My phone beeped to a text from Hugo, announcing that the car would be there in a minute.
I slipped into my brand new pair of black Louboutin stilettos knowing that I would soon not be able to wear them for a while, slid my new shawl over my shoulders, and grabbed my new clutch before taking a deep breath, while telling myself I had to calm down and smother my nervousness during the car ride.
I stopped, startled as I reached the street and found Hugo, dressed in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, waiting for me with the door of the limousine open.
“I—” I just stared at him. Jesus, he was magnificent and I wanted to slap myself for the effect he was having on my brain, heart and libido.
I could blame the hormones, right? I nodded. Yes, let's go with that.
He cleared his throat after a while and shook his own head, seemingly having an internal debate of his own.
“Ms. Byrnes,” he started, his voice lower and more gravelly than usual. “I’m pleased to see you followed the directives for once. You look presentable.”
I looked down and hid my smile. His darkened eyes told me what he refused to acknowledge out loud. He found me beautiful.
“I can say the same,” I replied, walking to the car and taking his warm hand as he helped me take a seat in my tight dress.
I was surprised when he didn’t let go of my hand immediately as he took his seat beside me and closed the door. He held it loosely enough for me to remove it if I wanted to, but I enjoyed it and his touch warmed me in a way I had not expected. Despite his horrible attitude, his condescension toward who I was and where I came from, his touch was calming me, almost making me feel safe. It was a conundrum like I had never experienced before. How could the source of all my torments also be the grounding force I needed?
He looked out the window and let go of my hand with a sigh after a few minutes, as if he too was reluctant to let go, but otherwise, he kept ignoring me. I was a little too nervous and unsettled to try to speak anyway. Silence seemed like the safe option.
We stopped in front of the restaurant and he turned to me as he grabbed the handle.
“I don’t expect you to do small talk, and these men won’t, either. Just smile and nod, that's fine.”
I pursed my lips as a wave of indignation crashed over me, washing away any self-made promises of not antagonizing him tonight.
“Be pretty and shut up?” I asked coldly.
His face took on the irritated look he usually sported when he talked to me. Gone was the fake amiability. “Well, it shouldn’t be too hard, should it? Evenyoucan get that right.”
I jerked my head back as his words fueled my outrage. “Why didn’t you bring your blowup doll then?”
He smirked and shrugged. “I don’t need a blowup doll. When I need sex, I go to bars and pick up desperate girls like you.”
I opened my mouth to tell him what he should do with his male appendage when the door was opened by the restaurant doorman.
“Welcome toLe Gavroche.”
Hugo exited the car and extended his hand toward me. I glared at it for a second, wanting to spit on it but also knowing that making a spectacle of us might embarrass him. I was also certain that he would then execute his revenge on my family and it was not something I could afford, despite the satisfaction it would bring me.
I took his hand, digging my nails as hard as I could into his palm as I exited the car and I felt some of my anger turning into satisfaction as I saw him wince and his nostrils flared.
“Careful,” he whispered to me as he rested his hand on the small of my back, gently directing me toward the restaurant.
The hostess bowed so low when she saw Hugo that I almost expected her to drop to the floor and kiss his shiny shoes. She took us through the restaurant to our table, where three men and two women were already waiting.
After a quick introduction, I sat beside one of the wives as they started chatting.
I had no interest in the stock market or exchange rate fluctuation, so I could concentrate on the people around the table.
Two of the men were visibly quite older, probably in their sixties, while their second or third wives were much younger and were clearly used to this life.
They kept on smiling and nodding while drinking their cocktails.
What is the kind of wife Hugo would want?I wondered, glancing his way as I drank my mocktail.
The third man, who introduced himself as James Hardings, was younger, probably in his mid-thirties and very good-looking. It was also quite clear he was the richest of the three based on how much attention Hugo was showing him.