How to Bed a Millionaire, page 18
“What?”
He chuckles. “Well, of course I do. You’ve got everything a guy’s supposed to have. If I may so say, nature has even been very generous with you, Mr. King Dong. But what I’m trying to say: to me, you’re not a guy. You’re the guy. Better still: you’re you. You’re Trevor. My guy.”
Gulp. That is sweet.
“I almost can’t believe you’re sitting here saying these things to me,” I murmur.
“Why?”
“Because it’s like a dream come true.”
What can I tell you about the next couple of days?
What can I tell you about the next couple of days? It’s hard to describe happiness, isn’t it? I could list gazes and words and touches and moments. But they would turn to lifeless paragraphs. You need to be the person who’s happy to get it.
More often than not, happiness doesn’t make for a riveting tale, anyway. If Madame Bovary had been a meek housewife and mother, happy with her small-town life and her husband, no one would have read the book. Hell, Monsieur Flaubert wouldn’t even have bothered writing the story in the first place.
So, I don’t know what to focus on without boring you to death. Chao’s beauty? His tenderness? Our kisses? Our lovemaking? The barbecues? The sunshine that returns the day after the downpour and makes it look as if it never occurred?
Let’s just say that we spend a lot of time exploring each other’s bodies. Chao seems to have a long list of things he discovered in the porn movies and wants to try out. Who am I to complain?
I also have bruises on my arms from constantly pinching myself. I can’t believe all this is truly happening to me.
If passion were a candle, ours would be burning fiercely and illuminating our days and nights so brightly as to make electric lights redundant.
Maybe I could mention some of the other highlights, though. Because we do leave my bed from time to time.
In fact, there’s a routine we quickly agree upon. I work in the mornings, all by myself because Chao is too much of a distraction. And in the afternoons, we visit local sightseeing spots Chao thinks I mustn’t miss.
That’s how I discover the Villa Ephrussi de Rothschild, situated not far from the Kinner summer house. We stroll through the extensive, multiple-themed gardens, holding hands and kissing in the darker corners. Very romantic, with breathtaking views over the roadstead of Villefranche.
One day, Chao insists I must see Monaco. We take Chao’s Lamborghini, of course, because Monaco and a pink Fiat 500 just don’t go together. I think I grow my first gray hairs on the way over. The car is fast, the scenic road curvy, and Chao a reckless driver. The principality is even smaller than I expected, the old town sitting on the rock charming. I immediately dislike the modern parts with their ugly skyscrapers, however. But hey, all those tax-shy millionaires must be housed somewhere.
We also visit Cannes and Antibes, which I enjoy thoroughly.
I should probably mention Bastille Day. A fourteenth of July I’ll probably never forget.
For starters, Chao forbids me to work that day. It’s a bank holiday, after all. He also insists on preparing his cheeseburgers for lunch. In truth, all he does is put the burgers on the grill and make sure they’re perfectly cooked. I don’t want to take all the credit, but guess who seasons the minced meat, mixes up a bowl of home-made ketchup, throws together a salad, and starts the barbecue?
Your humble servant Trevor, of course.
I don’t mind, though. Chao is very proud of his burgers, which turn out to be scrumptious, and I find his attitude very endearing.
After lunch, we hang out on my sundeck, sunbathing, splashing around in the pool, and, er, frolicking.
At 8:00 p.m., Chao suddenly tells me to take a shower and get dressed.
“Do you have a nice shirt for the occasion?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Tees and tank tops are all I’ve brought.”
“I’ll lend you one of mine, then.”
“What for?”
“It’s Bastille Day. Just indulge me.” He kisses me and disappears in his walk-in closet.
I admit that we look very dapper once we’re dressed. Chao’s wearing a white dress shirt, a pair of black linen trousers, and his expensive loafers. He has given me a white linen shirt, and I don my new cargo pants and my sneakers.
“You’re toothsome,” he whispers in my ear as he leads me to the elevator. “And your bum looks like something that should be served on a gold platter.”
“Where are we going, sunshine? Why are you being so secretive?”
“Wait and see. Maybe I have a surprise for you.”
“Er, I forgot to tell you I don’t handle surprises well.”
We step into the cabin, and Chao presses the “B” button.
“I mean it, sunshine. Dirk threw a surprise party for me once. And I showed up half-naked because he had told me it would be a simple sleepover at his flat.”
“You went to his flat half-naked?” Chao shakes his head. “Why doesn’t that surprise me as much as it should?”
“I was dressed when I got there, silly. But Dirk told me to get comfortable, so I went to his bedroom and took off my clothes.”
“Of course. Everybody would’ve done the same thing.” Chao chuckles.
“It was summer, and it was eleven p.m.! I thought Dirk meant I should get comfortable for bed. Anyway. When I entered the living room, in nothing but my boxer briefs, all our friends were there shouting, ‘Surprise!’ Well, they were in for a surprise, too.”
Chao chuckles. “A huge surprise. I should know.”
I cuff his arm.
“It also seems that lesson was completely lost on you.”
When we reach the beach level and walk down the steps to the coastal path, I say, “Oh. A romantic walk along the cliffs. That’s sweet, sunshine.”
He kisses me lightly. “That’s not the plan. Come one.”
He takes my hand and we cross the path, then climb down a steep trail I haven’t noticed before, getting closer to sea level.
“You organized a picknick down there?”
“Getting warmer. But no, that’s not it, either.”
We reach a flat rock. Waves are softly slapping against it. The air smells of seaweed and salt. Indeed, nothing indicates a picknick.
Suddenly, a rowboat comes around the cliffs to our left.
“What the…”
“Shhhh!” He lays a finger on my lips.
I’m bursting with anticipation. The balmy night air, the sound of the waves sloshing around the rocks, the dark sea sparkling in the moonlight, Chao’s cologne…
He helps me board the rocking boat. A lanky guy is working the rows, which, thank God! I’m perfectly incapable of moving anywhere in one of these things.
Of course, the rowboat is just an appetizer. Because the lanky guy rows us over… to a fucking sailboat, hidden in the next cove. A crew of six awaits us, including a perky young waitress.
Noiselessly, we glide out of the roadstead, then sail closer to the Nice bay, its soft curve glittering and twinkling before us. Music comes drifting across the water.
A table has been laid at the bow, and we dine on excellent finger food. The waitress opens a bottle of champagne, and Chao toasts me, a satisfied grin on his face.
“Happy Bastille Day!” he says.
“This must have cost you a fortune!” I whisper.
Chao shrugs. “The Kinners have been in a generous mood.”
“You make them pay for it?” I gasp.
“They won’t even notice.”
“They… don’t know?”
“They will when they get the bill. Now hush up and enjoy. I’ll take responsibility for it all.”
The high point of our night trip is that I get to witness the Nice fireworks from the sailboat. Chao and I are standing at the railing, he’s holding me in his arms, and it’s magical.
“How did you organize this? When? Why?” I whisper into Chao’s ear.
“It doesn’t matter. I wanted you to have the most wonderful Bastille Day of your life.”
“Well, consider it a success. But all you needed to do was take me in your arms.”
He kisses me just as several huge red flares illuminate the sky.
Life lesson #10
Happiness may be dull in a novel. But hell, in real life, I’ll take it over drama anytime!
Damn
Damn. I almost forgot to tell you about another July high point. Even though I’d rather call it a low point.
I’m sure you’ve already been wondering about… Karim. Yeah, the ruggedly handsome and charming young man I went on a date with a few days ago. He who triggered Chao’s jealousy and is therefore the main reason of the latest developments, albeit unwittingly.
Well, he hasn’t disappeared from the radar. Quite to the contrary. I haven’t told you yet, but he keeps sending me flirtatious messages, almost one each day. They drop like acid reminders into my blissful days. Yes, acid. Because I simply don’t know what to do.
Scratch that. Deep inside, I know what to do, of course. I’ve never been a two-timer, and I sure as hell won’t start now. Only an idiot and a sleazy bastard would do that.
But still, I’m at a loss. The “what” is easy; to find the right “how” is the difficult part. What should I tell Karim? The truth, all right. But via WhatsApp?
That’s so not who I am. You don’t break momentous news like this by sending cheap texts. It’ll cost me, but I think I must inform Karim in person.
For the moment, I’m stalling, keeping my answers on WhatsApp friendly and noncommittal. But if you know me a bit—and I think you do by now—you’ll have guessed that my bad conscience is tormenting me.
For starters, how do I confess to Chao that I’m getting these messages? And how do I explain that I’m planning to clear things up face to face?
Or should I just call Karim. Do I really need to meet up with him?
Argh.
I hate situations like these. Luckily, I’ve never had to face them before. This is the first time I have two pretenders, you see, one of which has turned into much more than a pretender in the meantime.
On the Thursday after our nightly sailing trip, I take my courage in both hands. Chao and I are having breakfast when I say bluntly, “We’re running out of fresh food, sunshine. I think I might go to the supermarket today.”
He replies cheerfully, “Yeah, let’s go. It was fun last time.”
I look at my fingernails. “Maybe I should go alone?”
“Oh. Why?”
“H-rm. You remember Karim?”
“The wanker,” he says tonelessly. All cheer has gone from his voice.
“Come on. He’s a sweet guy.”
You’re being needlessly jealous, I do not add because, well, shoot me—I’m feeling fizzy-fuzzy. And flattered.
“So, what of him?” Chao narrows his eyes and stares at me. “He texted you. And you’ll go on another date with him.”
His statement sounds stilted, posh, and carries an undercurrent of barely suppressed anger.
I wince. “It’s anything but a date. Just hear me out, sunshine. Yes, he has been texting me. And it’s not what you think. I just owe him an explanation. We left things pretty open last time. Like, we agreed we’d meet again, get to know each other better, and see what comes of it. You know, the other day, when you saw us in Nice.”
“M-hm.”
“And now, I simply want to tell him that the situation has changed.”
“Oh, has it?”
“Well, in the meantime, I’ve started dating someone else?” I can’t help it—but the sentence comes out as a question. When Chao does this intimidating thing with his face, all my insecurities are back with a vengeance. We haven’t discussed what is going on between us, either. Because no one felt the need to talk about it. It all seemed so natural and obvious.
Chao is holding back a smile; his face looks less forbidding now. “Are you?” he asks.
“You tell me. Am I?”
“I don’t know.”
That’s not what I want to hear. My tone gets a bit cooler. “Okay, if you don’t know, I can’t tell you either. But for me, things have definitely changed. I don’t want Karim to keep hoping for something I’m not willing to give right now.”
Chao leans toward me and brushes his lips against mine. “I can’t tell you how happy I am to hear you say that we’re… dating. It’s not a word I’d have used. But I guess it means the same thing that I’m feeling in here.” He takes my hand and presses it against his chest. His heart is beating wildly.
“I do,” I whisper.
“All right, then. That’s all I need to know.”
“So, you’re okay with my plan?”
He sighs. “I don’t like it. At all. But I trust you.”
“You can…”
He holds up his hand. “Listen. I could ask you to simply call this… wanker. Or to send him a text message. Or simply to ignore him. But I know you wouldn’t do that. It wouldn’t be… you. You’re just too nice for that. So, do it your way.”
I kiss him fiercely. “If you must know, I dread seeing him again. He’s really a nice guy, and I don’t want to hurt his feelings. Nor yours.”
“Just go. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. And if I never hear that wanker’s name again, it’ll be worth it.”
I pull him into a hug. “Chao,” I whisper. “I…”
“Shh. Don’t say it.” He presses a finger on my lips, looking almost frightened by my earnest and urgent tone.
He must have guessed the three simple words that I have on the tip of my tongue.
Karim is overjoyed when I suggest we meet somewhere
Karim is overjoyed when I suggest we meet somewhere. At least one of us is looking forward to it, then. He sends me a cheerful “YES!” with loads of smileys and X-rated emojis and suggests a café situated in the old port. We settle for 11:00 a.m.
The drive over to Nice is long enough for me to get completely jittery. I find a parking space in a side street almost at once, so I arrive a quarter of an hour early. I sit down on the shady terrace, as nervous as if I were about to propose to Karim.
God, I hate to be the bearer of bad news. How does Dirk manage it? Over and over again?
When the waitress asks me what I want, I simply point at the first item on the menu. It turns out to be a big glass of very sweet and unctuous iced coffee, halfway between a drink and ice cream.
Karim joins me at 11:00 a.m. sharp. He looks handsome and carefree as he comes strolling around the corner, hands in the pockets of his tracksuit pants. As if to remind me of what I’m going to miss out, he’s wearing a tank top that underlines his marvelously sculpted, hairy chest and muscular arms.
“Hey, cutie,” he grins before flopping into the chair across from me.
“Hey there,” I say sheepishly.
“I see you’ve chosen the best thing this café has to offer!” He beams at me, then turns around to signal to the waitress that he wants the same thing. The armholes of his tank top are so large that I’m offered a mouthwatering view of chest and nipples as well as his solid six-pack in the process.
“So, what’s up?” Karim seems to be at ease and really glad to see me. “What’ve you been doing? Your messages sounded as if you were busy.”
“Well, er, yes. I have been busy, indeed. Sort of.” I look away.
He lays a hand on my arm. “What’s the matter, cutie? You look… troubled. Has something happened?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m afraid yes. Listen, Karim. I like you. Really. I like you a lot. Under normal circumstances, I would have loved to get to know you better and see where this…” I make a gesture to signal I mean the two of us. “… could take us.”
“But?” Karim locks eyes with me. He doesn’t look surprised, he doesn’t look hurt, just gentle and a bit wary. “You met someone.”
“Er, well, yes. I think I did.”
The waitress brings Karim’s iced coffee, and he takes a sip. Then he exhales noisily. “I knew it. I knew I’d blown it on our first date.”
“Karim, no. Our date was fabulous. This has got nothing to do with you,” I protest.
He shrugs. “That’s nice of you to say. I thought we had some sort of… connection after our meeting.”
“Me too.”
“Then, over the next few days, I read your terse answers, and I told myself I shouldn’t be getting my hopes up. I sensed that someone like you couldn’t be interested in me.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean my answers to be terse. And what do you mean by ‘someone like me’? I’m no one special.”
He stares at his drink. “You’re a university student, and I’m just a delivery boy. We don’t live in the same world.”
“Stop it right now, Karim! You’re a wonderful guy, you’re handsome…”
He snorts.
“Devastatingly handsome! Believe me! You’re also sizzling hot, you are! And you’re gentle and funny and witty. I didn’t lie the other day—I really enjoyed our date, and I enjoyed spending that wonderful hour with you.”
“I didn’t attend university,” he states flatly. “I could never be on the same level as you.”
“Oh, Jesus. You don’t need to go to university to be interesting, Karim! You’re a smart guy. Don’t put yourself down like that.” I stare at his handsome, crestfallen face and blurt out, “I hate to do this to you! Okay. I’ll tell you what happened, and you’ll see that you really mustn’t beat yourself up.”
He gazes at me, then looks at the masts of the sailboats bopping gently in the port, the luxury yachts lying stolidly in the dark green water, the people strolling by in front of the café.
