My lover holds my hand and we run away laughing like the kids we were twelve years ago. Once we've lost the “fans," we stop in Hyde Park and lie down in the grass to enjoy the sun, my head on his chest and his fingers in my hair.

Total bliss

Refueled, we take a London cab to go to the Notting Hill bookshop that inspired the movie. This gives Vadim the chance to criticize my taste in movies, and me the chance to criticize his lack of romanticism. A trip past my old school stirs up all kinds of memories. Then my lover makes me show him all the places that I used to go to when I was young: “There isn’t a thing in your life that I don’t want to know about, Alma Lancaster.” We stop at the conservatory where I took dance classes, then one last stop outside my father's Victorian house in which I lived in for years, which fills me with nostalgia. Vadim listens to me talk about that part of my childhood and I start speaking in English, instead of French, as if I’d never stopped. He teases me about my “royal family” accent and we finally go back to the hotel, worn out from walking so much, happy from sharing so much.

Sunday lunchtime. I don’t know why I agreed to have brunch with my English cousin, Pippa, who we ran into during one of our romantic strolls. Oh, yes, because she insisted, screaming and shaking her bleach-blond head of hair.

And because I thought that it would give us a good excuse to get out of another outing with Kali…

That’s mean, I know.

This is my punishment.

Philippa – alias Pippa or even “Pip’s” (as she asks everyone to call her) – is by far the sassiest member of the Lancaster family. With her overly short skirts, overly high heels, overly streaked hair, she is crazy about fashion – and quite simply, just crazy. We have only been seated five minutes, when she looks Vadim over from head to toe and reminds everyone – us and the neighboring tables – that the nice little girl I used to be has changed quite a bit.

"Alma, you’re sleeping with a rebellious billionaire who's been to jail and is on the cover of every celebrity magazine around!" she exclaims, all wound up.

"Do you mind not talking so loud, Pip’s?"

"What, did I say something stupid?"

"No, everything is true except for the part about jail," my lover laughs, stretching out on his chair, with his hands folded behind his head.

Apparently, I'm the only one that’s uncomfortable with my cousin’s “casualness”…

"So, does your American have a brother or a friend he can introduce me to?" she asks, batting her eyelashes.

"His brother’s already taken, his best friend is to be avoided," I reply, cutting her short before she ends up making a real slip-up.

"Hold on, you’re not talking about Felipe, that tattooed guy who was screwing Lily at the same time as the others girls at work?"

"Felix," I quietly correct her, dying of shame.

Fiasco.

For two hours, the whole restaurant gets to hear Pippa’s stories: ranging from her personal misadventures to my little sister's confidential secrets, as well as celebrity gossip and my most embarrassing childhood memories. Vadim eats his fish and chips quietly, as if he were watching some kind of comedy show. I have almost as much trouble getting my cousin to shut up as I did getting her to get up from her chair to leave. We promise to get together again soon – never! – before going our separate ways in great outpourings – silence!

When we get back to our luxurious suite at the Savoy, I marvel again at the sumptuous decorating and rush to the bathroom to take an aspirin. In front of the big mirror, I close my eyes, lean on the imposing, shiny marble surface and savor this moment of peace and quiet: not a noise, not a scream, not a single embarrassing word.

"Since I wanted to know everything about your life, I should have met Pippa earlier," my lover whispers, coming up behind me, his hands massaging my shoulders.

"Let’s get things very clear: that is the first and last time that you will see each other," I say, lowering my head to enjoy the massage.

"Why, do you have some other shameful secrets…?" he teases me. Then puts his lips on my neck.

"Maybe." I shiver from his kisses. "But I’d rather you discover them on your own."

"Oh yeah? And why not now?" he whispers in my ear, slipping his fingers under my dress.

He knows me by heart: that’s exactly what I was hoping for.

In the huge, art deco-style bathroom, Vadim sets out in search of my hidden treasures. I can see his reflection in the big mirror: he is behind me, handsome as ever in his light-blue polo shirt, his hands strumming across my bare legs, playing with the hem of my short dress. His mouth runs across my neck and along my shoulders; I lean back even more to let the shudder climb up my spine to my scalp. Around the two big sinks, the black marble is so shiny I can see myself in it. On the floor, I get a glimpse of my lover’s bare feet on the big black and white checkered tiles.