The Billionaire’s Desires Vol.12-13 (12 page)

"Gabriel, what are you...?"

"Amandine, don't worry, trust me."

"But Marion is here, just behind us! Do you have any idea how she must be feeling? And Virgile?!" she says, her voice rising in anger and her eyes welling up with tears.

"It's mostly with them in mind I'm doing this in the first place. To give them closure. And us too."

Don't let the emotion get to you… toughen up, damn it Gabriel!

The vehicles have climbed the incline without any trouble – and none of the drivers have turned back to my great relief. I park our four-by-four on the verge and force Amandine to look me in the eyes.

"You'll understand, I swear. It's not my intention to be cruel; it's for our own good we're all here. Do you believe me?"

"I don't know," she says breathing heavily, on the edge of panic.

"Amandine, look at me! You can do this! You can confront the awful tragedies from your past!"

A tear rolls down her left cheek and I wipe it from her lips. Then, leaning over, I open her door and gesture at her to get out of the vehicle. I do the same, stepping out from my side after checking that Rose and Arthur are still fast asleep.

We step just meters away from the car, followed by the passengers from the other vehicles, and stand together to take in the new view. From our position on the hill, we can appreciate the scale of the U-shaped mansion with its modern and glittering lines, which has been built on the ashes of the old property. It's been a cloak and dagger operation for almost two years, started just one month after the explosion.

"This is the Diamonds Children's House. An orphanage that is getting ready to welcome around a hundred kids," I explain, feeling every muscle in my body tremble.

To my right, Amandine dries her eyes and slips her hand into mine, a sign of support – or maybe gratitude. To my left, Virgile is eyeballing the villa but his impassive face is indecipherable. I place my hand around his neck and gently pull him into me. He doesn't resist.

"Tristan would have been proud," says Marion in a small voice, breaking the thoughtful silence. "Thank god something beautiful and generous has come out of this horrible tragedy, out of this darkness."

"Yep. We sure needed it," murmurs Silas, smiling at me.

"Great job, son," adds my father.

Are him and Prudence… are they… holding hands?

The old place was their marital home together for thirty years...

For several long minutes, we stand there, at the edge of the road, admiring the brand new building that will put our worst memories to bed. The pain and anger are already slipping away, giving place to a fresh emotion. Comfort. This house will put a roof over the heads of children who don't know the meaning of home or family and give them a chance at happiness. This idea lifts the sadness and sorrow from our shoulders… and gives new wings to our sense of hope.

"There's another thing I want to show you," I say, facing the subdued audience. "Back in your cars!"

The group swings into action, and ten minutes later we park in the orphanage car park. After transferring the babies into strollers and everyone has mopped the last of their tears, we begin to walk towards the park, a sign reading "Foreverland" in big letters over the entrance. Gleaming in the sun, a dozen rides and attractions are dotted around the vast plot, to give the orphaned kids a chance to live their dream. I beckon for everyone to follow me into the center of the funfair and stop in front of the main carousel. The name in giant letter is impossible to miss: "Tristan's Dream."

"Your brother once told me that if he were granted one wish, it would be to fly," I say to Marion, which sets her off again. "Spinning round in these small harnesses, they'll be flying for him."

Tears try to force their way out, and I hold them in. But when the brunette presses herself into me and my arms automatically wrap around her, the heavens open. I release hot, heavy tears in front of all these people who would have every right to hate me, to curse me until my dying day. But who have never blamed me for anything. Not even for detonating the time bomb that went by the name of Eleanor.

"It's absolutely wonderful, Gabriel," says Marion in a small voice. "Tristan would be thrilled to see what you've done..."

Just beside us, Amandine and Virgile are also in each other's arms. I proffer my arm, smiling wistfully at my son. He takes my hand and shakes it as he buries his head in the crook of his new mother's neck.

If he's learned to smile again, it's all down to her.

If he's able to lead a normal life, a happy life, filled with love and tenderness, it's all down to her.

She saved us. Both of us.

***

The hotel I've hired out for all of us is just as I dreamed it would be. Ten luxury bungalows are set around a fabulous infinity pool – practically the size of a lake - in the middle of which sits a terrace on stilts. This is where, tonight, Silas and I will be celebrating our thirty-eighth birthdays. The celebration I've planned for this evening is going to be cheerful, lively, noisy and... booze-fueled!

Our tight-knit group spends the rest of the afternoon lounging around, topping up tans, splashing about, and squabbling. The grandparents are taking care of the babies, giving us parents a few hours of free time. Virgile is doing back flips, Silas is splashing everyone in sight, Amandine is attempting to get him in a headlock, Camille is moaning, Céleste and Dana are kissing, Marcus is giggling, and Pete is mirroring his lover, while Marion and I enjoy a peaceful dip away from all the excitement.

"So Gabriel, what's your take on my husband? I mean from a man's point of view," asks the new Mrs. Lebrun.

"Like, such a hottie!" I say, smiling.

"Yeah, I only picked him for his perfectly sculpted abs. After all, that's what really counts..."

"No, seriously, he seems to be really down to earth," I say. "And mad about you. Which makes him an..."

"Alien?" sniggers Marion as she submerges her hair in the water.

"No, a good man."

"Right answer," says the brunette, smiling.

In a bikini that makes me want to it rip off, Amandine swims over to me with slow and regular breaststrokes. Her body glides over to mine and wraps itself firmly around me.

"I have a good idea," I smile, running my lips over her neck.

"Gently, gently, Diamonds," she whispers with a giggle. "Tonight I'm going to make you one happy man..."

"I already am, Amande. You have no idea..."

"Tsunami!" yell Silas and Virgile, landing so close to us that Amande takes a mouthful.

"You pair of little…"

Simply behaving like Diamonds my love.

Around 8 PM, we take our seats around the large table lit up by a chandelier reflecting the light from a thousand facets and silver tea lights, dotted all over, some even floating on the water. All the guests are sporting their most elegant evening attire. A light breeze cools our faces blushed by the Californian sun. Smiles are exchanged between all the parties here, a sure indication that my pilgrimage has achieved the intended result. Our hearts are lighter.

And Amandine is wearing the most figure-hugging, mouth-watering gown I’ve ever seen...

That's what I call total provocation. Exquisitely so.

"Thanks for inviting me, Gabriel," says Prudence, sitting opposite me.

I’ve spoken very little to my mother since we got here this morning. I had other worries on my mind. And wanted to ignore her if I'm totally honest. I'm aware that the last two years have been a trial for her. That she doubted herself, that she's come to realise that some of her past acts are unpardonable. And yet... I'm still angry at her. I cling on to this resentment, in spite of what my head tells me. But maybe it's time to release that too... with all the rest.

"You're part of this family," I simply reply. "And you were there when our lives changed forever. I wanted you to share this day with us."

"I know that my judgement’s been poor, that I..."

"Let's not dig up the past. Leave it where it is and let's move on. Our kids mustn't pay for our mistakes. They deserve us to make a fresh start, to give ourselves another chance. Silas and Céleste, are you with me?"

"Yes," agrees my sister, smiling at our mother. "Let's make love not war!"

"Ditto. Although are the kids still saying that these days?" jokes our brother.

"Amandine?" continues Prudence, turning towards my wife.

"So long as you love my children without trying to manipulate them, you're welcome in their lives. You are going to have to earn my trust, but anything's possible," replies my muse stoically, with a poker face.

And a plunging neckline...

Amid laughter, screams of joy and protests, the dinner goes according to plan, although we could have done without the impromptu lap dance by Marcus. Really not my thing!

Silas and I blow out our thirty-eight candles around eleven in the evening, to rounds of applause and a magnificent star-studded sky.

I flash back to our wedding beneath the constellations over Paris...

Pete starts the music and Antoine invites Marion for a slow dance, while Céleste and Dana sway their hips, Camille and Silas dance the jerk – or something like it – and Marcus and Virgile reinvent the tecktonik, while I sneak off taking my lady-love away with me. She bursts out laughing in my arms but makes no attempt to resist: that would be a complete waste of energy against this supernatural osmosis that bonds us together. Our bodies were made for touching, for functioning best within a meter of each other. If she weren't near me, I'd stop breathing altogether.

"Without you, nothing would exist," I tell her, putting her back down to the ground, away from the commotion.

Our eyes explore each other, caress one another before looking over the to the unusual scene playing out around the pool. All the jumping jacks on the dance floor. All these people who I never knew how to love properly, until now. All these members of my family – flesh and blood – that Amandine taught me to rediscover. And to appreciate their true worth.

“You gave my life a new direction, Gabriel. You gave me everything. Your love, your respect, your confidence, your family, your world, your money. I only ever wanted you… And I got all that,” she says, her voice cracking with emotion.

On the verge of tears, she takes refuge against my torso and rests her head against my heart, which is beating loudly. Just for her.

“You have given me three perfect children. Three little diamonds that I'm going to watch grow up, next to you, for the next fifty, hundred, thousand years,” she sighs, clasping her hands behind my back.

“Not, fifty, a hundred or a thousand, my Amande. For eternity.” I smile tenderly, sensing all my past wounds heal beneath her touch.

We stay motionless for several golden minutes, perfectly intertwined, interlocked, adjusting our breathing in time with the other’s and lulled by the music playing in the distance.

“So, Diamonds, do you enjoy terrorizing defenseless young women?” my goddess says suddenly, looking directly into my eyes.

“Only when they're in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

This conversation was our first one-on-one.

So much ground traveled since then, in just three years…

And it’s only just the beginning…

THE END

I always wondered how I would act if this happened. He and I, face to face after all these years. Of course, there was very little chance of it ever happening with him in the States and me in France. But the idea of a chance meeting must have crossed my mind a hundred times. Well okay, more like a million times. Since I'm so awkward, I imagined myself tripping as I passed him on the stairs, dumping my
latte
on his immaculate shirt, or maybe dropping my papers and hitting my head against his as I tried to pick them up. Vadim Arcadi was my first love. One of those loves you never forget, even if the entire world harps at you to "Grow up, move on..."

His clear eyes examine the room and meet mine. They widen. And then nothing. They have already disappeared. A simple glance and everything comes rushing back. My breathing is like a roller coaster, my limbs are numb. I'm suffocating in this overly air-conditioned meeting room, pulling at my suit dress like a self-conscious teenager. The room is now flooded by a musky fragrance with notes of leather and rosemary. I'd know that bewitching scent anywhere: Paco Rabanne For Men. The cologne he wore when we were together, the first gift I gave him.

In an instant, I'm eighteen again. He seems different, though. I collect myself – as much as I can – and turn slightly so he's in my line of sight again. I study him, observe, examine. His wavy mass of brown hair, that I used to love to run my fingers through, is now a sensible mid-length cut with a slightly disheveled look. The rebel has made way for the image-conscious businessman. His faded gray eyes, which were always so pure, seem to have become even lighter with age. His manly jaw, always covered with stubble, is now turned completely clean-shaven. The memory of his divinely soft skin comes back to me, and a shiver runs down my lower back. His features are more defined, his body seems to have filled out and he seems taller and more assured. The Vadim from my past would never be caught dead without his old leather motorbike jacket, but the Vadim I see today is showing off his power and money in his brand new designer suit. He is very handsome. More handsome than before, if that's possible. He must have women falling at his feet. It's stupid – I haven't even said a word to him and we looked at each other for about two seconds, but I already feel a pinch of jealousy. I've never been possessive. It's not my nature. Except with him.

Let bygones be bygones, Alma...

I'm not the only one who has noticed his arrival. I can hear murmurs and whispers all around me. Standing in the corner of the room, I can't take my eyes off his impressive silhouette. A deep, cheerful voice finally bursts the bubble I'd been hiding in. Joseph Wilson, our Franco-American boss, invites us to gather around the big Plexiglas table. Clarence Miller, the distribution manager, pulls my chair out for me (always a perfect gentleman) and flashes a Colgate smile. Stiff as a board, I sit down without batting an eyelid.