Belle Pearl (8 page)

“I…I…no, I had no choice—”

“I was standing there with a fucking lady’s handbag while you climbed out of a bloody toilet window!” In that second, I almost wanted to laugh, call a truce; the whole drama was risible, but I stayed proud, immovable; I needed to drum it home to her how much she had hurt and belittled me. I gazed into her innocent blue eyes. Those eyes that had ripped my heart out. “Did that mean nothing to you? The fact that I wanted to marry you?” I could read the panic on her face.

She lifted up her arms and let them fall in an exasperated thump either side of her hips. “I still want to marry you, I still—”

“Don’t you get it, Pearl? It’s too late for that now,” I lied.

She scraped her fingers through her wet hair and then covered her mouth with her hand. It was sinking in: the idea that she could lose me forever. Her pain was palpable.
Good. It shows that she still loves me.
But she was teetering on the edge—the edge of indecision. She could have gone either way. Rejection was quivering on her lips—she still wasn’t ready to commit to me a hundred percent, and was using Sophie as an excuse. I needed all of her, every last percent. She was still obsessing about my sister, and if I admitted that I knew what Laura had done and that I’d listened to her voicemail, then I would have had to reveal the whole story of what had happened in London. This wasn’t the time.

Sometimes in life you make dumb choices. And in that moment, everything I said, everything I did, was unforgivable.

So when Pearl brought up the subject of Laura’s phone call, I pretended that she must have misinterpreted what Laura said. Because if Pearl knew what Laura’s motives were—that Laura still wanted me—it might make her run from me for good. I couldn’t risk that. Panicking, I told her that I’d lost her handbag with her phone and credit cards inside. That I’d reported it stolen. The fact that either of us could have listened to Laura’s messages without the phone itself, didn’t seem to register with Pearl. Perhaps she was in too much shock.

If I could do things over again, I would not have said what I said. But I did.

Coldhearted.

Bastard.

These were the words to describe me in that instant. Did I subconsciously want Pearl to suffer? Live the agony that I had undergone the night before? Know the stab of abandonment? Feel the desolation of knowing you have lost your other half? Perhaps I did. Because the more I spoke, the more immersed I became in my fabrication of the truth. Perhaps I thought that Pearl’s pain was proof of her love for me. Knowing that she gave a shit about me gave me hope for our future.

The words that came out of my mouth showed that I wasn’t going to let her off easily. No, she’d need to
earn
me back.

“You know what, Pearl? I’m done,” I said, my eyes sharpened flints. “What you did to me last night pushed me to my fucking limit. You demonstrated, loud and clear, that you don’t want me and that you’re using Sophie as an excuse to run from me.”

Pearl’s mouth was an O. Her blue eyes round with disbelief. She stood there, shaking, her lips trembling. “I love you, Alexandre. Please, please let’s work this out.”

“Work what out?” And here, I really
did
mean what I said. I was fed up with this Sophie nonsense—Pearl thinking that Sophie was capable of murder, not believing that she wanted to make amends. She hated Sophie’s guts long before the Laura message, and Sophie really had been trying. I went on, “Work what out, Pearl? As long as Sophie’s breathing you won’t let up. I can’t have a relationship with someone who hates my sister, especially when she and I are in business together.”

My monologue continued, as I explained to Pearl why Sophie was not her enemy, and culminating with a balm for her wound, I said, “Come here, chérie, and give me one last kiss before saying goodbye.” It was if an actor were speaking, not me, and I, the onlooker, from the wings—the audience watching the performance. I was observing a coldblooded, callous bastard who was calculating every move—treating Pearl like an acquisition, not a human being. I knew what I was doing. I was a billionaire businessman and I always got what I wanted. And I wanted Pearl…

To be unequivocally mine.

This was my way of going about it.

“You’re breaking
up
with me?” she whimpered.

“No, Pearl. It was
your
choice. You broke us up last night. You broke my heart in two.”

“That’s not what I want…
at all!”

I continued my performance. “Say what you like, baby, but actions speak louder than words. Nobody should have to go what I went through. You discarded me like a piece of trash, leaving a waiting jet and a waiting fiancé while you climbed out of a fucking toilet window, like a six year-old playing hide-and-seek. Not to mention the reverend in Vegas, and the surprise I had planned for us after our wedding.”

Her eyes lit up. “What surprise?” Ha! I’d piqued her interest. Good.

“It’s the past now, baby. Water under the bridge.” I leaned down and kissed her. A passionate, sexual kiss with my hand gripping her ass—to let her know what she’d be missing. I drew her against my thumping heart, and opened her lips teasingly with my tongue, probing, lingering—my cock coming alive with every stroke of my tongue on hers. (I’d piqued her interest—she’d ‘peaked’ mine.) She yielded to me and then, after I knew I had her attention, I pulled back. If she’d been smart, she would have known my speech was bullshit and that no man can kiss a woman like that when he’s not head over heels in love. Not to mention the rock in my jeans.

“Give me another chance,” she creaked out, tears spilling from her eyes.

I drew her closer and whispered in her ear, “No.” Then I gave her another speech about all the gifts she’d be getting from me: the Mercedes, an apartment in Cap d’Antibes, the Porsche, a new apartment that I’d be renting for her, and HookedUp Enterprises itself. The list went on. Academic, because I knew we’d be sharing all these things in the future anyway. I had no doubt in my mind that she would be my wife. I wasn’t going to give up on her—of course not—but she needed to pine for me. Needed to feel what life was going to be without me for a while.

My last words were, “Bye Pearl, baby. Look after yourself.” I walked away, not looking behind.

Fuck I was being a bastard.

But it was the only way to win her back for good.

7

M
oney and power were my obsessions for many years, working around the clock to make HookedUp what it quickly became.

Now I had an obsession of a different nature: Pearl.

Every minute of every day, I wanted to be with her. Hold her. Make love to her, although she still probably wasn’t ready for that, after all those nightmares about the college rapists. All the more reason for me to give her time to heal herself, to step away from her; for her to spend a while with her brother and father. She told me she was going to Hawaii to visit her dad.

Pearl and I were talking, but barely. My calls were clipped and businesslike. I sent her a Birkin handbag, replete with cellphone and replacements for her other ‘stolen’ stuff. She needed a new purse, anyway. The old one I stashed away in a suitcase.

Meanwhile, I waited, like a lonely crocodile in his patch of territory; no mate, no friends (except for faithful Rex), biding my time until Pearl wouldn’t be able to bear being away from me anymore. Only then would I make my move.

I had two things to sort out: sell my share of HookedUp to Sophie, once and for all, and deal with the dreaded Laura.

If I wanted to make things work with Pearl, even if she were being irrational about Sophie, I had to extricate myself from HookedUp. Because, seriously, how much money and power does a person need? I’d proved myself—I’d never have to work again if I didn’t want to. It was a small sacrifice to pay for a smooth road ahead with the woman I loved.

But Laura…
Jesus,
that was an unquantifiable problem waiting—like a grenade—to detonate.

I dialed her house number. I was hoping to get James on the line, to tell him what was going on—to get his crazy wife under control and keep her away from me for good. But James hadn’t been answering his cell so I wasn’t surprised when Laura picked up. As I stood in the kitchen in my apartment, I opened the fridge door, wondering what I should snack on, but the moment I heard Laura’s voice, I lost my appetite.

“Hello darling” she cooed.

“How did you know it was me?” I asked with suspicion—I’d hidden my number.

“Gut feeling.”

I slammed the fridge door shut so hard I heard a bottle smash. “I am not your darling, Laura. I don’t ever, ever want to see you again. Your shenanigans with me at The Connaught were bad enough, but what you did to Pearl was beyond imagination. She was terrified. Terrified.”

She chuckled. “That was the idea.”

“I’m marrying Pearl so you might as well accept it and get out of my fucking life.”

“You won’t marry Pearl, Alex my love, when I tell you what I know.”

Blood pounded in my ears. “What do you know?”

“I think it’s something we need to discuss face to face. I’ll come to New York—we can have a little chat.”

“No!” And then I said calmly, “I have business to attend to in London. I’m going to Provence to see about house stuff—I’ll pick up those books of yours and bring them over to your place. And I’ll pick up my Aston Martin from your garage, too. That way, you and I will break all ties and we won’t ever have to see each other again.”

“So final. So dramatic! Well, Alex darling, if you like a little drama, I can guarantee you that I won’t disappoint.”

“No more games, Laura—really, this isn’t funny.”

“I thought our time together at The Connaught was hilarious, and if I remember rightly, you did too.”

“The drugs had me laughing, but I can tell you it wasn’t bloody funny standing with my dick poking out like a fucking torpedo in front of my sister and Indira Kapoor.”

Laura cackled into the line, her breath hitching in hysterics.

“So when I next come to London, I’ll bring those books, get my car and sayonara, okay?”

“No, Alex, it’s not okay. I’m still in love with you. Surely you must have guessed that by now?”

“What you have for me, Laura, isn’t love; it’s some sort of sick obsession. If you loved me you’d want me to be happy. Please, I
beg
of you—leave me, and leave Pearl in peace to get on with our lives.”

“But I can’t do that—I want your baby.”

I knew it!
That
was what she was after when she laced my Bloody Mary with Viagra, and God knows what else was in that cocktail. I hung up on her, my stomach coiling with fury. She was beyond insane. When she had her accident and the doctors said she hadn’t suffered brain damage, I now knew they’d got the prognosis wrong. This woman was not right in the head. Okay, she had always been highly-strung, demanding and spoiled, but this? This behavior was psychotic.

My cell rang again. I ignored it. Laura, wanting to wind me up some more. But then I glanced at the screen and saw that it was Elodie. I opened the fridge again to get out a drink.

“Elodie,” I said with relief, cracking open a beer, “what’s up?”

“I’m outside your door. I forgot my key.”

“The door’s not locked, I’m in the kitchen.” I gulped down the whole bottle of beer almost in one go and the fizz prickled my nose—Laura had made me thirsty.

Elodie giggled into the line. “Oh. Duh! Okay.”

She came into the kitchen and I took a double take. She wasn’t dressed in her usual Goth attire and she looked quite beautiful without all that black make-up on her eyes. She was wearing skinny jeans tucked into elegant, black boots and a pink, scoop-necked sweater which accentuated her delicate neck. But the headphones she was wearing still gave her a street-cool look. She was slim, as always, but didn’t look like a scrawny sparrow anymore. I gave her a big bear-hug. I’d missed her. She hadn’t been coming into the HookedUp offices much lately, because she said she was getting her art portfolio together.

“I was thinking about making an omelet or something. Are you hungry?” I asked.

She sat down. “What?”

“Take your headphones off and maybe you can hear me. What are you listening to, anyway?”

She took them off and disconnected her iPod. “She’s a new singer from New Zealand, still in high school. This song,
Royals,
hasn’t even been released yet, but a friend of mine got her hands on it—knows the producer or something.”

“Hungry?”

“Sure.”

I narrowed my eyes at her suspiciously. “Really, you’re eating now?”

“A girl’s got to eat.”

“Great. That’s great.” I got some ingredients out of the fridge, cracked open some eggs and whipped them in a bowl. Elodie watched me with curiosity. I doubted she did any cooking herself. Lucky about the massive choice of take-out in New York or she probably would have starved from laziness.

“You’re pretty flashy, breaking eggs with one hand.”

“I worked as a sous chef in a restaurant in Paris once upon a time.”

“I didn’t know that,” she said.