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He dropped my hand and moved his hand to the small of my back, drawing me close so he could speak to me before we approached the table where a middle-aged man sat with a beautiful woman my age. “His mistress, not his wife.” In the car, he’d told me how to address his wife, but that plan had now been canceled. “Mademoiselle is fine.” When we approached the table, President Jacques Bernard rose to his feet to greet Fender with not only a handshake, but a gentle pat on the shoulder. They exchanged a few pleasantries in French before Fender introduced me. “Ma petite amie, Melanie.”
I gave him a smile, extended my hand, and greeted him in French the way Gilbert taught me. “C’est un plaisir de vous rencontrer, monsieur.”
He gave me a smile before he leaned in and kissed each of my cheeks. “Tout le plaisir est pour moi.” He turned back to Fender. “Où l’avez-vous trouvée, Fender? Elle est magnifique.”
I didn’t understand most of what he said, but I gathered that he addressed Fender, then called me beautiful.
Fender’s only response was a slight smile. He moved to one of the chairs and pulled it out for me before he scooted it in and took a seat beside me. When we were all seated, he spoke in French, and I assumed he talked shop because Jacques turned serious and listened attentively.
His mistress, Kendra, gave me a couple smiles across the table but spent her time drinking her wine and helping herself to the sliced baguette in the center of the table. She was pretty much ignored the entire time, and she was so beautiful that there was no chance she actually enjoyed spending time with a man twice her age and a tenth of her attractiveness.
Fender and Jacques continued their intense conversation, the servers supplying more bottles of wine, taking our orders, bringing us appetizers we didn’t even ask for. Fender had his arm around the back of my chair most of the time, sometimes on my thigh under the table, where his fingers purposely hiked up my dress slightly so he could touch my bare thigh instead. Sometimes he would grip me in the middle of the conversation, squeeze me just the way he did when he was on top of me, and other times, he was gentle, his fingers curling back underneath the dress so he could feel my panties. All of this happened without him losing focus on the conversation, listening intently then speaking passionately about whatever their conversation entailed. I’d learned a bit of French, but I had absolutely no idea what they discussed. Couldn’t even guess.
Kendra and I weren’t included once in the conversation, so Jacques didn’t even know I couldn’t speak French. We said goodbye then left the restaurant. Fender was quiet on the drive, not saying a word to me.
I spent my time thinking about the mistress.
It didn’t seem as if she even liked him.
Didn’t seem as if he cared much for her either. She was just a beautiful young woman to fuck afterward.
What about his wife?
Would Fender do the same to me? When my beauty faded or his interest expired, would I be home while he brought my replacement to dinner? It shouldn’t matter to me, but it hurt, picturing him sticking his hand up some other’s woman dress possessively.
He left the city and drove down quiet roads into the countryside, pushing the car to high speeds because there was no such thing as a speed limit for him. His elbow moved to the center console, and his hand reached for mine without taking his eyes off the road. Gently, his fingers encompassed mine, holding them in his grasp rather than interlocking our fingers.
I stared at his touch. “What did you talk about?”
He answered immediately. “Work.”
“He’s…involved with the camp?”
“Indirectly.”
That made my stomach sink like it was suddenly made of lead. In my naïveté, I assumed organized crime was small and localized. But now I realized how far those webs really stretched, how money could turn good men bad. My reality was shattered in that moment, because all the securities we took for granted weren’t actually real. Regimes didn’t always fall. Sometimes they grew bigger and bigger.
When we returned to the palace, we immediately went to his bedroom. The fire was already going because Gilbert prepared for his arrival. The flowers in the vases had been changed, the bed had been prepped with turndown service, even French chocolates on the pillows.
Fender didn’t care or notice any of that.
He dropped his blazer off his massive shoulders, yanked his shirt up his back and over his front, revealing the chiseled physique underneath. His shoes were kicked off, his bottoms were gone, and then he came at me hard.
His mouth collided with mine as he grasped the zipper at the back of the dress. He kissed me as he dragged it down in one fluid motion, getting it loose so he could yank it off me then grab one of my tits.
