BLOSSOM IN WINTER

MELANIE MARTINS

BOOK I

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Melanie Martins, LLC

www.melaniemartins.com

Copyright © Melanie Martins 2019

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrial system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of its publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar conditions being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First published in the United States by Melanie Martins, LLC in 2019.

ebook ISBN 978-1-7333564-1-1

There is a copy of this book at the Library of Congress. LCCN 2019911301

DISCLAIMER

This novel is a work of fiction written in American-English and it is only intended for mature audiences. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The opinions expressed are those of the characters and should never be confused with those of the author. This novel contains strong and explicit language, slang, graphic sexuality, some D/s dynamics, and other sensitive content.

To all of you, my dear readers.

Thank you.

“There is nothing worth living for,

unless it is worth dying for.”

- Elisabeth Elliott

PROLOGUE

Rotterdam, January 2003

Tess Hagen

“I want a divorce.”

Roy doesn’t seem surprised by my announcement. After all, our relationship has been superficial. Empty, to say the least.

“I see,” he replies quietly.

My eyes are drawn to the flames, but the crackling logs in the fireplace do nothing to dispel this cold silence that seems to mirror the harsh winter outside.

“And I bet you want fifty percent of everything I’ve worked so hard for…”

My husband lets his words trail off as he leans against the doorway of our living room, perfectly dressed in a three-piece suit like always. Despite being only thirty-eight, he already has salt-and-pepper hair and wrinkles under his eyes—probably due to the constant stress from work.

Coming from a modest family, Roy is known on Wall Street as a respectable, self-made, well-mannered gentleman and a brilliant, hardworking hedge fund manager. With a light stubble, short haircut, dark-brown eyes, and height over six feet, he’s also very charismatic—the type of man whose presence alone is intimidating.

“I don’t want your money, Roy,” I snap, before emptying my fifth glass of sauvignon blanc. “I just want to divorce you. Go to New York, go to your lovers, and leave me and my daughter alone.”

“You know that’s not possible, Tess. I refuse to leave Petra with you. And with your drinking habits, no judge will ever grant you custody.”

Consumed with hatred and rage, I throw my glass in the fire, where it shatters instantly. Then I turn to face him—hopefully for the last time. “You won’t take my daughter, Roy. Never!”

Petra was unexpected. Roy never wanted a child. He loves finance, money, and power. That’s it. He also likes women, but less than his circle of friends.

Ironically, the last thirteen months have shown how attached he is to his daughter. More than I ever expected.

I know Roy has many friends, mainly from the oldest and most powerful families in the Netherlands. With his network and connections, going against him will be a hard battle. A battle I’m not in a position to win. They will destroy me, paint an ugly reality to the judge.

And who knows if the judge would be a member of his entourage, a friend of a friend, or a close friend himself…

“Tess, let’s be rational,” he begins while moving toward me. “Let me take care of our child.” His hands hold my arms. “I’ll get her a great nanny. She’ll have the best education at the best private schools. I’ll personally make sure she visits you regularly here in Rotterdam.”

I look down, pondering his words.

“You can even keep the house. I’ll give you a generous alimony for the rest of your life. We can reach a good agreement. Beneficial for both of us and, more importantly, good for Petra.”

His voice reassures my mind, but not my heart. Tears start rolling down my face. I don’t want to let her go. New York is far. Too far. Petra is the joy of my life. My only child. My little angel, as I call her. But how can I fight against Roy Van Gatt and his multimillion-dollar lawyers? How can I fight when I’m an alcoholic who doesn’t want to get help?

I’m lost, depressed, and broken. Worst of all, I feel powerless. Totally and utterly powerless. There is no alcohol that can drown the pain of a mother losing custody of her child. But despite my unconditional love for my daughter, I know I can’t fight back.

I put my head on his shoulder and let myself cry.

CHAPTER 1

Manhattan, May 9, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

“Ms. Van Gatt! Dinner is served!” Janine calls out.

I’m sitting on my bed in a locked bedroom upstairs with Emma, Carol, and Laura—my friends and classmates from high school. Still wearing our uniforms, we’ve come straight here for a peculiar meeting.

“Dad will never let me go,” I finally admit.

“C’mon, Petra. You never go to any of my parties. It’s time to take some risks, babygirl,” argues Emma.

Even though she’s the oldest, I’m not convinced.

“Look,” she says, counting on her fingers. “You’ve never drunk alcohol, never smoked, never had a boyfriend, never disobeyed your father… Fuck, at least come to my farewell party this weekend.”

“I did drink a glass of champagne with Mom in Rotterdam.”

Carol jumps onto the bed. “Okay, but this is the party. The last one before summer, and before everyone goes to college. C’mon, Petra. Everyone will be there.”

“Just this time, please,” begs Laura.

I sigh, tired of their insistence. “Fine, I’ll ask him. But if he doesn’t let me go, I won’t argue.”

Emma huffs. “Such a daddy’s girl. Unbelievable.”

“Ms. Van Gatt, for the final time, dinner is served!”

I frown at the loud, high-pitched voice. “Coming, Janine!” I scream back. “Okay, let’s continue this conversation after dinner—otherwise, Janine will lose her temper.”

In the dining room, we find that supper is waiting for us.

“You know, you should really impose your own will sometimes…” Carol begins as Janine pours water in her glass.

“Carol,” I quickly murmur, glancing at Janine.

But Carol doesn’t seem to care. “You’re turning eighteen in December. I’m just worried about you. And I bet your mom is too.”

Emma, who’s sitting beside her, reaches out to stop Carol from going any further. “Carol, enough.”

Janine’s a lovely housekeeper, a friendly person, and a talented cook, but she’s also a very loyal employee. I know she will tell my father anything to gain a generous tip.

The only people I trust are at this table. Well, almost all of them. Because there is one more—James.

James is not only a friend but also one of the hottest guys at school. And, most importantly, very mature, especially compared to the rest of his squad. We talk about philosophy, history, and literature—all subjects I can spend hours discussing. While he’s athletic, he also likes to read and to recommend his favorite books to me. I managed to meet him once after school by pretending to be at Emma’s doing homework. It was a short date, just two hours, but it was the most exciting time I’d ever spent with a boy. My father doesn’t like James, nor his heritage. For Dad, an affluent and connected family is a key requirement for anyone wishing to hang out with me. But James’s family doesn’t make the cut—his mother, a nurse at a public hospital, works nonstop to afford his education, and his father is a pro bono lawyer. There’s no pedigree behind him, and Dad knows it.

In fact, my father believes boys are a stupid and useless distraction. That’s why he’d wanted me to remain at the Convent of the Sacred Heart, a private all-girls Catholic school nearby, which is where I studied until eighth grade and met Emma. Since she was being transferred to Loyola, a private coed school, I asked Dad if I could go with her. It was nearly impossible to convince him, as he didn’t want me studying with male students around. He’d even yelled over the phone to my mother: Having boys in the same school will only screw her education. She needs to be focused! This is the best school in New York City for her! But finally, after some tough negotiations and a bloody battle, I was allowed to transfer.

However, unlike my friends, I’m still not allowed to wear makeup—except a transparent gloss and some powder foundation—or paint my nails. Dad doesn’t like it. And while my friends are real fashionistas outside Loyola, ostentation like theirs is not tolerated. I can’t wear any designer brands either. My style must remain discreet, simple, and casual: nothing too short, too revealing, or too daring. A modern but modest lady, as my father and his entourage would say. But also, according to them, I need no extra embellishment whatsoever. With big blue eyes, wavy brown hair falling below my chest (which I usually clasp with a barrette), dark brows, full lips, a body a bit too skinny for my taste, and very fair skin, I’m described by them as a “rare kind of pure and natural beauty.” Oh, and my favorite: “an angelic creature lost in a vain and mundane world.” Yep, quite poetic.

At school, my classmates think I’m quite reserved and old-fashioned, while my teachers praise me to be mature and hardworking. But somehow, they’ve all agreed I’m the most unreadable and curious person on the planet. According to Emma, I’m a mystery to everyone, and against all odds, the most popular, hated, and desired one.

Speaking of popularity at Loyola, I often wonder how Emily Hasenfratz (or just Emma to friends) became my absolute bestie. In fact, Emma has always been the adventurous, independent, and crazy one—my opposite. Emma’s the type of girl who runs away to attend her friends’ parties in Soho while her parents are asleep, who got her first boyfriend at thirteen, tried marijuana when she turned fifteen, and got her first tattoo by sixteen. She is known as a mean bitch, or just The Bitch. But for me, she became the big sister I never had.

Emma is also very much in-your-face. She couldn’t care less about hurting people’s feelings if it means speaking her mind, which frequently gets her into trouble. The Hasenfratz family is very close to my father, and very loyal too. When I sleep over, all eyes are glued on us to avoid any potential scandal, but since Emma has always been smart enough not to get caught, her parents haven’t realized how wild and dangerous their daughter can be. And yet, despite everything so far, Emma still hasn’t managed to convince me to run away to parties, to kiss random boys, drink alcohol, or even to try a cigarette. If my father is known to have a devoted network of friends and minions at his service, I seem to be the one working the hardest to avoid his displeasure.

“So, any plans for the summer?” Laura asks in an attempt to change the subject.

“I’ll go to the Hamptons for a week and then to Italy to spend some time with my aunt. She’s got a house in Bergamo,” replies Carol.

“Yeah, I think I’m doing something similar,” Emma garbles around a mouthful of truffle oil pasta.

“What about you, Petra? Rotterdam?”

“Not sure. I have a full-time internship starting in June.”

“An internship?” Emma looks over at me, some spaghetti nearly falling from her mouth. “You didn’t tell me about that.”

“Well…” I clear my throat. “Dad suggested I spend a couple of months at his company to get some experience before I start my economics major at Columbia. It’s a paid internship, so it’s not a bad idea.”

“You’re kidding, right? Don't you want to become an artist like your mom and have your paintings exhibited all over the world?” asks Emma, confused.

“First, my mother never got any of her paintings exhibited anywhere. She’s not even a real artist to me. She just paints for leisure, to entertain herself, nothing important.” I sigh, looking down at my plate for a moment. “And if it’s to depend on my ex-husband for a living, no thank you.” Everyone stops eating, staring at me in confusion, a cold silence emerging in the room. “I still paint, but it’s just a hobby.”

“Don’t be silly,” starts Emma. “With the fortune you’ll inherit, you don’t need anyone. You can choose to do whatever you want in life.”

“Not sure if you understand the word ‘inherit,’ Emma. It means when Dad passes away. What do I do until then? I don’t have a trust like yours to spend as I please. My life is no different than anyone else’s. I’ll need to find a suitable corporate job and make my own path.”

“Ms. Van Gatt.” Janine reenters the room carrying a tasty big coconut cake from the kitchen. “What a depressing subject to entertain your guests tonight.”

“You’re right, Janine. My apologies.”

The rest of dinner proceeds in silence. While my friends are eating, I can’t stop thinking about Mom. Since the divorce sixteen years ago, Mom has never tried to make a career of painting. She doesn’t even paint for fun anymore, but instead spends her time—and alimony—traveling with friends, attending social events with an open bar, and funding some nonprofits. I've never fancied her lifestyle. In fact, I've always preferred to follow the example set by my dad, who cultivates a healthy, disciplined, and work-focused routine.

Shortly afterwards, Emma, Carol, and Laura decide to postpone our discussion until tomorrow at school.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with before I go, Miss?” Janine asks after they leave.

“No, Janine, it’s all good. Thank you for the lovely dinner.”

“Don’t you want me to stay until your father comes home?”

“No need,” I reply with a chuckle. “You know how much I love to be alone in the library.”

“Alright, then, have a great night.”

“You too, Janine.”

Ah, finally alone! I switch from my uniform to a comfortable sweater and a pair of jeans. I text Dad: Are you coming home tonight? Then I go to his office, which has an envious large library.

I pick a book, put on some jazz music, and lie on the sofa. I start to read. To me, it’s the perfect evening. With so many nights spent alone, I have developed a love affair with solitude. Reading or painting while listening to music have become my favorite hobbies.

My iPhone beeps with a reply from Dad: Will be there in a minute.

I know it won’t be in a minute. Most likely within an hour or two.

I check my WhatsApp list and realize there are only six people I text frequently—Dad, Janine, James, and the girls.

I decide to text James: Will you be at the farewell party this weekend?

He doesn’t take long to reply. Yep. You?

Maybe… Trying to convince Dad. Any advice?

Lol. It’s a dead plan. But good luck anyway.

Haha. Very reassuring.

“Good morning, Ms. Van Gatt. It’s seven a.m.” Janine flings the curtains wide open, killing the darkness of my tranquil night. “Such a beautiful and sunny morning.”

But I don’t dare to open my eyes just yet. I love sleeping and I hate mornings. In fact, I sleep so deeply that no alarm has ever worked, so Janine has become the only way to get me ready in time for school. Her sweet and musical voice makes every morning sound like a good one, no matter how cold, rainy, or ugly the day can be. I've often wondered what it’d be like to have a mother who’s here on a daily basis, and Janine seems to be the closest to what I imagine.

“Would you like to take breakfast on the terrace? Your father is waiting for you there.”

“Dad’s here?” I stand up abruptly. “Good morning, Janine.” I put on my slippers and excitedly head out to meet him.

Dad’s sitting at the breakfast table, reading The Wall Street Journal. He’s already dressed in his usual three-piece suit and just finishing his espresso.

“Good morning, Dad.” I give him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Good morning, Petra,” he replies. Noticing that I’m still in pajamas, he lets out a breath in annoyance. “How many times have I asked you not to sit at the table dressed like that?”

“I know, I know. But I need to talk to you before you go. You got home too late last night.”

“Sorry, I got overloaded at work.” Pfff, the classic reply. “But tell me”—he closes his paper—“what do you want to talk about?”

“Can I have a sleepover at Emma’s this Saturday night?”

Dad chuckles, looking awkwardly playful. “Oh, Saturday night? Hmm, isn’t it the farewell party that night?”

I roll my eyes and try to protest, “You always know everything. How did you know that?”

“Emma’s father called. He personally invited you to the party.”

“So does that mean I can go?”

“Well, he told me there will be no alcohol served, no drugs, no cigarettes, and they’ve made sure the only guests invited are mature and well-behaved. So I said I’ll think about it.”

I’m feeling as anxious as ever. “And?”

Dad sneers. “And the answer is no, Miss. I know Emma very well. She clearly paid someone to sound like her father. I’m not that stupid.”

“Emma would never do such thing.” Would she? “How can you be a hundred-percent sure it wasn’t him? Wasn’t he calling from his phone number?”

“He was. But then I called her mother, and she had no idea about the party.”

Damn, that really was Emma. “I’m sure there’s some sort of misunderstanding. Maybe Emma just spoke to her father about it…”

“Why don’t you tell me the truth? Maybe if you do, I’ll even let you go.”

It sounds like a lie, but I take the risk anyway. “Emma is hosting a party to celebrate the end of the semester Saturday night. It’s just a simple, casual, innocent party.”

“You lie even better than me. Almost believed you.”

“Dad, it’s the truth. And, let’s be honest, I’m sure if I do anything wrong, you’ll have plenty of people ready to report with pictures and videos in order to fall into your good graces.”

“Indeed. If you do anything wrong at that party, I’ll find out, Petra,” he says sternly. “Is James going?”

My heart skips a beat. “James?”

“Yes, that boy you went to the theater with instead of doing your homework at Emma’s.”

I ignore his nasty comment. “He is. But we are just friends. We’ve never done anything.”

“I know that too. You know boys are a stupid and useless distraction, don’t you? A total waste of time. You need to be focused on your upcoming internship and starting at Columbia in the fall. I don’t want to be disappointed. I graduated with honors from there. I expect you to do the same,” he repeats for the thousandth time.

“I know that. I’m totally focused, don’t worry.”

He nods and ponders a bit further. “Well, since you got the best grades in your class, I’ll let you go—”

“Thank you, Dad!” I immediately interject.

“—for two hours!”

“What? I can’t even stay at her house?”

“Don’t ask too much, young lady. I’ll have Anthony pick you up at midnight sharp.”

Located at the corner of Eighty-Third Street and Park Avenue, Loyola is walking distance from home, no longer than twenty minutes straight on the sidewalk. And yet, Dad has always insisted that either Janine or one of his drivers brings me to school.

The first class of the day is English. I love English class. It’s one of the few I have with Emma. We always sit beside each other. Can’t wait to tell her the good news.

“Hey, babygirl,” Emma greets from her seat. But I smile timidly at James first—he is right behind us.

“Hi, Emma.” I sit beside her.

I can feel everyone staring and commenting about my smile and unusually good mood.

“So? Are you coming to the party tomorrow night?”

I nod, victorious. “I have to leave at midnight, so you better start early.”

“You go, girl!” Emma holds me tight in her arms.

“Emma, I can’t breathe. Stop hugging me like that.”

“Hey, folks! Petra is coming to the paaaaartyyy!” she screams while everyone’s waiting for Ms. Williams.

The class starts applauding, laughing, making strange noises, and in the back, some unpleasant comments emerge. “Looks like Ms. Virgin is going,” I hear someone sniggering. “Finally, Ms. Prudish is doing something with her life.”

“No way. Are you seriously coming?” asks James, taken aback. But I don’t reply; I feel so humiliated by Emma’s behavior. Sometimes Emma’s too much to handle.

I lean closer to her and lower my voice. “Are you on drugs? That’s confidential.”

“Oh, relax, babygirl. I got everything under control.” Then she whispers, “My parents are going away for the weekend. Believe me, we’re gonna have sooo much fun. I managed to disconnect the video cams so they’ll never find out what we do there. And no smartphones are allowed at the party.” She narrows her eyes, her lips twitching into a sly smile. “You and James will have a good time…”

I gasp and hit her arm playfully. “Stop it, Emma. You’re freaking me out like that. I promised Dad I wouldn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, I know… But we only live once, right?”

James

The sharp song of the school bell happily announces the end of the semester. Petra has her driver waiting outside, as always. And while the majority of students are going out to celebrate, others have far more important things to do, like me and my buddies who’re heading downtown to a very private meeting.

We usually go to the cafeteria or library to discuss, but this time, since it’s a special reunion, we’ve decided to meet at an unpretentious and discreet restaurant, far from Loyola and our respective houses. We’ve even removed our jackets in order to not be recognized by our uniform badge.

“Well, gents,” starts Fred, the oldest one and captain of our football team. “We’ve got an amazing party ahead. And looks like the Van Gatt is coming…”

We all snigger.

“James, she likes you, right?”

“I don’t know, bro. We just went out once, and we didn’t even kiss… That chick is fucking weird.”

“If you had a father like hers, believe me, you wouldn’t even look at girls,” adds Kevin. “I heard he hired private detectives and spies to follow her. Even the staff at school is paid to report to him.”

“Rumors, Kevin. Those are just rumors,” I protest.

But Kevin seems to know all the gossip better than anyone else. “I don’t think so, James. You know, she only came to Loyola because her mother intervened.”

“Guys,” Fred interrupts. “Petra Van Gatt and Emma Hasenfratz are the wealthiest girls at Loyola, and they’re best friends. We can make a lot of money from both of them.”

I slyly raise my eyebrows. “Emma said there will be no cams and no smartphones allowed… What are you thinking?”

By the smile on his face, it looks like Fred has got a plan. “I’m gonna help Emma prepare for the party tomorrow afternoon, and I’ll hide an iPhone in the bathroom. During the party, James will bring Petra to one of the bedrooms, and hopefully she’ll already be sloshed. Kevin, you’ll go to the bathroom, grab the iPhone, turn it on, and hide it in your pocket, then you’ll discreetly open the door and record James with Petra lying on the bed, maybe already half naked, kissing each other, and more if we’re lucky. Once you’ve got the video, you send it to our WhatsApp group. Simple, right?”

“What are you gonna do with that video?” I ask, perplexed.

“Blackmail the ladies, of course.”

“What! Are you kidding? I’m out, bro. That’s insane,” I snap.

“Look, we can ask for three hundred thousand dollars as blackmail. One hundred thousand in easy money for each of us.” Kevin and I glance at each other. “Fuck, just for a simple video of you and that chick kissing. Not bad, right?” But I’m not convinced and shake my head. “Oh, c’mon! Don’t tell me you can’t do it.”

Seeing the hesitant look on our faces, Fred puts his hands on Kevin and me, bringing us closer to him. “Guys, Emma told us this is the last party she’ll have before going to Europe. It’s our last shot.”

Manhattan, May 11, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

For my friends, Saturday is all about going to designer boutiques, coffee shops, and spas. For me, though, it means precisely the opposite. Hidden in my private atelier, I’m painting while listening to some old vinyl records from the fifties that I’d found in Dad’s library. “Ain’t We Got Fun” by Peggy Lee is playing. I sing along happily, knowing the lyrics by heart. I’m casual, dressed in my favorite large white shirt, my usual barrette keeping my hair out of my face, and a pair of comfortable jeans already stained with oil paint.

Janine knocks. “Ms. Van Gatt.”

I turn off the vinyl, then unlock and open the door just enough to talk to her. “Yes, Janine?”

“It’s time to get ready for the party, Miss.”

“Oh, right. Time flies here. What should I wear? A dress? Jeans? A skirt?”

“A dress, Miss,” Janine replies excitedly. “I can't remember the last time I saw you wearing one.”

“Well, Janine, I’m not even sure if I have one to begin with.”

“Of course you do. It’s waiting for you.”

“Really?”

“Come with me.” Janine drags me by the hand to my dressing room. There I find a vintage navy-blue dress, sleeveless and with a scoop neck, hanging in my closet. It looks long enough for my taste.

“It’s perfect.” I hug her tightly, my eyes sparkling. “Thank you, Janine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss. You’ll look stunning.”

I continue to admire the wonderful gift.

“Would you like me to wake you up tomorrow morning?” she asks just before leaving the room.

“Yes, please. I’m planning to have brunch with Emma at eleven o’clock, so kindly wake me up around ten.”

“Certainly.”

“Wish me luck.”

Janine chuckles. “There is no need, Miss. You already have it.”

CHAPTER 2

Hudson Valley, May 11, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

If there’s one thing Ms. Hasenfratz is known for in New York, especially among college students and young spoiled brats, it’s throwing the most amazing and exclusive parties. Her parents usually go on a weekend getaway once a month, leaving her at their big estate in the Hudson Valley all to herself. Indeed, Emma lives forty-five minutes from Manhattan. As long as no scandals hit the news on Monday morning, Emma believes that she can do, in theory, whatever she wants. Her parties have therefore become a much-anticipated monthly event.

Emma prides herself on keeping a strict guest list, creating an irresistible desire to attend for outsiders. But not even in her parents’ wildest dreams would they imagine that their daughter is also known to drag the best drugs in town to her parties.

Despite Emma’s denial, some rumors say she has already sold her body for cocaine. But who knows for sure? Rumors are rumors.

However, this party will be a very special one. Every guest will be checked at the entrance, their smartphones taken, and no one can bring any alcohol or drugs. Security has also been reinforced. After all, it’s not every day that I’ll be attending.

Emma once admitted that she’s always found my reserved and introverted nature fascinating. Weirdly enough (or not), we’ve always been the opposite in everything. While she loves sports, mainly baseball, I love arts and literature. Emma likes noise and people. Me? Silence and solitude.

When someone asks how we can remain friends with such opposed characters, Emma always replies, “In our differences lies our strength.” It even became her life motto—and the first tattoo on her left inner forearm. Emma loves tattoos, but she has to hide them due to the strict dress code policy at school.

Plus, let’s face it, being an only child, Ms. Hasenfratz is spoiled—very spoiled. Her parents have never said no to her desires. Except once when she wanted a nose piercing, which she ultimately did anyway. But, unlike me, Emma’s never gotten good grades. Her parents are known for making generous donations to the school, thus keeping everyone supportive of her continued attendance. In fact, what Emma loves the most is partying—this is her stage, her reign, and she is the queen.

We finally reach the front entrance to her house.

Looking out, it feels like everyone is staring. They probably never thought I’d truly make it.

One of the security guards opens my door. “Good evening, Ms. Van Gatt. Welcome to the farewell party.”

“Thank you,” I reply, getting out of the car.

“As you may know, the rules for this event stipulate that we need to take your phone. You’ll get it back once you leave.” I hand the security guard my iPhone and am ushered into Emma’s house.

I’m wearing the cocktail dress Janine found for me, along with stilettos for the first time, and guess what? I even put some more makeup on!

“Look at her dress, so insipid and dated just like her,” I hear in the background.

But I can’t blame them. After all, what is “Loyola’s most mysterious and introverted girl”—yes, that’s how they described me once in the school paper—doing at such a wild party?

“Babygirl, finally! Can’t believe you made it!” Emma screams, coming toward me, her arms wide open.

“I know! It’s crazy to be here!” We hug each other tightly, as we always do.

“Wow! Are you going to the prom or what? You look like a virgin from the fifties. Is this all for James?” Emma finds herself amusing, but me not so much. “I’m joking. You look gorgeous.” She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek. “You smell fucking good.” But looks like it was enough to catch my new jasmine fragrance. “Come with me, I’ve got something for you…”

She drags me by the hand, and we go to a quiet corner where no one can see us.

Emma opens her clutch and takes something from it.

“A joint? Emma, you know perfectly well I don’t smoke.”

“Oh, c’mon! A joint is nothing. You need to enjoy. This is your first party, after all.”

“No, really. Stop.” I reach her hand before she can light it up. “Don’t smoke it near me. You know if Dad finds out, I will get in trouble.”

“Pfff, fine. Always so strict. Anyway, what do you want to drink?”

“Hmm… Do you have orange juice?”

Emma guffaws and hugs me tightly again. “Of course, babygirl. Orange juice. I’ll find you some.”

While Emma heads off, I size up the party. There are already over two hundred guests spread out from the living room to the terrace and pool area—probably the biggest party Emma’s ever hosted. The DJ’s now playing a famous R&B song and the crowd becomes euphoric. Some people have been pushed into the pool, along with an inflatable unicorn. Three girls who are clearly wasted scream out loudly before splashing in the water. Two other guys are starting a fight for no apparent reason. On the other side of the terrace, I can see a group, including Carol and Laura, who are having a heated contest involving tequila shots. The loser has to strip naked before jumping into the pool. And, understandably, not a single smartphone to record it. I barely know anyone here, and while I try to remain as friendly as possible, I've never felt like the subject of so much gossip. My dress seems to be the biggest talking point of the night. Looking around, I understand why—all the girls are wearing shorts, miniskirts, bikinis, or even tiny dresses that just cover their butts.

Ah, finally! Emma, a cigarette between her lips, comes back to the terrace holding two glasses.

“What is it?”

“Well, orange juice. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

I start to drink but frown at the taste. “Are you sure?”

“Not really,” she replies with a malefic grin and a wink. Not reassuring! “Enjoy your life, babygirl!” She gives me another quick smooch on the cheek. “Oh! Look who’s here.”

I discreetly follow her stare.

“James,” I gape. “I’m not sure if I can do it.” My heart begins thundering nervously fast. I decide to drink half the glass at once.

“Of course you can. He likes you. You like him. It’s all good. Fred told me James came here only to be with you. C’mon, just talk to him and see.” She turns me around, pushing me toward him.

I’m speechless. I want to run far, far away from him. James’s wearing a slim white shirt, making his biceps even more prominent, tight jeans, and matching sneakers. He looks so cute! He gazes at me and smiles. I smile back, my cheeks flushing.

I reach out to Emma again. “Emma, please start talking to me so it looks like we’re engrossed in conversation. I think James is coming over here.”

“How old are you, babe? Seriously, you’re nearly eighteen, and yet you behave like a twelve-year-old.” She looks over my shoulder. “Hi, James.”

“Hi, Emma. Nice party!”

“Thanks. Petra wants to speak with you. She thinks you look very hot tonight.”

I can’t believe it! WTF, Emma? “Emma, stop.”

But James smiles, obviously flattered.

A hand on my shoulder, Emma leans over to whisper to me, “He’s all yours. Have fun.”

Oh God! I finish my drink and give her my empty glass before she leaves.

“I never thought you’d come,” he begins while moving closer to me, hands in pockets. “Honestly, I’m impressed.”

“I thought I’d never come either,” I reply, the nerves flowing through my veins.

“Is this your first party at Emma’s house?”

“Without my dad or her parents around, yes.”

“Damn. Why is your dad so overprotective?”

I laugh as I try to think of an answer. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s scared of what he can’t control.”

“Well,” he says, his eyes lost in mine, “if I had such a beautiful daughter, I might also be crazy-protective.” I smile, speechless, and lower my gaze. “Would you like to walk around the gardens?”

“That would be great.”

He offers me his hand. I gladly accept, and, walking hand in hand, we slip away from the party, the stares, and all the noise.

After strolling around for a couple of minutes, his words finally break our silence. “I heard you won't be joining the girls for their annual vacations…”

“Indeed. I’ve got an internship starting next month.”

“So it’s true? You’re really gonna work until you start Columbia?”

“Well, yes, as an intern, but it’s a paid job.”

His lips twitch into a smirk. “Of course, at Gatt-Dieren Capital, right?”

I frown at his tone. “Right...”

“Oh. That’s not work, then.”

“Why not?”

He chuckles. “Let’s be honest, your dad just got you this job to keep an eye on you.” I ponder his words as he slows down his pace. “You know, Emma and her friends have never worked with their parents. They know working with family only brings trouble.”

“Well, technically I’ll be working for him. But I’ll be part of a group with other interns, and we’ll have a supervising manager. Dad won’t be around.”

“Will your supervising manager know who you are?”

“You mean, will he know I’m Roy’s daughter?” He nods. “Hmm, I guess so… Should I fake my last name?”

“If you want him to treat you as an equal among your peers, yeah. Otherwise he’ll treat you differently.” He sniggers. “Just like a little princess.”

“You’re right. I don’t want that. I want to use this opportunity to get experience, start making my own money and career.”

“And here we go, Ms. Van Gatt sounding so annoyingly mature.” I giggle, shaking my head. “Seriously, though, don’t you ever think about having some fun?”

We stop walking. We are already a fair distance from the party, immersed in the vast garden, lit just with some mellow lights and the stars above.

“But I am having fun,” I reply, my voice soft.

He takes me in his arms and looks steadily in my eyes. “Last time we met, you left quite abruptly from the theater.” I smile, lost in his closeness. “If I remember correctly, we didn’t even have time for a kiss.” He gently moves some of the strands of hair covering my face, probably because of the breeze, and with his hands holding my cheeks, he slowly bends down to touch my lips, giving me a slow, tender kiss. I can’t help but blush—it’s the first time someone has kissed me on the mouth! I close my eyes, reveling in his touch and smell. My mind is bouncing in excitement. I kiss him back, longer this time. Then we embrace each other, my heart melting from our first kiss. I did it! We kissed!

“I’d like to show you something,” he whispers, taking me by the hand. “It’s a surprise.”

I feel light-headed, flying like a butterfly. I love surprises! We walk in silence back to the house and finally reach the door of a guest bedroom.

“You’ve got to close your eyes first,” he instructs.

I do so.

He opens the door and escorts me inside. “Okay, now you can open them.”

The entire room is lit with candles, rose petals have been scattered everywhere, and a bossa nova soundtrack is crooning in the background.

“Oh, James,” I gasp, my heart pounding so loud and hard. “It’s wonderful!” I kiss him again.

As we head to the bed, he continues kissing me and helps me lie down. With our excitement growing with every breath, he starts to unbutton his shirt, and I find myself helping him to strip it off. He knows I won’t do more than cuddles and kisses, but even so, it’s still a big milestone for me.

Emma Hasenfratz

I’ve just gotten a phone call I don’t like at all. It’s from my security. Alert code “intrusion” has been activated. My mind’s going wild, and I’m feeling fucking betrayed. Why can’t everyone simply follow the rules of this party? I’m currently winning the tequila contest against Fred and have managed to drink over ten shots. A record so far! But I’ve got to excuse myself and leave the terrace with a fake smile. I run inside the house, flying through the corridors but keeping quiet so not to be heard. I’m glad to see two of my security guards already there waiting for me, hidden near the wall of the guest bedroom. When they see me arriving, they nod at each other as a signal.

“Don’t move! Drop the phone now,” screams one of them, pulling his gun out.

Jerk Number One, aka Kevin, drops his iPhone in shock and puts his hands in the air. I grab it from the floor and find exactly what I expected.

Enraged, I step right into the bedroom, turning on the lights. “Sorry to bother you, babygirl, but James is a fucking asshole!”

Jerk Number Two, James, is already shirtless on top of my bestie, devouring her mouth, their faces sweaty, her hair messy. They stop immediately at the sound of my voice.

She pushes him aside instantly. “Emma! What do you mean?”

I lift the iPhone and play the video for both of them.

Petra gasps and covers her mouth in disgust. The video is five minutes long, explicitly showing everything they’ve done so far.

“How did you get this?”

One of the security guards brings Kevin inside.

“Unfortunately, I believe Kevin, James, and Fred are in this together,” I reply.

“We’ve already apprehended Fred, Ms. Hasenfratz. One of our guards has him. Carol and Laura are also on their way to take care of Ms. Van Gatt.”

“Perfect, thank you. Take James to the basement and tie him to a chair.”

“Yes, Miss,” replies the security guard, moving toward him.

“Don’t touch me! Emma, I can explain,” shouts James as he’s led by force out of the bedroom. “Please, Emma! Please!”

“Emma, what are you gonna do?” asks Petra.

“Ah! Here you are, Fred.” I cross my arms at the sight of Jerk Number Three. Brought in by another guard, his hands are already tied behind his back. “So, I believe you are the mastermind behind this little operation, aren’t you? But the real question is why? Let me guess… Jealousy? Money? Revenge?” But Fred remains mute, his stare absent and cold. Kevin too. I have to scare them. “Your little friend James is already tied down to a chair in my basement. He’ll be bleeding very soon…” The duo starts to tremble but don’t say a word. Jeez! I’m getting fucking impatient with their little game. “Aright, folks, if you don’t tell me the truth, I swear I’ll make sure your bodies get flogged like Jesus Christ on the cross!”

Fred keeps quiet, but Kevin starts to crack. “Please, Emma, don’t beat me. It was all Fred’s idea. He wanted to blackmail you and the Van Gatt for money… Please don’t hurt me. I swear that’s the truth,” he finally fesses up.

“For how much?” I ask, intrigued.

Kevin swallows hard, looking down. “Three hundred thousand dollars,” he mumbles.

Babygirl remains sitting on the bed, her face frozen. I can see her blue eyes watering and her little heart wounded by what she just heard. Oh boy. It really hurts me to see her like this.

“Wow. So you thought humiliating my bestie during her very first romantic encounter would be worth making a few bucks, huh?” I nod thoughtfully. “Very well. Take them all to the fucking basement!”

“Please, Emma,” interrupts Fred. “Kevin told the truth. You already have the phone. I promise there are no other copies of the video. Please don’t hurt us. We’ll disappear from your lives and do no harm.”

I finally sight my girls stepping into the room. “Ah, Laura, Carol, please take Petra back to the party. She has been absent for too long. I don’t want rumors to spread.” Then I look back at my security guards. “Get these two jerks out of here.”

“So you really thought you could blackmail us, huh? You fucking bastard!”

James has been tied down to a chair, shirtless, and already bears some red-and-blue bruises from where I’ve been hitting him with my baseball bat. I never allow my temper to come out, but this time, and with the help of tequila shots, I snapped and I’ve got an uncontrollable urge to make an example of him and his squad. Heck, he’s crying, sobbing, begging me to stop. But no one can hear him. The basement is too far from the party.

“Emma, enough!” I hear screaming from behind me.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Petra?”

She glares at me in horror. “Are you crazy? Enough! You’re gonna kill him!”

“Oh c’mon, I just hit him a few times. Don’t exaggerate,” I protest, before dropping the bat.

I grab James by the hair, pushing his head back. “No one messes with my friends, are we fucking clear?”

“Clear, Emma, clear,” he replies, his voice broken and body shaking.

“That’s Ms. Hasenfratz, you poor fool!”

“Clear, Ms. Hasenfratz, clear.”

I call my security guards. “You guys can release him and escort him back to his tiny apartment, God knows where.”

They untie James and drag him away.

Babygirl keeps reproaching me with her stare. “Petra, I’m sorry for all of this. But I can’t stand jerks like him.”

“You didn’t need to be so violent,” she rebukes.

“He deserved to be taught a lesson,” I snap back. “In a week he’ll be fine.”

She sighs in annoyance, head shaking. I hold her by the arms and look straight into her eyes. “Petra, we are best friends. Don’t tell me you’re gonna be mad at me just because I wanted to protect you?”

“I know we are. But you’re nuts sometimes.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine,” I spit out, crossing my arms. “Next time, I’ll just kick him in the balls.”

We burst into laughter. There is nothing better than hearing her giggling after this incident.

She glances quickly at her watch. “I have to go, it’s getting late. My driver will be outside in a minute. Do you still want to meet tomorrow for brunch?”

“Of course.” We hug each other longer than usual but always so tight. “I’ll always have your back, babygirl,” I whisper in her ear.

“I know you will,” she murmurs.

Manhattan, May 12, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

Dad was right. James was not worth it. At the first opportunity, he betrayed me for money. I feel so stupid. Even naive. I’ve been so careful and selective, and yet I’ve fallen for the wrong guy. He was cute, attentive, and had a good reputation. How could he do such a thing to me? Dad was right from the beginning: boys are a useless distraction and not worthy of my time. I’m so heartbroken that I want to cry, but I can’t. Anthony, his driver, could see my reaction and report it. I’m definitely not in the mood to be questioned about my tears.

“Here we are, Miss,” he announces, dropping me off at the entrance of my building.

“Many thanks, Anthony. Have a great night.”

Entering into the entryway of the house, I remove my shoes to remain noiseless and head to my bedroom.

Oh God, I can’t believe I gave him my first kiss. I’m wounded, disappointed, but also quite relieved we did nothing more than kiss. I can still feel where his warm hands caressed me, and it sends a chill down my entire spine. Yuck! The thought of his mouth now feels so repulsive that I shiver. I take off my dress, remove all my makeup, and get into the shower. I want nothing more than to get rid of his smell. Afterward, I light a fire in the living room. Once the fireplace is burning brightly, I take the dress I was wearing and throw it inside, hoping somehow it’ll extinguish his memory once and for all.

“Good morning, Miss. It’s ten a.m.” Janine spreads the curtains wide, her voice always so sweet and welcoming. “We are lucky; today the sun is even stronger. You should definitely go outside and get a tan.”

“Hmm…”

“Ms. Van Gatt, kindly wake up. Don’t forget you have brunch at eleven o’clock.”

I sigh, timidly open my eyes, and pull back the blanket. “Alright, alright…” After some hesitation, I finally stand up. “Good morning, Janine.”

She stares strangely at me. “So?”

“So what?” I ask.

“How was the party?”

“It was fine, thank you.”

“Just fine?”

“Yeah. Disappointing,” I add, keeping it short.

“Oh, I see…” Janine doesn’t ask further. “By the way, your father would like to talk to you. He’s in his office.”

My heart skips a beat.

Office talk means serious talk. What can Dad possibly want to discuss? I just hope no one has spoken to him about last night’s incident. How can he already know anyway? Did he really send some spy to the party? Did Fred, Kevin, and James talk to him? I take a deep breath, trying to calm down, but my heart is already racing with anxiety and fear. Nevertheless, I head to his office, ready to face my demons. You got this, Petra. It’s all good.

The door is closed. Not a good sign.

I knock.

“Come in,” he orders icily.

“Hi, Dad.” I quietly step inside, putting on my most angelic and innocent face.

“Ah, Petra. There you are. I need to talk to you. It’s very urgent.”

This is it. My last minute on earth. He knows everything! “Sure. What is it?”

“Please close the door and have a seat.” His face remains rigid. I swallow hard. “Well, as you might know, I’m turning fifty-five in four days.” Nope, I didn’t remember. “Therefore, I’m hosting a dinner gala this Thursday evening at Gotham Hall. Everyone will be there. Hedge fund managers, bankers, stakeholders, government officials, even the media. We’re expecting around seven hundred guests. I need you to be present.”

“What? Dad, you know I hate your dinners and parties full of old folks and kiss-asses.”

“Watch your mouth, young lady.”

“And what about my panic attacks?”

Dad lets out a sigh. After all, he knows perfectly well that it has never been easy for me to attend his social events. Every time I do, it’s an agonizing experience, a painful personal challenge, and a huge mental effort to prevent panic from setting in.

I was eight when I suffered my very first attack. It was at a Christmas dinner organized by his company. The event had gathered over five hundred guests, including journalists, photographers, investors, family members, politicians, and more. After being in the room for one hour constantly stared at, interrogated, photographed, and forced to fake smiles, my heart accelerated briskly, like it could explode at any moment. Breathing became harder and harder until I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I ran away to the restroom. I cried, locked in one of the stalls, and threw up. Later on, I was diagnosed with agoraphobia—the fear of crowds and of feeling trapped, helpless, and embarrassed among strangers. Since then, I’ve been under medication and therapy, and my father has never insisted on having me at his social events ever again—his birthdays either.

“You can bring Emma with you; she loves attending parties.”

“Emma’s presence is mandatory,” I assert. “But I have one more condition…”

He raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “And what is it?”

“Can I skip the dinner and just stop by when it’s over? Like, just for the picture?”

“Hmm… Promise me you’ll really attend. I want at least one photo with you. Can you do that for me?”

“I guess so.”

“Perfect. I’ll have a limo pick you up at ten p.m., then.”

I roll my eyes. I hate limos. “Deal. But Emma comes with me,” I remind him before standing up and making my way out.

“Oh, by the way...” Crap! I turn around to face him. “I forgot to ask, how was the party?”

“The party was… great.”

“Perfect. Glad you enjoyed it. See you later.”

Every Sunday, Emma and I meet at eleven o’clock sharp for our brunch at the St. Regis, just off Fifth Avenue. It’s a ritual we cherish dearly.

While most New Yorkers go to the trendiest restaurants for brunch, we prefer the ones served in hotels, as they usually feature a more international clientele rather than a local one. After all, hotels provide more privacy, and we are far less likely to be accosted by local acquaintances, bloggers, reporters, or hangers-on. Emma’s already at our table, drinking black coffee, when I arrive. As usual, she looks so incredibly fashionable, sporting a large Gucci T-shirt and a fine black choker necklace; her mid-length black hair and bangs are also perfectly styled. My eyes keep darting down to my own outfit. I feel, as always, underdressed in a plain light-blue shirt, skinny jeans, flats, and my usual barrette.

“Hey, babygirl.”

“Hi, Emma. How are you? You look wonderful,” I reply, sitting in front of her.

“Alright, alright... What do you want?”

“Nothing. I just think you look great.”

“I always look great, darling, so what is this about?”

“Oh gosh, you know me too well.” Emma smiles. “I need you to come with me to a party Thursday evening.”

“Yeah, right. Your parties are not really my thing, babygirl.”

“Actually, it’s Dad’s birthday party. I need to go, but I can’t make it without you.”

“What? Ha ha. Your dad is definitely not someone I…” She looks down at her coffee, trying to find the right words. “He’s not someone I particularly get along with,” she finally finishes.

“I know, but he’s inviting half of Manhattan, media included. It’s a gala dinner at Gotham Hall, and unfortunately I need to go.”

“Oh boy. Gotham Hall? That’s gonna be huge, then. What about your panic attacks? Are you gonna be alright?”

“I’m just going there for a few minutes to say hi and leave. But I need you with me, Emma. I can’t do it alone.”

Emma has never liked my father and his overprotective, strict, rigid behavior, but I know I’m too dear to her heart. She folds her arms and ponders for a moment, just enough to create her usual suspense. “Well, what wouldn’t I do for my babygirl?” My face instantly glows with a big grin. “But promise me we’re there for half an hour max.”

CHAPTER 3

Manhattan, May 16, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

My heart starts racing as the limo drops us right in front of the main entrance to Gotham Hall. The venue is so spacious that it can hold up to fourteen hundred people. My father has rented it for several events over the years, but this one will be the very first I am attending.

We’re welcomed with a red carpet covering the grand marble stairs up to the door. After giving our names, we go to the first floor leading to the ballroom.

Everyone looks quite posh and glamorous. The gentlemen are either wearing a three-piece suit or a tux, while the ladies are in long gowns paired with overpriced glittering jewelry and extravagant hairstyles. I feel invisible with my simple fit-and-flare black dress and matching heels—which is honestly a good thing. I forgot to wear the white pearls my father once gave me. But I couldn’t care less about this event anyway.

Standing with Emma by the entrance, I start looking around to find Dad, but there are at least forty tables spread across the dark ballroom and something like four hundred guests sitting and two hundred standing. I don’t recognize anyone. The music is festive and a remix from the fifties, “Gotta Find a New World” by Al Green, is playing. The crowd looks enchanted. Couples are dancing as the waiters mingle among the guests with flutes of champagne. And photographers are flashing their lenses towards everyone and anyone—especially those standing in dark corners.

“Here we are, babygirl. Hmm…” Emma scans the room for her next prey, just like in a hunt. “Too many old men here. Where are the cute executives? Oh! Look that guy over there.”

I couldn’t care less but I pretend I do. “Where?”

“Between the blonde and the brunette at the table on the left.”

“I don’t see any guy there. Just women…”

Behind us amid the giddy female laughter, there is a particular masculine voice that sounds familiar. My ears perk up instinctively. I know this voice! I shut my eyes for an instant, walking down my memory lane. It’s a voice from my childhood, but who? Nevertheless, with so much noise interfering, it’s way too hard to remember. I reopen my eyes and try once more to find Dad for the infamous picture.

But the voice comes back and persists. This time louder and giving me goose bumps. I turn around, trying to put a face to that voice once and for all. To my surprise, all I can see are the rears of three women standing beside the marble stairs in front of him. After walking a bit to my left, finally his figure emerges...

I gasp and blink twice to be sure I’m wide-awake. “Alex?” I mumble.

“Who?” Emma asks.

“Nothing.” I turn back at her voice. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“No, that’s fine. I can manage.”

But I’m not getting a drink. I cross the entire ballroom, take the door on my left, and head back to the entrance to check once more. It cannot be him. But the voice, the face…

My heartbeat starts pounding faster with every step. The closer I get to the entrance, the louder I can hear the laughs of those women.

I’m now close enough to see.

What? Is he really back?

My jaw drops at the sight of him, and I find my eyes blinking faster than they should.

Wow. I realize I haven’t seen him in ten years!

Alexander Van Dieren is standing near the marble stairs surrounded by attentive ladies. Sporting a tailor-made black tux, he looks even better than I recall. Unbelievable. It’s really him. I don’t remember him being so lean, his shoulders so wide, and tall—well over six feet. However, I do remember his sharp, stubbled jawline, his charismatic presence, and his rugged appearance. His smile hasn’t changed either—always so charming and rare. His stare is mysterious and piercing as always, and with those irresistible blue eyes, he’s hard to forget. In fact, he’s the only man I know with the same eye color as me. His mid-length hair has retained its brown sheen, still so thick, dense, a bit wavy and wild. I remember how his girlfriends loved to play with it, brushing some strands to the sides or behind.

His face has a healthy hue, looking tanned like Dad’s. I, on the other hand, have always been the fairest of the family, “like snow white,” they would joke.

I feel my eyes watering from staring for so long, my heart thundering, and my stomach burning. He really is back. That’s why Dad wanted me here. To surprise me, I think with a smile.

Mr. Van Dieren is Dad’s best friend, utmost confidant, and business partner. Oh, and he’s also my godfather. Although he’s fifteen years younger than Dad, they are both inseparable, just like brothers. They met twenty years ago when Dad was one of the portfolio managers at the Van Dieren’s family office in the Netherlands. And since Alex had always wanted to make a name for himself, away from his family business, they decided to join forces and start their very own investment firm: Gatt-Dieren Capital, with offices in New York and Amsterdam.

I spent a big part of my childhood with him. We used to go to the lakes in Central Park to feed ducks and swans, to the beach in the Hamptons to build sandcastles, and to Aspen to ski. In fact, he even taught me how to ride my first pony. I was pretty scared of ponies and heights at the time. Oh boy. He was so caring, supportive, patient, and funny. When it rained, we’d watch cartoons while eating marshmallows until late. I mean, I would be eating the marshmallows; Alex doesn’t like sweets. He was also present the very first time I ever painted.

But all of a sudden, when I was seven, Alex got a new girlfriend—Amanda Parker. And from that moment on, he didn’t come back to play with me. When I finished my first painting, I was so proud. I wanted to give it to him and show him how talented I was. But he never came back to pick up his gift.

Days passed, then weeks, and ultimately months, and it was like he’d gone from my life forever. I would often ask Dad about him. Did I do something to upset him? Do you know if Alex will come back? Dad just said Alex had some personal obligations and had returned to the Netherlands.

But Alex never wrote or even called. I can still remember the terrible sadness and pain I endured when he left, feeling so empty, so betrayed. After all, what kind of godfather disappears like that?

I feel tears coursing down my face, just like when I turned eight and he didn’t come to my birthday. I dry them quickly and look for a restroom nearby. I’ll leave the party right after I freshen up.

“Ah, Petra! Finally, here you are,” shouts Dad. “I would love to reintroduce you to someone you haven’t seen for ages.”

“Dad, thank you, but I’m very busy now.” There is no way I’d meet him again. He’s dead, buried, and well gone.

“Such nonsense," he protests, holding my arms, but I refuse and free myself.

“I have to go to the bathroom. I’m sorry.” And in a fraction of a second, I disappear from his sight, running away.

In the ladies’ restroom, I’m finally alone. Yes, totally alone. Phew! Solitude is such a good friend. I glance at my face in the mirror. I’m pale, white like a ghost. I open my clutch but realize I only have gloss in it, and no medicine whatsoever. I should have listened to Janine. I take a seat in the chair next to the sinks, and breathe.

“Hello, babygirl!” Emma steps in with a big grin on her face. She stands in front of the mirror, adjusting her dress and push-up bra. “You have no idea who your daddy just introduced me to.” I ignore her. “The hottest man alive. Seriously, that Dutch man is so hot. Have you seen him? With that sun-kissed skin, and his smell? His scent would drive any woman crazy. Can’t believe Roy has such a hottie friend. What’s wrong, Petra? You look pale. Are you alright?”

“Hmm… I’m not feeling that well.”

“A panic attack? Now that I was finally having fun? You need to chill, girl. Did you take your medicine?” I shake my head. “You know what? You need to meet that hottie. From what I understand, he just moved from Amsterdam and is separated,” she adds while applying some blush. “He’ll need some company here in New York. Can I hit on him, or do you want him for yourself? I mean, no offense, babygirl, but he needs a confident, strong, and experienced woman with whom he can have some fun, you know. And you are not really… well… the right fit.”

I couldn’t care any less. I just want to be alone in this goddamn bathroom. “He’s all yours, Emma. I have no interest to even see him.”

“Okay, great. Problem solved.” She closes her makeup palette, triumphant. “Now, why are you so pale? Do you want me to call a doctor? Janine maybe? Do you want water? Some blush?”

“No, that’s fine. I’m gonna go home and rest.”

“Alright, alright…” Emma mumbles while styling her hair once more. “Don’t worry, babygirl, it’ll pass.” She checks the overall look and shape of her dress. “Well, I have a man to catch. Laters.” And, satisfied, she leaves.

I heave a sigh of relief. Emma talks way too much. In silence, I’m finally breathing again. I look at my pale, skinny figure in the mirror, splash some fresh water on my face, take a deep breath, and remain there for five more minutes, savoring the precious quiet, before facing my worst enemy—the crowd. A crowd like tonight is hell on earth to me. From the loud music, hypocritical people, and fake smiles to the judgmental stares, irritating laughter, and nasty comments behind my back... Argh! I can’t stand it any longer. My head feels like exploding. Probably a headache. I have to go home. After all, no one will be there to bother or force me to meet people I don’t want to. People like Alex, who disappears for ten years without saying a word.

Making a quick exit, I head to the front entrance and find a black executive Mercedes S-Class with a driver waiting outside. Such luck. I race down the stairs, greet the man who opens the rear door, and hasten to sit before anyone can see me. He closes the door behind me and sits in front. “Five-Fifteen Park Avenue, please,” I instruct. Finally inside! I made it! I heave a sigh of relief, but suddenly hear the rear door from the other side opening.

“Ms. Van Gatt?”

“Mr. Van Dieren?” I gasp before swallowing hard. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it was your driver. I’ll take another one.” Looking a bit farther, I can see that Alex is alone. Where’s Emma?

“Nonsense, kindly stay.” He gets in and sits beside me. I can smell his perfume quite sharply. Damn. It’s exactly the same from my childhood. “Same destination for me, please.”

And before I can open my door, it locks automatically and the car starts moving. Shit.

“It’s been such a long time. You look”—he checks me out from top to bottom—“well… different.”

“Ten years,” I snap.

He annoyingly smiles. “Such a grown-up now. I bet you don’t watch cartoons anymore.”

Ha ha, so funny. “Indeed I don’t. I’m into reading, riding horses, and painting.” I’m so mad at him, but keep the conversation polite nevertheless. “What brought you to New York? Dad’s birthday? Work? Women?” But my tone is not as polite as I wanted, rather annoyed, defiant, and nearly rude by the end.

“Many things, Ms. Van Gatt, many things… Your dad’s birthday, work,” he adds. “I’m undertaking a new job here at the headquarters.”

“A new job? So you are moving here?”

“I am. By the way, why didn’t I see you at the party?”

“I was… not feeling well… so I only went in briefly.”

He puts his hand on top of mine, smiling at me. “It’s great to see you again, Petra.”

But I move it straightaway. “Thanks… it’s great to see you too.” No, it’s not! After ten years you come back and think it’s all forgiven? My head is pounding, my heart thundering, the acid in my stomach boiling, and I take some heavy breaths. Argh! I want so badly to ask him why he disappeared ten years ago, why he didn’t ever call or write. Why did he never visit me again. But instead, I give him a freezing smile and decide to keep it to myself. After all, the best weapon is to remain indifferent to him and his return. However, it’ll be hard. Emma is right—dear Lord, he’s really hot! What? Petra! I clear my throat and immediately brush such thoughts away. “Did you manage to meet Emma?”

“Emma? Is she a friend of yours?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm, I do remember a young girl with a dress way too tight around her chest and with way too much makeup on...”

We burst into laughter.

“That’s her. Definitely Emma. She was into you, I guess…”

“What? How old is she? Eighteen?”

“I think so.”

“Dear Lord.” He shakes his head, letting out a sigh. “Girls nowadays are unbelievable. I could be her father.”

“You could... but you are not.”

“Well, kindly tell her I’m not into teenagers.”

“Alright, I will. By the way, and I know this is none of my business, but… what happened with Amanda? I heard you separated?” He cringes at the question, bothered. I love it.

“Always so straightforward... just like your father.” A small smile plays at the corner of his mouth and I find myself mirroring it. He seems to be searching for words while looking absently at me. “Let’s say she wanted more from me than what I could offer.”

“Like what?”

His jaw drops at my insistence. “How can you be so direct and persistent at such young age?”

I can’t help but titter. “I believe I grew up with someone like that.”

“Indeed. If Roy were a woman, his character would be exactly like yours. It’s frightening. But to answer your question, your indiscreet question, I must say, she started to talk about kids and golden rings… you know, the usual.”

“You guys have been together forever.”

“Ten years.”

“And after all that time together, you preferred to break up with her than settle down?”

“Since it was not what I wanted, yes.” He pauses. “We had a serious conversation and realized we wanted different things in life. I told her if marrying and having kids were so important to her, she should find a more suitable partner. After all, it wouldn’t have been fair to remain together.”

“Pfff, seems like Dad with his lovers.”

“Your dad shares his love stories with you?” he asks, surprised.

“Sometimes. He doesn’t want to, but I manage to make him speak…”

“You’ve got great interpersonal skills, Ms. Van Gatt.” He gives me another corner smile, his gaze still pinned on me, but I look down instinctively. “Enough about me. What about you? What are you going to do after high school? Your father told me you’ll be joining our summer internship? I thought you wanted to be a painter.”

“I was seven when I said that,” I rebuke. “Anyway, it’s much harder to make it as a successful artist than as an executive.”

“Why not take the risk?”

“Oh, c’mon, and starve until then?” I shake my head. “I still paint as a hobby, but that’s all. I’ll be starting at Columbia University this fall with a major in economics.”

“Columbia? So you’re not going to live on campus, Ms. Van Gatt?”

I know he’s mocking me, but I get his point. “Um, Dad is not too keen on any university that has me living away from home. And frankly, after visiting some campuses such as Cornell’s, I’m not too keen either.”

Alex chuckles. “Well, it’s not your penthouse on Park Avenue, that’s for sure.” And he remains thoughtful for a while. “Is this internship really what you want?”

“Here we are, Five-Fifteen Park Avenue,” the driver announces.

“Perfect. Thank you very much. Have a great night,” I reply. We both open our respective doors and leave the car. “You have an apartment in the same block?”

“No, I have a house outside the city. But I’m renting a condo nearby. I’m just waiting for Roy. He asked me to meet him here.”

“Alright. Then I’ll show you my atelier.”

“You’ve got an atelier?”

“Yep. I paint there, and it’s like my private space. Neither Dad nor Janine, our housekeeper, can enter. I lock the door, you know.”

“That’s interesting.”

We enter the building and greet the doorman before taking the elevator to my apartment.

“Wow. It’s so different. So much more modern,” exclaims Alex while stepping out into the entryway.

“You like it? I asked Dad to change the entire interior design. It was so old and antiquated. It took us five months.”

“What about Roy’s office and library?”

“Well, we kept the old Churchill feeling of it. After all, it’s Dad’s favorite part of the house.” His smile gets wider, and a glint of amusement settles in his gaze. “Now, let’s see the best part of the house.”

I invite him upstairs and unlock the door to a vast room full of paintings and books. An old record player is on the carpet with vinyls spread around, a desk with a Mac on the left, and a vanity space on the right turned into storage for my oil paints, tools, and brushes.

“Beautiful space you’ve got here. Disorganized but beautiful.”

“See? I still paint,” I say while showing him all my paintings including my newest, unfinished work.

“And your dad never comes here?”

“Nope, or Janine. This is my refuge.”

Hands in his pockets, Alex starts looking intently at my most recent ones. “You’ve made some good progress…” he utters with his usual sarcasm.

“Pfff, very funny,” I reply. “Look at this one. It’s my favorite.”

“Indeed, not bad. Do you sell them?”

My eyes widen in surprise. “Um, no.” I let out a quick giggle. “Who would buy them anyway?”

“You could open a gallery and invite your father’s friends and network for a preview. With the number of journalists we know, we could get you a lot of—”

“Thank you, Mr. Van Dieren,” I interpose. “I truly appreciate it, but my father already got me this internship, and I want to focus on that for now.”

“Very well. If you—” His phone starts ringing. After checking who’s calling, he decides not to take it. “I’m sorry, Ms. Van Gatt, but I have to go. Your father must be waiting for me downstairs.”

“Sure. Have a great evening.” I smile, trying to hide my disappointment in seeing him leave… again. Pfff. He wasn’t meant to be here anyway.

He reaches out, takes my hand, bowing slightly, and gives it a kiss.

I feel a shiver running down my entire spine. No one has ever done that before. I try to appear as unaffected as possible.

“It was an honor seeing you again, Ms. Van Gatt. I wish you a great night.”

I swallow nervously, still feeling his lips on my hand, and reply with a timid smile, then I escort him in silence to the entrance. I open the door—it feels heavier than usual.

“Oh, by the way”—he looks back at me—“I invited your dad to a dinner tomorrow at my estate. It’s going to be mostly executives in their forties and fifties talking about the most boring subjects, but if you are interested, you are most welcome to join.”

As he calls the elevator, I smile at the doors instantly opening.

“Thank you, Mr. Van Dieren. I appreciate the invitation,” I reply politely. “Have a great evening.”

We gaze at each other for a moment—the moment before the elevator closes completely on him.

Phew! He’s finally gone.

I remain stationary against the door while drowning dangerously in my once forgotten childhood memories. Did my godfather really come back? Did I just see him again?

I pick up my iPhone and start a text message to Emma: The Dutch hottie invited me to his house for a dinner tomorrow. Should I go?

What am I doing? Oh God, so stupid of me! I delete the message straightaway. Indeed, Emma has nothing to do with it. Plus, if she knows about the invite, she’ll try to join me just to hit on him, which would annoy everyone at the gathering. It’s a formal dinner after all, not a party.

Alexander Van Dieren

It feels quite strange to see Petra again. Damn, she grew up so fast. I mean, ten years. Although she’s older, her big blue eyes and cheeky smile remain exactly the same. Her curiosity is as annoying as it is funny, just like before. She’s so skinny though—does she eat properly?

“Ah! Here you are,” calls Roy, his face beaming with joy, as I step outside.

“So, Roy, where are we going? Can you tell me why we needed to meet here?”

“I didn’t want the journalists to follow. Get into the limo.”

I let out a sigh. “You know I hate limos.”

“You’re in New York now. Get used to it. C’mon!”

He looks quite excited as I get inside and close the door behind me. Strangely enough, there is no one in the limo but us. He gives me a glass of champagne, a big grin on his face, and we toast.

“I have a surprise for you,” he says. “It’s waiting in your condo.”

“A surprise for me? But Roy, it’s your birthday, not mine.”

“Consider it a welcome gift to the States.” I take another sip—a failed attempt to stop my curiosity from taunting me. “Once we get there, don’t mention either your first or last name, or mine. Okay?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Okay…”

And my curiosity keeps growing.

When the limo pulls up on my block, Roy barely contains his excitement. We get into the elevator and go up, and since he has a spare key to the condo, he opens the door and we step into the hallway.

“Wow.” My heart skips a beat at the sight of my gift. “Now that’s a surprise.”

Roy closes the door behind us and walks in her direction. “Do you like it? I named her Lucy. A blonde, sun-kissed, with brown eyes, just as you like.” I actually have a penchant for the opposite, but since the birth of his daughter, I’ve never told him.

I keep staring at Lucy as she remains kneeling on the floor of my entryway, naked, head down, legs spread apart. I like her pussy—it’s all shaved. She’s already wearing a collar and leash, along with wrist and ankle restraints, but I’m not pleased with the design. I’ll have to get her a new set.

“She’s the most experienced I found. I already trained her to call you what you like,” he adds.

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

Roy and I walk a few steps down the hallway, and in a low, barely audible voice, I ask, “What kind of arrangement is this?”

“Don’t worry.” He puts a hand on my back. “It’s by session. No strings attached, no real names, no problems. You just have to text her to make a booking. It’s that simple. And while I know you have an obsession for condoms, she is also tested and totally clean.”

I heave a sigh of relief.

“And how experienced is she?”

“You can do whatever you want. She’s the best at it. I’m sure you’ll like her.” Roy throws me a confident smile, and I find myself returning it.

“Thank you.” I also put a hand on his back. “That’s one hell of a gift. I feel terrible I didn’t bring one as good for you.”

“Of course you did; my best friend is finally back.”

As soon as Roy leaves my condo, I remove my jacket and tie, roll up my sleeves, and go to my bar cart to prepare myself a Macallan. Meanwhile, Lucy remains kneeling on the floor, mute, her head down. A glass in hand, I take her leash and walk her to the sofa in my living room, where I sit and she kneels again in front of me—her head always lowered. I lean back on the sofa and take my first sip, observing her. “Before going any further with you, little Lucy, there are a couple of things I’ve got to make sure you’ll do and follow strictly.” She keeps her eyes on the floor, never looking at me. Good girl. “First, I will fuck your little mouth roughly and deeply until you have a sore throat, so you need to control your gag reflex. And second, while you are here in my condo, you’ll always be naked with your collar and leash on, available to be pounded whenever and however I want. I hope you enjoy anal as much as I do. Are we clear?”

“Yes, my lord. I’m here to please you,” she replies, looking down.

“Do you mind if I bruise you?”

“No, my lord.”

“Perfect.” I take another sip from my glass. “Then I suppose we will get along.”

Petra Van Gatt

Friday. The first Friday without school. For me, it feels awkward to know I’ll no longer attend any classes at Loyola or wear the clothes that have been my uniform for so many years. We’re notified that the graduation rehearsal is set for the twenty-eighth. I look at the e-mail with a wistful smile and let out a sigh. Before getting too nostalgic, I decide to meet Emma at her estate for a day of horseback riding. After all, she’s always been the perfect antidote at times like these.

We spend the day on the gallops. Then, after a wonderful afternoon, we find ourselves lounging by the pool to watch the sunset and the pinkish clouds settling in.

“Doesn’t it feel weird not to have classes anymore?” I ask. “I’m so used to having a schedule.”

“Jeez! You’re crazy. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Finally free.” Emma keeps staring at my pensive face behind her big sunglasses. “Don’t worry, babygirl, you’ll have plenty of schedules during your internship and your time at Columbia.”

My iPhone beeps. It’s a text from Dad: Are you coming to the dinner? I’m leaving home in 90 mins.

Oh! The dinner at Van Dieren’s property. I had finally forgotten. It seems so simple to reply, just tapping a yes or no, yet I feel undecided. On one hand, this could be a great opportunity to meet executives working at Dad’s company and break the ice with them. But on the other, I’m not feeling comfortable enough to see him again. That terrible pain I felt when he disappeared from my life is not something I can easily forget—or forgive. He didn’t even apologize! He probably never felt bothered about leaving me either. Maybe Alex was only being a polite gentleman keeping an eye on his best friend’s daughter while Dad was absent. Pfff, I should have never seen him again yesterday. Such a mistake…

Sorry, Dad, can’t make it, I text back. Ah, I feel so relieved afterward, much happier. Such a weight off my shoulders. I smile broadly and pour more tea into my cup.

But within a minute, Dad calls. “Petra, it’s Dad. How are you?”

“I know it’s you, I have your WhatsApp number. I’m fine.”

“Why can’t you join? It’d be a great opportunity to meet your supervising manager and the rest of the board.”

“I know, but… I promised Emma I’d go with her to a gallery.”

“To a gallery? Emma doesn’t like art. Why are you lying to me?”

Shit. I think further to come up with a better excuse. “Well, to tell you the truth, Dad… I think it’d be unfair to meet my manager before I start the internship. See, I want to be evaluated by how I perform, not by whom I know or met at the dinner. I just don’t want any privilege because I’m your daughter.”

He remains silent for a few seconds.

“Very well. If that’s what you want. Where are you having dinner, then?”

“Emma’s house.”

“I see... Be careful. Have a good evening.”

“No worries. Bye, Dad. Enjoy.” And I hang up. Phew, that was close. “So”—I look back at Emma—“what have you decided to do after high school and the summer?”

“I don’t know, babygirl, trying to find my path… Travel, for sure. Maybe move to Bali or Europe, who knows…”

“I always admired that about you, you know.”

“Admired what?”

“Your adventurous, careless attitude. I never could’ve been like that, but I do admire you for being you.”

“Oh, well. Life is short. You’ve got to enjoy it. Aren’t you hungry? I’m starving.”

CHAPTER 4

Bedford Hills, May 17, 2019

Alexander Van Dieren

Despite being born and raised in the Netherlands, my family has owned this manor in Bedford Hills for over a century. The estate is over twelve thousand square feet surrounded by green fields and trees, with seven beds and ten baths, including a pool, large gardens, a tennis court, and overlooking a pristine four-acre lake. I became the sole owner fifteen years ago. After being absent for so long, the manor needed some serious refurbishment, which has been completed recently. When Petra was a child, I decided to build horse stables on the other side of the estate so I could finally share my passion for riding with someone. I always aspired to move and live here one day, but life has decided otherwise. After ten years, it feels good to be back.

It’s a beautiful and warm evening. Roy and I decide to go outside and check out the new terrace. A blanket of bright stars covers the sky. That’s what I love about the countryside—there is no pollution. With a glass in one hand and a cigar in the other, we stroll around enjoying each other’s company. We can hear the music and the laughter coming from inside. A fresh breeze chills the atmosphere.

“So, what do you think of Lucy? Experienced enough for you?”

“Oh, she is great,” I reply. “Very naughty and obedient. We’re actually in touch for a session tonight. Thank you so much for the surprise, Roy.”

He pats me on the back. “I’m glad.”

I smile at him, and we keep quiet as we walk.

But Roy’s heavy tone breaks our tranquil silence. “I need to ask you a favor, Alex. I will return it anytime. You know me.”

We both slow our pace, until I stop completely. “That sounds serious. What can I do for you, my dear friend?”

He takes a steady puff of his cigar. Roy has never disclosed much about his feelings to anyone and has always preferred to show a strong exterior, even if he’s devastated inside. He only lets down his guard with me. We discuss everything, from work, love, fears, fantasies, crimes, money—no woman has ever managed to be that close to Roy. Not even Tess, his ex-wife. Nevertheless, expressing deep feelings and fears has always been his biggest challenge. Roy doesn’t like to feel vulnerable or exposed. I know him perfectly.

“Well, it’s Petra,” he admits. “I’m worried about her friends’ influence on her. She’s only got frivolous girlfriends—you know, spoiled and slutty brats. She learns nothing good from them.” He takes a sip from his glass, his face looking more tormented than I’ve ever seen.

“You mean like Emma? Petra seems to be totally different than she is. You have nothing to worry about.”

“She has been lying to me, Alex. My daughter is not like that. I’m afraid Emma is a bad influence.” He sighs. “Now that you are back, as her godfather maybe you could get closer to her, befriend her”—he gives me a complicit smile—“and keep me updated…”

“You’re dreaming, my old friend. I might be her godfather, but Petra is not stupid. There is no way she would trust me after being absent for so long.”

“I’m sure she will. She needs a real friend, Alex, a confidant, someone she can trust to advise her. You can be like the older brother she never had.” An older brother? With a twenty-three-year age difference? Yeah, right. Since I don’t seem very enthusiastic about the idea, Roy leans closer to me. “Look,” he starts in a low voice. “No one knows about it, but Petra has agoraphobia. That’s why it’s so hard for her to make new friends. She is like a closed shell. Her only friends are Emma and her circle. When she’s not with them, she’s locked in that room upstairs doing God knows what.”

“You mean her atelier? She’s just painting and reading in there.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, she showed me.”

“See? She trusts you instinctively. She never let me in. Not even the maid is allowed to clean the room.”

“I’m sorry, Roy, you’re my best friend and you know that… but I won’t exploit her trust. I can’t be like a watchdog reporting to you her every move and word.”

“I realize it might sound a bit overprotective, but I don’t want her to become like them. She’s so smart, so rational and down-to-earth, and I don’t want her to end up like her mother either. I want her to build something meaningful, a legacy. She needs to remain focused.”

“She seems to be on the right path,” I still insist. But Roy is my best friend after all, and he looks quite worried. I ponder further. While I’m no expert on teen girls, why not at least give it a try? I come up with a compromise. “Look, here is what I can do for you. As her godfather, it’d be a pleasure to spend more time with Petra, but I won’t repeat to you anything she tells me unless I deem it necessary for her protection. And I promise to keep that Emma away.”

“Deal, my friend, deal. Thank you so much.”

We clink our glasses in a toast.

CHAPTER 5

Manhattan, May 18, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

The clock’s showing twelve thirty a.m. The room is dark and the entire house quiet. I’ve already taken two pills to sleep, yet my eyes are wide open. I’m tired of trying to fall asleep. Unfortunately, my thoughts are strong enough to keep me awake. Was it the right decision to skip that dinner? The fear of missing out (that FOMO everyone at school used to talk about) is consuming me for the very first time. I’ve never questioned my declines to parties, events, or dinners. And with my agoraphobia, I’ve always felt it was the right thing to do.

Except this time.

I heard Dad’s tone at the end of the call, weird, cold, and maybe even saddened. Is Dad disappointed with me? Did they talk about me over dinner?

I check my phone. No messages.

Since I can’t sleep, I decide to call Emma. “Hi. Emma?” Loud house music in the background makes it difficult to hear anything. “Emma?” I ask louder.

“What’s up, babygirl?” Emma’s tone is more playful than usual. “Where are you?”

“I’m home. Trying to sleep, but—”

“Hey, folks! Let’s pick up Petra! She’s awake,” she screams over the top of the music. “Babe, we are going to an amazing after-party. You need to join us. It’s in a secret basement!”

“I’m not sure about that… I just wanted to talk…”

“We’ll talk there! Let’s go, girl! You need some fresh air!”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll grab a car and meet you there.”

“No, we’ll come get you, since we’re going to a secret address. Put some sexy clothes on for once. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” And just like that, Emma hangs up.

Holy shit! I can’t believe I’m gonna do this. I’m horrified, but at the same time so excited to run away for a special night out. The adrenaline is surreal.

I rush to my dressing room, scan my clothes, and try to find some sort of inspiration for tonight. A white fitted T-shirt with V-neck seems like a good option, maybe paired with a black jacket to give a more mature look. And with those black heels I’ve got somewhere, it’ll be perfect. I wear my favorite dark skinny jeans and put on some eyeliner and mascara, some blush, and a darker-than-usual lipstick. The ensemble is missing some jewelry, but I don’t have any. Oh! I recall Emma once offered me a black velvet choker. It should be somewhere. Dad has forbidden me to wear it as it looks way too promiscuous for his taste. Ah, I found it! I smile as I put it on my neck, then give a glance in the mirror. Very nice, Ms. Van Gatt. You look twenty-one for sure.

My phone beeps. It’s a text from Emma. She’s waiting downstairs.

Alright, you can do it. I sigh, but I’m decisive. Time to take some risks. Dad might not even come home tonight. Everything will be just fine.

I leave the house, locking the door behind me just like it was. My head’s going wild. I take the elevator, and while I’m going down, I pray I don’t see Dad at the entrance. My heart starts thundering nervously as I watch the digits decreasing. Oh God…

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors open.

Please, please, please…

Fortunately, there’s no one in the hallway. Phew! I run as fast as I can outside, look quickly up and down the street, but don’t see any car.

“Babygirl, here!”

I follow the tipsy voice sitting behind a male figure on a black Harley-Davidson. “What? Don’t tell me this is how we are going to the party?”

“Oh, such a baby. It’s alright, the party is not far. Don’t be scared, my friends know how to drive them. Hey, Mike! You take Petra on yours, alright? Be careful, motherfucker. She is my bestie, and I love her.”

I’m more than frightened to sit behind a total stranger on a motorcycle to go to a secret party in a basement, but I trust Emma and need some serious distraction. I sit behind Mike, he gives me a helmet, the motor roars, and we drive away from Park Avenue.

It’s my first time on a motorcycle, my first time running away from home, and my first time dressing so daringly. Feeling the fresh wind on my body and face is such an incredible sensation. Even the sound of the engine feels like freedom!

After a short twenty-minute ride, we stop in front of a traditional Chinese noodle shop. We take our helmets off. Mike is tall and fit with short blond hair and blue eyes, as well as a serious stare and figure.

“A noodle shop?” I ask, intrigued.

“Just follow us,” replies Mike in his accent, maybe Eastern European.

We go inside, greet the old Chinese lady eating a pack of noodles at the counter, and head to a back door leading to what looks to be a warehouse.

We walk a bit further and find a velvet red curtain with a man in a black suit standing in front of it. Mike says some words in a language I can’t understand, and immediately the man lifts the curtain. I see stairs going down to a barely lit passage. My heart keeps thundering. Mike leads the way, and we follow.

We finally reach a black door. Mike knocks and someone opens it from the other side. He greets the doorman, and we enter into a house club featuring a big dance floor, chandeliers, and a young, flirty crowd. Girls are dancing with each other in short, skin-tight dresses under dark lights.

“What do you think, babygirl?” screams Emma in my ear right before draping an arm around my shoulder.

“You always know how to impress me,” I reply, my eyes taking in the club and its occupants.

“Let’s go, girls!” Mike grasps my hand and I take Emma’s as we follow him across the club.

We go upstairs to the area behind the DJ booth; the security guard lifts the velvet rope and lets us in. This space is even darker, with no strobe light, more intimate, but the tables are full. It looks quite pompous. Girls are young, some maybe barely twenty-one. Most are probably my age. Shit. I get it! This must be an illegal club. Oh God, I hope Dad never finds out.

Mike greets some friends who’re already sitting at his table. They all speak in a language I can’t discern.

“What language is that?” I finally dare to ask.

“Ukrainian,” replies Mike. “So what do you think?” he asks, seeing me visibly impressed by the place.

“I’ve never been to a club before,” I admit.

“It’s not just any club. It’s an exclusive one. You need to be a member to get in. Garçon! Please bring us some bottles, two large Grey Goose, and some sodas to start.”

Emma’s already quite drunk as she devours the mouth of her new boy toy. From my side, I’m not having nearly as much fun. After being at this table for an hour, I’ve found the place to be full of dubious-looking people, with music that’s too loud, girls dressed like hookers flirting with creepy old men, and drugs offered everywhere. To say the least, I shouldn’t be here.

Mike shows me a silver tray with fine white powder lines. “Do you want some?”

“No, thank you,” I politely decline.

Mike turns the tray to his left. “Emma?”

“Oh yeah, that’s what I’m talking about.” Emma takes a one-hundred-dollar bill from her pocket, rolls it up, puts it front of her right nostril, and sniffs half a line. I know Emma’s into that. I know she likes to consume drugs occasionally, “just for fun,” as she says.

My iPhone beeps.

I check the notification. It’s a new WhatsApp message from an unknown number.

Curious, I open it.

It was a pity you couldn’t join. I’d have been delighted to see you again. Hope you had a great evening nevertheless. See you soon, Alex.

What? I can’t believe it. Alexander Van Dieren texted? I check the profile photo. Damn. Definitely him.

I add him as a contact. I’m actually embarrassed to feel so excited to have his phone number, but after all, he’s my godfather—quite normal to have it.

I text him back in a formal tone. Thank you for your kind message. Have a great night. Cordially, Ms. Van Gatt. Perfect. Cold and distant enough. A gentle reminder to fuck off.

“Your boyfriend?” asks Mike, handing me a new glass of vodka and Coke, despite the fact that I didn’t even drink my first one.

“No. My godfather,” I reply.

“So no boyfriend?”

“Nope. No boyfriend.” I smile back. I’m not into him, but decide to be polite with some small talk. “What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?”

But suddenly a security guard comes up to Mike and whispers in his ear. Mike's face becomes blank, then livid, then terribly serious.

“We need to go,” he commands, standing up. I leap off the sofa immediately. “Emma, Dimitry, we need to go.” His tone is quite severe. Not a good sign.

We are escorted to a small door at the back of the club. We go out to a dark, barely lit hallway. We start walking faster than usual, in a hurry to get outside and reach the road.

“New York Police! Don’t move! Hands in the air!” screams a man surrounded by six others. They seem to emerge out of nowhere, barring our way.

“What the fuck is happening?” Mike stands with his arms raised while an officer takes him down and handcuffs him.

“Dimitry Yurkovich and Mike Hawrylak, you are under arrest for the possession and distribution of illicit substances, and for operating a nightclub without license in the state of New York. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions,” informs the officer. “Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning, now or in the future. Officers, handcuff the ladies too.”

Oh God! Why us? I try to remain as calm as possible, breathing deeply, but I’m already in tears. I can’t believe this nightmare! Are Dimitry and Mike part of a gang or the Ukrainian mafia? I look back at Emma hoping to find answers, but she’s so high that doesn’t even realize what’s happening. She even giggles, hugs, and tries to kiss the police officer who’s handcuffing her.

We’ve been escorted to the nearest police station in a separate car. As we enter, Emma finally starts to feel the harsh reality. “We need your parents’ phone numbers here. And your IDs,” snaps the officer at reception.

“Yeah, right,” mumbles Emma, struggling to hold steady on her feet. “All you’ll get is the fucking number of my attorney.” She grasps the pen, bends slightly over the counter, and writes down her attorney’s information. While Emma has always been very secure and confident, even in the toughest situations, I, on the other hand, have no clue what to do. Heck, I don’t even have a lawyer. Only my dad. No, definitely not him! I will never write his phone number in a police station book. Dad will be so disappointed, feel so deceived. He’ll even punish me. Probably forbid me to see Emma ever again. What contact can I give them? I feel so anxious, my heart stuck in my throat. Emma hands me the pen. Now it’s my turn, and instinctively, I write down the only name I can think of.

Afterward, we are led to a cell by the same officer who drove us here. The cell is small with two wooden benches attached to the walls—one in front of the other. Empty, dark, and cold, it smells like aged sweat and urine. Yuck! Disgusting. I can even hear flies buzzing.

He locks us inside.

What a nightmare.

Emma lies on the first bench she sees, closes her eyes, a hand on her belly, and tries to contain the vodka that wants to come back up. She’s beyond drunk—the mix of alcohol and cocaine has left her semiconscious. I just hope she won’t throw up in the cell—the place’s already repugnant enough. I sit on the other bench, head down in my hands. I have no idea how long we’ll stay here. Ten minutes have passed, and yet it feels like an eternity. I look up at Emma, who seems to be dead asleep, and then back down again. My mind is lost and afraid, my eyes drop some tears. I dry them quickly, but they return and roll down my face. Fuck, I’m done.

Manhattan, May 18, 2019

Alexander Van Dieren

After our formal dinner, I head back to my condo in Manhattan. As I enter the hallway, I see Lucy already naked, kneeling on the marble floor, her head down and legs spread apart.

“Good evening, little Lucy.” I walk a few steps in her direction. “I’m glad to see you’re wearing your new collar and leash.”

“Good evening, my lord,” she replies, her voice low and soft.

I gently stroke the top of her head. “Are you hungry?”

She nods, her eyes down. “Yes, my lord.”

“Great. I’m dying to feed you.” I take her leash and little Lucy stands up, following me to the leather sofa in my living room.

There she sits astride me, devouring my mouth while hurriedly unfastening my belt.

“Such a hungry little slut. Take it easy.”

“My apologies, my lord,” she replies.

Lucy goes down on her knees again and pulls out my cock, but before she can suck me, I lift her chin up, though her stare always remains down. “Where are your manners, little Lucy? I don’t recall you asking.”

“My lord, may I suck your cock, please?”

“See? Much better.” I pat her head and lean back. “Good girl. You may do so.”

But my iPhone starts ringing.

“Shit. I’m sorry I forgot to turn this off.” I grab it from my pocket and frown instantly—I don’t recognize the number. That’s quite odd. Only family and close friends have my private contact. I decide to answer nevertheless. “Hi…? Yes, it’s me… What?” I push Lucy’s head away from my crotch. “Are you sure it’s her? What the—” I glance at my watch. “Who’s she with? Very well. I’ll be there soon.” I hang up and let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, little Lucy. But we’ll have to play another time.” I kiss the top of her head, close my pants, fasten my belt, and leap off the sofa.

“But, my lord, I’m starving…”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I have something to take care of.” Fuck. I shake my head in annoyance. Roy was right. That Emma is crazy. Seeing Lucy so sad and disappointed, I ask, “Tomorrow night, what do you think?”

Petra Van Gatt

After being locked up for an hour, Emma finally wakes up and starts searching her pockets, irritated. “Shit. They took everything. Not even a fucking cigarette left.”

“Shut up, Emma,” I shout, still agonizing over my fate, my legs trembling, head down.

Between panting breaths, I sob. “What am I gonna say to Dad? I’m done, Emma. Done. He’ll never let me see you ever again.”

Emma stands up, tries hard to walk properly, and sits beside me, putting an arm around my shoulder. “Shh... Babygirl, I promise we’ll get out of here before your dad finds out.”

“I think it’s a bit too late for that.”

We both stare outside, startled by the interruption and the familiar voice. I gasp in horror. It can’t get any worse!

“Alex? What are you doing here?”

“Mr. Van Dieren, please,” he corrects, standing on the other side of the bars. He looks sharp and fresh in a black two-piece suit with a slim white shirt, hands in his pockets. It looks like he just came from a party nearby. “Don’t you think the question is more the other way around?”

“Does Dad know about this?” I ask nevertheless.

“Let’s get you out of here first, then we’ll talk, Ms. Van Gatt.” The police officer unlocks and opens the cell, but I’m still confused. “Now, kindly go to the car,” he snaps.

I look at Emma, wondering where her lawyer is. “Don’t worry, babygirl. I’ll be fine. My attorney is coming soon.”

“Mr. Van Dieren, can’t you pay her bail?”

“Let me talk to Emma about it. Now go to the car. The driver is waiting outside.”

I hug her tightly and leave the cell. As I pass by him, I can’t help but smile at his fragrance—it feels so good to finally smell something other than aged urine. The officer closes the door behind me, and I walk away.

Emma Hasenfratz

The Dutch hottie waits a few more seconds to be sure we are completely alone before talking to me.

“Now, back to us, Ms. Hasenfratz. Your attorney, Anna Griffith, is not coming anytime soon. I called your father and told him I’d take care of it. If you want to go home tonight, you better stop.”

“Stop what?” I snap instantly.

“Stop pushing my goddaughter into your pathetic and dangerous lifestyle.”

What? The Dutch hottie is Petra's godfather? Damn! “Who you think you are, huh? You don’t command me.”

“I think I’m the one who knows more about you than you can possibly imagine. And you, Emma? Who do you think you are? You think you are a big girl because you hang out in illegal clubs, consume cocaine, and nearly killed a poor guy with a baseball bat at your farewell party?”

My heart falls to the ground. I can’t believe it. How does he know all that? Who did he pay for that information? My dad surely doesn’t know about it.

“I told your dad I’d pay for your bail. Unless, of course, you want to stay here until you’re heard by a judge. In what, two, three days?”

I frown at his threats, my mind boiling with rage. I cross my arms and huff loudly. “Okay... What do you want?”

“Don’t drag Petra into your pathetic nightlife anymore. Are we clear?”

Fuck. No one’s ever talked to me like that. Not even my own parents. What a jerk. Unfortunately, we both know I’m not in a position to negotiate, so I have no choice but to accept. I nod icily.

Van Dieren calls back the officer to open the cell. I finally get out and find my driver waiting outside. But I don’t manage to see babygirl one last time before leaving. I just hope the Dutch hottie won’t say a word to her Dad. Roy really might forbid her from seeing me ever again.

Petra Van Gatt

Neither of us dares to talk, nor even look at each other. Our silence is colder than ice. Only the engine and occasional noise from outside can be heard. Alexander remains distant and serious, looking intently out the car window. After ten long minutes, I venture to ask again, in my most innocent and sweetest voice, “Does Dad know?”

But he doesn’t say a word. I hear nothing but his breath. My heart feels stuck in my throat, and I swallow hard.

“Not yet,” he snarls while staring absently outside.

Another minute of silence.

He lets out a sigh and turns his freezing glare at me. “You got really lucky I texted you. What would you have done if you didn’t have my number?”

My head remains down, but I can feel his judgmental eyes all over me like sharp arrows stabbing my spine. “I seriously don’t know.” I swallow my pride and face him again. Oh God. His stare is so disturbingly rigid. “Please don’t tell Dad. I promise I’ll never do it again. I couldn’t sleep, and Emma invited me out. I needed some fresh air. Please… it was the first and last time.”

“Why should I even believe you? I don’t know you.”

“Because”—I look briefly around, trying to find a viable excuse—“you’re my godfather.”

“Wow. So now you’re using the fact that I’m your godfather to hide this entire situation from him? Very well done, Ms. Van Gatt.”

Pfff. Sarcastic asshole. “It would be our secret…”

“Why should I do it for you? I don’t see the point.”

“I can’t believe we are negotiating.”

“Of course we are. What do I gain hiding the truth from your father?”

“Um, what do you want in return, then?” I ask.

He keeps looking idly ahead with a thoughtful expression. Probably amused by his little game, a smile escapes, but he tries to hide it by rubbing a finger over his lips. “First, you won’t see Emma for any more nights out, unless I’m around. That girl only brings you trouble. Second…” He pauses briefly. “You’ll show me your favorite art galleries around New York.”

I blink twice before I can articulate properly. “Wait. What? You could’ve asked a million things, but the one that came to your mind was being your tour guide?”

“Exactly. Proper ones are very expensive nowadays. I’m sure you know the best galleries to hang out in.”

Ugh. I cross my arms in displeasure. “I’m not sure if telling Dad was such a bad idea after all…”

“I can always call him.” And he pulls out his iPhone.

“Okay, okay. I’ll take you to my favorite galleries, I promise. Please just don't tell him anything about tonight.”

“You better have an excellent itinerary and surprise me. I’ve never really enjoyed art.”

I wake up at ten a.m. to answer his phone call. I didn’t know my “punishment” would start so soon. He says he’ll come to pick me up at three p.m. Argh. I bet he’s doing it on purpose so I’ll feel sleepy the whole afternoon.

I just have a couple of hours to figure out where to take him. But after quick consideration, I decide our first stop will be the Martos Gallery. There’s a new exhibit I haven’t seen yet featuring some of my favorite artists, like Alex Chaves and Mel Bochner. I’m not sure if Mr. Van Dieren will find it interesting, but I, on the other hand, am sure to enjoy it.

Alone in my bedroom, I’ve spent the last hour trying to figure out what to wear. It has to be something not too girly yet not too androgynous; not too revealing and yet not too boring; sophisticated and smart, yet not too corporate; a touch of daring but not slutty… “I give up.” I sigh, looking down at my pathetic figure in the mirror. There is nothing in this room fit for the occasion. I should just cancel.

A text notification pops up. It’s Emma. I’m so sorry for yesterday, babygirl! Are you ok? Does your dad know? Are you still alive? Can we meet this afternoon to talk?

For some reason, I don’t feel it’s appropriate to share my plans with her. I can already picture Emma giggling and teasing about my encounter. It’s just to fulfill our agreement anyway, but I prefer to remain silent on the matter.

Hi, Emma. I’m ok but can’t meet. I’m going to visit a new exhibit in downtown, wanna join? I text back.

Lol. Art again? No, thanks, babygirl. Enjoy for me! Talk later, then. I knew Emma would’ve never accepted. She’s like Dad—they never got the point of art.

Another text: Downstairs. Ready?

God, it’s 2:59! Why so punctual? Alright, enough of this bullshit. A white shirt, jeans, a pair of sneakers, and we are good.

I try to keep my composure, but despite my many attempts, my heart beats faster than usual. I take a light-pink cardigan just in case the galleries are chilly inside.

I arrive downstairs, leave the building, and find Mr. Van Dieren leaning against the car. It’s the first time I see him dressed casually: a pair of jeans, a slim-fit Henley shirt, and a black leather jacket. He’s on the phone but abruptly hangs up upon seeing me.

“Hi.” He smiles at me, running a hand through his wild hair. “Ready, Ms. Van Gatt?”

Gosh. His blue eyes are even more insane in daylight. “Hi. Ready,” I timidly reply, walking toward him. Should I greet him with a cheek kiss? A handshake maybe? A friendly hug? I’m too shy to do anything. He opens the rear door and invites me to get in.

“So you like this artist?” he asks while slowly pacing around the gallery and observing every piece of artwork I present to him.

I just hope I’ve described them with such passion and conviction that he’s now wondering if I ate art books for breakfast.

“Mel Bochner? Oh, yeah. His work is excellent. I’ve been following his growth since I was ten. I asked Dad to buy me one of his paintings at the time, but he never saw the point. Seven years ago, one of his paintings was, like, three thousand dollars. Now, the same painting would be worth fifty thousand, if not more. Imagine if he becomes like Jeff Koons.”

“Jeff Koons?” He seems embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Petra. I know nothing about contemporary art.”

“You don’t even know Jeff Koons? His art is the most expensive of any living American artist. One piece signed by him is easily worth between ten and sixty million dollars. Imagine if you had bought some when he was starting out.”

“I see… Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I reply.

“Why economics? You love art so much. You are so passionate about it. Why not a degree in this field?”

I don’t like his question, but I’ve thought this through. “I’ll inherit Dad’s part of the company one day, so economics makes more sense. After all, I’ve got to understand the ins and outs of his business.” I smile at him, quite proud of my perfect answer.

“That’s a good reason, Ms. Van Gatt. But what is the real one?”

I can’t help but feel a squeeze in my chest. Alex always knew how to read me, how to remove my mask… which was cute when I was seven, but not now. “Dad thinks it’s the most appropriate degree. He assured me I’ll like it.” I look up at him and add confidently, “I’ll give it a try and see.”

“Well, my proposal still stands. If you want to have your own gallery to show your paintings or those of your favorite artists, I’ll help you out.”

I find it suspicious. Is your offer some sort of apology for the ten years you’ve been absent, Mr. Van Dieren?

But I keep it polite. “Thanks, but Dad doesn’t like art. He thinks it’s a waste of time.”

“Your dad is a bit close-minded sometimes. It could be a very profitable business in my view—you can invest in emerging artists, buy their artwork when they are not yet renowned, and once they become famous, their value will go through the roof, just like stock and shares. Then, you can sell your collection in auctions and to other dealers. If you present it as a business model, Roy might like it more.”

“Oh, I never thought about it that way.” His lips twitch into a smile. “Maybe that’s why he wants me to have a degree in economics.”

“Your father loves you a lot. He might be cold and rigid sometimes, but he cares a lot about you.” I don’t reply. He looks down absently, thinking something through. “Why don’t we do the following—you’re going to be an intern with the investment team, right?”

“Right.”

“We should open a small fund for you. Nothing big— just, like, two hundred and fifty thousand dollars so you can invest in your favorite emerging artists. What do you think?”

My jaw drops. “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars? Oh my! This is… I… I can’t believe it.”

“Consider it your graduation gift.”

And to my surprise, I hug him. “Oh, Alex, thank you so much.”

He gasps, feeling my arms wrapped around his neck. “Alright,” he breathes. I release him from my overly tight hug. He straightens his shoulders, his face unsmiling. “But… I have some conditions. I want you to pitch me what you have in mind before spending a dime. Are we clear?” I nod. “You need to diversify your portfolio with at least ten different artists and get the best deals out of each acquisition.” I feel him studying me. “As a matter of fact, when you pitch someone, think numbers and data. They’re the most convincing. To get a strong pitch, you’ll need to research similar artists and the value their artwork reached and why. It’ll be very time-consuming,” he warns seriously. “You’ll have to be able to justify every investment and the potential returns.”

I ponder for a moment. “I’m sure I can get this done. I read a lot about emerging artists and art trends. And since Dad is out nearly every night, my best friends became my books and laptop,” I add.

“Great. Oh, by the way, there is a small luncheon at my estate after your graduation rehearsal. And no, you cannot skip it, since it’s in your honor.”

“Why on earth would you organize that for me? It’s totally unnecessary.”

“Hey, it’s not every day my only goddaughter graduates from high school.”

“Oh, dear Lord. Alright, but please, from now on just call me ‘Petra.’ ‘Goddaughter’ sounds way too dated to my ears.”

“As you wish, Petra.”

CHAPTER 6

Bedford Hills, May 28, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

Following the graduation rehearsal at Loyola and the usual family picture with my graduation cap, gown, and degree certificate in hand, Dad and I are on our way to Bedford Hills for the celebratory luncheon. Unlike the rest of my female classmates, I’m not wearing a dress or skirt. Instead, I’ve opted for skinny jeans, a striped white-and-navy-blue top, and a matching jacket. I’ve decided against wearing heels too, just beige flats, and I have only the tiniest amount of makeup on.

The drive to upstate New York feels like an eternity. In the back seat, Dad is entertained reading while I keep constantly staring outside. “How many people will be there?”

“Less than a hundred,” replies Dad, eyes glued on his iPad.

I let out a sigh. “Why such a big gathering?”

The car stops as we wait for the black metal gates to open.

“It’s just friends and acquaintances, don’t worry. You should get to know those people, Petra. They run New York.” Oh God, why me? I’m not impressed, it just feels like a tedious obligation. “Don’t forget to be polite and to thank your godfather for the gathering,” he adds.

The car starts moving and drives onto the estate. I look again out my window. I didn’t remember how vast the estate is, with large green fields, acres of trees, and perfectly manicured lawns. Sometimes I feel jealous that I can’t live like Alex or Emma on a property in the middle of nature—far from urban and noisy Manhattan.

We finally arrive at the main entrance of the manor. I see that Alex is already there, chatting with friends, drinking champagne, and probably waiting for Dad. He’s resplendent as always, sporting a fit beige spring blazer with a silk pocket handkerchief, a white shirt open at the collar, and navy-blue pants—quite elegant but not formal.

Dad promptly walks toward him and gives him a friendly hug with a clap on the back. “Many thanks for organizing this, Alex.”

“My dear friend, it’s the least I could do.”

As I predicted, I feel totally left out, standing timidly by the car, while Dad has already gone inside, along my godfather and his friends. I look around, taking in my surroundings. I can’t miss the rows of expensive cars littered about the courtyard. Cars have never appealed to me—I’m glad I don’t own any of them.

“Congrats on your graduation, Ms. Van Gatt.”

Having left his friends behind, Alex has come back and walks toward me, causing my lips to spread in a smile.

“Thanks. Small gathering, huh?”

“Well… it’s all relative.” He winks at me. “Come inside, I will get you a drink.” And he takes me by the hand.

“Am I allowed to drink alcohol today?” I ask, surprised.

“I don’t think so. However, I’m sure the bartender will prepare something nice for you.”

He escorts me inside, softly putting his hand on the small of my back and letting me go first. As I step into the entrance hall, a strange energy shivers through my entire body. In my mind I can hear a little girl giggling and running around, but there is no child to be seen here. Instinctively, though, I knew it was me. I used to play here.

“Is everything alright?” He asks.

Oh, Alex, you have no idea how painful it was when you left. “Of course.” I smile, silencing my childhood memories.

“Great. Let’s go to the bar.”

Alex is staring intently toward the entrance of the living room. Suddenly, his face beaming, he runs forward a few steps and cheerfully greets a young man, a stranger to me. They hug each other. “Hey! Here you are, my little bastard.”

Bastard? Really? I didn’t know Alex had a son. They enter the room, and Alex brings him over to where I’m standing by the bar, still baffled. “Petra, I’d like to introduce you to my younger brother, Jimmy Van Dieren. I mean, half brother, since we just share the same father. Jimmy’s a famous pop singer now, so be careful—he’s becoming a total ass.” I gape at his vulgarity, but laugh in relief.

Jimmy feigns offense, shaking his head. “He’s just jealous,” he replies with a broad smile, before extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Petra. And congrats on your graduation with honors. Your father, and godfather, must be very proud of you.”

I notice how Jimmy also has blue eyes. Looks like they share more than the same father. He’s at least four inches shorter, though, and less athletic. His style is also the opposite of his brother’s—Jimmy wears a black leather jacket, some silver jewelry on his neck and wrist, black ripped jeans, and a white V-neck T-shirt.

“Thank you, Jimmy. It’s very nice to meet you too.”

“Just be careful with him. My brother thinks all teens have a huge crush on him.” Alex seems to be particularly witty today, but Jimmy can’t stop shaking his head in amusement.

“Do you live here in New York?” I ask.

“Nope, Amsterdam. But I have a concert Saturday night in Manhattan. Do you like pop?”

I don’t like pop, but with such an interesting male figure around, I couldn’t care less what I really like or not. “Of course I do.”

“Well, then, you should come over. I’ll text you the address. What’s your number?” He pulls his iPhone from his pocket, ready to add me as a contact.

“That would be brilliant,” I lie. I’ve never ever attended any concerts, because of my panic attacks. But I take his phone and type in my number. “Added as Petra Van Gatt.” I can only hope I’ll have a private box to watch the concert from.

“Great. Also…” Jimmy leans slightly closer to my ear. “I’m hosting an after-party in my suite at the Four Seasons. Only A-list people. It’ll be fun,” he whispers.

I feel a shiver running down my spine. While it seems fun to attend, after all the bad experiences I’ve had lately, I’m not really convinced. I just smile at him in return.

Alex didn’t hear Jimmy’s whispers, but he did see Jimmy getting a bit too close for his comfort. “Alright, enough chitchat. Let’s go to the terrace. Lunch will be served in a minute.”

We move from the living room to the outdoor terrace. Amid at least ten round tables covered with white tablecloths, I find Dad waving at us from one of them with three empty seats.

Alex nods. “Looks like Roy got us some seats.”

I don’t recognize anyone else at the table except Dad. They all look like corporate executives—Dad’s friends in suits without ties. I’m glad Jimmy is here. This lunch would have been so tedious and boring without him.

“Here she is! The star of the day!” Dad stands up, his arms wide open to welcome me and give me a hug.

My face beams with joy. “Hi, Dad.” I trot toward him and embrace him warmly.

“I’m very proud of you, darling,” he replies in a low, tender voice before giving me a kiss on the forehead.

I sit between Jimmy and Alex.

Suddenly, I feel all these middle-aged men staring at me like the main attraction in a fair. “Very well done, Ms. Van Gatt. Your father couldn’t stop praising your achievements.”

Humbled, I tilt my head slightly down. “Thank you.”

I notice how everyone is drinking Pinot Noir but me. I only have a glass of water and a cold-pressed juice in front of my place setting. I let out a sigh but feel a sudden vibration on my lap.

Discreetly enough, I look down at my iPhone and read the new WhatsApp message from Jimmy. Would you like to hang out after lunch? I can grab a red from my bro’s winery.

I smile broadly and text him back: Yes, please!

I can’t thank my godfather enough for having introduced me to his younger brother. Jimmy might not be as charming, vigorous, or athletic, but he is nevertheless a handsome and confident young man. And he’s got the same mesmerizing eyes.

After lunch, while everyone seems entertained with drinks and cigars from Alex’s curated collection, Jimmy and I decide to plan a careful escape to meet up by the lake. He leaves the table first, and after fifteen minutes, I excuse myself to go to the restroom. There I check my teeth and lipstick, apply some fresh mint gloss, and style my hair quickly. Alright, no one is calling me. Perfect. Time to go to the lake!

Walking through the vast gardens, I can finally enjoy the fresh air—some birds even singing—and the breeze playing with my hair. It’s the perfect kind of afternoon, not too hot and with a bright blue sky. I love this place so much. I recall spending a considerable amount of time here when I was six. I used to play hide-and-seek with my godfather while Dad was absent. It was such a great time…

I see Jimmy in the distance; he’s holding a bottle and two wineglasses, and stands admiring the lake.

“I hope it’s a good one,” I shout.

He turns at my voice, checking me out. His face softens with a smile as he looks briefly at the bottle label. “Should be. Alex only likes quality!”

Once I’m beside him, he hands me a glass, opens the bottle, and pours the wine.

I inspect the texture, take a quick sniff, then tasting the Pinot Noir, I say, “Hmm… very good. You can pour more.”

“Do you know about wine?”

“I’ve attended many wine tastings with Dad for the sake of knowing the basics. But I’m no connoisseur.”

“I see. Well, to your graduation, Miss.” I beam with joy as we clink our glasses and quietly take our first sip. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure,” I reply.

“Forgive my curiosity, but where is your mom? She’s alive, right? I thought she’d be here by your side on such important day.”

My eyes widen. “Mom doesn’t like New York. I’m the one who travels to the Netherlands to visit her.”

“So your mother never came here? Must’ve been tough for you to grow up without her around.”

“Well, it wasn’t easy, mainly knowing she was alive and healthy enough to visit me. But your brother and Dad have been incredible.”

“Yeah, Alex cares a lot about you.” Really? He takes another sip of his wine. “You know, I wasn’t even going to come here, but he insisted…”

I can’t help but chuckle. “I don’t blame you; I didn’t want to come either.”

Jimmy seems thoughtful, looking intently out at the lake before turning back to me. “You’re so mature for your age,” he praises. “You seem to have your whole life figured out. It’s quite impressive.”

“My life has always been figured out,” I correct. But my tone sounds rather melancholic—maybe it’s a subject I shouldn’t tackle. I brush some hair behind my ear, and with a small smile, I keep looking at the lake.

He doesn’t reply. He must be wondering if I’m happy with the life Dad is making for me, or if I’m crying and screaming on the inside—desperate to leave it all behind and try something else. And to be honest, I’m thinking exactly about that.

I continue staring intently at the lake, but he keeps studying me.

“Did you grow up with Alex?” I ask to change the subject.

Jimmy nearly chokes on his drink. “Me? No. I’m literally the bastard of the family.”

“Oh, c’mon. Don’t say that.” I playfully hit his chest with the back of my hand.

“I’m serious. My brother grew up like a prince, living in a palatial estate, even bigger than this one. He was raised by the wonderful Lady Margaret and our father, Lord Hendrik. I was the hidden embarrassment, the mistake of a one-night stand, and grew up in Amsterdam alone with my mom. I’ve never been to the Van Dieren estate. I’m only here because Alex bought it from his relatives.”

I feel a sudden need to console him. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Family is never easy.”

“You are right, Petra. It’s not easy. But I’m glad to have made my own path, away from the Van Dierens and their businesses.” I feel like it’s a hint. “Do you know why your parents divorced?”

I have no idea, no. “Dad told me he simply didn’t love her anymore, and they had different life goals. He also said Mom was an alcoholic at the time and wouldn’t have been able to raise me.”

He pours some more wine in my empty glass and refills his. I feel his breath so close to my face. Unlike Alex, Jimmy is fully shaven, probably in his early twenties. The scent from his aftershave is also young, sporty, made from a clean and crisp fragrance.

“I’m happy we met, Petra.”

“Me too,” I reply, smiling at him.

I notice how close he is to my lips, fixating on them obsessively. I don’t stare at him for much longer, though; instead, my attention shifts back to the lake. But in a decisive move, he bends just enough to reach them. I wasn’t expecting it, but I let him kiss me. I open my mouth and let his tongue play with mine.

He gets closer to me.

I can feel his heartbeat, his fingers caressing my cheek. His kiss is long and passionate, more daring and vibrant than those James used to give me. Jimmy is also older, more experienced—

A phone starts ringing.

I feel a twitch of annoyance as he breaks our kiss.

“I’m sorry…” Jimmy heaves a displeased sigh, reaches down to his pocket, and after seeing who’s calling, decides to answer. “What’s up? I’m here by the lake… Yes, Petra is here too… Okay, we’ll be there soon.” He hangs up. “It was my brother. Your dad’s looking for you. He’d like you to meet some folks before they leave.” He smooches me again on the lips, this time quicker. “Not easy to be you, Ms. Van Gatt.”

Lost in his blue eyes, I grin. He takes my hand, holding it firmly, and we walk together back through the gardens.

Jimmy Van Dieren

While Petra entertains her father’s friends, collecting their business cards, I sneak into the kitchen to throw away the empty bottle and put the glasses in the dishwasher. My mind, however, is far away. I feel strangely attracted to her energy. It’s so bright, so simple and pure. She’s such a mystery. An enigma. A paradox. I feel her so contained and rigid, yet looking for something more. A taste of freedom maybe? Some kind of romantic adventure? Or… like a bud waiting for the right season to bloom into the most beautiful flower. Damn, I grow hard at my own thoughts. Is she still a virgin?

“Are you drunk?”

I jump, hearing a voice coming from behind me. “Jeez, bro. You scared me. Of course not. I just drank one bottle with Petra.”

“Oh, really? So you steal wine now...”

But I’m not listening; my face is still beaming at the memory of that girl. “You were so right, bro. That chick is so high end and fucking hot; she gave me a boner in two seconds when we kissed. Most likely a virgin. This dusty event was worth it after all,” I praise, clapping him on the back.

I’m expecting some sort of cheerful reaction, but instead, I get brutally manhandled up against the dishwasher. “Look, you bastard, don’t ever talk about Petra like that again! Are we clear?”

“Cool down, man. Is she your girlfriend or what? Oh… you like her, don’t you?”

“Fuck, are you crazy? She is the daughter of my best friend, dumbass. Did you forget I’m her godfather?”

“So what? You’re not even related. But I must tell you, when we kissed by the lake and I slipped my tongue into her mouth, I bet her pussy got so—”

Alex grabs my T-shirt and makes a sudden move with his fist. “One more word and I’ll knock you into the middle of next week.”

“Alright, alright. You’re nuts sometimes. Jeez!”

He finally releases me, straightens his shoulders, and tries to regain his composure. But his angry glare says otherwise. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Petra Van Gatt

Everyone has left except Dad and me. Since we’ve been enjoying a late afternoon tea in Alex’s office, I decide to talk about Jimmy’s invitation, hoping my godfather will be on my side. After all, Jimmy is his brother and he is the one who introduced me to him.

“Dad? Jimmy is giving a concert followed by a party this Saturday night, and he invited me. May I go?”

Dad seems uncertain. “What do you think, Alex?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he replies sternly. “My brother is a bit… um… wild.”

“What? He seems perfectly fine. Please, Dad, I’ve never been to a concert before.”

“Indeed, and I’m very proud the crowd doesn’t scare you.” He pauses, thinking something through. “Alex? Would you mind joining Petra at the concert?”

But I interject, “No! Dad, I can bring Emma and the girls—they love his songs. We’ll be just fine. Please.”

“Petra, either Alex comes with you, or no concert and no party,” he snaps.

Looking at his face, my godfather doesn’t seem too enthusiastic either. “On a Saturday night? Roy, I mean… I’d love to, but I’ve got some commitments.”

“See? Please, Dad. I can go with the girls. I swear I’ll be fine,” I keep insisting.

“Sorry, Petra. I want a responsible adult with you. If your godfather can’t go, then I’m afraid you’ll have to cancel.”

“No! That’s so unfair. Alex, bring your date to the concert, then.”

“To a teen concert?”

“To your brother’s concert. You should be more supportive.”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh God…”

“Hey, you are the one who introduced me to him, so now you have to endure the consequences.” I know that’s the killing argument.

Alex sighs loudly. “And I’m already regretting it.”

I, on the other hand, smile radiantly.

CHAPTER 7

Manhattan, June 1, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

I’m like a kid at Christmas as I eagerly look forward to Saturday night. Determined to spend the most amazing and memorable time with Jimmy, I decide to get some fashion advice and call Emma in the morning. I explain to her what happened at Alex’s estate and who I met.

“You need to look cool and confident, babygirl.”

We also agree I need a serious makeover for the evening. So Emma takes me to her all-time favorite hair salon—Hairroin, in Herald Square.

“She has to look older than seventeen. She’s going to a concert and needs to rock,” she explains to her second bestie, Alyssa Sholl—her hair stylist, or “Master Artist” as she calls her. Unsurprisingly, they both look exactly alike. Alyssa also has long dark hair, visible face piercings, and tattoos covering her upper arms and chest.

Alyssa has decided to dye my hair darker to make me look older. “Jet-black hair on your pale skin with your big blue eyes will blend perfectly.” She also does some wild waves, making my hair look denser and more voluminous.

A makeup artist jumps over and does a soft evening look—smoky eyes and mascara, but no heavy face contour. He says my skin is already spotless and smooth, with a great jawline, and that a natural foundation will do. He applies a soft blush on my cheeks, finishing with a matte cherry-red lipstick, which accentuates the blue of my eyes.

“Oh yeah,” cheers Emma, a cigarette in hand. “Much better! You look good enough to eat.”

I smile and glance in the mirror. “Wow.” Indeed, I can barely recognize myself. I look so much sexier, older, bolder, more mature. Quite impressive how hair and makeup can boost someone’s confidence like that!

“You look amazing, Petra. What are you gonna wear?” asks Alyssa.

Emma takes a puff on her cigarette. “We’re gonna do some shopping now. She needs a new look. Hope you brought your daddy’s credit card.”

“I should be okay with mine—Dad gives me a monthly allowance. I never spend a dime anyway.”

We leave the salon. Walking through the streets, I can feel the gazes and indiscreet stares of many men and women as we pass by. I blush, but it feels amazing.

Emma and I step into Balmain. She says it’s the best brand for the occasion. “Try this white T-shirt. And this leather skirt. Oh, I love this purse. We need ankle boots.”

“Good afternoon, Ms. Hasenfratz. It’s great to see you. May I help you with something?”

“Hi, Jeff. Yes, we want a concert outfit. Cool, not overdressed, you know…”

I try various pairs of shoes, different garments, and finally a range of purses that are handed to me. I gape at the price of each item. One thousand eight-hundred for a pair of shoes! Four hundred for the T-shirt! While I’ve got enough in my bank account, I’m definitely not used to such high-end shopping.

“What about lingerie? What are you gonna wear?”

I gasp at her question. Emma, I have no intention of taking my clothes off after just exchanging some kisses. “I don’t know… Why? Does it matter?”

“Oh, babygirl, you are unbelievable. Of course it does. You need a black lace set, and a push-up bra for sure. Let’s hurry up!”

While I wanted to attend the concert alone with the girls, my dad has imposed his own rules and I’ll have to go with my godfather instead. As a “responsible adult,” he must pick me up and drop me off at home no later than one thirty a.m. These are the non-negotiable conditions for me to be able to go. Oh, Alexander’s just texted. He’s downstairs waiting for me, punctual as always. I take one last look in the mirror before leaving. I’ve opted for a white Balmain T-shirt, a black leather skirt, black sheer thigh-high stockings, and a pair of heeled ankle boots—not my usual style, to say the least. But hey, it’s not usual for me to attend a concert either.

Crossing the hallway of my building, I feel the doorman staring at me discreetly. “Have a great evening, Ms. Van Gatt,” I hear as I walk outside.

Alex’s leaning against his car, just like last time. He looks young and effortless in a smoky black Henley shirt with four buttons all closed, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a three-strand brown bracelet on his left wrist, and light-gray jeans. Well, at least he doesn’t need Emma to know how to dress for a concert.

“So, where is your date?” I tease.

His eyes dart in my direction, checking me out from top to bottom. I’m expecting some sort of reaction, a compliment maybe, but nothing. “I saw her yesterday so I could be free this evening. Shall we?” he asks, opening my door.

“She’s too old to enjoy a pop concert?”

His eyes hold a glint of humor, playing with the corners of his mouth. “Just in case you didn’t realize, little Petra, it’s a teen concert.”

The “teen” concert is playing at Terminal 5—a live music venue not too far away. I can already see the streets full of people waiting to get in. Oh God. My heartbeat quickens and my stomach knots. What if I have to be squeezed in among the crowd? Today I took a pill to prevent a panic attack, but even so, it’s hard not to freak out.

Alex notices it. “Don’t worry,” he reassures, smiling. “My brother managed to get us a private box, there’ll be no one else.”

I heave a sigh of relief.

The box is on the third floor and looks directly onto the stage. It can easily hold thirty people, but tonight we’re the only ones occupying it. We find a low table with a bottle of champagne, two flutes, a leather sofa, and a greeting card with a message inside: Hope you will enjoy. Xx, Jimmy.

I smile tenderly.

A security guard knocks on the door.

“Petra? Jimmy would like to see you before the concert starts. May I escort you backstage?”

I glow with excitement. “Of course. I’m coming.”

But Alex reaches out and holds my wrist before I can do so. I raise an eyebrow. “Be careful with him.”

Dear Lord! Just like his voice, his face is harsh, stern, serious... Anyway, I couldn’t care less—Jimmy’s waiting for me.

The security escorts me backstage, where Jimmy and his musicians are getting ready. I can hear the crowd outside screaming as their excitement grows. Jeez! I’m glad to be in a private box upstairs. The area backstage is quite dark, and with such a big crew moving around, it’s hard to find him. I look a bit further and finally my face beams with joy, recognizing his figure. Jimmy looks sexier than ever—dark ripped skinny jeans, ankle boots, and a black V-neck T-shirt.

I jog over to where he’s standing and wrap my arms around his neck. “Hi, Jimmy!”

“Hey!” he shouts, before kissing me passionately. His hands are finally free to touch my hips. When I open my eyes again, I find him smiling at me. “You look fucking hot,” he says bluntly.

My face goes red at his words. I glance briefly down, smiling, and tuck some hair behind my ear. Looks like all those hours getting ready were worth it. “Good luck at your concert.”

“You know,” he swallows hard, “I’ve been thinking about you since we met…” Jimmy reaches down, takes my hand, and presses it firmly against his boner—already arching hard into my palm. I gasp at the feel of him but keep my hand still. “I’m so glad you came.”

I smile at him, but suddenly remember that I didn’t come alone, and my smile turns into a loud rush of breath. “Yeah, well, I had to bring your brother…”

He bursts into laughter. “We’ll manage to distract him at the party, don’t worry.” He bends down slightly to my ear. “I want to be totally alone with you,” he whispers.

I feel my heartbeat pounding faster at every word. “Me too,” I breathe, before kissing him again.

“Look, after the concert, go straight to the Four Seasons and wait for me in the lobby, alright?”

I nod.

“Jimmy, we’re ready to go!” informs one of the stage managers.

“I have to go. I hope you enjoy.”

“I’m sure I will.” I smooch him on his lips once more, our hands entwined. When we reopen our eyes, I murmur a quick “Good luck” and walk away. He takes a deep breath, staring at me until I reach the door and exit.

On my way back to the box, all I can think about is him—his smile, his touch, his lips, his kisses, his smell… ahhh. I let out a tender breath. After my bad experience with James, I’m so happy to have met Jimmy, to be here at his concert. My cheeks flush as I picture what we’ll be doing at the party afterward. But my grin fades away at the sight of my godfather—he is still here waiting for me. I roll my eyes. Why can’t he just go home? Maybe I can persuade him to leave early.

“So, how was it?” he asks with amusement, looking at my sweaty pink face.

With my mind still wandering, I let out a deep sigh. “Your brother is sooo lovely.”

His eyes widen in surprise. “Yeah, right. I bet,” he sniggers, head shaking, and looks again at the twinkle in my eye. “That’s so cute. Look at you. My little goddaughter has a crush.”

“What’s so funny? Stop it!” I slap his stomach with the back of my hand, hurting myself even more than I do him. I didn’t expect it to be that hard—harder than Jimmy’s boner. I bite my lip to contain the pain, but my grimace gives it away.

Alex starts laughing even harder. “Did my abs hurt you, little Petra?”

Fuck off! But I say, “Stop it!” and turn my back on him. I don’t want him to notice how much I’m blushing, yet I can feel his amused gaze on me. Fortunately, the lights turn off and an announcer greets the public. Suspense grows as the stage fills with smoke and fog. The crowd loves it, screaming and whistling for more. Finally, the first musicians emerge from the darkness; everyone yells and claps. They start to play their instruments, the beginning of the first song. Flashlights go on and off around the venue, the noise deafening.

All of a sudden, Jimmy runs onto the stage, followed by white projectors. He grasps his microphone, waits for the right chord, and starts singing. I grin, proud to see him, my eyes sparkling. And just like the crowd, I cheer, scream, and clap as hard as I can. Alex smiles too. But I’m not sure if it’s because of his brother, or something else.

“Y’all having a good time?” shouts Jimmy.

The crowd is electrified.

“I want to dedicate my next song to a very special girl I’ve met recently.” He looks up at the box, staring at me.

“Oh God,” Alex and I say at the same time.

“Petra.” Jimmy points his index finger at me. “This song is for you.” He closes his eyes and starts crooning passionately. The crowd is yelling, barely containing their excitement as they recognize the famous song, and the musicians start to play. It’s a romantic melody; the lyrics melt every young soul in the venue. I’m speechless, baffled, my eyes brighter than ever. It’s so hard to even believe it! Is Jimmy really singing for me? Am I dreaming?

The two big screens in front of the stage broadcast live. On the screen, I can see girls sobbing and singing with him. But unlike them, I don’t know the lyrics to keep up. Nevertheless, I cherish every word and every moment he’s singing. He’s so talented! This song’s so dramatic that I nearly cry at the last refrain. “I’ve tried to see, I’ve tried to cure, cure me of you, but I’m blind, blind from your looove. Oh baby, I know, I’ve tried to cure myself, but all I do is lose my mind.”

A storm of loud applause fills the venue. Jimmy looks up, gives me one of his irresistible smiles, and winks at me. Holy shit. Everyone’s clapping, cheering, and whistling, but he’s staring at me! I clap my hands as hard as I can, totally exhilarated.

They play three more songs until the curtain finally falls and the concert is officially over. I can’t wait to kiss him again, hug him, and thank him for the wonderful song he dedicated me.

“Such an amazing concert, right?”

“Wonderful,” snaps Alex. “Petra?” He holds my arms, forcing me to cool down and return to planet Earth. “Look at me.” But I don’t want to. Will he really give me the most embarrassing talk ever? I nevertheless obey. “I know you’re all excited about my brother… but…” He lets out a breath. “Don’t do anything you might regret, alright?”

I roll my eyes. Why does he have to ruin everything? “What is your problem with your brother?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. “I don’t get it.”

“The way he talked about you was…” He tries to find the most suitable words, but they don’t come.

“Did he talk to you about me? What did he say?”

“He was very inappropriate,” he replies instantly.

“What ‘inappropriate’ means to you might be a compliment to me.”

“Petra, I don’t think he cares about you, but rather about what you are.”

I furrow my brows in total confusion. “Could you be a bit more specific?”

But Alex sighs again. “I’m sorry. I’m… I'm terrible at this.” He lowers his gaze, clearly embarrassed, and remains speechless. At that moment, and for the very first time, I can sense his vulnerability.

“Well, then, don’t talk. It’s alright. I appreciate your concern. But I’m not a child anymore. I’m turning eighteen this year,” I remind him. “But I get it—you haven’t seen me for ten years and now you can’t realize I’ve grown up.”

“I do realize you’ve grown up, Petra. But you’re still young, too young.” He lets out a breath, his face serious, thinking something through. “Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Dear Lord. “I will. Was it Dad who told you to give me this talk?”

“No. Your dad has no idea about your French kisses by the lake with Jimmy.”

But Alex does? “Wow. So he told you about it?”

“He told me everything about it.”

I gasp instantly in horror. “Please don’t tell Dad! If he finds out—”

“I’m not worried about Roy. I’m worried about you, Petra. You barely know him. And I don’t think Jimmy has good intentions toward you.”

“I see...” I pretend I care. “Thanks for the talk.” And I give him a friendly clap on his arm. “Let’s go. Jimmy said to meet him in the lobby of the Four Seasons.”

As we sit in the lobby area just beyond the opulent marble stairs, we realize Jimmy and his crew are nowhere to be seen.

Alex notices how I’m becoming impatient, checking my iPhone every two minutes, looking around, shaking my legs unsteadily.

“He’ll arrive drunk,” he announces bluntly.

“Why are you so tough on him? Maybe he went to pick up some friends.” Or at least that’s what I hope.

“I know him, that’s all.” He pauses. “Look, if we lose each other at the party, give me a call, and I’ll find you.” And what if I don’t want to be found? “I know the suite. I brought him here once for his birthday.” There’s a beat of silence. “And don’t leave without me,” he snaps, so sternly that I swallow hard.

“What about you? What if you find some gorgeous supermodel?”

His face softens with a suppressed laugh. “I’m taking care of you tonight. I won’t leave the party with anyone but you.”

I can’t help but smile and decide to satisfy my usual curiosity. “You know, for a second I thought Jimmy was your son…”

“Really? C’mon, he’s twenty-two.”

Well, why not? Could’ve been. “Yeah, I mean, before you introduced me to him.” He shakes his head in amusement but doesn’t open up further. “Do you have kids?” I finally ask.

“Me? Of course not,” he utters immediately, almost in outrage.

“How can you be so sure?” I insist. “After all, accidents do happen.”

“Um, because…” I feel him hesitate. A shy smile settles on his lips, but he breaks eye contact and stares down at the marble floor. And just like when we were in the private box, I know this type of talk makes him uncomfortable.

“Alex.” His eyes meet mine again for a moment. “I’m not a kid anymore, it’s alright,” I remind him once more, just before giggling like one.

“Okay. Fine,” he spits out. I wait patiently for the rest of his answer, my eyes pinned on him. “I always use condoms.”

“Really? Like, always always?”

“Yes, always always,” he repeats. “I’ve never done it without using one.”

“Wow. What about with Amanda?”

“Damn, you’re so curious. Dear Lord.” He glances around, probably impatient for Jimmy to step in and save him. Not a good excuse, Mr. Van Dieren. I keep staring despite his loud sigh. “Even with Amanda,” he mutters.

“Any reason in particular?” I know at this point I’m being super pushy, but I can’t help it—curiosity is my nickname!

He doesn’t reply, but my eyes are glued to his mouth, waiting for his next words. He presses his lips together, finally looking me in the eye, and knowing there’s no escape, he says, “I just don’t trust women when it comes to birth control, little Petra.”

I hear loud laughter breaking out in the hotel. I follow it with my eyes and see Jimmy and his musicians surrounded by a horde of girls. They flurry in our direction with hearty giggles, swaying and singing with half-empty whiskey bottles in their hands.

To say the least, I’m not pleased. “Have you been drinking already?”

“Just a bit backstage with my boys. Let’s go celebrate!” Everyone cheers, excited to go upstairs. He smooches my lips quickly, but long enough for me to catch a blast of Jack Daniel’s. Alex rolls his eyes, looking away. “Bro! How are you?” greets Jimmy. “Can’t believe you came! So, did you enjoy my songs?”

“Very much.”

“You lie so badly! They are too cheap for you, huh? You know, Petra, my bro thinks he’s some sort of aristocratic playboy.” He bursts into laughter, but no one else does. “Alex, the aristocratic playboy.” I shake my head. Jimmy’s just embarrassing himself right in the middle of the lobby.

“C’mon, let’s go.” I grab his hand and drag him into the elevator. We go to the Fifty-First floor. Once we arrive in front of his suite, he taps his keycard on the reader and opens the door into a gigantic living room. The atmosphere is dark and playful, with way too many people already inside, from friends and acquaintances to models and crew members. Everyone’s already partying, drinking and dancing to the DJ. They raise their glasses and cheer at the sight of him. Jimmy does some quick dance moves and dives into the crowd for a cheering, kissing, and hugging crusade.

I’m frightened. I hate this kind of party more than anything else. But I take a deep breath and step in. Oh! I see at terrace in the distance. “Let’s go outside!” And I drag Alex with me.

The party is a raging success. Everyone seems to be having fun. Alex and I are standing on the terrace, enjoying the fresh breeze, the softer music, and talking to three gorgeous blonde models, or wait… maybe that’s just Alex. Indeed, I feel totally left out. I decide to look around for Jimmy, but he’s neither on the terrace, nor in the living room.

Suddenly, I receive a text message: Are you free?

It’s from him. Finally!

Yep, where are you? I reply.

You’ll see a waiter standing in front of my room. Tell him your name, and he’ll let you in.

I leave the living room, walk down the hallway, and see a young man in a white suit with a bow tie standing in front of a door. Must be him.

“Hi, I’m Petra Van Gatt.”

He nods and lets me in.

The bedroom is empty. I don’t see anyone. But I do hear water falling from the en suite bathroom. Is he in the shower? I don’t want to disturb him.

“Hey, how are you? I’m sorry, I really needed a shower.” Jimmy walks into the room with a white towel wrapped around his hips.

I cover my eyes immediately and turn around. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know… Please take your time.”

“Do you mind if I wear only boxers?”

What? I gasp instantly. I’ve never seen anyone in boxers! Even James had only taken his shirt off. “Would you mind wearing some jeans too?” I dare to ask.

“Alright, then…”

I can hear him walking toward the closet. I sit on the edge of his bed and wait.

“You can look now.” I dare to do so and see he’s at least half dressed. His body’s dry and fit, but strangely, not enough for my taste. Don’t ask me why, but I’ve always had a penchant for athletic and lean guys. “I’m sorry, it’s just I… I’m not used to seeing guys in boxers…”

He sits beside me. “No worries.”

I smile timidly at him in a failed attempt to cover the palpable tension. Jimmy starts to caress my jawline, tucks some hair behind my ear, and kisses my lips before laying me down, his body slightly inclined on mine. My pulse pounds nervously faster and faster with every kiss. He nibbles my bottom lip, then my chin, going further down to my neck, smooching it hurriedly between panting breaths. His hands slide under my T-shirt, trying briefly to take it off, but he probably senses that I’m uncomfortable and stops.

“Do you want some?” he asks, reaching for a tray with white powder lines from the nightstand.

Why does everyone do cocaine? God! “No, thank you.” I smile, shaking my head.

Despite the shower, he still looks quite unsteady, maybe half drunk. He takes a rolled up dollar bill and sniffs a line. “You should. It’s great to relax. Not even a tiny bit? Just to try.”

I decline again.

Jimmy puts the tray on the nightstand and then reaches again for me, devouring my mouth. Hungry for more, he discreetly pulls my skirt up, and I feel his fingers fondling my inner thigh. I shiver at his touch and I instinctively stop him from getting closer to my crotch. “I’m sorry, I’m—”

“I know,” he cuts me off with a sly smile. “You’ve never done it, right?”

I frown at the question. Is it written on my face or what? “And how do you know that?” I ask, confused.

“I felt it,” he replies plainly.

I narrow my eyes, Alex’s voice suddenly resonating in my mind. I don’t think he cares about you, but rather about what you are. Did he mean a virgin? Jimmy’s about to reach my lips, but I’ve got more to say. “Is this the reason why you brought me here?”

“Well…what would it be for, then?” He mocks bluntly, sniggering at my face.

Disgusted by his attitude, I slap him. “You’re really a fucking bastard! Alex was right.” I try to stand up, but his body weight is on top of me. "Get off!”

He grabs me by the neck, holding me down. “Who do you think you are, bitch? I deserve to take this pussy. I dedicated a fucking song to you!”

“Get away from me,” I scream, my arms pushing him back.

“Shhh!” He covers my mouth with his palm. “Scream once more, and you’ll see. Now…” he starts to unfasten his belt and unzip his jeans, pushing them down.

I gasp, seeing his boner behind his boxers. I’m frightened, my heartbeat keeps thundering. I glance around for my iPhone—it’s inside my purse on the other side of the bed, although not too far from my reach.

“Time to take what is mine.”

I try to move my hand to discreetly reach it, but he grabs my wrists and devours my mouth violently so I can’t scream any further. Fuck! I’ve got to call Alex. I bite Jimmy’s tongue so hard that he releases me instantly.

“Alex!” I scream as loud as I can. But the music is loud, too loud.

“Such a bitch! You fucking bit my tongue!” He slaps me back.

I yell in pain but manage to grab my iPhone.

“Put the phone down!”

I press the call button, but he throws the phone on the floor and pulls me back to the center of the bed. As I try to move, he lays his entire body on top of me—it’s getting hard to even breathe! He pinches my lips. “Now you shut the fuck up. Are we clear?”

He slips the other hand down between my thighs. I feel his sweaty fingers reaching my panties. I scream again, with tears of rage rolling down my face and my legs trembling. He kisses my mouth so viciously that I feel like I’m suffocating. I want to throw up in disgust, but he inserts his repugnant tongue in my mouth to lick mine. Then I start sobbing. Tired of having my arms flailing around him, he holds my skinny wrists tight behind the pillow with one single hand. I’m paralyzed by his torso; my entire body quivers. I close my eyes, shaking my head repeatedly in an attempt to free his repulsive mouth from mine. But the more I try to fight, the more I feel him crushing my chest, his tongue wriggling inside my mouth and his arousal growing. Oh God. I just want to die at this precise moment, instead of having to feel his disgusting fingers near my crotch, pressing into me.

I hear glass break against something.

His fingers stop, his entire body becomes motionless—Jimmy falls over me, unconscious. I’m able to make out Alex standing behind him, pulling his brother’s body away from me.

I can finally breathe again. My face grows red as I think about what could’ve happened.

But my attention shifts back to Alex, who sits beside me. Wow. His eyes are even more frightened and full of hatred than mine, his heartbeat even louder. “It’s alright, Petra. I’m here,” he murmurs.

A wave of emotion consumes me, and at the sound of his voice, I hug him instantly, sobbing against his chest. “Oh God,” I howl. “I feel so terrible.” He holds me firmly in his arms, kissing the top of my head while caressing the long strands of my hair to comfort me. “You were so right—”

“Shh… I’m here. It’s over.” He looks into my eyes and dries some tears with his thumbs. “It’s over,” he repeats in a whisper, holding my jaw. “Did he hurt you? Definitely on the right cheek, you are so red.”

“He slapped me,” I confess, looking down, ashamed.

“Hey.” He brings my chin up. “This bastard will never touch you again. We will report him to the police now.”

“No! Don’t go to the police. It’ll only bring trouble to all of us, and Dad will know about it.”

“Petra, have you seen what he did to you? This monster should never walk the streets ever again.”

“Don’t go to the police, please,” I insist. “It’s your brother. He was under the influence of alcohol and cocaine. I’m sure he’ll regret it as soon as he wakes up.”

“That’s totally irrelevant. His behavior was absolutely inexcusable. We should report him.”

“I don’t want to. It won’t wash away what he did. No one needs to know about this. Dad will be so disappointed in both of us.” He frowns in confusion at my answer. “In me, because I went to his bedroom, and in you because... well... technically you allowed me to,” I explain.

He sighs loudly, but no one is up for any more debate. “We’ll discuss it later. Now, let’s go home.” He kisses my forehead softly one last time, holds me by the hand, and we finally leave.

I’ve never felt so scared and abused in my entire life. How did Jimmy have the guts to do something like that? Was it only because he was under alcohol and cocaine, as I said? Or was it a premeditated act? I shudder at the thought of him. I stare at my godfather instead. He’s driving, focused on the road, but visibly angry. I want to thank him, but his glare is so enraged, so full of fury. I wonder what he’s thinking.

“I’m truly sorry for his behavior, Petra.” He punches the steering wheel in anger. “Damn it! Such a fucking asshole. I can’t believe it.”

“It’s alright… I’m fine now,” I reply, to cool him down. “Thank you for being there for me.”

He gives me a tender smile and lays his right hand on top of mine, while holding the steering wheel with the other.

His eyes are laser focused on the road, but his thumb starts caressing my fingers. I can’t help but smile at the feel of his touch. He brings my hand to his lips, yet his eyes remain forward, attentive and serious. I watch him placing subtle kisses on my knuckles. They are protective, appeasing, and warm. In fact, I realize he has never kissed me on the cheek, not even once, since we’ve only greeted each other verbally. I wonder why and, for an instant, how it would feel to rest my lips on his face.

He looks back at me.

“No one will ever hurt you again, Petra. I give you my word.”

The sound of his voice curls my lips into a pleasant smile. It feels so reassuring. And, strange or not, I have the feeling he truly means it.

“Dad gave me until one thirty a.m… Maybe we could go somewhere else before going straight home?”

“Petra, I promised your father I’d take you to the concert and the party. That’s it. No bars or clubs. Plus, with what happened, you need to rest.”

“I wasn’t thinking about any bar or club. Maybe we could go to your place for some tea? You told me you were renting a condo nearby, right?”

I hear only silence. His face reveals nothing as he glances at his watch. “Fine. I guess we have time for a quick tea and to put some soothing ointment on that cheek. But then, home.” I smile, victorious, despite his stern voice.

CHAPTER 8

Manhattan, June 2, 2019

Alexander Van Dieren

I hand her a cup while trying to prevent my rage and anger from consuming me. Yet, the urge to beat the hell out of my brother is all I can think about. Damn it. What a fucking bastard—he knew perfectly that Petra was my goddaughter and how much I cared about her. Before I can dwell further, I take a deep breath and sit in front of her. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah… thanks,” she confirms, stirring her tea.

But Petra seems distant, lost in her own thoughts. I bring my chair closer to hers. I can’t help noticing the red mark on her cheek. Fuck, he must’ve slapped her quite hard. That bastard is going to regret it. I’ll take care of him later.

“What’s going on, Petra? Is it because of him? That guy is a total bastard. Don’t even think about him anymore. I should’ve never introduced you to him. I’m so sorry. I never thought—”

“No, it’s not that…” she cuts me off. “It’s just…” Petra sighs, looking absently at her tea. “Every time I’m interested in someone, I get deceived.”

“You mean you already met guys like him?”

“Once. And that’s my entire romantic life.”

“So you had a boyfriend before?” I ask, my tone coming out more worried than I expected.

She giggles. “No. He was just a crush from high school, and I saw him at Emma’s party. He was so cute and nice. But anyway…”

“What happened then?” Yep, now it’s my turn to be curious, Ms. Van Gatt.

“Hey, are you gonna tell Dad?”

“Well, I’m already hiding from him your little trip to jail, so I bet I can hide one more thing.”

She studies my face for a moment with narrowed eyes and pressed lips. “Okay, fine. His name is James, and we were together in a bedroom when—”

“Wait. In a bedroom? You mean… doing it?” I have to ask.

Her jaw drops at my question. “Of course not,” she replies, nearly outraged. “I’m not like that.”

I raise an eyebrow suspiciously. “Not like what?”

She breaks eye contact instead, her cheeks flushing as she looks down at her tea. “You’ll make fun of me if I tell you...”

I escape a wry smile, intrigued. “Try me.”

But the Miss doesn’t open up further.

I put my hand on hers, searching for her gaze. When she finally meets mine again, I add, “I’ll never make fun of you, Petra. You can trust me.”

We keep quiet as we stare into each other’s eyes.

“I...” she mumbles.

Nothing but silence remains.

“I just want to do it with the right one… Like in books, when they truly love each other... It’s stupid, I know. Call me old-fashioned,” she teases with an ounce of embarrassment, her eyes darting down again.

“Petra.”

She instantly looks back at me.

“I think it’s very wise and noble. I’m sure one day you’ll find someone who will love you that way.”

Her face softens with a corner smile, and I find myself returning it. “So,” she proceeds, “James and I were kissing on the bed when Emma stepped in, telling me she caught one of his friends recording us. They wanted to use the video to blackmail us for money.”

“Wow. Disgusting.”

“Indeed. I thought he had morals and standards despite his humble background, but I got it wrong.” She lets out a sigh. “And when I met Jimmy, I kind of trusted him because he was your brother… Anyway, I should’ve listened to you.”

I hold her hand tight. “I’m truly sorry for this, Petra. I should’ve never brought you to that stupid party in the first place.”

She smiles broadly at me, interlocking our fingers. “It’s not your fault,” she reassures with a warm voice, but I can’t help feeling it is. “I’m the one who met him in his bedroom while you were distracted.”

“Alright, enough about bedrooms.” I leap out of my seat. “You deserve a mojito… Virgin mojito,” I tease.

She folds her arms across her chest. “Ha ha. Very funny, Mr. Van Dieren.”

I go to the bar area in my living room to prepare the promised cocktail. Meanwhile, Ms. Curiosity can’t stay still and decides to stroll around my entire apartment. The condo I’m renting is quite spacious, with a modern design, minimal furniture, and a big terrace for dinners outside. Just enough for my usual booty calls. Petra goes a bit further down the hallway, curious (as always) to explore. I can’t help but shake my head.

With her cocktail in hand, I find her inspecting a framed contemporary abstract oil painting on the wall. She doesn’t recognize the artist. I stand beside her, glance at the artwork, and say, “Your mom painted it.” She gasps in surprise. “Tess gave it to me when I became your godfather. You were maybe seven months old.” A smile settles on my lips recalling such memories, and I give her the mojito. “It was a real honor when Roy asked me to be your godfather.” But as I recall what I’ve done, I lower my gaze and my smile fades away.

I hear her swallowing hard.

After a silent minute, my eyes meet hers again. “I owe you an apology,” I declare. “I’m sorry to have been absent for so long, Petra.” I feel a deep pain in my chest simply at the thought of it. “Now that I’m back, I promise I’ll make up for it.”

She takes a sip, and her face beams with a cute little smile. “I must say, I couldn’t have dreamt of a better godfather,” she replies in a low, tender voice.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Her grin gets wider. “The mojito tastes great, by the way.”

The corners of my mouth instantly curve up at her words. She opens her arms and gives me an unexpected hug. With her head resting on my shoulder, I stroke her long, wavy hair—I love the jasmine smell of it—and briefly close my eyes, treasuring this moment. It reminds me of the hugs she used to give me ten years ago. They always feel the same to me, profound and genuinely warm.

After she releases me, I reach down and give her small hand a kiss. Her lips spread apart as she observes mine touching her skin. But to my surprise, my kiss is slower, tender, and deeper than usual. It’s probably only a millisecond longer, and yet I felt the difference. “Well, it’s getting late,” I say, glancing at my watch. “It’s already one o’clock.”

“I see…” She looks around, probably trying to find a viable excuse to stay longer. “I’m hungry. Do you have something to eat?” And she trots toward the kitchen.

I shake my head in amusement. I know her so well. “I don’t eat much here. Maybe some toast and yogurt,” I reply.

“I can cook something for us.”

“Petra, yogurt or home, now.”

“Okay, fine. What kind of yogurt do you have?”

“I don’t know, but I think Maria brought some.”

“Maria? Your new girlfriend?”

“The maid, Petra.”

She opens the fridge. “Hmm, looks like Maria loves raspberry yogurt. You want one?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

Leaning against the doorframe, my arms folded across my chest, I let my eyes dwell on her for a moment. A hint of a smile plays on my lips. Petra can’t help but look exactly her age despite her heavy makeup, her black hair, her leather skirt, her choker necklace—all useless embellishments to my eye. She’s so beautiful without all this rubbish. Natural, angelic, pure… Why on earth would she put all that makeup on? Her skin is already spotless. I can’t help but chuckle: here she is, standing in my kitchen acting like a little girl, her eyes closed as she eats—or devours—a raspberry yogurt. “Mmmm...” I laugh, hearing her voice. Does she know how cute she is? “This is really good,” she says while I remain looking steadily at her, quite entertained. “Can I ask you something?”

But I blink at her question, straighten my posture, and clear my throat. “Sure.”

“Why did you disappear for ten years?”

My heart skips a beat. I didn’t see it coming. “Your dad told you. I moved back to Amsterdam for work.”

“But you didn’t even call…”

“Petra, you were seven,” I snap.

“So what? You think kids don’t have feelings? I considered you my best friend. I trusted you.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d even remember me afterward.”

“I don’t believe you.” Her voice comes out loaded with sorrow. “Why did you abandon me? Why didn't you ever call? Or ever attend any of my birthdays? I know you came to New York on many occasions. Why didn’t you ever want to see me? I… I missed you, for God’s sake!” Her pain is so palpable that it stabs my chest. She sighs heavily, crossing her arms, and turns her face away.

“Petra.” I move in her direction, trying to reach for her, but she takes a step back. Nevertheless, I pinch her chin and keep it up, forcing her gaze to meet mine again. “First, I missed you just as much, if not more. And second, ask your dad—he’ll tell you why. But believe me, it was in your best interest.” I find myself a bit lost in the infinite blue of her eyes; they look like two big, bright sapphires staring back at a flawed human… Okay, enough. I break eye contact, checking my watch. “Time to go, Ms. Van Gatt.”

“I can call Anthony, Dad’s driver. Don’t bother,” she snarls, her arms still folded.

“I told your father I would drive you home.”

“And? You always do what you say?”

“For the Van Gatts, yes.”

Jimmy Van Dieren

I wake up with a huge headache and someone pressing his finger nonstop on the doorbell. Goddammit! Make it stop! I try hard to stand up and stay steady on my feet. Fuck, I can barely see with so much darkness. I drag myself to the hallway of my suite and open the door. Mercifully, it’s Alex... with another man I don’t recognize.

“Oh, bro! You have no—”

Alex grabs my neck so hard I can barely breathe. He and his friend make their way in, closing the door behind them.

“How are you, Jimmy?” he asks, his fingers tightening on my neck.

I nearly faint from the lack of oxygen. WTF is wrong with him? My mouth remains wide open as I try to drag some precious air into my lungs. Since I can’t even talk, he releases me. And when I finally take a breath, he punches me in the face with so much strength that I fall down. “Fuck!” Finding my nose bleeding, I scream in pain. “Goddammit! Stop!”

But he grabs my T-shirt in rage and lifts me off the ground, his face deadly threatening. “Wasn’t that what Petra told you when you tried to rape her?” Another punch. This time in my stomach. That’s it—I throw up my entire night on the floor. “Argh! Disgusting!” Alex takes a step back, avoiding the vomit.

My body is exhausted. Shaking, I collapse on the carpet behind me. “I don’t know! Leave me alone!” I keep sobbing, my face scarlet and with tears streaming down. Jeez, I feel my head’s about to explode.

“You’re so damn lucky she’s not gonna report you. Now get up. We’ve got paperwork for you.”

He’s insane! I can barely stand on my feet, my nose is bleeding, I’ve got a terrible headache, but he expects me to read and sign papers?

Since I’m not obeying, Alex grabs me by the neck again, dragging me like I’m some sort of trash bag to the dining area of the suite. There he forces me to sit on a chair.

Fucking asshole.

“You’ll delete her phone number. And never ever try to get in touch with her again. Are we clear?”

I nod, swallowing the rest of the vomit stuck in my throat.

His friend takes a stack of papers from his briefcase and puts them in front of me. It looks like a contract.

Alex takes a seat beside me and hands me a pen. “Since you are no longer fit to be part of this family, you’ll renounce our father’s name and his heritage. You’ll change your name to Jimmy Visser.” That’s my mother’s last name. WTF? “You’ll also renounce your right to his nobility title and to his inheritance.”

Pfff, I might be half dead but I’m not dumb. Renouncing my father’s title and his fortune? Yeah, right... “And what if I don’t accept?” I dare to ask.

He gives me a side smile that’s enough to scare the hell out of me. “I don’t think you have a choice.” He pauses. “Unless you consider death an option.”

My jaw drops in horror. This man has nothing but evil in his eyes. Terrified by his threat, I remain still and quiet in my chair. After all, I’ve heard some rumors about my brother and his family when dealing with enemies—or anyone they deem threatening—but, damn, would he be capable of going that far?

“Would you go as far as killing your own brother?”

“I no longer have a brother, Jimmy. To me, you are dead,” he announces so stoically that I shiver. “Now, if you want us to handle this as diplomatically as possible, kindly sign the agreement.”

At that instant, I want to throw up what is left of me on the table. But instead, I swallow my fear, reach for the pen, and sign the fucking contract. “Here. All signed. I’m no longer part of your stupid and crazy family. Now, can you leave me alone?”

His friend, probably a lawyer or something, takes the contract, verifies my signature, and nods to Alex.

“I have no intention of staying any longer,” he adds, standing up. “Goodbye, Jimmy.”

Petra Van Gatt

I sit in the shower, my legs bent to my chest, letting the water fall over my hair and body. It feels like déjà vu. I had the same disgusting taste in my mouth following Emma’s farewell party. I put my head down and let myself cry for a brief moment. What a useless waste of time and money spent on this bastard. My overpriced clothes are lying on the floor. I wash off my makeup, feeling angry, deceived, and furious, but mainly with myself. I should’ve seen this coming. Damn, Petra. Even my godfather warned me. Pfff, what a dumbass I was to think Jimmy liked me. It’s time to stop listening to my stupid hormones, which are just landing me in dangerous situations. From now on, I’ll follow Dad’s advice—no more boys for me. I’ll remain focused on my internship and my studies at Columbia.

After getting out of the shower, I observe my naked figure in the mirror. Pale, fragile, too skinny, curveless are just some of the words that come to mind. I can see my collarbone sticking out. My cheek is still marked, but thankfully I’m not bruised. There’s one thing I particularly like about my body though: my breasts. They are small, but fully circular, round, and firm. My areolas are not big either, and they’re of a warm pink that perfectly matches my fair tone. My nipples are pointing outwards. I’ve realized that they become harder and more pronounced with fear. I take my jasmine moisturizer and rub some on my neck, my shoulders, my arms, and the rest of my body. Afterward, I put on my white cotton pajamas and go to my bedroom, plunging inside my fluffy, warm bed. Ha! There is no place like home.

That Sunday, Janine is not here to wake me up, but the sunlight is strong enough to pierce through the curtains and cast light across the room. I open my eyes gently—the light is so bright. No wonder. The clock screams eleven thirty a.m. I gasp. It’s so late. I leap out of bed, take my clothes from the floor, and put them back in the bag. I will ask Janine to wash them and give them to a shelter tomorrow. I never want to see them again.

Speaking of tomorrow, it’s Monday tomorrow. My first day as an intern. Oh God! I trot to the kitchen to prepare some tea.

“Good morning, Petra.”

What is he doing here? “Hey, good morning, Dad. What are you doing here? It’s not usual for you to be in the kitchen. Are you feeling alright?”

“Well, it’s not usual for you to go to a concert either. I just wanted to know how your evening was.”

My heart begins thundering nervously. I put the water on to boil. I swear if Alex told him anything, I’ll never talk to him ever again. Dad’s drinking his usual espresso, the journal closed on the table. “Indeed. It was fun,” I say while choosing my tea for this morning. “Do we have more matcha?”

“I don’t know, since I don’t drink tea. Just fun? That’s all?”

“Yep. That’s all. Ah, I found it.”

“Petra, I only want your happiness and your well-being, you know that,” he starts. “If there is anything you want to tell me, or ask me, I won’t get mad or angry…”

Is that some sort of hint? Does he know about last night? Did Alex tell him? Of course he did! They are best friends. It’s obvious he would report the incident to him. I take a deep breath, trying to control my nerves, and pour the boiled water in my mug. “I know.”

I hear only silence. He’s probably expecting me to open a bit more, but nope. Sorry, Dad, not happening.

“You like Jimmy, don’t you?” My eyes widen in shock. That’s all he knows? I turn back to face him. He looks thoughtful, lost. I can’t stop giggling. “Why are you laughing like that? It’s alright. You don’t need to feel embarrassed. You are not a child anymore.”

“Dad, please stop,” I say, still laughing. “This talk doesn’t fit you at all.” I try to calm myself down. “I have no feelings whatsoever toward Jimmy. Nope. Just forget him, okay? And as you said before, boys are a stupid and useless distraction. I’m focused and looking forward to my internship. It starts tomorrow, remember?”

He smiles proudly, maybe also in relief. “Of course I remember. So, are you still sure about hiding your identity?”

“I am. I’ll be Petra Williams, as we agreed. I want the managers to assess me fairly.”

“As you wish. Well, don’t forget to be at the office at nine o’clock sharp. Andrew will greet the new interns.”

“Yes, Dad. I’ll be there at nine on the dot.”

He stands up, moves toward me, and gives me a hug. “I’m proud of you, Petra, so proud,” he adds before kissing my forehead. “Your godfather told me about the fund he opened for you to invest in emerging artists. I’m sorry I didn’t support you before. He’s a better listener than I.”

My face beams with joy. “It’s alright. I’m happy you like the idea.” Then I promptly ask, "By the way, may I invite Emma over for lunch?”

Dad smiles back, glancing at his watch. “Sure. I have to go, actually. I have lunch in Greenwich. See you later.” And he gives me a quick kiss on the cheek before heading out.

“Bye, Dad. Enjoy.”

CHAPTER 9

Manhattan, June 3, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

Monday comes sooner than I expected. It feels like the most stressful days always come faster than those I look forward to. Janine’s in my bedroom promptly at seven o’clock, but this morning I didn’t need her help to wake me up. My eyes were wide open a long time ago. Anxiety is the one to blame. I take a deep breath and leap out of bed, running to the shower. I know I’ll be the youngest of the interns, but as my father said, that’s no reason for me not to become the best among them. After showering, I decide to wear a white shirt, navy blazer, dark skinny jeans, and my usual beige flats, which match perfectly with anything. I wonder if I should tie up my hair. I think so, so I do a presentable ponytail.

A different driver is waiting outside. He drives me down to the office near the One World Trade Center. Traffic is pretty intense this morning.

I walk into the building—it’s one of those glittering skyscrapers made of marble and glass reflecting the sunlight that beams and bounces off the walls. It feels chilly. A receptionist is sitting behind a large counter, handing out cards to people as they arrive. “Good morning. You are?”

“Hi. I’m Petra V…Williams. Petra Williams. I’m one of the new interns at Gatt-Dieren Capital.”

“Very well. Do you have an ID?”

“Here.” I hand him my new fake ID. Very authentic. Emma knows a Cuban somewhere near Tribeca who makes the best ones in town.

“Thank you, Ms. Williams. Here is your card for the elevator, just on your right. Floor fifty-seven.”

Floor fifty-seven welcomes me directly into a spacious, bright lobby—walls and floor fully marbled in white with a modern wooden reception desk in front. I can see my name, “Gatt-Dieren Capital Management Group,” written on the wall right behind it. I smile, quite proud.

Seconds later, I’m greeted by a female secretary, looking fantastic in an expensive dark suit.

“Hi, I’m Petra Williams, one of the new interns.”

She quickly checks the name on her iPad.

“Certainly, Ms. Williams. Andrew has already started the meeting. Kindly follow me.”

We walk down a long hallway. I’ve never felt this anxious; my heart keeps pounding faster with every step. She opens a door and invites me into a large conference room with a big screen, a stage, and a desk at one end. There are at least sixty people seated theater-style, facing the stage. Everyone stares at me as I step inside. I swallow nervously.

The secretary walks ahead of me and whispers to the man standing up by the stage. He looks to be in his thirties; has short brown hair; and sports a dark denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, white pants, and camel shoes. Quite casual. His beige blazer is hanging on the back of his chair. He looks at me and heads in my direction.

“So, Petra Williams, you’re on the investment team, right?”

“Right,” I smile timidly as he reads from his file.

“Very well. You are late,” he rebukes, closing his dossier before checking me out from top to bottom.

How am I late? It’s 9:04! I’m about to protest, but he’s already moved back to where he was standing before. Damn, such a snob! I decide to have a seat at the very back of the room. Far from where he can see me. I notice how everyone is wearing suits with ties—even the women are wearing suits. Crap. I should have worn pants instead of jeans.

“Alright, everyone. As I was saying, I’m Andrew Sullivan, your supervising manager. I’ll be overseeing this internship stream, for all the teams. We have thirty folks on the investment floor, ten in compliance, ten in operations, and ten in marketing. Investment interns, you’ll be assigned to portfolio managers—each of them will supervise five of you. And since I myself am a portfolio manager, five of you will have the great privilege of joining my team.”

The crowd laughs at his dry joke.

Andrew looks down at the file, probably to read the names of his team. “Mr. Joseph Hampkins?” A young man raises his hand from the audience. “Welcome to the team, Joe.” They all clap, cheering for him. “Mr. Robert Lewis?” Another hand in the air. “Welcome, Rob.” Another quick cheer for Rob. “Ms. Rachel Philips?” The woman raises her hand. I notice she’s sitting just two rows from me. “Welcome, Rach.” Another wave of applause this time, even stronger. Does she already have friends in the room? “Mr. Johnny Ward?” Johnny is right in front. “Welcome, John.” And as expected, he also gets his fair share of noisy cheering. Suddenly, Andrew lifts his eyebrows. “Ms. Petra Williams?” Oh God, why me? I raise my hand like my colleagues, but to silence. He doesn’t seem very welcoming or enthusiastic either. He nods. “Welcome, Williams.”

I sigh. What a nightmare.

“Well, enough from me. Now, ladies and gentlemen, it’s with the greatest pleasure and honor I introduce you to Mr. Van Gatt, our dearest founder and chairman.” What? He’s here?

Everyone stands up, instantly clapping, whistling, and cheering, while Dad gets up from his front-row seat.

He shakes Andrew’s hand, thanks him for his warm introduction, takes the microphone, and waits for the crowd to sit again. Pfff, I bet I’ll hear about my arriving late when I get home.

Williams. This is how Andrew will treat me from now on. Everyone has received friendly nicknames but me. There’s Joe for Joseph, Rob for Robert, Rach for Rachel, John for Johnny, but I got Williams. This is not the start I expected, to say the least.

“What are you working on?” Andrew asks, stopping by my desk.

His tone is sharp as a knife and irritating, but I decide to answer politely. “I’m gathering data on emerging artists in contemporary art and comparing their performance to similar ones.”

“Artists?” He frowns. “Right… Not sure if you know, Williams, but you’re on my team. And my team is researching oil, not artists. So you better stop what you’re doing and get focused on energy markets.”

“I’m sorry? I thought it was written somewhere that I’d be covering emerging artists.”

“Williams, you are so funny.” He snickers. “We don’t have any fund that covers emerging artists. But that’s a great idea. I’ll suggest it to the management. Until then, oil.”

I’m confused. I can’t figure out why Alex or Dad didn’t warn Andrew that I’ve got a fund to invest on my own. I decide to text my godfather discreetly. Hi, Andrew’s asking me to spend time on oil research… You didn’t tell him I got my own fund?

I wait a bit.

Finally, I see Alex typing. I smile. No, Andrew doesn’t know who you are. You must convince him you want to have a fund.

But my smile vanishes just as fast. What? Since he doesn’t know who I am, he’ll never support me!

Tell him you want to invest in emerging artists, get him on your side, and then tell him you’d like to pitch your idea to the management, he instantly replies.

And what if he doesn’t let me talk to the management?

You wanted to play by the rules, right? Then play by them. Good luck.

I cringe. Andrew’s a douchebag. I can feel it. With no sensibility or appreciation whatsoever for art, I’ll have to convince him with numbers and potential returns.

I leave my desk, my research folded under my arm, and look around for him.

Ah, here he is! I find him standing with colleagues next to the coffee machine.

I take a deep breath, clear my throat, and poke him. “Andrew? I’m sorry to bother you, but do you have a minute?”

“What’s up?”

“I think you should check the research I’ve done about potential returns in the art sector.” I hand him the sheet with stats and returns. “Some artists even achieved fifteen hundred percent growth in less than eighteen months. This one, for instance, started selling his paintings at one thousand dollars, and one year later, some of his artwork was valued at fifteen thousand dollars. With all the exhibitions he’s doing worldwide, he could achieve at least one hundred thousand dollars per piece within three to four years, based on the performance of similar artists.”

“I’m hungry. You want to talk about this over lunch?”

He paid attention. That’s amazing! “Yes, sure. Let’s grab lunch.”

We go to a small bistro just across the street. “They make amazing pasta,” he guarantees as we sit, and before I can say anything, he orders for both of us.

I hand my research to Andrew, who scans the pages attentively, asking questions as he goes.

“Alright, Williams, convincing numbers. What do you want from me?”

“I’d like to pitch a fund for emerging artists to the management.”

He bursts into laughter, shaking his head. “Yeah, right…” But I remain serious. I’m not kidding, dumbass. He clears his throat and straightens his posture. “It’s a little early, Williams. You’ve just arrived.” I look suspiciously at him until he glances again at my file, more precisely at the financial forecast. “Who exactly do you think would be interested in your idea?” He takes a sip from his glass.

“Alexander Van Dieren.”

But he nearly chokes on it. “The CEO? Wow, you aim high. Look, he’s quite busy, you know. I’m not sure if he has time for that.”

“I’m sure he has time to test some new revenue lines.”

“This is a super-risky type of fund. I don’t know if he would be interested,” he insists.

“I saw you invest in emerging markets. Why not emerging artists?”

Andrew sighs. “Alright, look,” he starts. “I admire folks who have the guts to pitch new ideas, but getting a fund as an intern is nearly impossible. And even if by some sort of divine intervention you manage to convince Van Dieren to open a fund for emerging artists, you’ll need someone to supervise it, and you being on my team, this someone would be me…” He smirks. “Therefore, I would want a commission.”

“Well, I imagine if the fund profits are for Gatt-Dieren Capital, then I’m probably entitled to a percentage, and you too.”

“Right. But just to make it clear—I want a percentage on your percentages.”

“What? That’s not fair.”

“The world isn’t fair, darling. You’ll need my help for the intro and the pitch.”

What about telling you he is my godfather, idiot? No, cool down, Petra. You wanted to play by the rules; you play by the rules. “You know, I’m just looking for a small fund to start, two hundred and fifty thousand as a test. I might leave the company after this internship, but you can easily replace me with someone and continue to grow the fund and make further returns. So, in the long-term, you’ve already won.”

“Alright, alright…” He mumbles, staring at the beautiful waitress as she places our lunch on the table. Right, he probably didn’t hear a thing.

We start eating.

Ugh. This meeting is going nowhere. I have to try harder. “When are you calling Van Dieren?”

“You mean, you want me to call him now?” he garbles while chewing.

“Of course. I want to pitch the fund as soon as possible. I thought you were a hustler.”

And Andrew is one. He takes the bait, picks up his phone, and finally calls Van Dieren’s office.

“Hi, Cate. It’s Andrew Sullivan. Is Mr. Van Dieren available this afternoon? I’d like to talk to him… Just ten minutes would be enough… It’s about opening a new fund… Alternative investments… Perfect. After lunch is fine.” He hangs up. “After lunch I can talk to him for ten minutes. See? I’m a real hustler. That’s why I make seven figures a year.”

I roll my eyes. Such a pathetic ego. So easy to manipulate.

Andrew seems visibly nervous as we walk down the hallway to Van Dieren’s office. I follow closely, trying to contain my amusement.

“Okay, look, you stay behind me, and don’t talk unless he asks you something.”

“Are you alright?” I ask, quite entertained.

“He can be scary sometimes. He has this annoying habit of looking you straight in the eyes with a serious stare and no smile whatsoever. I never know what he’s thinking—maybe he likes what I’m saying or maybe he hates it. Anyway, let me do the talking, and you’ll be fine.”

We step into an open room with a desk and a well-groomed receptionist smiling at us. But I find myself staring at the glass wall behind her instead, which offers a splendid view of the city.

“Hi, Cate. How are you? Is Van Dieren available?”

“Hi, Andrew. Let me check.” She calls and speaks over the phone in a low, discreet voice. “You can enter. You’ve got ten minutes.”

Andrew swallows hard. “Perfect. Thank you, Cate.” He looks at me standing behind him. “Let’s go.” He then takes a deep breath and, after knocking out of courtesy, opens the door. “Mr. Van Dieren, how are you doing?”

Alex stands leaning against the edge of his office desk, reading some report. He doesn’t pay attention to Andrew’s greeting. I notice he’s wearing glasses to read. Damn, even with glasses he looks hot. Today he’s formal but somehow looks effortless—fit navy-striped waistcoat and pants; white shirt with a tie and sleeves rolled up to his elbows; hair unbrushed, wild, and loose, touching each side of his forehead... Petra, focus! I decide to move toward him and introduce myself. “Good afternoon, Mr. Van Dieren.” I extend a hand. “I’m Petra Williams, an intern on Andrew’s team.”

“Petra,” he smiles, staring at me straight in the eyes, probably proud to see me here in his office. “Very nice to meet you.” He holds my hand a fraction longer than necessary.

“Mr. Van Dieren, many thanks for your time. Petra is a new but very motivated intern, and she gave me some great ideas to open a new fund—a small one—in the field of emerging artists.”

“I see… So, who had the idea for this fund?”

“I did,” reply both Andrew and I at the same time.

What a liar! I can’t believe it! “I’m sorry, Andrew, I think you misunderstood. I did talk to you about my idea over lunch, but I am the one who did all the legwork,” I protest. Alex tries hard to suppress a smile. “Mr. Van Dieren, I’d like to discuss the opportunity to have a fund to invest in emerging artists that could generate real value for the firm,” I start. “I know this is not a field you’ve supported previously at Gatt-Dieren Capital, but art is just like—”

“Andrew?”

“Yes, Mr. Van Dieren?”

“You may go back to your desk. I’m sure your interns are looking for you.”

“Sure.” Andrew can’t hide his disappointment at being dismissed, but he leaves the office anyway.

Alex keeps quiet until Andrew shuts the door behind him. He looks back at me with a corner smile. “I’m impressed. That’s a great start. Roy will be very proud of you.”

I try to keep a serious, professional face, but I also let a quick smile escape. “Being stubborn has its benefits.”

“Here.” He hands me his file. “You’ve got all the details of your new fund inside.”

I open it and read the first page attentively. “I don’t see Andrew Sullivan as the fund supervisor…”

“Correct, he is not. I am the supervisor. You report directly to me.”

“They’ll find it suspicious. It’s a small fund of…” I blink many times before I can read the capital properly without gagging. “One-point-five million dollars?”

“I did some research about the artists you talked about. Quite impressive. For instance, that Mel Bochner you like so much—his artwork has been sold in auctions for one hundred thousand dollars apiece. I’m no art dealer, but you’re on the right path to become one. As you’ll read in the conditions, this is a long-term fund, so you can’t spend it all during your internship—you also have to leave two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in capital for emergency and growth.”

I feel light-headed. Beyond excited. I want so much to hug him tight. But instead, I smile respectfully and say, “I won’t disappoint you. Thank you so much, Alex.”

“You should thank your father too. After all, he’s the one who suggested giving you a seven-figure fund.”

What I considered to be work doesn’t feel like work at all anymore. With such an amazing opportunity to finally build up a substantial art collection, I’m keeping myself as focused as an eagle on its prey, except the prey is my investment plan— a requirement before spending a dime.

“I didn’t start the right way with you. I’m sorry.” But I keep staring at my screen, ignoring Andrew exactly like our CEO just did.

“That’s alright,” I mumble, since he’s not leaving. And I know why. I’m laughing hard inside. Andrew is not getting a single dime of my new fund, and I love it! “Just in case you didn’t know, you’re not supervising this fund.” My eyes remain on the screen, but I can feel his mind churning in confusion.

“What? What do you mean I’m not supervising your fund?” He grabs the file from my desk and impatiently reads the fund’s details. “Very well, Williams. That’s a move I wasn’t expecting. You like to play tough. We’ll see how you perform.”

“Oh, c’mon, Andrew. Stop crying.” I find myself saying as I shift my eyes to him. “It would have been an insignificant bonus anyway. You should focus on where the big money is.” I finish with a friendly smile, though I know Andrew isn’t pissed because of the commission, but rather because he’s been outsmarted, and his ego is now taking a hammering.

“Look, you might have charmed Van Dieren with your pathetic idea, but I’m still your supervisor. And I am the one writing the reports about your behavior, your ethical approach, and your professionalism…” He steps slightly closer to me. “You know if I give you poor ratings in terms of your behavior toward your superiors, no firm in New York will hire you, right?”

My face remains unreadable, but I’m starting to lose my temper with this little parasite.

“Andrew.” I try to remain as calm as possible. “I understand you’re taking your job very seriously, so am I. But I don’t recommend you lie about me on your reports.” See, Mr. Van Gatt doesn’t appreciate people who try to screw his daughter over. Oh God, it would’ve felt so good to say that!

“Oh, the little intern is threatening me...”

At this point, I just shrug my shoulders and look back at my screen. “Do as you wish, but don’t blame me if you lose your job afterward.”

His mouth opens wide in shock, but he finally decides to leave my desk.

I heave a deep sigh of relief.

Alright, Petra, back to work. I browse all my favorite artists and create a file of new, up-and-coming names who’ll need further research.

My plan has to be balanced between low- and high-risk investments. I take a numbers-focused approach like Alex advised, looking at the math, the statistics, and the projected returns in the short and long term...

Phew! I’ve been working tirelessly the entire afternoon; hours feel just like minutes. The artists—

“Petra?”

“God! You scared me.”

“It’s eight p.m. Everyone already left. What are you still doing here?” scolds Alex, standing before me.

He has finally removed his tie and opened his collar. Oh dear. My mouth goes dry looking at him, and I try hard not to gape. I wonder where is he heading next. To a dinner? A bar? Some exciting event? Maybe we could go together…

Get a grip, Petra! I look back at my screen and click print. “I was just finishing. When can I present you with my investment plan?”

“You already have one?”

“Yep,” I reply, collecting a thick stack of pages from the printer.

“Alright, pass by my office tomorrow, then. Now, let me call Anthony to take you home.”

I roll my eyes. “I can book an Uber.”

“I want to make sure you get home safely.”

“Ubers are safe.”

Nevertheless, Alex keeps holding his iPhone to his ear. “I know that, but not enough for my taste.”

“Pfff, you’re as controlling as Dad. Unbelievable.”

He walks a few steps in my direction. Standing in front of him, I can’t help but inhale his perfume. It’s so unique—sophisticated and old-school, yet daring and audacious. I wonder if he created it himself.

“Hi, Anthony. Ms. Van Gatt is ready to go home. Kindly pick her up at the headquarters. Thank you. Bye.” And he hangs up. “Anthony is gonna be here in five minutes.”

I let out a sigh, displeased. After all, while I’ll be heading to an empty home, my godfather will most likely be going to a very exciting place. “And you? Where are you going?”

“Always so damn curious, huh?” he teases, shaking his head in amusement. “I’ve got a dinner to go to.”

Of course you do. And I’ll be dining alone with my books. I nod pensively, trying to hide my disappointment. “Well, enjoy your dinner,” I reply, making my way toward the elevators.

But he reaches for my hand before I can do so. “Petra.”

“Yes?” I try hard not to blush as I look at him in the eye. He lets a corner smile escape but doesn’t say a word. Okay, he knows I’m blushing.

“Good night.” And he gives my hand a kiss like he always does.

“Good night, Alex.”

Falling asleep is just impossible. My mind has been ruminating for the last two hours. What if Alex doesn’t like my investment plan? Or what if some of the artists I’ve selected are not good enough? And, worse, what if he doesn’t approve any of them?

I glance at the clock. One a.m. Shit. How am I gonna wake up in time tomorrow? I can already hear Andrew rebuking, Late again, Williams?

I suddenly have an idea. I grab my iPhone and call Dad. After all, he’s the best person to take a look at it.

“Dad? Hi. Are you home? Can we meet in the library for a second? I need your input. Thank you. See you there.”

I put on a robe and head to the library with a copy of my investment plan.

Dad stands behind the desk, looking sleepily out the window at the darkness beyond. He’s wearing a long dark-blue velvet robe. Whatever the situation, I always find him formal and serious.

“What’s going on, Petra? It’s one a.m. I really hope it’s urgent.”

“I’m pitching my investment plan to Alex for my new fund tomorrow…”

“You’ve already finished your investment plan?”

“Yep, here.”

He starts reading the first page, then flicks through the rest. “And what are you afraid of?”

“I don’t know… Anything I’ve forgotten to include?” Dad keeps running his eyes over the papers. “Seems fine.” He hands me back the plan. “What will be crucial is your presentation. Alex won’t read this.”

What? Why did I spend so many hours working on an investment plan, then? “You’re telling me he’s not gonna read any of this?”

“Of course he won’t. You’ll have about ten minutes to tell him primarily why you chose those particular artists and what returns you can generate for the fund. That’s all.”

I take a deep breath. “So the pitch is basically only me talking?”

“Relax. He’s your godfather. He’s not gonna bite you.”

“Dad, I’ve never been good at presentations.”

“You just have to know your numbers, the projected returns, and you’ll be fine.” Dad makes it seem like the easiest job in the world. “Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got to get some sleep.” He moves across the room and stops in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. “You’ll be fine, don’t worry,” he repeats. “I am very proud of you, Petra. You’ll take the world by storm.”

Wow. I wasn’t expecting such a great compliment. I just hope Alex will feel the same way tomorrow.

“Thank you, Dad.” I look down, thoughtful. “You know… I’d never have managed to be who I am today without you.” I can see his eyes glittering. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, and for this internship.” I smile tenderly at him. “I won’t disappoint you.”

He opens his arms wide and gives me a deep hug. “Oh, Petra.” With a warm heart, he shuts his eyes for a moment. “You are the most precious gift God has given me on this earth,” he replies, gently kissing the top of my head.

Manhattan is particularly hot, humid, and sticky today. I remember at this time last year, I was in the Hamptons chilling by the pool at Emma’s villa. Not surprisingly, Emma’s there again. She just texted me an envious picture of her and her friends, all in fancy bikinis, drinking fresh watermelon juice—probably laced with vodka—and floating around the huge pool, surrounded by half a dozen hot college guys.

I scan the investment floor—no one could care less about the Hamptons here. Everyone’s hustling and bustling, trying to make their way up in finance. The interns are heavily focused on their research—desperate to impress their portfolio managers.

I text Emma back. Don’t distract me. I’m working. I have a presentation today. Feeling as nervous as ever! Xx

But Emma’s feeling playful. Girl, you must chill. Come over this weekend.

I smile. Maybe... if it goes well, count me in.

“Texting, Williams?” Annoying Andrew peers over my desk, looking down at me.

“Not at all.” I hide my iPhone discreetly in my lap. “And you? Sneaking around, as always?”

“Van Dieren’s waiting for you. We’ll see whose laughing after.”

My heart skips a beat. “Didn’t he say after lunch?”

“Looks like he’s available now.”

Oh God. My stomach knots, and I feel like throwing up. I’ve never been good at doing presentations. It was my biggest weakness in school, along with standing on a stage. I take a deep breath, grab my investment plan, and stand up from my desk. “Very well.”

You got this, Petra. Saturday you will be by the pool with Emma, celebrating and drinking watermelon juice. I try to picture the most amazing weekend as I leave the investment floor and head upstairs to Alex’s office.

“Hi, Cate. I’m Petra Williams. I have a meeting with Mr. Van Dieren.”

I feel Cate checking me out. After all, I’m not dressed as formally as the other interns, and since no one has criticized me for that, I’ve decided to wear jeans and a shirt again for work. I brought a navy blazer for the “corporate touch,” but now I recall I left it hanging on the back of my chair.

I think twice about going back to get it, but it’s too late—Cate’s already walking toward the door. “Indeed, be quick. He’s got another meeting in ten minutes.”

She knocks on his door, opens it, and invites me in.

I release a breath louder than usual and step into his office.

“Williams. How are you doing today?” I smile at the Williams. Alex’s in a good mood. He leaves his chair and walks toward me to shake my hand.

“I’m well, Mr. Van Dieren. Thank you.”

With only ten minutes available, I decide to jump right in and get it over with as soon as possible. “I won’t take much of your time. Here is the investment plan just for your perusal.” I hand him the file. Alex doesn’t open it. Instead, he sits slightly on the edge of his desk. “I’m thinking of dividing the fund into three categories based on the current and projected worth of the artists I’ve selected. Stage one: artists with a current value between fifteen thousand and fifty thousand dollars—we can expect the four artists I’ve chosen to break the one-hundred-thousand-dollar mark within twenty-four months, as their new collections are not only very positively critiqued, but they also have significant exhibitions coming up. Stage two: artists who have already had international exhibitions and have established their brand. And stage three: artists worth one hundred thousand dollars up to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars—these are the ones who can become multimillion-dollar shooting stars, either in their lifetime or after. I can’t guarantee they will become a Gerhard Richter or a Jeff Koons, but at least a cool two to three million per piece is achievable. The arti—”

“What do we do with the artwork?” he interjects. “It’s not like stocks; those are real material objects.”

“Well, there are two options: either we spend money to keep them locked in a warehouse, which I don’t recommend, or—and this is the second part of my plan—we lease them to galleries and museums so we can start generating revenue from our collection straightaway. I’m preparing an Excel sheet where we’ll manage the profits we are generating with each lease. As soon as we buy a Mr. Brainwash, for instance, we can lease it to many contemporary galleries downtown—they all love his work. We can expand this into a worldwide business model. On page eight I have the list of paintings I would like to acquire and the artists I’m interested in.”

Alex nods, with a thoughtful air. “Sounds like a good plan. You can go ahead.” He stands up and moves back to his chair.

“But you didn’t check out the artists and paintings… What if you don’t like them?”

“It’s irrelevant if I like them or not; if you did your due diligence on them, I trust you.”

The phone rings. As Alex takes the call, I know it’s time for me to leave. I thank him and quickly retire.

Once I leave his office, a huge weight slips from my shoulders. Yes! I made it! I take the stairs down to the investment floor. I feel like hugging everyone, standing on my desk, dancing, and ordering tequilas for everyone. But I’m not Jordan Belfort. I just smile at Andrew, who’s staring and wondering how it went—all of a sudden, he looks cute and inoffensive.

“He approved it. Oh yeah,” I reply, doing a quick happy dance in front of him. “You see this one-point-five million-dollar fund? It’s just the beginning, I’m telling ya.”

“Alright, enough, Williams. I got it. Just bring the cash back.”

“Babe, I’ll bring more than the cash back.” I bite my tongue—that babe was a bit too much, but for now I couldn’t care less. I’m not even eighteen, yet here I am getting my own fund to invest in my biggest passion. I know I would’ve never had such an opportunity if I wasn’t a Van Gatt, but right now, at this precise moment, no one on this floor knows it but me.

The Hamptons, June 8, 2019

Mr. and Mrs. Hasenfratz have decided to host a summer gathering at their beach villa on Long Island—a small celebration before their dear and cherished daughter leaves for a culturally insightful European escapade. Ahem… Right… Though they don’t know how wild it will be, Emma and her squad have every intention of making it pretty insane, naughty, and memorable.

I join them for the weekend—a well-deserved break to chill. As I pictured, I’m finally lying in the pool, a freshly squeezed watermelon juice in one hand, and enjoying Emma’s continual chitchat about her latest conquests. “Laura, Carol, and I will be in Europe for the whole summer. Are you sure you don’t want to join us?”

“I’m actually quite busy these coming months with the internship. I’m investing in artwork to lease to galleries and museums. You know, I’m building up a nice collection. Alex approved my investment plan more easily than I thought.”

“With such determination, you’ll have your own gallery in no time, babygirl.”

“Well, the fund profits will go to Gatt-Dieren Capital. I’m entitled to a percentage, but not everything.”

“I see. Any cute interns or executives around?”

I shake my head in amusement. This Emma will never change. “Except the one you know, I don’t think so.”

“Damn, you’re such a lucky girl to have that hottie as your godfather.” I can’t help but blush at her enthusiasm. “Have you ever thought about…” she lets her words trail off while studying me.

“Thought about?”

“Well, you know… taking advantage of the situation…”

I blink twice in confusion. “What situation?”

“Oh, c’mon! Don’t be that naive. He’s not only handsome, but he also seems to care a lot about you… Maybe you could—”

“What’re you doing after the summer?” I promptly ask, changing the subject.

Emma chuckles, quite amused to see me that embarrassed from her talk. “I’m moving to Bali.”

What? I nearly choke on her answer, my heart skipping a beat. “You can’t be serious. Are you really gonna leave New York for good?”

“It’s just for a couple of months, maybe half a year. I have friends living there, so why not?”

“Half a year? You can’t leave me alone. What am I gonna do here without my bestie?”

“Oh, babygirl, you’re the sweetest. But you’ve got your life all figured out. Your dad must be proud. You’re building an amazing career for yourself. Then you’ve got your college planned at Columbia, and you’ll meet other like-minded people.” Emma sighs. “I need to figure out what I want in life.”

I feel my eyes watering. I want to convince her to stay, to remain here… but I know she craves adrenaline and globe-trotting. It’d be selfish not to encourage her.

“Well, New York without the one and only Emma Hasenfratz won’t be the same, believe me.” I give her a deep, big hug, my heart heavy and in pain. Emma hasn’t left yet, but I’m already missing her. We’ve been through so many adventures over the years, so much gossip, secrets, scandals, and above all, so much laughter. And now my big sister is leaving New York for at least six months. I let out a sigh, containing my tears.

“Would you at least promise to be here for my birthday? It’s December fifth, in case you don’t remember…”

“Babygirl, I won’t miss your eighteenth birthday for anything in this world. Ms. Hasenfratz will host the most exciting and daring party this city has ever had.”

At 1:20 a.m., I wish sleeping were easier. But the talk with Emma hasn’t left my mind since this afternoon. Not the one that she is leaving for Bali. No… Unfortunately, the other one. The one I wanted to avoid. So pathetic, Petra. Of course he’s nice and caring. After all, he’s your godfather…

But as she said, what if we could…

Nope. Stop right here. You said no more boys.

I know, but Alex is not a boy, he is a man… and a very special one, actually.

Forget it. You’ll always be his goddaughter. That’s it. He’ll never look at you differently. Now stop being silly and sleep!

Indeed, I promised myself I’d focus and that’s what I’ve got to do. I close my eyes and force such thoughts away.

CHAPTER 10

Manhattan, August 20, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

Emma has been gone for over two months. The tabloids and blogs say she has met a Saudi prince in the south of France and is partying with him and his friends all over the Mediterranean. But sadly I haven’t had time to chat with her about it. I have to make sure my entire art collection gets leased by galleries and museums in order to generate the income I’ve forecasted. Everything must be negotiated and sorted out before I finish this internship. Luckily, I’ve invested only in artists I know will be in high demand.

“Why’s everyone leaving their desks?” I ask Rach, who’s sitting beside me.

“Andrew wants to talk to the interns,” she replies, standing up.

I do the same and follow her, wondering why I didn’t know about it. We walk down to one of the small conference rooms. Since all the chairs are already taken, we have to stand near the door.

Andrew arrives, his pace dynamic, positioning himself in front. He’s holding a rugby ball, rolling it between his fingers, gently tossing it up and down and catching it. I wonder why. Maybe he’s going to a game after work.

“Thank you all for coming.” But he doesn’t say more. He waits for the whispers and murmurs to stop.

The room finally becomes silent.

“Very well, I gathered you here because I’ll be attending a conference in Rome next week. And the exciting news is, I’ve selected seven of you to join me for three days in the Italian capital.” He pauses, smiling at the curious and excited faces in the crowd. “This’ll be an amazing networking opportunity,” he asserts, the tone as enthusiastic. “Think hedge fund managers, executives, private bankers, big players, all in one place. So you better have your business cards ready.”

I’m radiant, but not for the same reason. Andrew out? Oh, thank God! I won’t miss him here for sure. My last week will feel like heaven on earth.

He glances around the room. “Jess!” And he suddenly throws the ball at her. She manages to see it coming and grabs it tightly. “Hope you’ve got your passport ready for Rome next week.”

Her face beams with excitement. “Oh yeah!” She sends him the ball back. I’ve never seen Jess before, but I barely know anyone here anyway. She has medium dark-blonde hair, is a bit taller than me, and is dressed in a navy pantsuit with a white shirt and black heeled sandals—probably an MBA student.

He looks around for someone else.

“Luke?” he calls before passing the ball to him.

“Oh boy, that’s amazing. Thanks Andrew.” And Luke sends it back.

Andrew plays this little game with three other male interns, all impeccably dressed, people I’ve never seen before.

Finally, his eyes dart to the door where Rach and I are standing.

Say Rach, say Rach…

“Rach!” he shouts before throwing the ball to her.

Phew!

“Yes!” All excited, she stares at Jess, apparently her work bestie. “Passport ready as ever, Andrew!” Rach sends him the ball back a bit more abruptly than the rest.

There’s only one person left.

Tension is rising in the room. Every intern follows Andrew’s eyes attentively, ready to catch their ticket to Rome at any time.

“Williams!”

What? I still manage to catch the ball right before it hits me in the face.

The crowd is as astonished as I am. After all, I’m the most antisocial and introverted intern. Indeed, after nearly three months here, I’ve barely spoken to anyone except to Rach, who’s also part of Andrew’s team.

Oh God, why me? I’m speechless. Everyone is expecting me to be excited and smiley, or to say something fun and cool, but nothing. I just roll the ball thoughtfully.

“Williams?” I look up at Andrew. “Is it a yes or a no?”

I send him the ball back with a strength I didn’t know I had.

After a few seconds of pondering, I say one word, uttered with no visible excitement. “Okay.”

I wait near the door as the interns are leaving the conference room, the majority quite disappointed. I don’t understand why he picked me. I always see him hanging out with his other interns, like John and Rob—I call them his cheerleaders—they would’ve been perfect candidates. He even used to invite them over for drinks after work…

“Why did you choose me?”

Andrew glances around the room—there’s no one left but me. He hesitates to reply, but he knows I’m not leaving without an answer. “Because you’re stubborn, strongheaded, show no respect whatsoever for the authority—”

“I thought those were the reasons why you didn’t like me,” I manage to interpose.

“Indeed, but I could’ve also added bold, determined, perseverant, focused… and those are the reasons why we make it in finance. So, good for you.”

I frown, my mind still dazed and confused. Does Dad or Alex have anything to do with it? I don’t know, but one thing is for sure—I’ll figure this out at home later tonight.

At least once a week, Dad makes sure to free his agenda so he can have supper at home with me. It’s the perfect occasion to catch up, one would say, but for him, this means inquisition time to find out how I’m doing and how I’m performing at work. “How was your week at the office?” Dad starts. “Your internship is nearly over.”

“Quite good, actually,” I reply, my tone enthusiastic. “Did you know Andrew picked me to be part of his group for the conference in Rome?”

“No, I didn’t know that. But I’m not surprised.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he was only going to pick the best interns. I’d have been surprised if you were not among them.”

My face glows with a smile of joy and pride. “By the way, Mom asked if I could take a plane and go to Rotterdam after Rome. Is it alright if I spend the weekend there?”

“Sure. I’ll ask my assistant to book you one for Rotterdam and another back to New York on September second. Don’t forget the fourth is your first day at Columbia.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

We continue to enjoy our supper in silence, but I keep playing with my food thoughtfully.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours, Petra?”

I pretend I didn’t hear him and continue twirling my pasta for a few more seconds, until my curiosity takes over. “Dad, I need to know the truth.”

He raises an eyebrow suspiciously. “About what?”

But I don’t reply immediately. I’m still pondering if I should go ahead…

C’mon, Petra. Ask him.

Indeed, after so many weeks thinking about it, it’s time to gain some courage. I take a deep breath, and, for better or for worse, I jump right in. “About why Alexander stopped visiting me when I was seven. And please, no lies.” I pause. “I know he came to New York many times.”

Dad doesn’t seem surprised. He probably knew it was just a matter of time until I’d ask him about it. “I see.” He puts his cutlery down. Then he wipes his mouth, staring off, trying to find the best words. “Very well. Let’s just say you were slightly… too attached to him.”

With a furrowed brow, I ask, “What does that even mean? He is my godfather. I considered him my best friend.”

Dad leans back and exhales loudly. Despite it being ten years ago, he doesn’t seem to be as comfortable as he might have expected. “Petra”—his tone sounds heavier than usual—“are you sure you want to know about this?”

Damn, I’m getting anxious. Is it that bad? “Yes. Tell me.” I feel my heart pounding so fast and so hard that it’s wounding my chest. I’m not sure if I can handle the truth, but I want to hear it. I have to hear it.

“Well,” he starts cautiously, “when your godfather brought Amanda for supper here the very first time, you were not happy, to say the least. In fact, throughout the whole dinner, you looked quite upset. Alex asked you why and you ran to sit on his lap and told him out loud in front of all our guests that he…” Dad takes a deep breath but remains silent. It seems quite painful to remember. My heart keeps thundering as I look at him searching for words. “That he couldn’t love or marry anyone but you,” he spits out.

My jaw drops to the floor.

“Oh, and you also said Amanda, his dear girlfriend, was a witch. All of that in front of ten guests! Everyone stared at him, wondering what he had done for you to say such things. The poor guy felt so embarrassed. He’d always been nothing but kind and supportive, treating you like his own daughter, teaching you how to ride horses, how to paint, how to ski, and this is how you thanked him? Humiliating him in front of his friends and girlfriend?” he shouts, enraged at the simple memory of it. “Anyway, I took you to the pediatrician, and the doctor told me young children can develop deep affections and emotions toward adults. So, Alex and I decided the best way to handle this would be for him to keep his distance from you.”

Now it’s my heart that falls on the floor.

“Dad, I was only seven! How could you take this so seriously?”

“Petra, did you imagine the consequences of your words? It could’ve seriously damaged his reputation and our company. This is New York. People make up stories based on anything. It was in the best interest of everyone,” he snarls.

Breathing feels so hard. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time wondering why Alex had left, blaming him for his absence, but the ugly truth is now right here in front of me. I had been the embarrassment, the one to blame, not him. “I can’t believe this…”

“Oh really? Do you remember the first painting you did?”

“Yes.”

“Do you recall what you painted?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, you should go to your atelier and find out. You’ll see why I never gave your ‘gift’ to him. I know you’ll understand. It was painful but necessary. You had caused enough trouble for your godfather and his girlfriend.”

“I’m not gonna check.” My tone remains low and broken, my mind still in shock. “I feel humiliated and embarrassed enough. I’m… I’m so sorry to have brought up this conversation, Dad.” I let out a sigh. “I won’t do it again.”

It’s my last day in the office before leaving for Rome. Classes at Columbia will start right after my European trip. I feel strangely sad. To my surprise, I’m actually enjoying working here at Gatt-Dieren Capital, managing my fund, leasing my artworks to galleries, and collecting steady revenues. In fact, the monthly income has far surpassed my forecasts. Based on my new estimates, some of my paintings will be paid off within a year. It feels amazing! I can picture myself growing the fund, reinvesting the capital, and acquiring many new pieces. But how would I combine this with Columbia? I might have to hire someone to negotiate the future leases…

“I heard you’re also coming to Rome?” I look up at the person speaking. “I’m Jessica Clarkson, by the way, but everyone calls me Jess.” We shake hands. “We should all celebrate after work and go to a bar. Tomorrow we’re finally off to Italy.”

“I've heard good things about Ward III,” adds Rach, stepping up. “It’s like two blocks away. Andrew went there with Rob and John once.”

Jess smiles, seeing her bestie. “Hi, Rach. Glad to see you.” I notice how the two women look way older than me, maybe ten years more, sporting fancy suits with heels. “I heard about that one too. Let’s go, all three of us.”

“What do you think, Williams?”

I want to decline. I’m not dressed to party. “I’m okay, but please enjoy for me.”

“No way, girl. You’ve got to join us. It’s not far away. Just have one drink to celebrate,” insists Rach.

I consider her suggestion for a moment. After all, it’s my last day as an intern. I glance at my watch. Seven p.m. Not a time Dad can censure anyway. “Alright, but no alcohol for me.”

I check my fake ID discreetly to be sure what age I have on it. I smile. Twenty-one. Perfect!

The bar is mellow, cozy, and casual. I don’t feel underdressed. Actually, maybe Rach and Jess are slightly too dressed up for the establishment.

We are enjoying our cocktails while discussing our future plans. The women are finishing their MBAs in finance, specializing in asset and fund management.

Suddenly, Jess’s phone beeps with a text. She reads it, and Rach is curious enough to peer over and read it too.

“Williams, what about heading to Et Al? My friends are there. There’s a private party until ten p.m. Atmosphere is dope, with a selective, older crowd, mostly finance and banking folks. Should be great for networking.”

I have no idea what they are talking about. “You girls can go without me. It’s already eight o’clock. I’m gonna head home.”

“Williams, are you crazy? You are over twenty-one, right?”

“Right.” At least my fake ID says so.

“Then why not come along with us? It’s alright—our friends will handle the guest list. You can come dressed as you are.”

If the first bar was chill and perfect for me, Et Al is something else—a selective, high-class lounge, rented out for a private party. The crowd is older, more sophisticated and distinguished, but with a pretentious air and stylish supermodels in attendance. A show of red-and-blue dark lighting creates a nightclub environment. But the lounge music, although quite sensual, is not too loud. I feel utterly underdressed as I make my way in.

“Oh yeah! Much better,” shouts Jess, taking in our surroundings.

The lounge is not too big, but has semi-open curtains to give a more intimate atmosphere to the corner tables spread around the room. Jess and Rach are probably feeling in their element. Jess leads the way through the crowd, heading toward a table with two gorgeous women wearing short but elegant black dresses and heels who are sitting on a sofa, cocktails in hand—ready to take Manhattan by storm.

“Hey, Jess!” screams one of them. She seems to be in her mid-thirties, older than Jess and Rach, for sure. They greet each other cheerfully. “So, are these your friends from Gatt-Dieren?”

“Yep. Rach and Williams. Or shall we call you Petra?”

“Williams is fine.”

“I’m Sylvia.” She shakes our hands. “I work at GS. Private equity. What do you think of the party? Nice crowd, huh?”

Jess looks around. “Oh yeah. Much older, exactly what I needed.” Sylvia whispers something in Jess’s ear that causes her to stare across the room and gasp in surprise, quite excited. “You are right. It’s really him. Fuck, first round on me, then,” she says to Sylvia.

I don’t get what’s going on between the two of them, but I take a seat beside them anyway.

“Do you know any of the women he’s with?” continues Jess, intrigued. “Why am I not there? I should be at that table.”

“Not sure, but you need a plan,” replies Sylvia.

I have no idea what table they are talking about. “What’s going on, Jess?” I finally dare to ask. “So much mystery.” Jess leans closer to me and discreetly points her index finger toward a corner table in a two-step elevated private room—separated from our area by a semi-open velvet curtain.

I gasp at the sight of him.

“Van Dieren,” I breathe.

“Yep, the one and only.” I stare at him for a few more seconds and exhale louder than I should. “Such a heartbreaker, right?” teases Jess. “Can you imagine being in there?”

Definitely not! I feel extremely embarrassed to see my godfather in such a private and intimate venue without his knowledge. After all, neither he nor Dad know I’m here. And I’ve got the firm intention of keeping it that way. It’s hard to shift my attention to somewhere else though. I can’t stop wondering what he is saying to make those girls beam with joy, laugh, and grin so much. I notice how their gazes are drawn to him, to his blue eyes, to his sun-kissed skin contrasting with the crisp white of his shirt... A glass of whiskey in hand, Alex is sitting with three flirty models and another male friend—definitely not Dad, but he looks to be fifty-something.

“Rach! He’s looking over here,” shouts Jess.

Oh God… I turn my back and face away as much as possible.

A waiter holding a tray stops at our table. “Did you order five tequila shots?”

“Yeah! That’s for us. Exactly what we needed.”

“Jess, I told you I’m not drinking.”

“Oh, Williams, it’s just one shot to celebrate. It’s nothing. You need to chill. You know, a lot of interns do way worse than this to keep up with the pressure.”

“Well, I don’t…”

“Just one shot. To toast to our new friendship and our upcoming trip to Rome.”

How can I possibly decline? I stare timidly back at Van Dieren’s table, hoping he would’ve left with someone. I wince instantly. Shit. I think he saw me.

We all clink our glasses in excitement, and I close my eyes to drink the shot all at once—just like my new friends. I don’t dare to look around. Alex might still be at that table, maybe even staring at me!

“Hey, next round on me,” orders Rach to the waiter.

A few moments later, another round of tequila shots are being served.

I feel like I should decline. “I can’t drink anymore.”

“No way! Please. Just one more for me, Williams,” she implores, handing me a new glass. “You can’t cheer on Jess’s toast and not do the same with mine. That would be super rude. Plus, we are on the same team.”

I sigh, accepting the new tequila shot. I can only hope my godfather is otherwise too distracted kissing some random mouth at his table to notice. I take a quick sip then drink it all at once. I frown at the strong taste going down my throat. Yuck!

My iPhone beeps.

Probably a WhatsApp message. Must be Emma sharing envious pictures in the south of France to tease me. But this time, I’m also having fun and ready to fight back with a photo in this lounge with my new friends.

I know you are here. I can see you right in front of me.

Not Emma. Nope.

I’m instantly paralyzed. Glancing over, I can see Alex glaring at me and shaking his head. He’s not happy.

Another text. Go outside. We need to talk.

I swallow hard. It doesn’t sound good at all.

“I’m sorry, girls. I’m just going to the bathroom,” I say before standing up, my heartbeat pounding anxiously. I walk through the lounge and make my way out.

“I’m sure your father will be very proud of you.” I know he’s being sarcastic. “Drinking tequila shots? Really? Let me guess, you’ve also got a fake ID in your purse for the next round?” How does he know that? “I’m tired of keeping secrets from Roy; he needs to know about your behavior. You’re not yet an adult, Petra, so don’t act like you are.”

“If you tell him, I’ll share your private number with all the interns, including Rach and Jess. They were quite explicit about what they would do to you.”

“Oh, great. Now my goddaughter is threatening me?”

“Correction: I’m negotiating. That’s what you always told me to do.”

His scowl softens with a suppressed laugh. “Alright, I won’t tell him, but now it’s time for you to go home.”

“I’m not gonna spend another evening alone.” There’s some sort of sorrow in my tone that I wasn’t expecting. “I’m with my new friends, and I’m enjoying it.”

He lets out a sigh. After all, he can’t blame me. At my age, I know Alex had an amazing mother, siblings, and lots of friends to keep him company. But for me, the house is empty, like most evenings. We both know Dad’s at a dinner and will come home late as usual.

“I’m sorry. I forgot Roy is not at home.” He seems to be texting someone quickly, then looks back at me. “What if we go somewhere and have dinner? Do you remember that small Italian-American bistro in Soho with the amazing chocolate cake and strawberry milkshakes?”

“Galli? I haven’t been there in ages. And it was more accurately a warm fondant brownie with coffee ice cream.” I lick my lips, picturing that dessert. “For sure, the best in town.”

“Would you like to go there?”

“What a question.”

Having dinner like in the good old days with my godfather is beyond anything I could have imagined. I love Italian food, more precisely Galli, which is where I used to go with him ten years ago. At the time, he’d order spaghetti alla bolognese, followed by the warm brownie. He also used to order a special strawberry milkshake for me. Each time he would ask, they would reply, “We don’t usually have strawberry milkshakes, but for such an adorable child, we can make an exception.” My face would beam with joy every time the waiter would say that. This time is no exception—Alex orders exactly that.

“We don’t usually have strawberry milkshakes,” replies the beautiful Italian waitress.

“I used to come here with my goddaughter ten years ago, and since she couldn’t drink alcohol, they would prepare it.”

“Oh, she’s your goddaughter?”

I nod, putting on my most childlike face.

“Correct,” Alex replies with a charming smile.

“I’m sure we can do something for her.”

“You are delightful. What’s your name?”

“Isabella.”

“Wonderful name, Isabella.”

She blushes at the sound of his voice.

“Are you from here?” he asks.

“No, I’m from Sicily, Palermo. I just moved to New York.”

“New York is very lucky to have you.”

Isabella replies with a grin, her cheeks flushed.

I must say, I’m quite entertained observing my godfather flirting with someone. “A heartbreaker,” as Rach and Jess would say. Well, sounds quite accurate. I wonder if he’ll be the same in Rome. My lips twitch into a smile as I picture him flirting, but this time in Italian. To my surprise, though, I can’t picture him doing that with anyone...

But me.

Petra! I immediately brush such thoughts away.

While we finish our main course, I look pensively at the last bit of spaghetti on my plate. “I know why you left,” I declare. “I spoke to Dad…” It’s so hard to talk about it though. “I also owe you an apology.” I look up at him, but I’ve got to lower my gaze again. “I’m… I’m really sorry for the embarrassment I caused. I feel terrible.”

“Petra, it’s all forgotten.” He reaches for my hand; the corners of my mouth lift timidly at his touch. I look again into his blue eyes and try hard not to get lost in them. Oh boy. “You were just a child. Don’t worry about it.” He pauses. “Honestly, I found it cute.”

I burst into laughter. “Only you would say something like that.” I shake my head, beaming with joy. “It wasn’t cute. Rather embarrassing. Very embarrassing. I’m so sorry for Amanda...”

“It’s all good, really. Don’t worry about it.” God, his smile is enough to heat up the entire room. “So, am I forgiven now?”

“Of course you are.” I giggle at his question. “What about me?”

“Hmm… Only if you promise not to call my next girlfriend a witch.”

“I can’t promise that.”

We both laugh.

“Speaking of girlfriends—”

“I’m not into girls, no,” I interpose playfully.

“I figured that out. Look, in Rome, just be careful, alright? Mainly with Andrew. Neither your dad nor I will be there to protect you.”

What? You’re not joining us? My heart skips a beat. But who’ll be there to eat a traditional gelato with me while exploring the Piazza di Trevi? Who’ll be there to make me laugh? Who’ll be there to hold and kiss my hands and make me feel so special and safe? Andrew? Yuck! Definitely not!

Hmm... I’ve suddenly got a plan.

“Well, I find him cute,” I say, taking a sip of my strawberry milkshake. This’ll be fun. I wait patiently for his reaction.

“Who? Andrew?”

“Yes. Andrew Sullivan.”

“Petra, forget it. Andrew is definitely not a good fit for you.”

“And how do you know that?”

“First, he is way too old. Do you know how old is he? At least thirty-three.”

“And you are forty, yet so many young girls are into you. Look at Emma.”

“Emma is definitely not a role model to follow,” he snaps.

“I don’t think Andrew sees it as a problem either…”

“He’s a real douchebag!” I try hard to suppress a victorious smile. His concerns about Andrew are even more palpable than I expected. “Promise me you’ll behave in Rome.”

I take another sip with amusement. “We’ll see.”

“Who ordered the warm chocolate brownie?” asks Isabella staring at him.

“It’s for her.”

Isabella bends slightly over the table, putting her cleavage on display for Alex. Looks like she wants him to stare. She places the brownie in front of me and a spoon in front of Alex, handing him a napkin. “I brought you an extra spoon in case you want a taste. And here’s a napkin.” She winks at him before leaving.

Discreetly, he opens the white paper napkin to find her phone number written down. A cheeky smile settles on his lips, and I find myself mirroring it.

“You’re such a heartbreaker, Mr. Van Dieren,” I tease as usual, head shaking.

“What can I do?” He puts the napkin in his pocket. “Too many desperate women in Manhattan…”

“Of course, poor you. Trying to save them all.” I can’t help but laugh. “Were you like that with Amanda?”

He cringes at the question. “Relationships are complex, Petra…”

“Or you are complex?”

He exhales loudly in return. “Maybe. Well, eat your brownie before it gets cold.”

I take my spoon, look down at my prey already melting, and attack my defenseless brownie, taking a first mouthful.

“How is it?”

“Mmmm…” I utter, savoring the brownie as it dissolves in my mouth. “The best thing in the world,” I garble. “Oh, sorry. Do you want to try some?”

He chuckles, reaches out to the corner of my lips with his thumb, and wipes some chocolate crumbs away. Then he puts his fingertip in his mouth, closes his eyes for an instant, and smiles. “You are right, Petra. The best thing in the world.”

“Here we are,” announces the driver, pulling up to my building’s entrance.

Painfully for me, this means the end of my evening. I sigh in discontentment. After all, I don’t even know if he’ll be joining me in Rome or not. I just hope my little plan will work. Seated in the back seat with Alexander, in a decisive but risky move, I slide my body close to his, incline my head, and give him a tender kiss on the cheek. “Thank you for the brownie. It was delicious,” I murmur with a gentle voice.

But he looks quite upset and grabs my hand right before I leave. “Petra,” he calls suddenly, his tone deep and severe.

“Yes?”

“Kindly don’t do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Kiss me on the cheek.”

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” he snarls back.

“You greet every girl this way, why not me?”

Alex lets out a breath, displeased with my typical curiosity and stubbornness, but I wait patiently for his answer.

“I prefer not to have your mouth too close to mine. Can you do that?”

Wow. It seems like only the truth wanted to come out. Amusement twinkles in my eyes and plays with the corners of my lips. I must admit, it’s my guiltiest pleasure to make him feel vulnerable. Alex has always looked so confident, so tough, so rugged, so unshakeable with his “aristocratic playboy” attitude and his piercing blue eyes. Having the power to make him fall from his pedestal with a simple gesture of tenderness feels too divine to stop. The more he says not to, the more I want to come closer and kiss him again. But instead, leaving my imagination behind, I politely nod and leave the car.

Alexander Van Dieren

I should have been happy and delighted to see little Lucy waiting for me naked upon my arrival, kneeling in the hallway of my condo, as always. But my mood is not as playful as I expected. After all, Petra will be in Rome for three nights, far from everyone and dangerously close to Andrew… Damn, that guy is a real douchebag. And she seems to like him. How? Well, they spent three months working in the same office, after all… I bet Andrew is already planning something in Rome with her. And they are staying in the same hotel. I shiver picturing them. Fuck. This time I won’t even be around...

“My lord? Everything alright?”

I look down at Lucy, kneeling just in front of me while I rest on the sofa holding her leash. She wanted to suck me, but I told her I was tired.

It takes between eight and nine hours to get to Rome, maybe if I get a flight in the afternoon… I sigh. Why am I even so worried? Petra is nearly an adult… But I did promise her no one would ever hurt her again. And a long time ago, I also gave her that necklace… I should give it back to her actually…

“My lord?”

I blink again at the sound of Lucy’s voice and let out a sigh. “I have a lot on my mind today,” I snap.

“Maybe I can help you relax…” Lucy lets her words trail off as she tries for the second time to unfasten my belt. I want to decline again, but it’d be selfish. I’ve already rescheduled with her so many times. I take a deep breath and brush my thoughts away. “Show me, then.”

CHAPTER 11

Teterboro, August 27, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

“Let’s take a group photo. Williams! Don’t be shy,” shouts Andrew while a member of the crew holds up his iPhone, ready to capture the moment.

I hate photos, but what can I say? I join the group and try to put on a smile, but I can’t compete with the excitement of my colleagues, who are all dressed up like successful executives for the sake of traveling in a Gulfstream G650.

We are leaving at eight a.m. from Teterboro—a small private airport but definitely the closest one to downtown Manhattan, just across the George Washington Bridge. I usually travel from here to go to Rotterdam, as it’s less than a twenty-five-minute drive from home.

Jess can’t hide her enthusiasm as she steps onto the plane. Her gaze alights on the comfortable beige leather seats, the perfumed wet towel handed to her, and the champagne already being poured by the friendly female crew. “I’m loving finance. Rach, please take a pic of me for Instagram. Get the seat and the window too.”

In fact, Jess has gone overboard in getting ready for the trip: ivory pantsuit, beige pumps, red lipstick, and some gold jewelry, which makes her look even older than usual. I roll my eyes. Pathetic.

I can’t enjoy the trip. After all, Alexander is nowhere to be seen. Maybe I should have scared him further about Andrew...

Speaking of Andrew, here he is entertaining his other interns by doing a photoshoot with them in the jet, which will undoubtedly be shared on social media in the next few minutes. “Williams, would you like a picture with your glass of champagne?” he asks.

“No, it’s okay. Thank you.”

“Petra doesn’t have social media,” adds Rach.

Jess gapes in shock. “What? You’re kidding. Not even Instagram?”

“No. Just WhatsApp.”

The pilot and the cabin supervisor step in and greet Andrew before welcoming the rest of the group. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Richard Heinze, and I will be the pilot onboard this flight, destination Ciampino Airport, Rome. The flight duration is expected to be between eight and nine hours. If the weather remains stable, we should arrive by ten p.m. local time, four p.m. Eastern Standard Time. If you have any questions, please ask my colleague, Sabrina, who is supervising the cabin crew. I wish you all a very pleasant flight.”

We all smile and thank the pilot for his message, but he stares especially at me and nods. I look down, hoping no one else noticed.

While everyone is discussing their plans for Rome, how to retire at the age of fifty, and whether it would be worthwhile to own a plane, I excuse myself and retreat to the beige leather sofa at the very back of the cabin with my book and noise-canceling earbuds.

“What’s wrong, Williams? Everyone seems excited about Rome but you. Are you missing your desk already?” teases Andrew, sitting beside me on the sofa.

Although I’m annoyed at being disturbed, I remove my earbuds out of politeness. “I’m fine, don’t worry. I just like to be in my corner and read.”

But Andrew’s feeling chatty. “Is it your first time abroad?”

“No, I’ve been abroad many times. I’m alright, really.” I conclude with a polite smile, my eyes shifting back to my book, yet Andrew seems to be studying me.

“If you want to talk, I’m here. I know you like to play tough, but we are all human. We all have our ups and downs.”

Wow. It doesn’t sound like Andrew at all. His tone is more caring, empathetic, sensitive, and compassionate. Heck, it even feels quite reassuring.

“I’m just…” I let out a breath. “I’m missing a guy in New York, and he is not even my boyfriend...”

“See? Was that so hard to get off your chest?”

“A bit.”

“Glad to know there is more than work in your life. I thought you had a heart made of stone.”

“Well, the worst part is, he’s not even interested in me. We are just friends. He has tons of gorgeous women around him anyway…” I look down, thoughtful. “I just hope this trip will help me forget him.” Oops! I feel like I’ve just said too much.

Andrew swallows hard and leans slightly closer to me. “If you feel like talking about it, I’m free the last evening before we come back. We can have dinner somewhere nice… I mean, just a friendly one—nothing else.”

I don’t know what to say. Is he bluffing? Or does he have some twisted intention in mind? I can’t tell. However, I do recall Alex warning me.

“Thanks for the invite,” I politely reply before reopening my book.

He sighs, maybe disappointed, but finally leaves.

Even at ten p.m., Rome is a cauldron of heat. A warm breeze welcomes Andrew and his interns as we step down from the plane and head to the three black executive Mercedes waiting right in front of us on the tarmac.

“Feels so good to be back.” Andrew takes a deep breath and gets into the first car.

We make our way to the St. Regis, a landmark in the downtown featuring a nineteenth-century elevator—the oldest in Italy (and still functioning).

As we arrive, Jess and Rach have already taken out their smartphones to take pictures of the hotel entrance—on the left the beautiful marble stairs, and on the right, the reception where Andrew’s handling our check-in. They walk toward a sumptuous, imperial-inspired grand lobby. It’s styled with gray tones from the marble walls and chess-patterned floor to the sofas. The carpets and pillows have a touch of gold, and there’s an opulent crystal chandelier at the center of the hand-painted ceiling. A perfect mixture of modern luxury and classic grandeur. Jess and Rach sit on one of the sofas, while Luke does his best to get the perfect angle for their pics.

“Have you seen this place, Williams?” shouts Jess, as I’m still standing at the entrance.

“It looks very nice.”

Andrew joins us with our key cards in hand. “Alright, everyone. Here are the key cards for your respective rooms. We’ll meet tomorrow for breakfast at seven o’clock, and at eight thirty, I want you all in the Ritz Ballroom, where the conference will begin. No one should be late, and you should all be in a good mood and ready to be sociable. Don’t forget you represent the company. Consider this still part of your internship.” He stares particularly at me, known for being tardy and quite reserved. “Very well. I wish you all a great night. Buonanotte, folks.”

My bedroom is modern, elegant, and spacious, decorated in imperial gray tones with a high ceiling and curtains tied back with a sash. I look out through the window; I’ve got a nice view down to the street, still full of locals and lovers hand-in-hand strolling around, enjoying the warm breeze of the night. I let out a sigh. With my mind flying away, I can’t help but picture myself out there with him… Damn, so silly you are, girl!

Indeed, he’s my godfather and friend—that’s it. Plus, let’s face it—tonight he’ll most likely be out partying with some random chick in New York… Which is how it should be!

I check my WhatsApp out of curiosity. He’s online, but sadly, not for me. And why would he, huh? We never engage in trivial chats anyway. Maybe I should text him and let him know I’ve arrived safely… No, he didn’t even bother to ask. Dad at least texted me twice.

Okay, enough. I have to focus, get some sleep, and be at my best for tomorrow. After all, Andrew was quite clear: this is still part of our internship and a social attitude is expected—exactly what I hate the most.

Since there’s no Janine to wake me up at six a.m., I call reception and book a wake-up call. Then I plunge into my bed, close my eyes, and force myself to sleep.

I start having dreams I shouldn’t. Mostly dreams about a man I shouldn’t even think of. But those dreams are rather sweet; they taste like candy. Or, from the heat rising between my legs, like that warm brownie…

You are right, Petra. The best thing in the world.

When I arrive for breakfast, I realize all the interns are already here indulging in the buffet. Inseparable Jess and Rach are alone at a table by themselves. I manage to make it down at 7:10, the last one. Fortunately, I don’t see Andrew around. Everyone has made quite an effort with their appearances, looking so sharp and expensive, straight from a fashion magazine. Jess opted for a light-blue pantsuit with a white silk top and beige pumps, impeccable hair and makeup combined with a Bulgari purse, while Rach wears wide-leg beige pants and a white shirt.

“Hey, Williams. Come and join us,” greets Jess, the first to notice me.

“Hi, Jess. Hi, Rach. Good morning. Wow. You girls look as wonderful as ever.”

They smile back at me.

“Well, hopefully we will meet some interesting people today,” starts Jess. “I’ve looked at the names of the fund managers coming—they’re mostly from Milan, London, Frankfurt, and Paris. I’ve always wanted to come to Europe after my MBA and gain some experience here.”

“Gatt-Dieren has an office in Amsterdam, I think,” adds Rach.

“Yep, they do. I heard they’re also looking to expand into Asia.”

“How do you know that?” I ask, surprised at not knowing that myself.

“Well, I have my sources,” Jess replies with a sly smile before looking strangely at me. “You know, Williams, don’t take this the wrong way, but why don’t you wear a suit and heels like everyone else? You’ll look more mature and far more confident. We’re in such elegant surroundings and we are representing the company. Look around, everyone is at their best.”

I raise an eyebrow. I knew sooner or later Ms. Jess would unleash some sort of comment about my looks. After all, I’ve always worn skinny jeans and simple flats combined with a smart blazer that I’d leave hanging on my chair. But I like my style—today I’ve decided to wear white skinny jeans paired with elegant camel flats and a striped white-and-light-blue shirt, sleeves already up to the elbows. No jacket—it’s way too hot. My long black hair is wild and wavy like usual, with a barrette in the back. I’ve applied just some mascara and a natural gloss on my lips. “I don’t like heels,” I reply with a friendly smile. “Either flats or sneakers.”

“I know, but you are in Italy. People are dressing up for the conference. Europeans love to dress up.” What does she have anything to say about my looks?

“Don’t worry, Williams. Jess is just trying to help,” intervenes Rach. “So you can be the best version of yourself.”

“I see,” I nod politely. “Thanks for the advice.”

The Ritz ballroom takes everyone’s breath away. Some two hundred people are sitting in the majestic room featuring crystal chandeliers and a hand-painted high ceiling. Not quite as resplendent as the Sistine Chapel, but truly remarkable.

Jess is right—everyone’s looking radiant and at their very best in elegant and formal suits, some with ties, others without. Italians are upholding their country’s reputation and are by far the most stylish. The event moderator welcomes everyone, and the first session begins.

After a ninety-minute panel on the changing financial landscape, it’s finally time for a coffee break. The audience quickly moves to the buffet, gathering outside.

“Time for networking,” adds Jess.

I grab a tea and stand alone on the edge of the group, already missing my book and earbuds. I glance around and see Jess and Rach talking to two, what seem to be, Italian fund managers—they are probably in their fifties, Dad’s age—laughing hard at their jokes and exchanging business cards. I roll my eyes.

I decide to leave and head back to my seat in the conference room. Since everyone’s still outside, I’m finally alone, enjoying the wonderful silence.

I grab my iPhone and text, I miss you so much. Currently in Rome, such a boring kiss-ass conference. Save me! Xx. While this would’ve been the perfect message to send to Alexander, I send it to Emma instead. I would’ve never expected, but I’m missing so much Emma’s careless attitude, her rock ’n’ roll style, her overpriced big dark T-shirts, her slang, her nostril piercing, her bad manners, her insolence… Emma is the opposite of everything here. And right now, I feel just like Emma, but with the good manners, the good looks, and polished language.

To my surprise, she immediately texts back. Hey, babygirl! In Mykonos now. What’s up in Rome? Where are the hotties?

She knows so well how to put a smile on my face. No hotties, just plain, boring people, I decide to reply.

Emma’s typing… What about Van Dieren? Not there? He’s a hottie, and def not a boring one.

Ugh! Why does she have to mention him? Van Dieren played smart. He didn’t come. If I knew it would be this boring, I wouldn’t have come either.

Indeed, now it’s all clear in my mind. Unless Alex wanted to have some fun like those Italian managers hanging out with two young MBA girls, there is nothing for him at this conference. He would’ve only been here to enjoy Rome—the downtown, the finest restaurants, the drinks, the nightlife, and the Italian women. He has no time to waste at this tedious event—that’s why he sent Andrew and his interns.

Following lunch, some of the attendees have decided to go to the bar near reception to taste the hotel’s newest signature cocktails. Looks like Giovanni, one of the Italian hedge fund managers, and Jess are among them.

I, on the other hand, decide to go back to the conference room. After all, the next session is starting in five minutes. The room darkens and a new moderator steps onto the stage, introducing the panelists who’ll cover alternative investment strategies.

About twenty-five minutes in, Jess finally emerges, making her way from the back to take the seat beside me. She’s holding her purse and a business card. I stare discreetly at her while she’s sitting down. Her face is unusually glowing, her mind miles away, her smile like never before.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Williams, this is the best conference ever. I’m so happy to be here.”

I lift my brow, smiling at her. “May I know why?”

“Do you know what I have here?” She asks while waving the business card.

“Giovanni’s business card?”

“Nope. Much better.”

I chuckle. “The Pope’s?”

“This is the business card.” She sniffs it proudly.

I burst into laughter, head shaking.

“And no, Williams, I’m not gonna share it with you.”

“I don’t even know whose it is.”

Regardless, I’m quite happy to see Jess in such a playful mood, a good change from her usual formal attitude.

“Okay, you can hold it for one second.” Jess hands me the card.

I read the name.

What? I blink many times and read it again. “Alexander Van Dieren?”

My jaw and heart fall to the floor.

“And time’s up.” She takes the card back abruptly.

“Where did you get this?” I’m confused. Did I read it correctly? Is it really his?

“He just gave it to me. I met him in the lobby. You know that hedge fund manager I met this morning, Giovanni?” I nod. “Well, we were talking about the conference, and all of a sudden, when Van Dieren arrives, Giovanni greets him, they start chatting, and he finally introduces me to him.” She lets out a sigh. “I obviously told him I’m one of his interns. So he smiles and asks me if I’m enjoying the internship and the conference. We spoke a bit...” Jess looks at me with a twinkle in her eye, her face beaming. “Oh gosh, his blue eyes, his gaze…” Okay, she is floating on cloud nine. “He gives you the feeling that you’re the most important person in the world, looking straight into your eyes… It was so hard to concentrate.”

I try hard not to giggle, but seeing formal Jess talking and acting like a little girl is so delightful. I must say, though, she’s describing him perfectly. “I’m happy you finally met him.” But mainly I’m happy to know he’s here. I wonder if he came because of me, or because of something else. After all, he didn’t text, not even to ask how I was doing! No. Absolutely nothing. I have to figure this out.

“Where’re you going?” she asks, seeing me rise from my seat. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna ask Giovanni for an intro?”

“Not at all. I have a few things to do. See you later.”

My footsteps are faster than usual. My heartbeat too. I walk down the hallway, nervous like the day I went to his office to pitch my investment plan. I have to be sure it’s really him. I step into the grand lobby and look around.

Hidden among a group of men, where laughter is emanating, I can distinguish a tall, lean figure, impeccably dressed for summertime—white slim pants, a fitted light-blue shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a hand in his pocket and another holding his sunglasses. His mid-length hair is wild and wavy. I cross my arms, observing him. He’s definitely not dressed like the rest of his entourage, which sport formal jackets and suits. Alexander appears to be on vacation.

He looks up and notices me.

I can’t hear what he is saying to his friends, but they shake his hand and suddenly walk away, returning to the conference.

Alex’s finally alone.

He gazes back at me and smiles. Oh God. This is not my imagination fooling me—my godfather is really here in Rome, in the grand lobby of the St. Regis, standing right in front of me.

I can feel my excitement pounding hard in my chest. “You were not supposed to be here…” I rebuke.

“Williams,” he voices deliciously. I notice how his eyes dart from my face to my clothes all the way down to my feet, probably amused I’d chosen to dress the same. “I had to meet some folks from Milan and Singapore who were coming to the conference.”

“Of course,” I nod in sarcasm, but the corners of my mouth raise up with joy. I want so much to jump on him, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss his cheek repeatedly, but the interns or Andrew could arrive at any time. Speaking of Andrew…

“Mr. Van Dieren.”

“Andrew.” Alex rolls his eyes and shakes his hand.

“What a pleasant surprise.” Andrew’s face beams while he shakes Alex’s hand for longer than usual. “I’m sorry I didn’t know you’d be joining; otherwise I’d have—”

“It’s alright. I’m not attending the conference. I’m just meeting with some of the attendees.”

Andrew can tell he’s interrupting, as Alex seems distant, staring away.

“Very well. If you need anything, I’ll be in the conference room.”

Alex nods at him and remains silent until Andrew disappears completely from our sight. “So, are you enjoying Rome?”

My smile gets wider. Now that you are here, yes! “Rome? I haven’t even managed to step outside yet. We’ve been locked in that room forever. But the panels are interesting, plus Andrew is amazing. He’s been very supportive.” I know he doesn’t like him. I notice how Jess was right—Alex is staring intently into my eyes. I feel my cheeks flushing. I smile with a dash of embarrassment, lower my gaze, and tuck some hair behind my ear.

“Andrew? I see…” He ponders for a brief moment. “I’m going for a walk. Would you like to join?”

Rome is the kind of city the more you walk around, the more you fall in love with it, from the old historic monuments standing on every corner to the small and charming terraces, the narrow streets, and the many sculptured fountains. To me, it feels like walking in an open museum for the ancient arts. And the weather is so warm. No wonder Italians have so many gelatarie around.

I stop once more, this time to observe the Fontana del Mosè, a monumental marble and travertine fountain near the hotel.

Alex pulls out his iPhone. “Let me take a picture of you.”

I put on my sweetest smile and quickly fix my hair as he checks the best angle for the photo. Click. “Perfect. I’ll send it to Roy. He’ll be delighted.”

“Right…” I hope it’s just an excuse to keep a picture of me in his phone. “It’s so warm. We should go for ice cream.”

He reaches for my hand and holds it tight. “I know a good place nearby, but we have to jaywalk.” He might have interlocked his fingers with mine just to safely cross the street, but I couldn’t care less—my heart either. I smile feeling his touch. Even if it’s just his hand, I’ve missed it terribly.

We finally step into one of his favorite gelaterie—the 119-year-old Giolitti, a landmark in the city. I lick my lips at the colorful flavors displayed in the glass case. Everything looks so damn delicious!

“Which one do you want?” he asks.

It seems impossible to choose between so many flavors. “Hmm… I don’t know. Maybe chocolate and coffee…” He shakes his head and sighs. “And you?”

“Pistachio and almond. I’d recommend you have the same.”

“Nope. Doesn’t sound good,” I reply, giggling.

“You’ll regret it,” he warns just before ordering two cones. I don’t think so. I’m quite confident my choice is great; he’s probably just teasing.

After a brief moment, he hands me an ice cream cone with my chosen flavors. And it looks really yummy!

“Grazie. Arrivederci.”

We leave the shop and walk back to the hotel while savoring our respective ice creams.

“Petra, I must say, you made a huge mistake...”

“Why?”

“This combination is wonderful,” he praises.

I don’t believe him, but he knows I’m curious. “Alright, let me taste.” I reach out and hold his cone, but he pulls it away.

“You’re not gonna lick my ice cream. Forget about it. You should have listened to me.”

“I need to know. I won’t live happily if I’m not certain mine is better than yours.”

“Of course my ice cream is better than yours. No doubt about it.” Since we don’t have any spoons, he takes a bit with his index fingertip. “Here.”

I’m certain mine is on point, but nevertheless, I hold his finger, open my mouth, and suck off the drop of ice cream, letting my palate find the flavor. “Hmm… this is the pistachio one?”

He nods. “You have to admit, Petra. I know it’s hard, but I won.”

I giggle loudly. “Why do you always pick the best flavors?”

“I told you to get pistachio and almond. It’s the perfect combination. You never listen…”

“I thought coffee and chocolate would have been great. But now I realize it’s way too sweet, even for me.”

“Poor little Petra,” he teases. “No need to find excuses—you won’t get any more of mine.”

Unfortunately, we are now approaching the hotel’s revolving door. I can’t help but let out a sigh. Time always flies when he’s around, and worse, it never feels like enough. I know I’ve got to leave his company very soon. After all, no one can see us together. It’d raise too much gossip, too many questions and misunderstandings.

“So, any plans for the evening?” I dare to ask. Maybe he’ll invite me to go somewhere.

“Yes, I’ve got a dinner with some folks from other funds. And you?”

“Oh, I see.” I can’t hide my disappointment, but suddenly, I’ve got an idea. “Well, enjoy your dinner. I also have plans but tomorrow…” I walk briskly ahead of him and step into the hallway.

“What do you mean?” he asks, following behind. “Aren’t you going to the conference dinner like everyone else?”

“Not really…” I throw him a cheeky smile. “Well, I’ve got to go; otherwise Andrew will be wondering where I am. Thanks for the ice cream.” And just like that, I disappear from his sight, leaving him baffled.

After dinner, I find Andrew alone in the lounge working on his computer. He’s wearing glasses for the first time. I decide to sit on the chair beside him. “Hi, Andrew.” Now it’s my turn to be all chatty.

By the look on his face, he didn’t expect me to be here. “Hi, Williams.”

“Are we still up for tomorrow evening?”

He raises his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, tomorrow is our last night, so I thought we could go ‘somewhere nice,’ as you said on the plane…”

Andrew swallows hard, looks around to see if anyone is staring, and moves slightly closer to me. “You mean, you want to have dinner?” he asks, his voice barely audible.

“Yes, sure, why not? I was a bit sad that day and you were so kind…” I give him my sweetest smile.

“Okay, um, great. I’ll ask the concierge to make a reservation, and we can meet tomorrow at nine p.m. here in the lobby. The other interns should be well entertained at the conference dinner.”

“Perfect.” I stand up, happy to have convinced him so easily.

“Williams?”

“Yes?”

He looks around once more. “This stays between us. Not a word to anyone, alright? Otherwise it will put us in a very delicate situation…” he murmurs.

“Of course. Don’t worry,” I reassure, smiling confidently at him. “Well, see you tomorrow.”

During the second day of the conference, Alexander was nowhere to be seen. He must have had an amazing and wild night, arrived early or late morning to his room, and slept all day long. Or maybe he went out for an afternoon with his new Italian conquest. I don’t know. But one thing is sure: this evening I’ll find out.

I’m feeling so excited and so nervous all at the same time. If everything’s gone as expected, Alex should have already figured out I’m having dinner with Andrew. How? I have no idea. But he knows I’m not going to the conference dinner, and he also knows I’ve got “feelings” for Andrew.

Well, if he cares enough about me, he won’t let this happen.

But what if he doesn’t care enough? What if he has plans tonight with someone else? What if I really have to dine with Andrew? Jeez! My stomach knots up, and my heart tightens at the thought of it.

I check my WhatsApp. So far, Alex hasn’t texted. I’d have expected by now some sort of message from him, angry or displeased about my dinner with Andrew, but nothing. Maybe he didn’t find out. Maybe he doesn’t care. Maybe I should just cancel. No. It’s too late—Andrew is already waiting for me downstairs.

I take a deep breath, before checking myself once more in the mirror. I can’t help but smile. After all, I look way older—maybe twenty-something. I just hope my red dress and heels are not too much. I’ve styled my black hair in perfect waves, giving a nice volume to the long strands falling below my chest, some of them clasped with a black bow barrette on the back. It looks chic yet effortless. I take my black clutch and my key card, and leave the room. Alright, you got this.

When I reach the grand lobby, I feel many eyes light upon me, but none of them are the ones I want. I look attentively across the many tables and sofas for Alex, but he’s not here. However, I see Andrew seated right in front of me, busy on his phone. My smile vanishes.

“Hey,” I timidly say.

He finally looks in my direction.

“Wow.” Andrew gasps. “You look so incredibly beautiful tonight.” He stares, mesmerized, and stands to greet me. “Your red dress looks fantastic.”

I couldn’t agree more. In fact, I never thought I’d fall in love with a dark-red vintage off-the-shoulder dress. Made of satin and lace, knee-length, all elegant and chic, it matches perfectly with my pale skin and black hair. It’s close-fitting from my chest to the waist and then flares out. I’ve never worn anything that showed off my shoulders completely before, but the seller was insistent and I decided to give it a try.

“Thank you, Andrew,” I reply, taking his arm.

I let out a sigh of displeasure. It’s not him I want to hold—neither his perfume I want to smell, nor his brown eyes I want to look at. But Alexander is not here. My last night in Rome, and here I am leaving the hotel with a man I don’t want, while the one I want is probably—

“Mr. Sullivan,” calls an authoritative voice beside the doorman.

“Oh, Mr. Van Dieren. How are you doing?” Andrew looks embarrassed, removing my hand from his arm. “Ms. Williams told me she’s never visited Rome before, so I thought I’d show her around...”

“At nine p.m.?” he snarls, glancing at his watch. “Your interns are having dinner in the Borromeo ballroom with the rest of the attendees. Maybe you should check on how they are doing,” he commands heavily, his glare censuring Andrew.

Andrew swallows hard. “Certainly.” He obeys and promptly walks away.

I can’t believe it. Andrew doesn’t even protest at his command? What a coward!

When I’m about to tell Alex a thing or two about his attitude toward Andrew, he grabs my hand and whisks me out of the hotel.

“Where are we going?” I babble as I run down the stairs, following his lead.

He seizes the first taxi waiting outside, opening the rear door. I go first, then he enters and closes the door behind him.

“Buonasera. Per il ristorante Mirabelle, Via di Porta Pinciana, per favore,” he instructs to the taxi driver.

“Buonasera, signore. Molto bene.”

“You’re literally kidnapping me,” I giggle as the taxi starts moving. I find myself nestled against him, his arm around me, our legs touching, nearly sharing the same seat. Oh, I love it! He smells so good.

“I know.” He throws me a smile that makes my heart go wild. “I feel terrible for kidnapping Andrew’s date.”

I can’t help but blush, feeling his eyes all over my dress, but he doesn’t say a word about it.

“Is this because I told you I find him cute? That’s why you came here, right?” I ask, amused.

“I don’t pay him to date interns,” he snaps back.

“I see… So you are jealous?”

He doesn’t protest; instead, he gives me a slow kiss on my forehead. “I won’t tolerate anyone hurting you. I had to make sure you were alright,” he murmurs.

“Bella signora,” exclaims the driver, looking through the rearview mirror. “Sua moglie?”

Alex chuckles at the question. “Grazie. Purtroppo no,” he replies, staring joyfully at me.

“What is he saying?” I ask.

“I can’t believe Ms. Van Gatt doesn’t speak Italian.”

“Ms. Van Gatt picked French instead of Italian in school.”

“He said you’re a very beautiful woman.” He pauses. “And he asked if you were my wife.”

My cheeks flush at his words, and I have to look down for a bit. “And what did you reply?”

“I said thanks and no, you’re not.”

“You are lying…” I reply, my tone cheeky.

“What do you mean?”

“You said, ‘Purtroppo no,’ which means ‘unfortunately no’.” The corners of his mouth lift. “I might not speak fluent Italian, but I studied the basics before coming here.”

He titters in amusement. “Indeed. It would’ve been rude to just say no.”

“Of course, very rude.”

If just four months ago someone would have told me I’d be having a romantic dinner in Rome with Alexander Van Dieren at a fine-dining rooftop restaurant with the most beautiful views of the old city, I would’ve never ever believed it. And yet, here I am sitting beside him.

I look intently at my menu (the English version), while Mr. Van Dieren is scanning his Italian one.

“Buonasera, signora e signore,” elegantly greets the waiter. “Preferite che parli in inglese o italiano?”

“Buonasera, inglese, per favore,” replies Alex.

“Very well. Welcome to the Mirabelle restaurant. My name is Roberto, and I’ll be your waiter for this evening. Would you like to start with a flute of champagne? Or do you have a preference for wine? Or a cocktail maybe?”

Alex stares back at me, thinking what to order, but I reply first. “A glass of champagne is perfect. Thank you.”

“Molto bene. And here is our wine list for dinner.”

“Thank you,” I add before our waiter leaves. I feel Alex is about to unleash some sort of comment about my choice. “Before you even start, it’s totally legal to drink alcohol in Italy if you’re sixteen or older.”

“I know that.” He gives me that charming smile. “I simply wanted to ask why you didn’t let me pick the champagne. You know, not all champagnes are the same. I just hope he will bring a good one.”

“Oh…” I bite my lip and promptly change the subject. “Have you been here before?”

“Not to this one, but Andrew had a table reserved here.”

“How do you know that?”

“Well, he called the concierge, who told me.”

“Unbelievable. So the concierge was paid to report to you everything our group does?”

“Of course not. I paid the concierge only to report about you and Andrew.”

“That sounds creepy….” But I like it nevertheless.

“Your dad explicitly asked me to watch out for you on this trip.”

“It was none of your business if he wanted to have dinner with me. But anyway, I guess he would bow to anything you say to fall into your good graces and land a promotion.”

“Probably,” he admits. “I told you he wasn’t a good fit.”

“So who is a good fit? Tell me,” I decide to ask.

Nothing comes out of his mouth.

He just replies with a side smile, looking tenderly into my eyes—or into my heart? I know he’d never say me, but somehow his gaze is enough to give me an answer. I can hear my own pulse bouncing inside my chest—not from excitement, joy, or happiness, but from fear that he’ll never go any further with me.

“Someone who cares about you,” he utters, his voice so soft and warm that I skip a breath.

Oh, Alex. I close my eyes for a brief instant, trying to contain feelings that I shouldn’t let emerge. We shouldn’t even have talks like this. I have to change the subject. “Is this dinner mostly to watch me because Dad told you so?”

He chuckles at my question. “Indeed. I’m just doing my duty, little Petra.”

Entertained with his own play, he takes his glass of champagne.

“I beg to differ,” I say, taking mine. “Cheers, then. To your horrors of having to dine with me.”

“Sounds like a good toast.”

And we clink our flutes.

When our waiter arrives, he orders the tagliatelle ai funghi porcini. This time I decide to follow his choice. It’s actually a great one. The pasta is delicious, and the red wine even better.

“You start at Columbia soon, right?” he asks, taking a sip from his glass.

“September fourth,” I reply, letting out a sigh. “I’m gonna miss my internship. But at least I’m glad the artwork I acquired is all leased. You’ll need a manager to take care of it, but I’m sure you can grow it and make it even more profitable.”

“This fund is yours, Petra. It doesn’t belong to the firm. We invested privately for you.”

“But...” I blink twice, confused. “What about the fund returns? I’m sure you want a commission.”

While smiling at me, he takes my hands, caressing them softly with his thumbs. “You know what I want?” Oh God, why does he have to look at me like that? Since words aren’t coming, I shake my head. “To see you happy. If economics at Columbia doesn’t appeal to you after the first semester, you’ll be able to focus on liberal arts and follow your passion. If your dad doesn’t support you, you’ll always have your own capital to finance your dreams.”

“So that was the plan from the beginning? For me to have my own revenue without Dad owning it?”

“Feel free to thank me later.” His eyes hold a glint of humor, and a charming smile emerges from the corners of his mouth right before he takes a sip of his wine.

In that instant, I feel a sudden urge to kiss him. This time not on the cheek. He’ll reject you, Petra. Don’t be stupid. Too afraid to be denied, I opt to entwine our hands and hold his fingers tight. He feels it. He probably also feels my heart pounding faster and louder as I look at him with parted lips. He brings my hand to his mouth, shuts his eyes, and gives it a lingering kiss. My breath stops for a moment. While my eyes devour his warm lips kissing my hand with relish, I wonder how it’d feel having them on my lips instead. I know he wants more… or at least that’s what I hope.

Unfortunately, it’s hard not to fall for him. Alexander is a great listener, a charmer, and an irresistible gentleman. In Manhattan, he’s a heartbreaker. But for me, he’s always been a confidant, a best friend, a protector. I have realized there is no one in this world I like to spend my time with as much as with him. And no matter how long I spend in his company, it’s just never enough. Oh boy. I feel like I’m seven all over again. Except now I'm no longer a child, except now we could really—

“Are you tired?” he asks while we are finishing our espressos, a bottle of Barolo from Bruno Giacosa later and the bill already settled.

“No, why?”

“I would like to show you something.”

We leave the restaurant, take a taxi, and go to the Trevi district. We walk down to the Piazza di Trevi. The ground is made of paved stones, making it difficult to walk in heels without tottering. He offers his arm for support, and I gladly take it.

We have finally reached the fountain, featuring a triumphal arch in the center with Triton guiding Oceanus’s shell chariot. The entire piazza and the white marble fontana are lit with warm mellow strobes. I get a twinkle in my eye while contemplating such a masterpiece. Some tourists are still wandering around, throwing coins in the water, while a guitarist is playing and singing an Italian melody.

“Do you know how to dance?” He reaches out and places a hand on the small of my back, while holding my right hand in the air. And before I can say no, I see my arm draping across his shoulder and my feet swaying to the music. I blush nervously, my gaze down.

As if no one else were here, we start slow dancing in the middle of the piazza. I laugh as he spins me around, my hair flowing. He brings my body closer to his, and cheek-to-cheek we move slowly back and forth with the music. Jeez! I love to feel his warm skin against mine. I can’t help but breathe in his scent deeply. My heart’s racing like never before. I tremble at the idea that he might hear it too. I’m dangerously close to his lips, and although I’d never dare to kiss them, I can’t help but wonder what they taste like.

“I wish everything could be this simple,” he murmurs, pressing those lips against my forehead.

I don’t reply back. It feels too hard. I just shut my eyes and enjoy the moment as much as I can—after all, I know it won’t last forever.

When the music stops, Alex gives the musician a generous tip and holds my hand, bringing me to the center of the Fontana di Trevi. I marvel at the imposing sculpture of Oceanus—god of the sea.

“Have you ever been here at night?” he asks.

“No, never. It’s much better than during the day.”

“Here,” he says, giving me a coin. “Time to make a wish.”

I shut my eyes, bring the coin close to my chest, think about a wish, and throw it into the fountain. When I reopen them, Alex’s staring intently, a smile on his face. “Well, what about you?”

He also closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and throws a coin into the water. “This must be the biggest cliché in Rome,” he confesses, laughing.

“Hmm…” I bite my lip thoughtfully. “In order to be the biggest cliché, we would’ve been lovers and you would’ve already kissed me by now,” I tease (or not) while my tipsy blue eyes twinkle at him.

Much to my surprise, he suddenly bursts out laughing, “I’m sure Andrew would’ve loved to do so,” he states with confidence, until he meets my gaze again, clears his throat, and glances nervously at his watch. “It’s getting late. We should go back to the hotel.”

I’m not pleased, but he’s already booking an Uber on his iPhone. How can I extend my evening with him? I’ve got an idea, a very dangerous one he’ll probably decline, but nevertheless, I take a deep breath and dare to ask, “Would you offer me a last drink in your room?” Alex gawks in shock. “Don’t you have tea to offer?” I insist.

He doesn’t know what to say or do. Undecided, he ponders a bit further. “Petra, I don’t think it’s appropriate to invite you to my room.”

“Why not? Are you afraid of something?”

“Of course not,” he replies straightaway. His eyes dart down while he thinks something through. “Alright, but just one cup of tea.”

“This is not a room. This is an apartment,” I exclaim as we enter the living room of his suite.

“I like to be comfortable.” Alex removes his blazer, rolls up his sleeves, and goes to the bar area to boil water. “So, what kind of tea would you like?”

“Matcha tea.” I know he doesn’t have this one.

“You’re so cheeky. Black, grey, green, or jasmine?”

“Jasmine sounds nice.”

A twinkle of amusement lights up his face. “Oh, before I forget, I brought something for you.” He runs into his bedroom, leaving me as curious as ever.

I find a wall mirror and discreetly fix my hair and lipstick, but suddenly I feel his presence coming from behind.

“Do you know what it is?” he asks.

I turn to face him.

He’s holding a carmine-colored velvet box. I have no idea what it holds, and shake my head. He opens it. I gasp in surprise—inside lies a beautiful, very fine twenty-four-carat gold necklace with an oval pendant.

“It’s so beautiful. What does the engraved shape of the pendant mean?”

“I gave it to you for your baptism. It’s the coat of arms of my family.” I clearly don’t remember. “Since the medieval period, my ancestors used to give a gold chain with our coat of arms engraved in a pendant to their most cherished friends and allies. It means we will serve, trust, and protect them, no matter what. When that incident happened, your father wanted to erase not only my presence, but my entire memory from you. So he thought it’d be in your best interest to return it to me.”

“Dad is such an asshole…”

Alex chuckles at my reply. “While I understand he was worried about your behavior, I felt taking such a meaningful gift from you was a bit harsh.”

Facing the mirror again and with my back to him, I pull my long hair slightly up. “I want to have it back,” I tell him.

He steps closer, opens the clasp, and delicately puts the chain around my neck, closing it. He bends slightly over my shoulder and stares at me in the mirror, observing the pendant appreciatively as it lies on my chest. I caress his gift, proud to wear it.

As he holds my upper arms, his face softens with a tender smile. “I know you hear it all the time, but”—he swallows hard—“you’re disturbingly perfect, Petra…”

I gasp, winded by his words. He has never praised my beauty before. In fact, it’s the very first time he has complimented me on my appearance.

My eyes are drawn to him, to his parted lips so close to my skin and to his breath growing heavier. With his fingers tightening on me, he shuts his eyes and places a long, delicious kiss on my neck. Oh God. I shut mine too, and, losing myself in his touch, I rest the back of my head on him, at his mercy.

His arms move over my chest, wrapping me against him. His mouth on my neck sends my heart in a flurry of wild beats. This time as he kisses me, I feel his tongue. “Ahh…” I release a quick moan—he’s now sucking it avidly. I know he wants me as much as I want him. My entire body’s boiling with desire.

He wants to continue, but painfully stops, restricting himself from going any further. Then he removes his arms from me and takes one step back, looking angry and deceived. “You should get some sleep now. It’s getting late,” he says harshly.

“Alex,” I breathe, trying to move toward him, but he continues to distance himself.

“Please go. I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry for this. It must’ve been the wine.” I know it’s not the wine. Nevertheless, he opens the door and invites me to leave.

It’s hard. So hard to move away from his presence. I feel paralyzed, still feeling his kisses on my neck. Like iron to a magnet, I’m irresistibly attracted to him, but I know he won’t go any further tonight. I take a deep breath and, with my heart in pain, walk slowly toward the door. “Very well. Have a good night,” I reply coldly.

I think about kissing his cheek, but it might be better just to go. I’ll suffer in silence.

“Wait,” he snaps, while closing the door before I can step outside. My head down, I obey and remain silent. He stands right in front of me, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, and gently brings my chin up. My heart skips a beat when I meet his eyes again. He caresses my cheek with such a warm and smooth touch that I shiver. His thumb moves slowly to my mouth, fondling it. I can’t resist further, shutting my eyes and letting him watch my lips kiss his fingertip. He swallows hard. I look up at him, but he’s still staring fixedly at them. I know he wants me. It can’t be true! He inclines his face toward mine, closes his eyes, and I finally taste the most succulent fruit I’ve ever enjoyed. My face flushes, my pussy drenches, and my heart explodes like fireworks, feeling his lips pinned on mine. I don’t want this moment to ever end. Oh my. I want you so much, Alex. While caressing my cheeks, he gives me a long and tender lingering kiss. I feel the heat of our bodies rising with every second, my desire intensifying, lust burning down between my legs at the urge to feel him. I keep smooching his lips, asking for more, but he breaks our kiss, and we open our eyes. “Oh, Petra,” he mumbles as we look into each other's eyes, his thumbs still stroking my cheeks. “Forgive me… I… I had to kiss you,” he adds, his voice warm but barely audible. I keep staring at him with parted lips, totally mesmerized. Speechless. Waiting for more. For so much more. “Have a good night.” What? He gives me another kiss, but this time on my forehead.

“Let me stay,” I beg in a whisper as I nuzzle up against him. “Let me stay.”

He shuts his eyes, hugging me tight, so tight that I can hear his heartbeat pounding fast. “I can’t…” he murmurs. The sorrow in his voice resonates through me, his rejection crushing my heart.

“Why?” I ask, matching his low tone. He presses a long good night kiss on my forehead again, but I feel his agony more than anything else.

“You know why,” he replies feebly.

I close my eyes to contain the pain and tears, knowing all too well the answer. But it’s so hard for me to accept it. My mind is intoxicated, desperate to have more of him, more of his lips, his touch, his body. It’s like my heart has been released after ten years, and I would give myself entirely and completely to him at this precise moment, anything he asked. But he reopens the door, and this time, I know it’s for good. I don’t protest, don’t reply, just leave.

Alone in bed, sleeping feels impossible. My body is burning, my mind drunk on him. Did he really kiss me? Why did he do that? Does he also have feelings for me? I close my eyes, touching his coat of arms laying on my chest. I know at least this small part of him will belong to me forever. His piercing blue eyes, his scent, the warmth of his arms, the heady sensation of being so close to him... Oh, dear. My body contorts at the very thought of him, my legs impulsively spreading apart. I’m not wearing anything underneath. I’m too warm. I timidly move my hand down to my belly button. Reaching my pelvis, I feel the heat emanating. But I can’t stop there. I slide my fingers slowly lower. I bite my bottom lip as I reach my clit. I’m soaking. I’ve never touched myself before, but I’ve never felt so horny either. My lips part in excitement as my breath quickens. I can’t help but picture his lean body on top of mine, passionately devouring my mouth, and how it’d feel having his cock perforating my hymen. “Ahh…” Maybe it’d hurt, but I moan with pleasure at these images, liking them too much. He’d be kissing my lips while thrusting into me slowly—but firmly enough—until he made his way in. Our naked bodies would be pinned against each other, trembling at the pressed rhythm of his strokes into me.

“Ahh…” I moan again, this time louder. “Deeper…” I whisper to him.

My fingers continue to rub around my clit, faster and faster, like his cock obeying my commands. I feel tempted to slip one inside, but resist—my pussy belongs to him, and only he can get inside. Fuck. If I can’t have him in real life, at least in my most intimate dreams, he’s all mine.

“You belong entirely to me, Petra. I love you,” he’d whisper after cumming, and he’d kiss my forehead just like he did tonight.

Between panting breaths and a sweaty face, I smile at him, knowing I’m his woman. He’s finally deep inside, and I feel myself bleeding. I look into his blue eyes—they always take my breath away—and, my heart at his mercy, I breathe, “I love you, Alexander.”

Oh God, is it obsession? Lust? Love? Everything together? I don’t know, but of one thing I’m certain—Alexander Van Dieren will be the only one to have me. No matter what. No matter how long I have to wait. I belong entirely to him. I know he wants me. I know he wants me as much as I want him. Gosh. I feel a warm fluid dripping down between my legs. I swallow hard. It’s definitely not his, but mine. I feel so relieved afterward that I’m finally ready to sleep like a baby.

I don’t see him the next day. He doesn’t text me either. However I did receive a message from Dad wishing me a safe flight to Rotterdam and I also talked to him over the phone, sharing my thoughts about the conference on the way to Ciampino Airport. Nevertheless, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been. And why wouldn’t I be? I’ve just had the most amazing evening of my life. I go to the bathroom on the plane to refresh myself. I can’t help but notice the beautiful necklace staring back at me. I’m unusually glowing. Suddenly, I narrow my eyes at a strange pinkish mark on my neck. Holy shit. My face beams with joy. It’s him—he gave me a hickey! I blush, remembering my evening. I’m certain he didn’t do it accidentally; he wants me. This is the proof. I decide to hide it with a silk scarf around my neck. After all, no one, including my mom, needs to see this.

CHAPTER 12

Rotterdam, August 30, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

Mom lives on a beautiful property outside Rotterdam, on her own since the divorce from Dad. She enjoys her occasional “friends,” but no one serious enough to introduce me. She has, nevertheless, the amazing Anika, her loyal help. I’ve often wondered how Mom spends her days. From what she’s said, she usually travels, takes care of her garden, or helps some female-oriented organization. In fact, Mom has been particularly focused on female causes, investing her time and resources in many nonprofits that provide support for victims of domestic violence and sexual abuse. She has become an idol in her own right for many in the city, cultivating a great reputation.

As always, Mom is standing outside with her two kooikerhondje dogs, waiting for my car to arrive. I notice that she cut her long, straight blonde hair. She’s now styling it very short, but it suits her better like that.

“Mom!” I rush out of the car and hug her tight.

“Oh, my little angel,” replies Mom, kissing the top of my head. “You look wonderful.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Let’s go inside. Anika, please take the luggage to Petra’s bedroom.”

“Hi, Anika.” I joyfully hug her like a sister.

“Petra, it’s so good to see you. Your mom wouldn’t stop complaining how she missed you.”

Mom rolls her eyes.

“I missed Rotterdam so much. Mostly I missed you and Mom.”

“How was Rome?” asks Mom. “I’m dying to know everything. Let’s go the tea room,” she adds, grasping my hand.

The tea room is our favorite place in the whole house—an elegant and cozy living room where we can spend hours chatting about the most random subjects while emptying countless teapots. In the winter, we usually light a fire. Time always flies here. Unlike with Dad, I love to discuss everything and nothing with Mom. She’s so open-minded, so liberal; the conversations are so fluid, without filters. Along with Emma, Mom is one of my most intimate confidants. While I’m recalling my summer internship and the conference in Rome, I get the feeling Mom is particularly intrigued about something.

“I recognize this pendant…” she rebukes, while stirring her tea.

I blush, touching it instinctively. “Alex and I are friends again,” I simply reply. “I actually didn’t know he was from nobility.”

“Well, there is a lot about him and his family you don’t know...” It feels like a hint. “But anyway, that’s great. I’m glad for you. He has always been so kind and caring to you. I’m happy he’s back in your life.” Her tone and face, though, say otherwise.

“Indeed, and he continues to be exactly the same.”

“So, tell me.” Mom leans closer to me. “Why are you glowing? You look so radiant. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“Well…” I bite my lip, undecided if I should tell her the truth or not. “I’m in love, Mom,” I announce, taking a sip of my tea.

“This is wonderful news. Finally. I felt there was something going on. You look happier, more vivid. So, who’s the lucky one?”

In fact, in seventeen years, I’ve never announced these words. It feels so strange, yet so wonderful at the same time. “Well”—I clear my throat—“I’m not sure if you’ll be too enthusiastic.”

“Why not? You drank your first glass of champagne with me. I’m quite open-minded.” Mom sees me hesitating. “C’mon, we never keep secrets from each other.”

And she’s right. “Very well.” I take a long breath, ready for World War III. “It’s Alex...”

Mom’s face goes blank, then livid. “Alex? You mean, as in Alexander Van Dieren?” I nod. “You must be kidding me! Petra, again? You know perfectly well he’s your godfather and way too old for you. Forget this nonsense, alright?”

I knew Mom wouldn’t approve. But I try to convince her anyway. “I do really love him.”

“You are confusing love with attraction, my dear. I know he is very good-looking and charming, but he is your father’s best friend and more than twice your age.”

“He’s also my best friend. I trust him completely.”

“Petra.” Her tone’s more authoritative. “Promise me you won’t do anything with him. I’m serious about this. Or else I’ll have to call Roy, and you know how much I hate talking to your father.”

I sigh. “Why are you so against him?”

“Because you’re way too young!” she snarls, louder than usual. Mom takes a deep breath and tries to remain calm. “Look, Columbia is around the corner. You’ll find plenty of amazing, well-educated boys there, believe me. Alexander should remain what he is—a friend. You should be glad he came back after what you did.”

“That incident was ten years ago! I was seven. Now it’s different, I’m turning eighte—”

“Exactly,” she barks abruptly. “Now it’s different. Now you can be rational and realize he is not the right man for you.”

“So it’s only about the age difference?”

“Petra.” It seems like she’s about to lose her temper. “Van Dieren has quite a reputation among women…”

“I know that. But with me he is different...”

“That’s what all his previous girlfriends thought! That they were special, different. Look at Amanda, ten years in a relationship with him. Ten years! Poor woman, she gave too much of herself. She always did what he wanted, expecting one day maybe they would get engaged. And what did he do? He dumped her.” She exhales loudly in annoyance. “Petra, you know how much I want to see you happy, right? But promise me you’ll keep your distance.” She reaches out, taking my hand and looking me straight in the eyes. “I’m serious, my little angel. This man will only break your heart. I know him much better than you do.”

There’s no possible way to change my mother’s mind on this. I let out a sigh. “Alright. As you wish” feels like the right answer to give. I have no intention whatsoever of doing so, but she could call Dad and reveal my secret at any time. I feel so stupid and naive to have trusted her like that. After all, Alex already disappeared for ten years—I can’t risk losing him again.

CHAPTER 13

Manhattan, September 12, 2019

Alexander Van Dieren

Fuck. What have I done?

Since I came back from Rome, I haven’t felt like seeing anyone, not even Lucy—and she was quite fun to have around. Two weeks have passed, and yet my mind keeps ruminating about that kiss. That night was pure magic. From our ride in the taxi, our dinner, our dance, our… Argh. I can’t believe it. Petra is your goddaughter, man. I sigh, displeased. But now it feels so different. Now it’s not only about protecting her, caring for her, and loving her like family. Now Petra is no longer that little girl running in the green fields of my estate. Now she’s finally a woman—and an adult in a few months… Damn. You knew bringing her to your suite would be a mistake. And a big one. Oh God, but she’s so charming. She’s always known how to entice me with her angelic face and cheeky smile... I know I should’ve never tasted her lips, sucked her neck, or felt her so close to me. And worst of all was seeing her find pleasure with me. Since then, those images have been stuck in my mind and my heart—and despite my many attempts, they’re not leaving. I feel so ashamed and disgusted by feeling so turned on by her. I’m definitely not the right man for her. Hell, she’s the cherished daughter of my best friend and business partner, and my own goddaughter! I should’ve stayed home right here in New York... But letting that douchebag Andrew spend an evening with her would’ve been impossible to bear. What about apologizing? No. I can’t handle seeing Petra again. At least not yet. Texting her maybe? Terrible idea—it’ll leave a paper trail. What if Roy reads it? Whatever. I’ve got to forget it. Now that she’s at Columbia, she can find someone her own age, a nice, young, gentle boy without my past, my reputation, my kinks… I just need time to heal. Time alone. And far from her.

“So, Alex, what do you think?”

“Van Dieren?”

I blink, returning back to earth. “I think it’s great.” I have no idea what Roy and Paulo are talking about, but I hope it’s great anyway.

“Very well. Paulo, count us in for your big day, then. Can’t wait to be back in Rio. Petra will love it.”

Oh God, the wedding. I’ve totally forgotten. Paulo, the CFO at Gatt-Dieren Capital, is getting married next month in Rio. It will be a sumptuous and pompous ceremony for him and his Brazilian fiancée. I knew Roy and I would be attending, but Petra?

I lean closer to Roy’s ear, and in a low voice ask, “I’m sorry, Roy, are you sure Petra should be attending? A big wedding could be too much for her…”

Roy smiles, seeing me so worried. “My dear friend, I would’ve agreed with you just three months ago,” he replies with the same low voice. “But the doctors said she has made substantial progresses. I think having you around has given her more confidence.” Roy gives me a light and comforting clap on my arm.

I swallow hard. Petra can’t be around. I have to heal. Seeing her will only hurt my heart. I can’t see her or her delicious cherry lips; her big, dreamy blue eyes; her delicate skin; her long dark hair that smells like jasmine. “What about her classes?”

“Relax. We leave Thursday and come back Sunday. She’ll just miss two days.” I sigh. Roy seems decided. Happily decided. I take a sip of my whiskey. “Look at that woman over there.” Roy points to the entrance of the lounge. I follow his finger.

Paulo hears and looks too. “Oh. It’s Rafaela, one of the bridesmaids. I invited her over. She is spending a week here in New York.” Paulo stands up and waves to her. She smiles at him and walks in our direction. “Oi, Rafaela. Você está sempre maravilhosa,” he greets her in Portuguese while kissing her cheek. Rafaela is a tall, elegant blonde wearing a skin-tight black dress. “May I introduce you to my friends? Roy Van Gatt.” Roy stands up to shake her hand, but Rafaela gives him a cheek kiss instead. “Roy, this is Rafaela, one of the bridesmaids.”

Roy is radiant. “Pleasure to meet you, Rafaela. Welcome to New York.”

Rafaela’s eyes land on me—I’m sitting in a comfortable armchair, glass in hand, feigning a distant air.

“And this guy over here living in another planet is Alexander Van Dieren.”

I have no choice but to look at her and politely smile. “Hi, Rafaela. Nice to meet you.”

Her face beams with a big grin, but I don’t feel like standing up. Paulo invites her to sit in his armchair right next to mine.

“So, Rafaela, what brought you to New York?” asks Roy, already delighted with her.

“A seminar about lipogenesis and lipoplasty.”

We raise our eyebrows.

“Rafaela is a plastic surgeon in Rio,” explains Paulo. “Do you know how old she is?” Rafaela starts to chuckle. “Tell them.”

“How old do you guys think I am?” she asks, her face quite amused.

“Well, it’s hard to tell.” Obviously, Roy’s the first to play. “Women in Brazil take great care of themselves. Hmm… If I may try, I’ll say thirty-four?”

Paulo and Rafaela burst into laughter.

“Nope. Far, far away,” replies Paulo, still laughing. “Tell them, Rafaela.”

“I’m forty.”

“Wow. Unbelievable. Just like Alexander,” adds Roy, looking intently at me. He’s expecting some sort of reaction on my part, a laugh, a grin, some funny joke. But I’m not in the mood for any of it.

“Oh, really?” Rafaela takes over. “You don’t look forty at all. What do you do to keep your skin so young and free of wrinkles?”

I don’t do anything in particular, but since a doctor is asking, I feel like I have to give an interesting answer. “Well, I just try to eat a clean diet. I avoid sweets, I don’t smoke, I exercise, I drink a lot of water…”

“And a lot whiskey,” interrupts Paulo.

This time, we all break out in laughter.

“And a lot of whiskey,” I confirm. Rafaela smiles at me, wetting her lips. “And you? What do you do to keep yourself so young?”

“Well…” she lets the word trail off, while crossing her legs. “Exactly what you do, plus a couple of other things...”

I can’t help but chuckle at her tone. “Such as?”

She throws me a cheeky smile, studying me. “I can’t tell you all my secrets at once, Mr. Van Dieren. After all, we just met…” But her face says otherwise.

“Well, then, I expect to learn the rest in Rio.” I also give her that stare, before emptying my glass.

Rafaela glances at her iPhone and stands up. “I’m going to get some sleep,” she announces, looking intently at me. “My Uber has just arrived. The seminar starts early in the morning.”

“Sure.” Paulo also stands up to give her a cheek kiss, but Rafaela whispers something discreetly in his ear instead. “Alex? Would you mind escorting Rafaela to her car?”

“Not at all,” I reply for the sake of chivalry, leaving my comfortable armchair. Rafaela smiles radiantly and wishes Roy a good night, then we head outside.

“Is this your car?” I ask.

“Looks like it,” she replies, confirming the license plate. I open the passenger door and invite her to get in. Before sitting, she stands beside the door and looks at me with a charming gaze. “Would you like to have a nightcap at the hotel? I’m staying at the Plaza…”

I smile. Not because of her invitation, but because I saw it coming. After all, Paulo wouldn’t have asked me to escort her if she didn’t have something in mind. “I’m sure you want to get some rest for tomorrow. To look so young, you must sleep a lot.”

“Well…” She moves a bit closer to my ear. “I also do other things that keep me young,” she whispers in a low, sensual voice. I remain unreadable, looking intently at her. “In case you would like to know about them, here is my business card, and my private number is on there. It was a pleasure to meet you, Alexander. Have a great night.” She gives me a long, wet kiss on my left cheek before getting into the car.

“It was great to meet you too, Rafaela.” I close her door and wait until the car disappears completely from my sight. Afterward, I go back to the lounge where Roy and Paulo are chatting and thoroughly engaged, glasses in hand.

“What are you still doing here?” asks Roy in surprise.

I sit back in my armchair. “What do you mean?”

“Why didn’t you leave with her? She was asking for it,” continues Paulo.

“She wanted to rest for her seminar. I just escorted her to the car.”

“No, of course not. Rafaela wanted you to escort her so she could invite you over. That’s why she asked me to do it.”

“Ah, thank you, Paulo, but there was no need, really.”

“Are you sick?” jokes Roy.

“No,” I snap.

I look around for a waiter, but don’t see any nearby.

“Seeing someone?” asks Paulo.

“That would explain a lot…”

Why can’t they just stop?

To my surprise, I take too long to answer and find them staring at me, their eyes craving an answer. “No!” I manage to pull it off with enough conviction, but I’m angry to have wanted, even for a second, to reply otherwise.

“So why on earth wouldn’t you want to be with that woman? She seems perfect for you. Independent, smart, bold, playful, and super hot. Sounds like a no-brainer.”

“Roy, I’m not in the mood tonight. That’s all. Feel free to see her—she’s at the Plaza.”

“She’s into you, man. Not me. You haven’t been in the mood for a while. Maybe Rio will lighten you up.”

Paulo chuckles. “Oh, definitely. With a drink of cachaça and some kizomba with Rafaela, this man will be lost forever.”

They laugh hard but not me.

I just hope they’re right. Rafaela would be the perfect antidote. After all, she’s Petra’s opposite—older, taller, seductive, mature. Her body has some wonderful, juicy curves, with a striking bust and ass. She seems very confident in her own skin and has a naughty stare that would melt any man. Plus, she seems to be experienced enough to know how to play with me. With no guilt, no fear, no limits, as I like. I glance at my watch. “It’s getting late. I need to rest. Roy, don’t forget we have a meeting with Singapore at ten a.m.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be on time. Have a great night, and promise me you’ll give Rafaela a chance. You can’t refuse such a beautiful woman like that.”

I chuckle at Roy’s serious tone. “Don’t worry, Roy. Well, gents, have a great one.”

The club is dark, a string of red lights flickers above the immense dance floor to match the vibrant and sensual beats. I’m sitting at a table with some friends in a private area of the club. The atmosphere’s arousing, a group of hot chicks in skin-tight dresses are shaking their asses to the DJ, gazing here and there at me, craving some attention for their performance.

I keep scanning the dance floor for my next prey. But my heart instantly freezes at the sight of a skinny figure in a white eyelet dress with a ribbon wrapped around the waist, long black wavy hair, pale skin, big blue eyes, and cherry lips. “Petra? What are you doing here?” I yell at her. She sees me and starts running away, hiding herself among the crowd. How did she even get in? Probably with that fake ID.

I leave my table in a hurry and search for her amid the many men and women dancing. Ah, there she is. I hasten to follow the white dress. After all, she’s the only one wearing white in this club. I find her leaving the dance floor, running into a dark hallway. I speed up my pace and rush after her, wondering where she’s heading. She disappears into a room, shutting the door behind her. I shake my head.

Annoyed with her little game, I let out a breath and open the door. The room is barely lit, empty, with just a round bed where Petra’s sitting on the edge, staring innocently at me with her most angelic face—the one she usually does to avoid being scolded. Hands in my pockets, I walk toward her and stop right in front of her. She throws me a sweet little smile, looking up at me. But I remain unsmiling, rigid. I glare steadily at her and ask, “What are you doing in this club, Petra? You shouldn’t be here. You have to go home.”

She giggles instead. I try hard to remain indifferent to such a cute sound coming from her month. “Let me stay,” she begs in a low, tender voice, reaching for my wrist with her left hand. Goddammit. She’s so adorable.

I hold her fingers, caressing them slowly, but I feel something different at the touch. I glance down at them, and it’s enough to scare the hell out of me. I take a deep breath and stare again, this time more attentively. Petra is wearing an oval sapphire halo ring with a golden one below that. My jaw drops. I recognize this ring!

“Petra, who gave you this?” I ask, looking intently at the engagement ring.

She titters, her face beaming, and shakes her head in amusement. I glance at my left hand and know the answer.

Before I can ask anything further, she lays down on the bed, pulling me over her. I let my body cover hers. Lost in her big blue eyes, my lips spread apart and my pulse becomes uncontrollable. I’ve never lain on a bed with her before, but she seems far more comfortable than me.

“Do you love me?” she asks while unfastening my belt.

I widen my eyes in shock. Fuck! What’s happening? “Oh God...” I try to recover from this madness. “Petra, I can’t do this.” But I’m so stunned by all of this that I remain motionless. I can only stare at her as she hungrily unzips my pants.

“There’s no one here, just us,” she reassures in a soft voice.

Her eyes meet mine again, looking for an answer to her question.

Lost in here gaze, my heartbeat is bouncing so fast and loud that I can barely breathe, but despite it all…

“You know perfectly well I do.”

She wraps her hands around my neck, and her face glows with a smile I’ve never seen before. “I love you too.”

I reach her mouth at that instant, devouring her lustily. The urge of my desire to possess her is unbearable. I lift her dress, completely uncovering her legs. I squeeze them tight. Her skin feels so smooth and delicate. I spread them wider and notice she’s not wearing anything underneath. I grow harder at the sight of her pussy; my mind’s going wild. I need to be inside, to fill her completely, to give her the pleasure I imagined in Rome, make her body sweat and tremble like she has never felt before.

I push my pants and boxers down, then nibble on her bottom lip, her chin, before sucking her neck again.

“Ahhh…” she moans, lifting her pelvis. Damn. I hear her moaning. I reach down, bring my cock to her opening, and thrust hurriedly inside. I groan, feeling her for the very first time. She’s so drenched, so narrow, so warm, my heart feels like exploding and my breath comes out in short gasps. She squeals while I strike deeper. I have to shut my eyes at the intensity of our pleasure, at the intensity of having her, her love, her moans begging me to go faster and harder—she seems so used to the feel of me. She’s so damn expressive, so liberated. “Ahh… Faster! Ahhh!” She cries out while I’m pounding into her, in and out. My eyes drop to her mouth, wide open, then to her flushed skin, all sweaty and messy… God, she’s so beautiful with my cock inside. The view takes my breath away. At that instant I feel the urge of my orgasm, and my strokes become more insistent as I bang her as hard as I can. “Cum inside me,” she whispers. “Please, cum inside…” she repeats in a dirty voice I’ve never heard before.

“Oh, fuck, Petra...” I’m totally drunk. Drunk on her. I shut my eyes at the euphoria of the moment, give one last deep push, and, between heavy groans, finish in her.

She reaches for my mouth and pins me with a long kiss while I remain inside, enjoying her warmth.

Then we look at each other with the exact same tenderness and twinkle as in Rome—it feels like nothing else matters. Just us. After all, I’m her husband. And she is my wife.

I wake up with a jump, totally startled. I’m exhausted, sweaty, shaking between grueling breaths. While sitting up in bed, I look around. My bedroom is empty. There’s no one but me. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. Four a.m. Jeez! I brush some strands of hair from my face, take a deep breath in, and exhale. What a nightmare. I go to the bathroom and take a quick, fresh shower. I grab new boxers and a pair of ripped jeans, then go to the bar area in the living room. There I take a glass, three ice cubes, and pour some Macallan. I haven’t smoked a cigarette in years. Probably twenty or more. But I always have a pack hidden somewhere for guests. I take one out, put the filter up to my lips, and light it. Taking the first puff feels good. With my glass in hand and my cigarette between my fingers, I drag myself to the terrace, pacing around while idly observing skyscrapers and streetlights spread across the city. Even at four a.m., Manhattan is noisy and full of life. I need help. Urgently. I take another inhale before throwing the cigarette away, head back inside, and start searching for that business card. I find it on the hall table and add her private number to my WhatsApp. It’s decided—I’ve got to be with this Rafaela before Rio, before I can see Petra again.

Alone in my office, I’m happy the meeting with Singapore went well. Focusing on work is vital to forgetting her. There’s one more thing I have to do. I take out my iPhone and make a call. “Hi, Rafaela? Alexander Van Dieren. How are you? Enjoying New York?” My face softens with a smile. “Glad to hear it. Look, I’ve been thinking about our conversation from last night…” I laugh at her words. “Exactly, how to keep ourselves young. What do you think about having dinner tomorrow, eight p.m.?” Yesss. I clench my fist in victory. “I’m glad to hear that. Perfect, I’ll text you the address. See you soon, bye.” I hang up.

I can’t help but beam with joy. I’m finally getting my emotions and feelings back in control.

Suddenly, I hear a knock at the door.

“Mr. Van Dieren? My apologies for the interruption. Andrew Sullivan is here. He has a meeting with you at two p.m.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure.”

Andrew walks forward, stepping into my office.

“Mr. Sullivan.” I stand up from my chair and go to shake his hand. “How are you doing today?”

“Very well, Mr. Van Dieren, thank you. And congrats on the meeting with Singapore. I heard the negotiations are moving along well.”

“They are indeed. If everything goes well, we should sign the acquisition by November twenty-fifth. It’ll be a big expansion.”

“I’m glad to hear. Um, I have here the reports from all the interns.” He hands me a file. “I also put in my recommendations for hiring, in case you are interested.”

“Great,” I reply, going back to my chair, my eyes already glued to the first page.

Andrew sighs, feeling his presence is no longer required, and walks with head down in the direction of the door. “Mr. Sullivan?”

“Yes?” Andrew spins on my voice.

“What do you think about hiring Jess?”

I want to be irresistible tonight. I feel like breathing again, excited, like a kid playing a game I know perfectly. Rafaela and I will be having dinner at Asiate—a delicious fine-dining restaurant with a great sommelier and an extensive wine selection at the very top of the Mandarin Oriental. It offers sumptuous panoramic views of Central Park and beyond. I’ll need wine, a lot of wine. But once I’m half tipsy and with such a beddable Brazilian blonde in my arms, the rest of the night will go just fine. Rafaela will probably jump on me first. That’s what I like about those women—I don’t even need to make the first move. They know exactly what they want and are confident enough to serve themselves.

I wait for her in the lobby of the hotel. She doesn’t take long to arrive. She’s punctual, just like me. Hands in my pockets, I observe how everyone stares intently at her while she crosses the doorway. Rafaela looks as gorgeous as the first night I saw her. She’s wearing a knee-length black trench coat, open to reveal a skin-tight red dress underneath. It’s ruched on one side with an asymmetrical hem—long on the right side and short on the left. Her wavy blonde hair falls to her chest. She nods at me with a grin and walks in my direction with a natural hip swing.

“Mr. Van Dieren,” she greets, before giving me a cheek kiss. “You look great.”

“Not as great as you, I’m afraid.” She smiles at my compliment. “Shall we?” Rafaela links her arm with mine, and we head to the elevator that will take us to the thirty-fifth floor. Her eyes twinkle as she steps into the intimate restaurant with its sumptuous views of Manhattan.

“This view is insane!” She gasps in surprise while staring out the glass wall to Central Park and Upper East Side, which are all lit at night.

My face softens with a smile. I knew she’d like it. “Indeed, I like the view.”

“Mr. Van Dieren, so good to see you here,” greets the sommelier, shaking my hand.

“Good evening, Derek. It’s great to see you too. Can’t wait to be surprised and delighted by the wines you’ll pick for us tonight.”

“The wines?” asks Rafaela.

“I’m thinking of ordering the tasting menu with wine pairings. Don’t worry, it won’t be heavy. The chef will do something light and healthy, and the portions are small,” I reassure.

“Sounds like you know exactly what you want,” she replies in a cheeky tone. “For me that sounds perfect.”

“If I may, your table is over here.” Derek waves at a waiter who escorts us to a table with fuchsia booths located in a private corner beside the glass wall.

“What do you think of my choice?” I ask, seeing her face glow as she savors her glass of Saint Emilion. “Was it worth letting the chef and sommelier surprise us?”

She nods with a smile. “Very much so. It’s the first tasting menu I have had that is actually healthy and not heavy.”

“Actually, it’s not really on the menu. Although I think they should add it.” I take a sip from my glass. This wine is indeed fantastic. “So, what are your secrets to keeping yourself so young? Might you share some with me?”

She smiles deliciously at my question, wetting her lips, and move to sit beside me. I can see enough of her cleavage to notice her black lace bra. Then she leans closer to my ear. “Do you want me to show you?” she asks with a sensual tone. But of course. I smile and nod. She presses her lips against mine in a lingering kiss. And I’m very happy she does so. Finally, a kiss from someone else; after all, the last lips I’d kissed were— “Can’t wait to get to your apartment and show you the rest…” Rafaela whispers.

I grin, picturing the rest. “Let me help.” I call for the waiter and gesture for the check. Afterward, I kiss her again, this time feeling her tongue caressing mine longer.

Once the bill arrive, I want to cover it entirely, but when she insists we split, I say, “In Rio, I’ll be your guest. You can invite me wherever you want. But in New York, you are mine.” She smiles radiantly at my wordplay.

My iPhone beeps. The driver has just arrived.

I hold her hand, and we go out to the street. I open the rear door, and we get inside the black Rolls-Royce Phantom, which is waiting for us at the curb. She seems quite amazed to find it has an opaque glass wall that can be used either as a TV screen or to block off the front of the car. “I have never seen this before.”

“You mean the isolation wall?” I ask, closing the door behind me.

The car starts moving, and I strip off my jacket.

“Yes.”

I notice she has already removed her coat—the view of her deep cleavage makes it difficult to look elsewhere. “It’s actually soundproof—the people in front can’t hear or see us. And with this intercom, I can communicate with the driver.” She nods at me as I explain.

In a sudden move, Rafaela sits astride my lap, lifts her dress up, and starts devouring my mouth lustily. I grab her ass and squeeze it tight. “Then let’s enjoy it,” she murmurs between kisses.

This woman is fantastic. Her breath comes out short and loud. She hurriedly unbuttons half of my white shirt, kissing my neck through the open collar and fondling my chest.

I grab her waist and lie her down on the leather bench. I like to be on top. I continue to devour her, but a flashback of that nightmare runs instantly through my mind. I stop kissing her for a brief moment and swallow hard. I reach for her lips again, but my heart tightens, knowing it’s not hers I want. I feel so angry with myself. My body is not responding to her presence, her kisses, or her touch. I focus my mouth on her neck, but it’s neither her skin I want to suck, nor her perfume I want to inhale. Indeed, there is not a trace of jasmine... I look back into her eyes. They are brown.

The car stops.

I know we’ve just arrived at my condo. “I’m sorry, Rafaela. Don’t take this the wrong way, but…” How can I say I can’t bang her in the most elegant and gentle way possible? “I think we should take things slowly.” Perfect.

She gasps in surprise, caressing my face. “Oh, Alexander, a man like you asking me to take things slowly? Wow, that’s a compliment.” Phew, she likes it. “Why not? It’d make things even more exciting in Brazil…” She gives me a wet kiss on the lips. “Well, see you in Rio, Mr. Van Dieren.”

I give her another one, but quicker, before I make my way out of the car. “See you there, Rafaela,” I reply back, before closing the door on her.

Fuck! I don’t know what happened. Rafaela is a stunner; anyone would die to bang her. I’ve never felt that powerless before. Was it because of that stupid nightmare? Because of Petra? Whatever. It’s time for me to be back in control—me, and only me, no one else. I’ve got to talk to Petra and tell her we need to forget what happened in Rome. It was just a damned mistake, for God’s sake! I know that only from that point, when the subject is closed, will I be able to move on and completely enjoy Rafaela.

CHAPTER 14

Manhattan, October 10, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

Columbia has been challenging but rewarding. I didn’t expect to enjoy the classes so much. I’ve made a nice group of friends—still wondering how I’ve managed to be that sociable. We are known as the geek group of the freshman class, since we spend most of our free time at the library. But I couldn’t care less. I love everything about that library. It’s bigger than any I’ve ever been before. With its high ceilings, majestic windows, and crystal chandeliers, it offers an intimate and silent atmosphere. It feels like heaven on earth! Furthermore, there are books about nearly every subject, enough to satisfy my wildest curiosity.

Today’s no exception. I’m with my classmate Matthew, studying financial economics and getting my course notes in order.

“Matthew,” I murmur.

“Yeah…”

“Do you have the notes about why an economy has fluctuations and how they may be controlled? Mine are not that good.”

“Sure, here.” He gives me a dossier with all his notes about the topic.

“Thank you.” I read the first page. “Wow, they are so detailed. Where did you get them?”

“From the book Financial Economics: A Simple Introduction. Did you read it?”

I wince. “Oh, no, not yet. I’ve been busy reading others. Do you have it?”

“Yep. Here.”

“Thanks. You’re my savior,” I praise, accepting the book and flipping through the pages.

“You’re welcome.” Matthew ponders for a moment, looking intently at me, then takes a deep breath. “We should go out someday…”

“Go out? Where?” Does he prefer to study in a coffee shop? “I like the library. You prefer coffee shops?”

He lets out a chuckle, head shaking. “No, I meant going for dinner or something.”

“Ah, I see…” I swallow hard. “I’m sorry, Matthew. You’re very nice, but I’m in love with someone.”

“Oh, I didn’t know…” Matthew can’t hide his disappointment. “I never saw you with anyone else apart from our group. Is he studying at Columbia?”

“No, he is older.” Much older. “He’s already working.”

“Wow, now I understand why.” Matthew looks down thoughtfully. “Does he know he is the luckiest man on earth?”

I blush at his question. “I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I don’t think he knows my feelings.”

“So, you are secretly in love with someone?”

I want to say no, but he’s right. And that's the embarrassing truth pinned deep down in my heart. I’m secretly in love with Alexander Van Dieren. I belong to him, but only in my dreams, in my fantasies, and in my mind. In reality, he knows nothing about my feelings toward him. We didn’t talk about it either. Since our kiss in Rome, Alex hasn’t said a word. Or texted. Not even once! I obviously haven’t texted him either. Maybe that kiss meant nothing to him. Just the result of too many glasses of wine. After all, he’s known to be a heartbreaker. Heck, even Mom warned me. And who am I? A totally inexperienced girl, the daughter of his best friend and business associate, and ultimately, his goddaughter. But is it already all forgotten? I’ve got to know. It’d be too risky to confront him at the wedding with Dad around. We’ve got to meet right here in New York one last time before leaving for Brazil.

Decision made, I take a deep breath, reach for my iPhone, open my WhatsApp, and—

We need to talk before Rio. Are you free this afternoon?

My heart explodes, finally seeing a text from him! Looks like he knew exactly what I had in mind. I smile radiantly. Yes, I’m really missing him. “I’m sorry, Matthew. I have to go.”

Alexander Van Dieren

There she is, already seated at a corner table, a straw between her lips drinking a strawberry smoothie. She’s annoyingly beautiful like always, wearing an open denim jacket, a pale-pink shirt underneath, her usual skinny jeans, and a pair of white All-Stars. She hasn’t spotted me yet. She’s looking away with a pensive stare and a cute little smile on her lips. Fuck. She’s terrifying. More than anyone I’ve ever met. After all, she’s the only one capable of waking me up at four o’clock in the morning, of making me change schedules overnight and take a plane to Rome, of making my cock powerless in front of stunners like Rafaela… I sigh. Yep. That little thing over there dressed like a teenager. I take a deep breath, walk in her direction, and sit down in front of her. I feel a sudden punch in my heart—she’s still wearing my pendant. She smiles joyfully at me, but I don’t return it. Her eyes are so bright and charming. Why is she so damn irresistible?

“I haven’t seen you in ages.” She sounds irritably sweet.

“Well, six weeks isn’t really ages,” I snap, my tone serious. “How’s Columbia? Are you enjoying it?”

“Not bad, actually. Much better than I thought. We have exams before Christmas, but Dad told me I could take a week off in December for a birthday trip if I stay focused until then.” I can’t help but smile seeing her face glowing, but I’ve got to talk to her. “Why are you so distant lately? You didn’t say a word…We’re going to Rio next week, maybe we could—”

“Petra,” I interrupt, my voice heavy. I pause for a moment to find the best words. “I want to apologize for what I did in Rome. I feel terrible. I can’t sleep thinking about what I have done. The entire atmosphere and the excess of wine made me lose my mind.” I take a deep breath. “Do you think you can forget what happened?”

She lifts her eyebrows, and her lips spread apart as she looks intently at me. “Would you like me to?”

I don’t want to give her my answer. I know it’ll only hurt her—me… us? “I think it’s better for both of us that you do.”

“What about you, then?”

“I’m meeting a friend in Rio.” I feel my heart punishing me. “Her name is Rafaela. She’s one of the bridesmaids… I just wanted you to be aware of that. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”

I see her eyes watering. She tilts her head back to stop her tears and heaves a loud sigh filled with sorrow. “I see…” She sniffles. “Well, Brazilian girls are a perfect distraction indeed…”

I hate to feel her disappointment and pain. I bring my chair closer to hers, but I keep my hands to myself. She notices it. My gaze is also different—colder, more distant and rigid.

“Petra, let’s be rational,” I begin. “I’m way too old for you, and your dad will never approve of any relationship between us. We should remain friends just like before. You deserve to meet an amazing young man at Columbia. Someone who’s your—”

“You didn’t even try to talk to him,” she protests.

I remain speechless.

Her eyes drop to my hands resting on the table. She lets out a breath before looking back at me. “So, you don’t have any feelings for me?”

Oh God. “You are like family, Petra. I love you as such, as a goddaughter and friend. That’s it. I apologize for that night,” I repeat.

“Wow...” she sniffles, closing her eyes for an instant. “Well, we are not together anyway, so don’t feel held back because of me.”

Despite the harshness of the moment, I smile. She gave me the answer I needed to hear. “Can we remain friends?” I ask, but she doesn’t say a word. She keeps looking at my hands. Before that kiss in Rome, I’d have already interlaced my fingers with hers while caressing and kissing her knuckles. But touching her will only make things worse. “I care so much about you, Petra. I want to remain in your life.” You have no idea how much.

She nods painfully before our eyes interlock again. “I do care about you too,” she mumbles.

Her eyes are red and wet. I feel the urge to hold her tight, to kiss her, to tell her everything is going to be alright, but no. I don’t do any of it. It’s better just to leave. The longer I stay, the worse it will be.

“Very well. Thank you for your understanding.” I glance at my watch. “I have to go. Have a great day,” and I smile cordially.

Then I stand up, fasten the top button of my blazer, and go to the waiter to settle the bill. Afterward, I simply leave.

Petra Van Gatt

I’m totally paralyzed, frozen by his words and attitude. He didn’t kiss me, not even a hug or a simple friendly touch on the arm. Nothing. My hopes and dreams have been totally smashed down by the cruel reality: we are not meant to be together. I should’ve known better. And yet, despite it all, there is nothing I’m more certain of than him.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and tilt my head back to prevent my tears from falling here in the coffee shop. But my heart is already crying, bleeding, devastated. Friendship is not enough, Alex. No. It’s not. That kiss meant something. And not only for me. I know it meant something to him too. I felt it. Still, here I am having to compromise my heart for the sake of having him in my life. Oh, Petra, what have you done…

CHAPTER 15

Rio de Janeiro, October 17, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

Dad is floating on a cloud. I mean, not because we are on a plane flying among clouds, but because it’s our first trip in a long time together. I’m not pleased to share the aircraft with Alexander, but I try to be on my best behavior for Dad. I know he’s happy for me to be here and to discover Rio with him. I decide to be particularly chatty with Dad, making him laugh with my stories about Columbia. I even take a selfie with him and send it to his WhatsApp with a nice filter and text. Obviously, I’m not doing any of that with Alexander. Actually, I even hope he’s feeling totally left out, and, at least judging by the look on his face, it seems like he is.

The pilot announces our approach to the Galeão International Airport. I excitedly look out the window at the beach, the coastline, the greenery, the cliffs, and the many white buildings and houses covering the landscape.

I smile, impatient to finally land in such an exotic city.

When we step outside, I realize Rio’s humid and hot. I didn’t expect it to be that much at nine p.m. There are two cars waiting for us. Probably one for Dad and me, the other for Alexander.

I’m the first to leave the plane. Dad and Alex are still chatting in their seats. The driver opens my car door and I slide inside, waiting for Dad. After fifteen minutes, Dad finally sits beside me. The engine starts and the car drives us downtown to Avenida Atlântica.

As we park in front of our hotel, the emblematic Copacabana Palace, I can’t help but take in my surroundings: the famous avenue looks very much like Ocean Drive in Miami, with the beach right across the road and palm trees lining the other side. Except Copacabana is surrounded by cliffs and exotic greenery, and the ground is made of Portuguese calçada—a traditional pavement made of small, flat black-and-white stones arranged like a mosaic to create a pattern or image.

I look a bit down the road, but I can’t see Alexander’s car. “Alex is not staying at the hotel?” I ask.

“No. He rented a villa in Joá to have more privacy,” explains Dad as we walk toward the main door. “You know, he met a wonderful lady in New York. Rafaela is a plastic surgeon and has her own clinic here. She’s gorgeous and very smart. You’ll be introduced to her tomorrow at lunch.”

I feel a punch in my heart picturing them in his villa, fucking in the pool while drinking caipirinhas. Oh God. I try to contain my pain, but it’s hard, so hard. “I heard about her.” I close my eyes for a second to take a deep breath.

“Are you alright, Petra?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit tired from the flight. Don’t worry.”

We step into a sumptuous marble lobby, which has high ceilings and a crystal chandelier in the center. We are promptly greeted by a young man in a suit and a lady next to him holding a tray with a glass of champagne and a green juice.

“Mr. Van Gatt. Welcome to Copacabana Palace,” greets the man, his face beaming as we take our respective glasses. “My name is José Rodrigues, the guest manager. I hope you had a pleasant flight.”

“Thank you, José. This is Petra, my daughter. We had a great flight, yes. Happy to be back in Rio.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Well, since the check-in has already been done in advance, I just wanted to personally give you the key cards to your respective suites. Also, just to confirm, the brunch for Mr. Marques will start at eleven thirty in the morning at the Cipriani Restaurant right in front of the pool area, which is obviously privatized all day long for the event.”

“Perfect, many thanks.”

“I won’t take up anymore of your time, Mr. Van Gatt. If there is anything else I may assist you with, here is my card with my direct line.” Dad nods. “I wish you both a great evening.” He shows us the way to the elevators, and we head up to our floor.

“Well, tomorrow at eleven thirty, I’ll pick you up to go to the gathering,” informs Dad. “It’s an elegant brunch to greet the wedding guests, and a lot of our clients are attending, so kindly dress accordingly.”

Dad is probably fearful I’ll show up tomorrow in sneakers and jeans. I chuckle picturing just that. “I know, don’t worry. Janine and I went for shopping to get some dresses for the occasion.”

“Perfect. Then see you tomorrow.” He gives me a kiss on the cheek. “If you need anything, my room is number five-oh-six.”

“I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow, Dad.”

I go to my suite. The first room is an elegant living space with two sofas, a low table, and an office desk; a small guest bathroom is on my right, with the bedroom further down. I look through the window and can see the Avenida Atlântica all lit up, many palm trees gently swaying outside and some cars still passing by. Just across the road, I sight the long, vast white sandy beach of Copacabana. I want to run out there now, take off my clothes, jump into the sea, and feel the fresh water of the ocean on my body. But doing it all without him simply isn’t worth it. I let out a sigh, wondering if he’s in his villa, swimming in the sea, or walking around… Will he already be with Rafaela? Ugh. Probably. I try to forget this nonsense and call Mom to let her know I’ve arrived safely.

Rio de Janeiro, October 18, 2019

Despite the comfortable bed, I didn’t sleep well last night. I’ve been so anxious at seeing Alex with his new girlfriend. I know it’ll be a big challenge to see them together. I fear they’ll kiss each other shamelessly in front of everyone. I thought about texting him and asking him not to, but that would be worse. He can’t know I care so much about it.

I take a deep breath and look at my outfit one last time. I opted for a light-pink chiffon dress, knee-length, with a ribbon wrapped around the waist and a lace corset with scoop neck. I also decided to wear the off-white pearls my father gave me a long time ago.

I hear knocking.

“Hi, Dad,” I greet him happily while opening the door.

“Wow. You want Anabela to be jealous?”

“Who?”

“The bride-to-be, Paulo’s fiancée.”

“Oh…”

“I’m joking. You look radiant.”

“Thank you. You look great too.”

He stares at my neck, his face intrigued. “I’m glad to see you’re wearing the pearls I gave you. But…” he seems hesitant.

“But what?”

“Do you really need to wear your pendant with it?”

I instinctively touch it. “I won’t remove it.”

“Alright, I won’t insist. Shall we?”

Cipriani Restaurant is closed for a private event. More precisely, for the welcoming reception of Mr. Marques and his future wife, Anabela, a native Carioca. From what Dad told me, she’s a former real estate agent who’s been with Paulo for eight years. It’s her first marriage, but not his. Mr. Marques had been married previously and has twenty-year-old twins, Luiz and Miguel, with his first wife.

As we enter, we see Paulo entertaining guests alongside his wonderful thirty-two-year-old fiancée while the restaurant is quickly filling up. Oh, I recognize him now. That’s the man who was with Alex at the Et Al lounge. The atmosphere feels posh, selective. A bossa nova singer is crooning, and her musicians are playing in the background. Some guests are already seated at their tables, while others remain standing, glasses in hand, laughing and eating blinis with smoked salmon and caviar. Children are running around, and waiters are trying hard not to trip over them.

“Ah, Roy, Petra. So happy to see you guys.”

“Paulo. How are you?” greets Dad happily.

“Good morning, Mr. Marques. Congratulations on the occasion. It’s really beautiful,” I add.

“Not as beautiful as you, Ms. Van Gatt. Let me introduce you to my future wife, Anabela.”

“Hi, Anabela, I’m very glad to meet you. Can’t wait for tomorrow.”

“Many thanks, Ms. Van Gatt. It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” replies Anabela, kissing my cheek.

“These are my twins, Luiz and Miguel, and this is Claudia, Miguel’s girlfriend,” continues Paulo.

“Hi, nice to meet you all.” I smile and shake hands with all the three. The twins look quite different. Miguel’s more athletic and taller with short brown hair, while Luiz’s skinnier with longer hair and a more casual, less polished look.

“Miguel, Luiz, Claudia, this is Petra Van Gatt, Roy’s daughter. I hope you will be amiable enough to show her Copacabana after lunch—she doesn’t know anyone here.”

“Are you seated with us?” asks Luiz.

I look around at the many tables. “Not sure…”

“There’s a seating chart at the entrance,” adds Claudia.

“Oh sure, I’m gonna go check.” I go to the entrance of the restaurant and read the table seating chart. Each table is composed of nine guests. I’m at the head table. I read more carefully the other names seated there: Paulo and Anabela, Roy, Petra, Alex, Rafaela, Luiz, Miguel, and Claudia. No, no! Terrible! I don’t want to spend the entire lunch with him and his new girlfriend! But I suddenly remember Luiz, the single twin. He’s at my table. Perfect! I’ll spend the entire lunch talking, laughing, and flirting with him. Then, after the gathering, we’ll excuse ourselves and go to the beach. Wonderful plan! Alex is definitely not expecting that.

I go over to my father, who’s happily talking with Anabela and the rest of the group gathered near our table. “So, Anabela, I heard the wedding tomorrow will be the most magical event ever held in Rio?”

“Oh.” She rolls her eyes. “You have no idea how stressful it’s been to get everything done the way I wanted, Roy. We are renting the Parque Lage, which has splendid views of Christ the Redeemer. You’ll love it. We’ve prepared a very special fairy-tale setting.”

I swallow hard. Nervously hard. Alexander and Rafaela are standing at the entrance looking at the table seating chart, holding hands, and wearing matching styles. He’s sporting a light-blue linen blazer with a silk pocket square, a white shirt open at the collar, and navy pants. She’s in a light-blue sheath dress. Oh God, she’s really beautiful. I look discreetly at myself in the mirror and sigh. Rafaela seems like an elegant and mature femme fatale, and I? As Emma would say, I look like a girl going to the prom.

I feel them coming toward us, and before I can run away… “Alex! Finally. You’re late,” shouts Paulo jokingly, giving him a friendly hug and a clap on his back. “Rafaela, wonderful as always. My God, you both look great.”

“A perfect couple,” says Anabela.

Ugh!

“Maybe they’re next in line,” teases Paulo.

Everyone bursts into laughter but me.

“My dear friends, now that we’re all here, let’s sit. Lunch will be served in a minute.”

Dear Lord. I’ll need a lot of caipirinhas to handle this. Or at least one. I know Dad is against me drinking alcohol, but maybe if I ask him in front of everyone, he’d be less likely to decline. “Dad, can I order a caipirinha? Everyone’s drinking one,” I dare to ask.

He swallows hard. He never thought I’d ask such a thing and seriously considers the question.

“Oh, Roy, c’mon, let her have a drink. It’s totally legal here in Brazil,” chides Rafaela.

While Alex gapes at her words, I instead smile joyfully at having found an ally.

“I’m Rafaela Lima, by the way.” She shakes my hand. “Your godfather told me a lot about you.” Seriously? Now I’m even more surprised.

“Really?” I shake my head in astonishment, looking at his unsmiling and embarrassed face. “And when I thought he couldn’t care any less about my existence…”

“Oh, not at all. In fact, your godfather was just telling me in the car that—”

“You can have a drink, Petra,” interposes Alex. “I’m sure Roy’s fine with it.”

Dad is left with no choice. “Exactly, one is alright.”

I smile victoriously. I order one and head over to sit beside Luiz. I wonder what Alex said about me to Rafaela in the car. But I know he’ll never tell me. It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve got to get used to this new reality. A reality in which Alex is touching and holding hands with another woman besides me.

“So, Petra, what are you studying?”

Why on earth does she want to chat with me?

“Economics at Columbia University,” I reply back.

“Oh, wow. Ivy League. So, what’s the plan? Follow your dad’s path?”

“I wouldn’t mind. So far, I have my own art fund. And later I’d like to focus on art dealership, growing the fund, leasing the artworks, opening a gallery…”

“You already have your own fund? Impressive. And how old are you, if I may ask? Twenty?”

“Seventeen,” corrects Dad, his face beaming with pride. “If Petra continues like this, very soon we’ll see her on Forbes Thirty Under Thirty. Hopefully, as the youngest listed. We are working hard to make it possible. Right, Petra?”

I nod.

“Unbelievable,” exclaims Rafaela. “I never thought you were that young.”

I hate to be the center of attention. I give her a polite smile, take a sip of my caipirinha—which is way stronger than I thought—and focus on Luiz.

Alexander Van Dieren

She’s incredibly beautiful today. A celestial princess. I love to see her wearing dresses with ribbons wrapped around her waist. While she’s sitting on the other side of the table, it’s hard not to notice her, with such a cute and enticing smile and with her laugh always so charming, innocent, and childlike. But she’s neither smiling at me, nor laughing with me. No. She has found a young Brazilian man who has clearly captivated her. She has spent the entire lunch ignoring everyone but him. Luiz is smitten, obviously—who wouldn’t be with such a cultivated and delightful woman? I notice how Luiz delicately tucked her hair behind her ear. I used to do that. Before that night. Before that kiss. I take a sip of my caipirinha and instinctively smile at the sound of her laughter, but I have no idea what Luiz just said. It doesn’t matter. She’s happy. Her eyes sparkle with joy. I look absently down at my plate for a while and let out a sigh. This is how it must be. And no matter how painful it is to see her glowing with someone else, I know that’s the right choice for her. I see Luiz whispering in her ear, and she nods.

“Dad,” calls Luiz. “Petra, Claudia, Miguel, and I are going down to the beach, alright?”

“Sure. You guys can change in the spa. The bags with your beachwear are in the car. Ms. Van Gatt, be sure to leave your jewelry, iPhone, wallet, and other valuables in your room, and dress as simply as possible.”

Petra nods.

“Very well. See you guys later.”

I don’t like it. I lean over and whisper discreetly in Roy’s ear, “Isn’t it dangerous to let them go alone?”

“Relax, this area is pretty safe. Right, Rafaela?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

She’s been gone about four hours now. The golden hour is quickly approaching in Copacabana. While the majority of guests have already left, Paulo, Anabela, and their closest friends are now in beachwear spending the rest of the afternoon by the pool and lounge. I glance once more at my watch. I hear loud male laugher splashing in the water. It’s Luiz and Miguel. They’ve returned from the beach. Claudia is with them, but not Petra.

“Where is Petra?” I ask Claudia.

“She stayed on the beach to watch the sunset.”

Pfff, these guys are so foolish. How can they think it’s okay to leave her alone when she doesn’t speak any Portuguese? I leave the hotel and cross the street, and even though the beach is still crowded, I manage to find her at a distance. She’s sitting on her beach towel near the waves, staring at the horizon, her black hair still wet from the sea.

“Hey,” I greet, before sitting next to her on the tiny towel. She checks me out top to bottom. She must’ve noticed that I changed clothes, now wearing a half-open linen shirt, sleeves rolled up to my elbows, and dark-blue Bermuda shorts. She just smiles. I glance at the horizon where she’s staring, before looking back at her. “You know, the hotel provides comfortable lounge chairs…”

“I’m fine,” she snaps.

But her melancholic face says otherwise. “What’s going on, Petra?”

“I’m just a bit down today,” she admits before taking a deep breath. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine for the wedding tomorrow. I won’t disappoint anyone.”

Looking at her without touching her is even harder than I thought. I try to focus on her words, but all I can see are her lips moving, begging to be kissed. I try to look into her eyes instead, but she’s staring at the horizon, not at me. I can smell her perfume and her jasmine hair. My heart is thundering so loud, I hope she doesn’t pay any attention to it.

She’s sporting denim shorts for the first time. Her skinny legs look so smooth that I wonder for a brief instant how it’d feel to caress them. Her makeup has been wiped off; she looks so beautiful without it. Heck, even her long salty hair fluttering in the breeze looks beautiful. I want so much to lay her down, move my body on top of hers, and devour her mouth madly... My mind goes wild as I think about removing her shorts, feeling her skin against mine, touching her clit, and giving her the pleasure I’ve wanted to since Rome. Then, eyes looking into eyes, I’d tell her how much I… Damn it. I shut my eyes, forcing such thoughts out of my head and these stupid feelings out of my heart. But it’s hard. So hard that I can barely breathe.

“Are you okay?”

I blink at her question.

My eyes finally lock with hers. C’mon, just tell her the truth. “Petra… I…” Tell her. “I have to go. See you tomorrow at the wedding.”

I stand up and walk away. The pain of not possessing her is too much to bear. She’s a terrible temptation, but worse than that, it’s not sexual, or at least not entirely. It’s something deeper, more terrifying. Something I’ve got no power or control over. Fuck. How did I let that happen?

I reach the pool again where Roy, Paulo, and Rafaela are happily chatting and drinking caipirinhas.

“Hey, what’s going on? Are you alright?” asks Roy, seeing me.

“You should talk to Petra—she’s alone on the beach. I’m sure she is feeling lonely.”

“Very well. I’ll be right back.”

Petra Van Gatt

No one can see my tears falling. I’m sobbing but I couldn’t care less. At least here at Copacabana Beach, no one knows me. And there’s no one nearby to judge. He left abruptly for no reason whatsoever. As soon as I confirmed I would be fine at the wedding, he didn’t bother to stay any longer. Maybe that’s all that matters. Maybe I’m just here for the sake of showing a happy, united family for the media and guests, while he’ll be entertained by Rafaela. Ugh! The simple thought of them being sexually involved is repugnant.

“Hey, darling. What’s going on?” asks Dad, seeing me in tears. “Are you sad to be here? Do you want to join us by the pool?”

He sits beside me and gives me a hug.

“I’m sorry, Dad.” I sniffle before wiping my tears. “I’m just a bit emotional lately… Must be because of the wedding.”

“Oh dear, of course. I understand.” You can’t understand, no. “It makes you think about your mother and me, right?” I smile internally. “The doctors warned a wedding could be challenging for you…”

“Exactly. It’s harder when your parents are divorced. Why is Paulo getting married for a second time? Love never lasts anyway.”

“Don’t say that. There are plenty of couples who stay together and are happily married.”

“Do you know any?”

“Well… Let’s say it’s fifty-fifty.”

“Sounds ridiculous—getting married to have a fifty percent chance of splitting up.”

“I know… Adults are like big kids, Petra. They like to dream and believe they’ll remain together forever.”

“Do you think that’s why Alex never settled down?”

“I don’t know. Your godfather is quite pragmatic, so maybe he never saw the point. At least, he’s smarter than me,” he replies with amusement.

“Sounds wise. I should follow his example.”

But suddenly his smile vanishes from his face. “He’s not like you, Petra.”

Dad takes a deep breath while staring intently at the horizon, thinking something through. “Look, one day very, very far away, you’ll meet a man who’ll love you unconditionally. He will want to make you the happiest woman in the world, even if that means sacrificing himself, his own desires, and his own happiness to make yours shine. When you meet someone like that, you should be on the safe side and can marry him,” he jokingly replies. “Your godfather has never been this type of man with any of his girlfriends, and I think he knows that.”

CHAPTER 16

Parque Lage, October 19, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

It’s an evening wedding. I’m surprised to learn it’ll start only after sunset, at six thirty p.m. But as I step out of the car, I look at the beautiful Parque Lage, 148 acres of pure green scenery, with the famous Corcovado Mountain and Christ the Redeemer in the background. The gardens are all lit by soft lights, and a blanket of bright stars are slowly settling in. On the roundabout, white flowers are floating on the waters of a large marble fountain. Anabela was right—the setup for the wedding has blown everyone away. Located just twenty minutes from Copacabana, the park has a romantic story of its own, dating back to 1859 when Brazilian businessman Henrique Lage decided to buy the land and build a replica of a perfect Roman palazzo with sumptuous gardens in order to hold his own wedding reception with his future wife, the Italian singer Gabriella Besanzoni.

The palazzo is right in front of me, just above the stairs, covered with a white carpet and flowers on each side.

“Wow, Petra!” Luiz can’t contain his excitement. “You look like a Hollywood actress from the fifties!”

I smile. Indeed, I’ve developed a love affair with retro fit-and-flare dresses. They accentuate my waist, aren’t too revealing, and are long enough for my taste. I’m wearing a light and dark sky-blue chiffon dress with tulle underneath. I like how the colors match my blue eyes. A hairstylist even did a chignon in my hair.

“Thank you, Luiz. You look great too.”

I greet Miguel and Claudia and am introduced to Norberto and his girlfriend—which are both also in their early twenties.

All of a sudden, we hear the sound of a sports car engine approaching.

Ugh. Not surprisingly, it’s the gorgeous Rafaela and Alexander in a dark-gray Maserati. What a pathetic show-off, I think, shaking my head.

They get out of the car, Alex hands the key to the valet, and then buttons his black jacket. Damn. He looks hot as hell, wearing a satin-lapel black tux—just like when I saw him at my father’s fifty-fifth birthday. I can’t help but smile. He notices and smiles back.

Rafaela looks just as gorgeous wearing a red silk gown with some lace floral motifs on the sides. I realize how busty she is. Her breasts look so firm and round, I wonder if they’re natural or not. “Rafaela, you’re strikingly beautiful!”

“Oh, Petra. Look who’s talking. You look like an angel!”

“You look just as divine,” I reply, climbing the stairs with them to the entrance of the palazzo where the wedding will be held.

We are welcomed into a sumptuous patio—the main area of the wedding. But we don’t go there. Instead, we cross the corridor and enter into a ballroom where the religious ceremony will be held.

The room with high ceilings and chandeliers is also immersed in white tones and flowers. A long dark-blue carpet down the aisle leads to the altar at the end. I am seated beside Luiz and his brother.

The pastor is already standing in front, along with the groomsmen and bridesmaids. The religious ceremony is intimate, with no more than family, close friends, and relatives in attendance. A maximum of a hundred guests now wait for Paulo and Anabela to arrive. The other two hundred guests are expected only afterward.

The first processional song is a melodic solo piano. Everyone stands up at the opening of the doors. We catch sight of Paulo, looking sharp and radiant in a black tux. To my surprise, he’s escorted by his mother; arm in arm they walk together down the aisle. Everyone claps and cheers at the sight of them. He waves to the crowd, visibly emotional. I can’t help but smile. He stands next to the alter and waits nervously, staring at the entrance for Anabela, like the rest of us.

After a couple of impatient minutes, a few young girls and boys appear, spreading white petals on the floor while a new piano melody plays.

Wow. Finally, catching everyone’s breath, the wonderful Anabela emerges like an angel. I love her custom-made Dior off-the-shoulder lace gown and the white bouquet she’s holding.

Paulo’s eyes twinkle at the sight of his future wife walking slowly down the aisle, her father by her side. Looking around at everyone’s astonished faces, I better understand what Dad meant yesterday at the beach. Indeed, the couple in front of me are a powerful proof of love and commitment, no matter the age difference.

My eyes dart unintentionally at Alex. A smile on his face, he’s looking intently at Anabela and Paulo, now standing together in front of the altar.

The pastor asks us to sit, and the religious ceremony begins.

“I’d like to start by saying to everyone: do not delay happiness.” I raise an eyebrow at the pastor’s speech. “Some people think happiness is only attainable once they achieve something, like a promotion, a better job, a house, kids… but no. Happiness doesn’t happen because of achievements. Happiness is built and lived every single day of our lives when we are with the ones we love and cherish. So don’t be afraid to love, my dear friends. And do not be afraid to be happy.”

I didn’t expect the words of the pastor to be so deep and to resonate so much with me, and apparently with the rest of the guests.

I look around at the very muted crowd. Claudia’s drying her tears, while Miguel’s holding her hand tightly. I smile, letting out a sigh. Deep inside, I wish Alex were sitting beside me and doing the same.

After the ceremony and a very long dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Marques finally reach the dance floor to have their very first dance to the beautiful song “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley. They walk excitedly together hand in hand to the patio. We follow closely behind, surrounding them.

The newlyweds start slowly swaying together and singing the lyrics to each other. Everyone keeps staring with eyes full of spark and emotion. I love this song, a true classic. They couldn’t have chosen better. I’m in the front of the line watching them and instinctively smile—Alex is standing right behind me. I can recognize his scent from miles away.

“Do you believe in this?” I ask.

“In what?” He bends down slightly to get closer to my face.

“This, like marriage and stuff…” I reply, looking at the couple.

Alex wasn’t expecting such a question; he looks again at Paulo and Anabela, pondering for a while. “Don’t let the divorce of your parents prevent you from believing in it.”

But his answer doesn’t satisfy me. After all, he didn’t really answer my question. “What about you, then? Why didn’t you marry Amanda? You were together ten years.”

I hear nothing but a suppressed laugh. With a smile on his lips, he leans closer to my ear and whispers, “Because my goddaughter forbade me to marry anyone but her.”

We try hard not to burst into laughter.

My face beams with joy as I look him in the eye. I can’t help but wrap my arms around his neck. “So, are you gonna propose to her, then?” I ask, still teasing—or not.

“Ms. Van Gatt,” he murmurs quite close to my face, his thumb caressing my cheek. My eyes dart down to his lips. Imploring to have them. Just kiss me now, Alex. He does kiss me. But on my forehead. I close my eyes, reveling in his touch. To my surprise, his kiss is long, laced with feelings that squeeze my heart even more. Then I look at him with parted lips, but in pain from the harsh reality—I might never have more than this. And as if he could feel it, he hugs me tight. So tight that my pulse bounces intensely as I nuzzle his neck. “Don’t ask questions you might not like the answer to,” he finally replies in a low voice.

What does that even mean? Does he know my feelings? Does he know I would have said yes? Oh, Alex, if you knew…

When he releases me, I can’t help but sigh, displeased with his answer. Meanwhile, his attention shifts back to the dance floor.

Nevertheless, I try to find another plausible subject. “I heard you’ve got a nice view from your villa…” I dare to mention, hoping he’ll somehow invite me there.

“It’s nice, yes. But I’m sure you have a similar one.”

I feel a punch in my heart at his rejection and shame to have had such futile hopes. After all, it’s our last night here in Rio. How stupid you are, girl. He’s with Rafaela, not you.

At the end of the dance, everyone claps and whistles while the couple moves away to let the guests enjoy the next song. The DJ changes to a more inviting and sensual Brazilian vibe and puts on some kizomba.

Luiz grabs my hand abruptly. “Let’s dance!”

“I don’t know kizomba, Luiz!” I contest nervously, still troubled by having been dragged down to the dance floor so fast. Luiz has been drinking quite a lot over dinner, along his brother. No wonder he feels so comfortable and confident enough to dance kizomba.

“It’s alright. Just let the music play, feel my movements, and let me guide you.”

My heart keeps racing. I’ve never danced kizomba before. Everyone around me is dancing, pinned to their partners. I don’t want to do such sensual moves with Luiz, but I know Alex will be staring—or at least I hope so. I nestle my body against his and follow his rhythm. I blush as he brings my body even closer to his.

Alexander Van Dieren

Despite being with Rafaela and Roy on a sofa in front of the dance floor, the talk with Petra hasn’t left my mind. Her question either. So, are you gonna propose to her, then?

Wake up, Alex. She was just joking. But damn. What if she really does want to marry me? She’s turning eighteen in less than two months, after all. A smile escapes as I think about an alternative reply to her question. What if I do? Do you think she will say yes? Fuck. I should feel disgusted at the thought of it, and yet I feel the contrary.

“Looks like your goddaughter is having fun,” murmurs Rafaela in my ear. “We should do the same.”

I choke on my whiskey as I glance at the dance floor. I blink, my jaw dropping in shock. I softly tap Roy’s shoulder. “Don’t you think she is dancing way too close to him?”

“Relax. That’s how young folks dance nowadays,” Rafaela insists.

Roy can’t stop laughing. “You’ve become even more protective than me, my dear friend.” He gives me a soft clap on the back. “Take it easy.”

I take another sip from my glass, but I can’t relax or take it easy, no.

“Do you want to dance?” asks Rafaela. I don’t pay attention. “Or maybe we could go somewhere quieter…” she whispers. But I’m too busy staring attentively at Luiz caressing Petra’s leg while she’s going down with him, following the sensual rhythm of kizomba. Her cheeks are flushed, and her lips twitch into a smile. Luiz holds her tightly by the waist, his mouth dangerously close to hers. Damn, is she feeling pleasure dancing so close to him? I realize at that moment the most terrifying thing ever, something that scares the hell out of me: one day or another, Petra will do it with someone—she’ll give herself to a man and find pleasure with him, a man that she might even marry. Fuck. A man other than me. I let out a sigh, my heart bleeding, and take another sip. You’re pathetic, man. But the whiskey is not strong enough. As I look once more at the dance floor, trying to get used to the cruel reality, I can’t help but feel revolted by it.

“I’m glad to see she’s enjoying Luiz’s company,” adds Rafaela before taking a sip of her champagne.

“Pfff. She’s way out of his league,” I rebuke.

“Hey, I know Luiz. I don’t agree. I think he’s a fine young man.”

“I don’t like his intentions…” I mumble, emptying my glass.

“Oh, c’mon, she’s nearly eighteen. She also has the same intentions with him.”

“You don’t know her.” And I hope the conversation ends here.

“Well, I know women. We have desires just like—”

“Can we move on?”

“Okay, fine, I’m sorry…” Rafaela sighs and crosses her arms, leaning back on the sofa.

“Ah, finally! You guys are here,” exclaims Paulo, staring at us. “Look, Globo TV would like to interview us. Are you guys available? It’s just for ten minutes.”

“Sure.” Thank you, Paulo. I’m glad to leave this infernal view of the dance floor, barely tolerable.

Petra Van Gatt

Following our very sensual dance, Luiz seems as confident as ever. Or is it because of the many drinks during dinner, followed by the cachaça shots at the bar with his brother? Nevertheless, he takes my hand, and we go outside to join Miguel, who’s already throwing his own private party with his friends and Claudia near the fountain. They’ve stolen a couple of bottles from the bar and are enjoying some Brazilian R&B far from the media and the older guests.

I observe the beautiful gardens and the park surrounding me. Then I look at the facade of the palazzo and the giant cliff behind. “It’s so beautiful outside. And the view of Christ the Redeemer is incredible.”

“Have you ever been there?” asks Luiz.

I shake my head.

“Would you like to go now?”

“Now? Isn’t it dangerous? Don’t you have to go up a steep road through the jungle to reach the top?”

“It’s alright. We’ll bring Miguel, Claudia, Norberto, and his girlfriend. It’ll be fun. At this time, it’ll be empty.”

I swallow hard. After all, the road is in the middle of the wild Tijuca National Park up in the mountains, probably with little to no lights or guardrails to protect us from falling off. I look around, but don’t see Dad, Alex, or Rafaela. They are probably inside. And Alex will be spending the rest of the evening—and night—with her anyway. I shouldn’t have had high hopes. Tonight he will be with her, not me. “Sure, let’s go. Why not?”

Luiz beams with joy, yelling and waving at his squad. “Hey, folks! We’re going to Corcovado to show Petra the view. Let’s take the bottles.”

They all respond by whistling and cheering.

“Looks like everyone’s keen to join.”

“Are we all going in the same car?” I ask.

“Yep, you don’t mind squeezing in a bit, right? Here, this bottle is for us.” He gives me a Yaguara Branca.

I open it. The smell of the fermented spirit is so strong, but I take a sip anyway. I frown. Yuck! It burns as I swallow.

“Let’s move on, people,” yells Miguel excitedly, arms up in the air with a bottle in each hand. “Let’s visit our dear buddy up there! Oh yeah! Now we are talking. We’re gonna throw a hell of a party with Christ!”

Everyone bursts into laughter while Miguel continues shaking his hips and spinning around.

“Cool down, Miguel,” snaps Claudia, dragging him to the car.

“Don’t tell me he’s gonna drive?” I’m nervous, but Luiz seems quite amused with his brother’s behavior.

“Miguel knows the road very well. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

“Don’t you think we should at least let your father know we are leaving? It’s his own wedding, after all.”

“Hey, garçon,” shouts Luiz, seeing a waiter nearby. “Tell Rafaela we are leaving for Corcovado. She’s at my table.”

I gasp in horror. “Why Rafaela?”

“I like her; she’s cool. She always got my back. Don’t worry. C’mon, let’s go.”

Alexander Van Dieren

I glance at the dance floor, but she’s not there anymore. Luiz isn’t either. I look at our table—empty. Only Rafaela is there chatting with a friend. My heart tightens, picturing Petra and Luiz somewhere doing God knows what.

“Where’s Petra?”

Rafaela sighs and takes a sip from her glass. “She left with Luiz and his friends.”

My heart skips a beat. “Left? What do you mean ‘left’?”

“I think they went to Corcovado Mountain. Luiz wants to show her the view from Christ the Redeemer. How romantic, right?”

“What? Are you kidding? That road is perilous! There are no lights, and it’s in the middle of nowhere. Those guys are totally wasted! Why did you let them go?”

“Luiz and Miguel are adults,” she snaps.

“Not Petra.”

“Relax. She’ll be alright.”

“Who is driving?”

“Miguel, I think.”

“Oh shit!” I know the narrow, steep road to Christ the Redeemer requires maximum concentration. Not only does the road twist and curve with the altitude, but there are no lights whatsoever and no guardrails. A simple distraction could be fatal.

“It’s alright, don’t worry. They know the road.”

“Rafaela, Miguel is drunk! I could hear him yelling from the gardens. He’s been drinking nonstop since dinner. The road to reach the top is dangerous. How can you ask me not to worry?”

Rafaela shakes her head, exhaling loudly. “You’re way too protective of her. Those guys know how to handle alcohol. Let her have some fun. She and Luiz seem to be very—”

“Can you shut up?” I snarl. “I told you how much she means to me. If something happens, I’ll never forgive myself.”

I go outside to the terrace, and call Petra on her WhatsApp, but she rejects it. I decide to text. Petra, please get out of the car. Those guys are drunk and not trustworthy. The road is dangerous. Please stop. I’m picking you up.

I see her typing, and in a few seconds, she replies back. Why do you even care? Aren’t you busy? Just leave me alone.

I feel dazed by her hostility. I can’t understand why she’s so aggressive toward me. Why would she put herself in such a dangerous situation? I try to call her once more. But she again declines my call. I sigh, nervous. I should go talk to Roy, but he’s still giving an interview with the TV channel and flirting with female reporters. Unbelievable! He’s too busy to even notice his own daughter left the wedding. I see only two options: either I stay here and leave her alone with those guys, or I hit the road. My head says option number one; my heart, option number two…

Fuck it. I head to the parking lot, get my car, and leave for Corcovado Mountain, hoping I’ll convince her to stop.

Petra Van Gatt

Our car sounds like a Brazilian nightclub, blasting the soundtrack of “Banana” by Anitta, an R&B singer. Everyone’s euphorically dancing in their seats, drinking, and singing along with the song. Miguel’s no exception. He turns up the volume and puts his arms up to follow the rhythm. Claudia, seated beside him, is as excited as ever, screaming the lyrics like she owns the place and gorging herself on the cachaça. Miguel whistles the refrain and claps on the steering wheel like a drum. Luiz is laughing and enjoying the playful atmosphere, while I’m nestled against him, my own bottle in hand, half empty.

Miguel has decided to reach the top as fast as possible, and he speeds up. He knows the road well—and hopefully all the curves coming up.

“Man! Take it easy!” says Luiz, seeing his brother getting excited on the curves.

I’m definitely not used to these types of roads, to such speed, and to being squeezed into the back seat with four people. I drink a bit more to chill, but my heart skips a beat at each tight curve, wondering if I’ll make it to the next one. Oh, boy. Here comes another one.

The road is so winding. More than I ever thought. I look down at my iPhone. Send me your live location, he’s texted. He wants to track me down. I think twice. But for the sake of my own life, I decide to share it.

Luiz notices I’m worried. He smiles and gives me a long, wet kiss on the cheek. “It’s alright, don’t worry,” he says. “We are nearly there. Ten more minutes.”

“Seu vagabundo! Você quer comer a filha do chefe do nosso pai, huh?” teases Miguel, staring at us from the rearview mirror.

Everyone bursts into laughter except me, as I don’t understand Portuguese. I feel they are making fun of me somehow. “What did Miguel say?”

“Nothing interesting,” replies Luiz. But his smile is not reassuring. I feel like it’s a lie. “He’s just saying we’ll enjoy the view.” I notice how Claudia’s shaking her head with amusement. I know he’s lying. If it was something “not interesting,” they would’ve said it in English. Miguel only spoke in Portuguese because he didn’t want me to know.

“Miguel!”

He abruptly turns right, slamming on his brakes. But it’s too late. The left front fender crashes against the granite hill, instantly stopping our car. The impact violently propels me forward. I hit my head against the front seat, before being pulled back against mine.

“Ahh!” I yell in shock, frightened, my heart racing.

The music stops too.

Everyone’s taking quick, short breaths. Fuck! Enough is enough! I look around, taking in my surroundings. I’ve got to get out of here. And fast. I glance at the rearview mirror and see headlights coming in the distance. By the noise, it sounds like a sports car.

“I need to get out.” Without thinking twice, I open my door and exit.

Luiz tries to reach my hand. “Petra, wait!”

The car approaches and stops behind us, at a safe distance from Miguel’s.

I can’t help but cry at the sight of Alex and run in his direction.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he shouts, hugging me tight.

Oh God, it feels so good to finally be in his arms.

“Damn, Petra! You could’ve died!” He grips my shoulders and glares straight into my eyes. “You knew those guys were totally wasted! Why did you go with them? Why?”

“To hurt you!” I scream back. “So you can feel my pain seeing you with that woman! I know you don’t want her! I know it!”

“What’s up, Petra? Let’s go! It was just a small crash; it’s all good,” yells Luiz, getting out of the car quite unsteadily.

Alex lets out a sigh, angry at being interrupted. “Petra isn’t going anywhere. She’s staying here with me.”

Luiz starts walking aggressively toward us, as if ready to take me by force if needed. “No way, dude! This chick is mine!”

I feel Alex losing his temper with Luiz’s vulgarity, but he tries to remain calm. Nevertheless, he puts me behind him. “I don’t think so. You guys are drunk. You should go home.”

But Luiz is not in the mood to be scolded. “You don’t give me orders! Who you think you are, huh?” snaps Luiz, trying to shove him, but Alex does it first.

“Her husband!” WHAT? We gasp in shock at Alex’s reply. “And you, Luiz? Who you think you are, huh?”

“What?” Luiz looks instantly at me, as confused as I am. “Petra, is it true? Are you really married to him?” I nod, affecting a smile but totally speechless. “Damn! Man, um, I’m… I’m so sorry, I didn’t know that,” Luiz stutters. He walks back to the car, humiliated, his ego smashed, and we watch them finally drive away.

Dear Lord. I know Alex just said that to shock Luiz enough to make him leave, but damn, hearing the word “husband” coming from his mouth woke something in my heart that makes me cry.

He heaves a sigh of relief, but not me. I’m sobbing, my head down.

“Hey.” He softly lifts my chin up. My eyes instantly lock with his. Oh God, his gaze—it feels like home to me. “What’s wrong, Petra? It’s all good. They left.”

My heart can’t hold it in any longer, and I suddenly blurt out, “I love you.” I briefly close my eyes, holding back the tears. “And not in the way I should…” I sniffle, looking down, ashamed to have said it.

“Oh, Petra.” He lays my head on his shoulder. “Please don’t say that.” And he starts kissing my hair, trying to comfort me, but I’m still crying. He stares back into my eyes and dries the tears with his thumb. “Don’t say that,” he repeats, his voice soft.

“I know I shouldn’t…” I sniffle. “You are my godfather, my dad’s best friend, and more than twice my age. I know that! But I always felt like...” I look away, swallowing hard, my eyes still wet and my face scarlet. My heart’s pounding so damn fast and loud that I feel like I’m suffocating. I have to tell him, but it’s hard, so hard...

“Like what?” he asks, holding my chin up, his gaze searching mine.

“Like I belong to you.” I let it out. I dry my tears, even though they’re still falling. My eyes lost in his, I continue, “I wish I could remain immune to you. Forgive me, but I can’t. I can’t give myself to anyone but you.” His mouth opens in shock. But my heart has taken over. “Oh God, I want you so much. And I know you want me too. I feel it. The way you touch me, stare at me, kiss me—”

Alexander Van Dieren

I reach for her at that instant, starving to feel her lips on mine again. I can’t hold myself back anymore. Or my heart. She belongs to me. She finally told me.

But this time, I slip my tongue in her mouth, touching and playing with hers. My body heat is arousing; my heartbeat loud and intense. My fingers caress her jawline while I passionately devour her. I’ve never desired or wanted someone as much as her. Afterward, I smile, looking steadily into her big blue eyes, and in a low, tender voice, I tell her what I’ve known for a long time. “I’m afraid I also love you, Ms. Van Gatt… and not in the way I should.” I kiss her again, like I did in Rome, my heart bright and radiant, and I hold her hand tight. “Let’s get out of here.”

CHAPTER 17

Joá, October 20, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

The villa is nestled on a very high cliff in Joá—a high-end neighborhood on the coastline with views to São Conrado Beach, the viaduct going to Copacabana, and Two Brothers Hill. The entire bay is glittering, lit by the moon and stars.

I smile as I step inside. The villa features a modern design, the living and dining area in an open space, with direct access to the terrace, lounges, and an infinity pool with breathtaking views. As usual, Alex likes to be comfortable at home, removing his blazer, his bow tie, and his cuff links. He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and unbuttons his collar. Then he turns on the lights around the entire terrace and pool as he sees me wandering outside.

“You were lying…” I rebuke. “This view is much better.” Alex chuckles. “Can we get in the pool?” I ask excitedly.

But he seems to have something else in mind. He turns his iPad on and chooses a specific song to play. I laugh and blush hearing it. It’s the song from the first dance: “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley.

“You’ve been dancing quite a lot during this trip, Ms. Van Gatt,” he says, reaching for my hand. “But with neither the right man, nor the right song.”

Fuck, those words. They drench my entire body. I feel so weak and fragile as I sway back and forth with him. “You’re such an incurable romantic, Mr. Van Dieren,” I reply, giggling.

“Indeed, incurable.” He spins me around, then leans down to kiss my lips, and my heart skips a beat, feeling his again. “You know... since I kissed you in Rome, I haven’t been intimate with anyone else.”

My eyes widen. “What about Rafaela?”

“With anyone,” he repeats, letting out a breath. “It has been killing me seeing you with Luiz.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” My face beams with joy as I wrap my arms around his neck. “I was doing it just for that purpose.”

“I was hoping so.” His eyes drop down, looking absent for a moment. “Petra?” He caresses my face, smiling at me. “Do you really belong to me?” he asks with such a warm and tender voice that I melt entirely.

His heartbeat is loud, craving my answer.

“Yes,” I whisper, my face flushing, my heart fluttering. “I’m entirely yours.” His lips twitch into a smile. “And you?”

He chuckles at my question, but his smile gets wider. “I’m all yours, Ms. Van Gatt.” He presses his lips against mine in a kiss filled with so much passion and desire that it takes my breath away. Holy shit, it’s getting so warm here. “Do you still want to get in the pool?”

Alexander Van Dieren

Bossa nova is crooning in the background. I know she’s got no bikini or swimwear on underneath. I go to the bar area to serve myself a Macallan, giving her some privacy to remove her dress, shoes, and jewelry. I’d have undressed any other woman in a heartbeat, but not her. Not Petra Van Gatt. I hear the water splashing, and see the little miss swimming. A glass in hand, I move slowly back to the terrace and lean against the doorway, contemplating the dearest woman in my life happily floating like a kid in my pool. I take a sip. I can’t help but notice her black lace lingerie—more precisely, her strapless bra.

“You know, the pool is big enough for two.” I smile at her comment. “C’mon!” she commands playfully, splashing water in my direction to wet me. “We are in Brazil, and you didn’t even go to the sea with me.” But I don’t react. “C’mon, Alex. Are you intimidated, or what?”

I burst into laughter. “Absolutely. You’re terrifying.” I empty my glass before putting it on the table, and start to unbutton my shirt.

Petra Van Gatt

I’ve never seen him in his underwear before—in fact, not even shirtless! He is the one who is terrifying, and I am the one feeling intimidated. I decide to turn my back, looking at the view before me while he’s undressing. I hear him unzip his pants. My heart pounds faster with every beat.

The water splashes as he enters the pool. Oh God. My nerves are boiling down in my stomach. He surprises me by coming up from behind, kissing my shoulder. I turn again to wrap my arms around his neck. I try to focus on his face, but my curiosity causes my eyes to dart down to his chest—his skin sun-kissed and smooth, his pectorals toned and firm. And before I can look further down, he moves to meet my lips, holding me by the waist. But I feel him containing himself, keeping a safe distance between our pelvises.

While kissing him, I bring his hands up to the clasps of my bra. He knows what I want. He looks down at my face, studying me. My lips are spread apart, breathing in short gasps. His fingers slowly touch the closures of my bra, taunting me for a few more seconds. I don’t say a word, but my stare is begging him to remove the last piece of garment covering my tits. He presses his lips against mine, and while devouring me, he finally unclasps my bra, letting it fall to the water. Then he moves down to my neck.

“Ahh…” I moan between heavy breaths, while his mouth is sucking my skin like he did in Rome. My brain feels intoxicated, growing desperate to feel more of him. He looks further down, this time shamelessly staring at my untouched breasts, as he caresses them for the first time. My tits fit perfectly in his palm. While he observes them attentively, his lips part in excitement—I know he’s growing harder at every touch.

“You are so perfect,” he whispers, gently rubbing my nipple with his thumb.

“Touch me,” I beg.

He doesn’t protest. He knows I’m desperate and soaking. He turns me around, my back against his chest, my sight on the horizon.

“Do you like the view?” he whispers in my ear.

“Yes,” I breathe.

While his left hand is over my chest, his right one slides from my stomach down to my pelvis. “Then you should enjoy it…” And without waiting any longer, into my panties.

“Ahhh...” I moan at the feel of him caressing my clit. I lay the back of my head on his shoulder, letting him possess me entirely. I hear him groaning, his warm breath coming in short gasps just like mine. “Oh, Alex...” Fuck. I’m so drenched. I want to touch him too, feel his erection arching into my palm. I bring my hand up behind me, to the front of his boxers.

But he stops me immediately. “Petra, if we go further, I won’t be able to control myself.”

“Then don’t…” I turn to face him, wrap my arms around his neck and kiss his lips. Then, almost with a hint of desperation, I whisper, “I want to do it tonight. I want to feel you inside...”

He swallows hard. “I can’t do it tonight. I’m sorry.”

Needless to say, the air cools instantly. “Why? Why not?”

I see him hesitating, probably fearful I won’t like his answer. “I need to talk to Roy first.”

“What?” My eyes open wide. “Are you kidding? I don’t need his permission.” My heart and jaw drop at such an outdated attitude. “We don’t need his permission.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, his fingers caressing my jawline. “Your father needs to know about us. I love you too much to…” He breaks eye contact, looking down, visibly embarrassed.

“To…?”

The words seem difficult for him to say. He blushes and swallows nervously, finally meeting my eyes again… And I’m still waiting for an answer!

“To take your virginity like this.” He lets out a sigh. “You might not give much importance to it, but I do.”

“Of course, I do too. I was about to do it with the man I love. Until he brought my dad into the equation...”

He smiles and tenderly kisses my forehead. “Just give me some time to talk to him. I’ll make it right, I promise.”

His principles and loyalty toward my father couldn’t vex me more. I let out a deep sigh of annoyance. Why does he have to be that like that? Dear Lord. He has no idea how many times I’ve wished to be here alone with him and feel him… But now I’ll have to wait because of Dad? Ugh! I press my lips against his cheek, thinking about how my wild night has just been ruined by his morals. “Can I at least sleep here tonight?”

“Sure, there are four bedrooms. You can pick whichever one you want.”

I put on my most innocent smile. “I meant, sleep with you.”

“I think it’s way too risky,” he asserts icily.

“I’m sure you can control yourself. Just sleep with me.”

“I can control myself, I’m not sure if you can control yourself, Ms. Van Gatt.”

I let a cheeky giggle escape. “I promise I will.”

“Are you sure?” He furrows his brow, but I nod confidently at him. “Very well. You just gave me your word, Ms. Van Gatt. I hope you can keep it.”

I remove my soaked black panties, take down my chignon, and lie naked in bed. My head is dizzy, maybe from the cachaça, maybe from his touch, his kisses, maybe from everything in between. I can smell his scent on the pillow. I smile, sniffing it. I shut my eyes, trying to cool down my excitement. But my body is trembling. I’m so warm and horny at the idea that I’m going to sleep with him.

He’s gone for a shower in the en suite bathroom. The sound of falling water resonates in my ears quite sharply. I wonder what it’s like being in there with him, lathering soap to wash his body, seeing him naked, touching him, and… oh God, feeling him inside.

The water stops.

Silence.

Despite the lights being off, I can discern his shape emerging from the bathroom, a white towel wrapped around his hips. I look for a few more seconds but instantly shut my eyes at the sight of him staring in my direction. If I pretend to be asleep, maybe he’ll come to bed naked. I know the odds are low. I hear a drawer opening, and I look discreetly again.

He’s standing at the end of the room, right in front of the wardrobe and close to the window, where the outdoor lights give a perfect view of his back.

He lets the towel slip down.

I sigh, admiring his delicious body. For some, chocolate or cocaine are their guiltiest pleasures, but for me, it’s him. His shoulders and back seem tanner than usual, but as athletic, broad, and vigorous as always. My eyes drift slowly down. I can see the tan lines on his butt. I blush. He doesn’t know I’m staring anyway. I bite my bottom lip. Even his ass looks strong and toned. Shit. Petra, cool down. I see him taking some garments from the drawer. Indeed, he dresses in a white T-shirt and black boxers. Why so many clothes on, Alexander? He’s moving toward me. I close my eyes tightly again. His body slides beneath the bedsheets. My heartbeat’s thundering, but I remain still, angelic. He moves closer. I feel his face incline toward me. His lips slowly touch my cheek; they are smooth and wet.

“Good night, Petra,” he murmurs.

I reply with a mumble, contorting my body. I’m not into sleeping. Nope. Not a tiny bit. But I wait for him to lie down, his head on the pillow.

The room quiet, I open my eyes and look timidly at him. He’s right next to me, peacefully asleep. I sit up and, in a sudden move, lie on top of him, slowly kissing his cheeks, nibbling his jawline… His eyes open wide in surprise, but he doesn’t protest. Instead, he smiles tenderly at me. His gaze lost in mine, I devour his lips passionately, pressing my tongue in his mouth and playing joyfully with his. He caresses my lower back; his touch is so warm that it makes my entire body shiver. He knows I’m naked. His clothes will be our boundary. The boundary not to cross.

“I will control myself, trust me,” I whisper in his ear. He seems quite anxious as I straddle him, kneeling above his cock. Oh my. I can already feel him, so big and hard. “Ahhh...” I breathe louder.

His jaw drops, watching me while I’m mounted on him. He knows I can feel him against my crotch. I start slowly moving on top of him, back and forth. He shuts his eyes, and I hear him groaning.

“I want you so badly,” I murmur, humping him where he’s hard.

“You have no idea how much I want you too,” he replies, lifting his torso up to reach me, to reach my lips. “I love you,” he whispers, while pinning my chest against his. I wrap my legs around his waist. He holds me tight and starts following my rhythm.

I’m dripping wet, sweating, craving more. I close my eyes at the intensity of the pleasure. “Oh, Alex…” I drag some precious air into my lungs. “I wish you could be inside me,” I whisper.

He moves to my lips, kissing them hurriedly, then to my neck, sucking it hard.

“Take off your T-shirt,” I beg, already pushing the garment up.

“No. You promised.”

I grow desperate. “Just the T-shirt. I won’t go further.” He hesitates for an instant then decides to obey, helping me take it off. I can’t help but sigh; his pectorals are so striking, defined and firm. His skin is boiling, his chest melting against my touch. I look a bit further down to his abs, so sculpted and ripped. Oh dear… I’ve never seen any guy close to his shape. He’s finally mine, and I’m sure to enjoy it. He bends down to my nipples, sucking and licking them greedily. “Ahhh…” I run my fingers through his wild hair as he gorges himself on my tits. “They are all yours,” I moan again. It feels so good to have him here. Our sweaty bodies clasp together, moving and arching in a melody where only we know the song. Between panting breaths and like we’re making love, our strokes become more insistent, hurried, moving faster and faster. “Ah… Ah!” I can’t hold it much longer. “Cum on me,” I beg him.

He growls at my words, tightening his grip on me. I know at that moment he wants to cum, and I want so much to feel his orgasm.

“Lie face down,” he instructs, pushing me off of his crotch. I obey, lying on the bed, my face on his pillow. He sits astride me, kneeling below my ass. His mouth traces a line of wet kisses from my neck down to my spine. Oh my! I’m soaking, tilting my pelvis at his every touch. “Alex!” I gasp, feeling his fingers rubbing around my clit. “Oooh,” I cry out. “Oh God!”

He pulls out his cock, touches himself briefly, and with a snarling sound I’ve never heard before, he releases his warm orgasm on my back. I want to tell him to rub it in and let it dry, but there’s no need—Alex does just that.

Afterward, I hear nothing but our heartbeats.

He collapses onto me.

I feel his exhausted breath near my ear. “Next time we’re in bed, I’ll cum inside you,” he whispers.

It’s a special morning to me. A happy one. For the first time in my life, I wake up next to him. Next to the man I love. He seems to have been awake for a long time—working beside me on his MacBook, probably replying to some emails. I smile—he’s wearing glasses again.

“Good morning.” He grins, seeing my timid blue eyes slowly open. “I’m very proud of you. You kept your word.”

My face flushes at his words, and my lips twitch into a shy smile. “Hmm… good morning…Well, now it’s your turn to keep yours.” I sit up against the headboard. “When are you gonna talk to him?”

He removes his glasses and ponders for a few moments. “November twenty-fifth,” he precisely replies. “We’re negotiating the acquisition of a hedge fund based in Singapore. Once we sign, he’ll be more receptive.” He puts his glasses back on, looking once again at his screen.

“What? That means I’m gonna have to wait over a month?” I snap in outrage, my eyes and mouth wide open. “That’s a long time, you know…” I reach for his neck, kissing it slowly to entice him. “On my side, I’m perfectly fine doing it without his consent…”

“I know”—he briefly smooches my lips—“but I’m not. Call me old-fashioned.”

“Pfff…” I cross my arms at his incorruptible values. “What if he doesn’t accept?”

“He will.” I don’t know what he has in mind, but I trust him. He reaches for my hand, brings it to his lips, and places a tender kiss on it. “I love you, Ms. Van Gatt.”

I feel my heart enflame at his words, and I can’t help but blush. After all, they are still so new to me. So unbelievably new.

CHAPTER 18

Columbia Economics, November 22, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

The first snow of winter has finally arrived in Manhattan, blanketing the city in white. Winter has always been my favorite season. Everything is more magical in winter, more beautiful, more pure, I think with a smile, my pendant between my fingers. Exams are a month and a half away, and with at least five books to read, it’s the perfect time to focus on them. But Alex is all I can think about. His touch has always been different from any of my previous encounters, more gentle, more mature, more protective and confident. The pleasure he gave me in Rio was beyond anything I had ever experienced before, and, unlike his predecessors, I trust him entirely, blindly. But this seems quite normal to me. After all—and most importantly—I’m terribly and profoundly in love with him. But Alex has made it clear he won’t make love before talking to Dad, and despite my many attempts, he seems to be as decided as ever. He asked me to focus on my studies, and on my upcoming exams. He knows Dad will give me that week off for my birthday if I spend the entire semester working hard. Maybe we could go somewhere… I sigh. An entire week away, just him and me far away from here. What a dream. I can picture what we—

“Ms. Van Gatt?” I blink at the voice and look back at Mrs. Chilnisky standing right in front of me. “Might you tell us why governmental policies are essential to ensure a healthy economy?”

I glance around. My classmates are all staring, waiting for an answer. I swallow hard. I have absolutely no idea but decide to improvise. “I’m not sure they are. After all, looking back through history, we can see many that are quite harmful.”

The class nods at my reply, but Mrs. Chilnisky not so much. “We are not here for a debate, Ms. Van Gatt. But since you feel inspired, I want a dissertation on the subject on my desk next week. All sources cited and credited.” I wince. “Next time be attentive in class, so you can avoid extra work.”

We hear the bell ring. The class is finally over. I feel so angry and disappointed with myself. After all, I’ve never been distracted in class to the point of being caught.

“Girl, what was that?” teases Matthew. “You didn’t read the books I texted you?”

“Hey. No, not yet,” I admit, feeling even more embarrassed now. “I’m going to the library to prepare my dissertation on why I’ve got a big mouth and say stupid things in class.”

We burst into laughter.

“I’ve missed that humor,” he replies, his face beaming with joy.

As we are walking to the door, I feel him hesitate. “You may join me if you want.” He smiles, radiant. “We are friends, after all.”

Gatt-Dieren Capital, November 22, 2019

Alexander Van Dieren

It’s hard not to think about her, to resist her kisses, her laughter, her fondles. She seems so innocent, and yet she’s given me more pleasure than any woman before. Pleasure without penetration, without blow jobs, without even touching me. But she doesn’t need to do any of that to make me sweat, to make me lose my mind, and to make me cum. After all, I know it’s not about sex, games, or anything like that. My heart is at her mercy. I trust her entirely with it, even blindly. But strangely enough, I’m not afraid. It just feels right. I picture something in my mind. Something that makes me smile as I look at the financial audit, but it’s not because of the positive results.

“Well, looks like Monday we are finally good to sign,” I declare.

“Indeed,” replies Roy, attentively scanning the last details of the contract. “We will need to go to Singapore following the acquisition, elect the new board and new management, and meet with those government officials who made the deal quite a bit easier.”

“I know.”

“We have to thank everyone who made this possible, and show them our support,” adds Roy.

“I’m hosting a celebration at my estate following the signing. I thought about doing it in a restaurant, or somewhere here in Manhattan, but inviting them over will create a deeper bond.”

“That’s a wonderful idea. Indeed, we always need them on our side.”

“Exactly.” I take a sip of my water. “Roy,” I say assertively, “I need to talk to you privately in my office after the celebration. Maria will escort you.”

Roy raises both eyebrows. “What is it about?” He looks intently at me, his eyes worried. “Don’t tell me you intend to move to Singapore and be the new managing director?”

I shake my head in amusement. “No. It has nothing to do with work.”

“Personal?” He thinks further. “You and Rafaela?”

“No. We’re not together. She was just for fun.” But Roy doesn’t stop there—he gets even more worried. “Are you sick?”

I can’t stop laughing. “Roy, relax. We’ll talk next week. I’m healthy, I’m not leaving New York, and it’s not Rafaela. It’s all good. Now, if you excuse me, I’ve got a meeting.” I stand up from my chair and give him a soft pat on his shoulder.

“Very well…” He sighs in annoyance, knowing he’ll have to wait until next week to find out. “In case I don’t see you again today, have a great evening. And enjoy the weekend,” he says a bit louder as I leave his office.

Bedford Hills, November 25, 2019

Roy Van Gatt

The dinner has brought together the entire management division of Gatt-Dieren Capital, the team from our new acquisition, the lawyers and auditors who made it possible, and some government officials from Singapore. Alex was right—everyone seems delighted to visit his estate. I’m as radiant as ever, enjoying and savoring the moment, my eyes glittering as I think about the big capital expansion and how 2020 will be an even more profitable year. I’m on cloud nine. After a long dinner and a good amount of wine, I continue chatting idly with Paulo, celebrating as if it’s New Year’s Eve. After the lawyers, auditors, and other stakeholders steadily head back to Manhattan, just our closest friends remain.

“You should have brought some of your Brazilian friends,” I tease Paulo, already half tipsy.

“Indeed, now that work is over, I should call them over,” he replies.

“Mr. Van Gatt?” I turn at the sound of Maria’s voice. “Mr. Van Dieren would like to talk to you in private. He is waiting for you in his office. May I escort you?”

“Oh, thank you, Maria. Sure.” I take the last sip of my delicious whiskey, a Balvenie fifty-year-old single malt opened specially for the occasion.

I follow Maria at a nervous pace. After all, I don’t know what Alex has on his mind or why he needs to see me in his office tonight to discuss it. We usually talk everywhere—lounges, restaurants, bars—and why tonight? Why right after the acquisition of the Singaporean hedge fund? I have no idea, but I’ll soon find out. Maria knocks on his door then opens it. Alex’s sitting on his high-back tufted chair. He has already removed his tie and jacket, keeping only his waistcoat on, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a glass in hand. He smiles warmly, stands up, and walks toward me.

“Ah, Roy. Please come in. May I offer you a drink? I see yours is empty.”

“Sure, you know me. Thank you.” He takes my glass and walks over to the bar to prepare a new one.

It has been a while since I’ve been here. As I wait for him, my eyes begin curiously darting around. I must admit, his office is of a rare, classic beauty with cherrywood paneling, tufted light-brown leather chairs, and tall windows with carmine-colored drapes. I love the welcoming fireplace on my left and the high-standing bookshelves on my right. I wish my library were this vast, but this must be a centuries-old collection inherited from his family. Then I look up to the chandeliers and the dark coffered ceiling. “I forgot how opulent this place was,” I note aloud.

Alex raises an eyebrow, glancing quickly around. “It’s okay,” he replies without an ounce of enthusiasm.

He hands me the refilled glass and invites me to sit in one of the chairs in front of his office desk.

I unbutton my jacket and take a seat. “Well, I’m listening.” My tone comes out a bit broken and nervous. I take a gulp of my new drink as he walks back to his chair. “You look quite serious. Is everything alright?” I ask.

“Well…” He takes a deep breath, pondering for a moment, then leans against the back of his chair. “It’s about your daughter.”

My eyes open wide in astonishment. Petra? I run through several scenarios in my head. “Don’t tell me she did something bad. Is she okay? Is it about Columbia? Does she not like it?”

He chuckles and shakes his head. “No. Petra is fine, and so far I think she’s enjoying Columbia.”

I heave a quick sigh of relief. “So, what is it about? Everything has a solution; you can trust me.”

“Roy.” He pauses, trying to find the best way to put it. “We have been friends for over twenty years… and this is going to be the most difficult talk I’ve ever had to have with you.”

My jaw drops instantly. “Now you’re scaring me.” I take another swig of my whiskey—bigger than usual.

“Do you remember that day you asked me to spend more time with Petra and take care of Emma?”

“Of course I do. And I owe you a big one.”

“Well, today is the day I’m asking you to return the favor,” he continues.

“I see.” I take another sip, swallowing hard. “And what can I do for you?”

Alex notices my glass is already empty. He stands up, takes it from me, and goes to the bar again to refill it. “Here.” He hands me the new drink and goes back to his chair. At this point, I wonder why is he giving me so much whiskey. Is it for the sake of courtesy, or because of what he has to say? “First, I want to tell you I never expected this to happen. And believe me, I tried to fight hard, very hard, to avoid it. But we are just human, after all, and I won’t disappear again.”

“Okay…” I take a drink, a failed attempt to calm myself down. “What about getting to the point?”

He takes a deep breath, looking steadily at me, his face unreadable. “Petra is in love with me.”

“What? Are you sure? Again? Oh God!” I sigh angrily. “Alexander, I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry for her behavior. I thought after ten years she would be fine. What can I do?”

“Let me finish, Roy. Here’s the hardest part.” He takes a long sip from his own glass and swallows hard. My heart begins thundering as I observe him searching for the words. “I love her too, Roy, and not in the way I should.”

“Oh dear Lord,” I shout before rubbing my eyelids. This is a nightmare, right? That’s all it can be! I’m going to wake up in a moment, for sure. I try to breathe slowly, dragging some precious air into my lungs.

“We spent the night together in Rio, but nothing serious happened, I promise. I would never go further without talking to you first.”

THEY WHAT? I gasp. My heart freezes immediately at his words. I blink many times, hoping to wake up, but I’m still here in his office. “This is a joke, right? So, you brought me here to get my blessing before fucking my daughter?” I yell, squeezing my glass so tightly that it breaks in my hand. Blood starts oozing from the cut, my anger consuming me. I jump out of the chair, knocking over a pile of papers that falls immediately to the floor. I would’ve preferred to slap him in the face, but I start pacing around instead. Needless to say, Alex seems glad to be sitting on the other side. “I understand where your disappointment is coming from—”

“You are her godfather!” I shout at him. “My fucking best friend! What’s wrong with you?” I close my eyes once more, trying to contain a headache. “This can’t be possible! I’m… I…” I search for words, any words. “I’m in shock, Alex. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. You broke all the confidence I had in you. I trusted you! I trusted my daughter! How could she do something like this to me? How could you do something like this to me?” I ask, pointing a finger at him. “How could you let this happen?”

“I silenced my feelings, and hers, for months, Roy. It’s not easy for us either. While I cannot explain to you why Petra and I feel this way toward each other, I can tell you one thing: one day or another, she’ll be with someone. Either a random guy you know nothing about and who couldn’t care less about you, or with someone you know and trust, who has the guts to come here to talk to you first.” I huff loudly. This guy is surreal. “She’s not a child anymore. She’s turning eighteen next week.”

“Please, tell me we’re not having this conversation. I’m so disgusted by all of this.”

“I’m afraid we are, Roy.”

The room falls into a freezing silence. I’m blank, mute, totally exasperated with his disgusting talk. Goddammit! “How can you even imagine your life with her, huh?” I shake my head. “Twenty-three years’ age difference is a lot,” I snap, trying to keep my temper in check.

“I know it is. I thought about all of this,” he replies quietly, his face as serene as usual. “I just want to make her happy.”

“What if she wants a serious relationship? Or even to get married?” I ask, aiming to bring some common sense to his madness. “You’ve never wanted to settle down with anyone! You know Petra is not like Amanda, Rafaela, or your random encounters.”

“Roy,” his tone sounds heavier, more strident. “I didn’t bring you here to talk only about my feelings toward your daughter…” My heart keeps thundering, barely containing an imminent attack. “But also about my intention to marry her.” I fall back into the chair, but my jaw and heart are on the floor. I instantly reach for my chest at the feel of such a punch. I’m paralyzed. Mute. Has he lost his mind or what? “I know she’s focused on her exams and that we have Singapore coming up. Don’t worry, I won’t propose now…” Oh fantastic! I feel so much better! “But I wanted to let you know I intend to marry her.” He pauses for a beat. “Do I have your blessing?”

I gasp again. The more he talks, the more I’m in shock. Alexander wants to marry Petra? I feel like throwing up, fainting, dying, but I swallow hard instead. “Unbelievable.” I take a much-needed breath. “This is unbelievable, Alexander. We’ve never let any woman put our twenty years of dear friendship and successful business relationship at stake, until now with my own daughter!”

“Indeed,” he replies, his voice steady. “But Petra is not ‘any woman,’ and you know that.”

“It feels surreal!” I stand up again, roaming around. “You are gone for ten years! Ten good years, for God’s sake!” I protest before exhaling all my mixed emotions. “And what about that lifestyle of yours, huh? Does she already know about it?”

“What? My relationship with Petra is totally different, Roy.”

“Answer my question,” I snarl.

“No, she doesn’t know.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “I can live without it. But not without her.”

I raise an eyebrow suspiciously. “You can really live without you being a… well, you?”

“For her, yes.”

I shake my head more in astonishment than anything else. I’d never have done it for any woman in the world, not even Tess. After a brief moment of silence, still assessing his request, I proceed. “You know if you break her heart, I’ll have to hurt you, Alexander. And our friendship, our businesses, everything we’ve built together will end, right?”

“I know. I wasn’t expecting otherwise.” He keeps looking me straight in the eyes. “I won’t break her heart, Roy. I promise.”

“Alexander, I’ll repeat this one more time!” I warn. “You know what’s at stake. You can still back out. No need to make promises. Are you sure about this?”

“Roy, have I ever failed you?”

“Not once.”

“I’m sure about this.”

I nod thoughtfully and try to get used to this new reality. So Petra will become… a noblewoman? Lady Petra? And my grandchildren will inherit this place, the Van Dieren family’s office, title, assets, and mansions? Damn, I understand now why he gave me so many glasses of whiskey. “Well, I imagine you’ll have to talk to Margaret, then.”

He smiles victoriously, or at least halfway. “I know, and I might need your help.”

CHAPTER 19

Manhattan, November 26, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

“Good morning, Ms. Van Gatt.”

“Mmm, good morning, Janine…” I mumble, stretching my arms.

“Your father would like to talk to you before he goes to work. He’s in the living room.”

Oh God! I hate when Janine wakes me up like that. I recall that yesterday was the twenty-fifth. The day Alex was going to talk to Dad. I wonder which mood I’ll find him in. Angry? Sad? Disappointed? Betrayed? Will he disown me?

I let out a sigh, standing up. I put on my slippers and a long robe, and nervously walk to the living room, my heartbeat already pounding anxiously fast.

I find Dad comfortably sitting on one of the sofas, wearing a black turtleneck and a gray wool suit with a silk pocket square, legs crossed, reading his WSJ like every morning. I swallow hard but try to keep on a smile and positive morning glow.

“Good morning, Dad,” I greet him joyfully.

He looks in my direction then back to his paper.

“Good morning, Petra. Have a seat.” He sounds cold and serious, but I obey and sit beside him. I stare curiously at Dad while he finishes reading the page, waiting patiently for his next words. “How has Columbia been?” Definitely not the question I was expecting. I find it awkward he won’t even look at me; his eyes remain glued to the paper. Is he hiding his pain? His rage? His disappointment? I can’t tell, but I reply like I know nothing. “Quite nice. Challenging but nice. I had to do a dissertation about the negative impact on governmental politics on the economy, and Mrs. Chilnisky actually liked it.”

“Hmm, that would explain why you’ve been living in your college library,” he snaps, his eyes pinned on the WSJ. I don’t reply. I just look at him, still reading.

I hear nothing but silence.

I glance around the room, waiting impatiently for Dad to say something more.

“Petra.” Ah! Finally. My eyes shift back to him. “Alex talked to me.” Oh God. I swallow hard again. I wonder why Dad won’t even look at me. Why is the WSJ more important? Is there news in there about him and his new acquisition?

“I know. He told me he was going to.”

Dad doesn’t even blink. I’m so not used to talking to him like that. But my father has his moments, and I can imagine he probably spent the entire night in shock.

“Do you really love him, Petra?” he asks icily.

I raise my eyebrows. After all, it’s the very first time we’re seriously discussing a boy—or in this case, a man. I sigh, thinking about the immensity of my love for Alex, but decide to keep it short. “Yes, I do.”

He turns the page and continues to read. Nothing more comes out of his mouth.

“Does it mean you intend to spend the rest of your life with him?”

I feel my cheeks flushing. Does he really want to hear this? “Yes. I… I intend to.”

All of a sudden, Dad closes his paper.

His eyes finally meet mine. He doesn’t look okay, to say the least. “If I give you that week off for your birthday, do you promise to get focused on your exams afterward? I don’t want to be disappointed, Petra. You’ve always been the best student in your class. I hope it stays that way.”

“Dad, I’ve been focused since my first day at Columbia, you know that. Missing six days of school won’t have any impact. My classmates will send me their class notes.”

He stands up from the sofa, takes his coat, the WSJ folded under his arm, and exhales loudly. “Very well. I’ve got to go. Hope you have a great day.”

And just like that, he leaves.

No kiss, no hug, nothing. He’s still visibly mad at me. Maybe at Alex too. But nevertheless, I smile radiantly. Dad has just given me that week off!

I take a deep breath and lean against the back of the sofa for a moment. Afterward, I happily get up, head back to my bedroom, and grab my iPhone to let Alex know about the good news. But he’s already texted. Good morning, Ms. Van Gatt. Hope you slept well. Meet me at the NoMad Bar at 5:30 p.m. I miss you! Wishing you a great day ahead, Alex.

I smile while reading his text. Even the way he writes is formal and old-school.

I decide to copy his tone. After all, no one texts me on WhatsApp like that. Hey! Good morning, Mr. Van Dieren. Many thanks for your note. Will be there on time. Wishing you a great day, Petra. Oh, I forgot the most important thing! P.S. I miss you too. I know he’ll like it.

“Ms. Van Gatt, breakfast is served!”

“Coming, Janine!”

As I step into the NoMad Bar, I understand why he’s chosen this place. The bar is set in a nineteenth-century library with two floors connected by a spiral staircase. He’s already seated, reading, an espresso on the table, still wearing a suit and tie from the office. My heart always beats faster when he is around.

“I’ve never been here before,” I say, sitting beside him, my eyes joyful and a smile on my lips.

He closes his book, puts it on the table, and gives me an unexpected, lingering kiss. My cheeks flush as I feel his warm lips pressed against mine. He’s never kissed me in a public space before.

“I love you,” he whispers, looking in my eyes.

I smile and kiss him again. “I love you.”

“We’re going somewhere for your birthday,” he declares simply, taking a sip of his coffee. “We’ll leave the evening of the fifth.”

My heart explodes like fireworks. “Going where?”

“It’s a surprise, Ms. Van Gatt.” He gives me a charming smile, his gaze devouring mine. “It’s outside the state of New York. That’s all you need to know.”

I instantly picture that moment in Rio where he told me, Next time we’re in bed, I’ll cum inside you. Holy moly! I try to remain calm, but I start feeling myself get dangerously wet. I blush looking down at my lap, and tuck some hair behind my ear. Meanwhile, Alex keeps staring intently at my face with a sly smile. Jeez! I bet he knows what I’m thinking.

My phone rings. It’s Emma. But I’m not sure if I can pick up the call right now.

“Go ahead, Ms. Van Gatt.”

“You’ve got to stop reading my mind.” He chuckles as I put my iPhone to my ear. “Hi, Ms. Hasenfratz. How are you doing?” I immediately glow, hearing her voice. Alex reaches down for my other hand, shuts his eyes, and starts placing wet kisses on my knuckles. “I’m so happy. Finally, you are coming back. Of course, I’ll meet you as soon as you land,” I reply, my eyes glued on his lips now rubbing against my fingers. I can feel his warm breath while he’s kissing them, and the pleasure he is having while doing so. I sigh loudly. This man drives me crazy. “You land tomorrow morning, right? Perfect, I’ll meet you at your house then. Indeed. So much to catch up on. See you tomorrow.”

I hang up with a big grin, my eyes sparkling, and I instantly embrace him. “Emma is on her way back to New York.” I clap my hands. “I’m so happy! She kept her word. She promised me she’d come for my birthday.” I think something through. “What time do we leave New York?”

“At ten p.m.” He seems to be studying me with his stare. “You may have a birthday dinner at her house, if you want.”

How did he know what I had in mind?

I stand up, floating on cloud nine. “I need to find a dress for my birthday, then.”

“May I join you?”

I gasp at his question and raise an eyebrow. “You want to join me at a vintage shop?”

“Why not?”

I smile radiantly. Is there anything about him not to like?

I usually go with Janine or Emma to this vintage shop. But never in a thousand years did I expect to bring Alexander shopping with me. I love this store. Despite shopping not being my favorite thing in the world, this place is like traveling back in time—it feels much more special than those soulless, overpriced, high-end brands that Emma loves. Here, they have many different styles and shapes, but mainly my favorite: the fifties fit-and-flare. Surprisingly enough, Alex seems to be in his element, scanning attentively through the dresses, the shoes, the styles, and the lengths…

“I didn’t know you liked shopping,” I tease, and unlike him, I can’t focus much on anything but him.

“I have three sisters. Believe me, I spent half of my life giving fashion advice.”

I giggle. Alex is so lucky to have siblings. I would’ve loved receiving advice from a brother or sister while growing up.

“Try this one,” he declares, putting a dress in front of me.

“This one? Really? It’s white.”

“And? White should look good on you, with your blue eyes and black hair.”

“Alex, white is only for brides.”

“Of course not. You are so antiquated sometimes, Ms. Van Gatt. A lot of girls wear white nowadays.” He glances around for the seller. “Miss, my apologies. Could you kindly give me your thoughts on this dress?”

The woman leaves the counter and comes over. “Hello. Sure.”

“Do you think this white dress is only for brides?” he asks.

The sales consultant chuckles. “No, of course not. This is a normal evening cocktail dress. Actually, it would look great on you, Miss.”

“See? Just try it on.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine…”

I’d already made up my mind not to wear white for the dinner at Emma’s. But I’ll try it on for the sake of making him happy.

I take the dress and go to the fitting room, while Alex takes a seat on the sofa in the middle of the shop.

After a good ten minutes, I fling the curtain wide open, and observing myself in the big mirror, say, “It’s terrible! I look like a bride.”

“Let me see.” Alex stands up, moves closer to me, and smiles radiantly. “You look amazing. A true angel.”

I lift an eyebrow and take a second look in the mirror, trying to find the “amazingness” of it. The white lace fit-and-flare dress is knee-length, with a rounded neck, a white satin ribbon wrapped around my waist, and lace half sleeves. Okay, granted I don’t look that bad, but it’s definitely not suitable for my birthday. “Alex, forget it. I’m not gonna wear this for my dinner at Emma’s,” I snap, staring intently at him in the mirror.

He chuckles, shaking his head, then wraps his arms around my waist, pinning his body against mine, and bends down to my ear. “This is not for your dinner, Ms Van Gatt.” My heartbeat starts pounding hard at the feel of his breath on my skin. “This is for us.” And my lips part in excitement picturing an “us” where he’d undress me and touch me like only he knows how. I’m speechless, eyes drawn to him in the mirror. “You won’t need anything underneath, just this dress.” Oh God. My heart fluttering at his words. I know why he wants white. This is meant to be worn before actually making love, before giving myself entirely to him. Holy shit.

“It looks wonderful, Miss,” praises the seller. “Your friend was right to choose it for you.”

I can’t stop laughing. “Thank you.” I wait for the seller to walk away, then turn to face him and wrap my arms around his neck. I smile brightly. “Alright, I’ll take it, then.” My eyes dart down to his lips and I kiss them instantly. Not sure if the seller is watching or not, but I couldn’t care less.

He doesn’t hold back from me either. Instead, he grabs me by the jawline and gives me another kiss, longer, deeper, more passionate, the type of kiss that makes me want to rip his clothes off and have him right now in this shop.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

I wonder if he’s thanking me for the dress, the kiss, or both. He takes a deep breath to cool down and goes back through the store, eyes scanning the hanging clothes.

“Do you need some more help?”

“Indeed. We’ll need another dress—this time a colorful one for her birthday party.”

“Sure, we have several styles. This one would look great on her.” The seller selects a black dress with embroidered pink roses. “I must say, it’s great to see men involved like this. I wish my husband would do the same, but he hates shopping.”

Alex smiles. “Ah, well, I’m very picky about clothing.”

Hudson Valley, November 30, 2019

I know it’ll happen during my birthday trip. Dad agreed to give me a week off, and Alex told me we will go somewhere, “a surprise,” he added. My white dress is ready, with matching heels too. I’ve read as much as I can about everything in between. I’m totally shaved, and yet I feel as insecure as ever. He’s been with so many mature and amazing women, has probably tried everything and beyond, and I? Well, I’ve done absolutely nothing. I decide to seek advice from an expert in the field, or at least the most knowledgeable person I know.

“I need your help, Emma…” She suspiciously raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say a word, waiting for me to finish my sentence. I take a deep breath and announce, “I’m gonna do it for my birthday.”

“What? Really? With who?”

I smile seeing Emma so worried, her mouth and eyes wide open like she’s just seen a ghost.

“Well…” I clear my throat. “You know who…” I smile at her, my cheeks flushing, and she reads the answer in my gaze.

“Oh my God,” shouts Emma, figuring out. “Finally, my babygirl will become a woman.” She takes a puff on her cigarette. “And you didn’t pick just any fella…” She laughs even harder. “You’ve chose the most wanted playboy in Manhattan.” And she continues guffawing. “Oh gosh, this is too funny. For sure, he must be a great teacher.”

“Pfff. Stop it, Emma.” I giggle while pinching her. “I need your help, really. I’m feeling so anxious; I have no idea what to do. I read a lot about it online, I even watched some videos, but it seems way too technical…”

“Relax, babygirl. Why on earth do you even care? This is not an exam. Or some business plan to pitch. He’s not gonna approve anything. Just enjoy.”

“I know… But I don’t want to disappoint him. We’ll spend a whole week together. I don’t want him to get bored of me…”

“Look, you won’t disappoint anyone, alright? Don’t feel shy, timid, or even guilty about anything you will do. I know you grew up with a super-strict father, but you have to remove any doubt from your mind. Take it as an amazing experience.” I nod, thoughtful. “And you can’t be that naive, right? You’ve already done some stuff, no?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know… Have you ever touched a dick? With your hands or mouth?”

“No…” I mumble, looking down.

“Oh gosh. Not even that? Okay…” Emma ponders further. “You’ve at least seen one, right?” I shake my head. “Wow. Well, let’s get back to the basics. Have you ever tried to cum on your own with your fingers?”

Oh yes, I’ve been thinking about him so many times. I nod. “But just outside.”

Emma smiles, suppressing a laugh. Not sure if it’s because she expected a yes or a no. “Okay, look, the most important thing is to stay curious. Don’t put limits on your own desires. Explore him, you, and you’ll be just fine. Let all your senses get involved. Let him know what you want, and don’t keep things to yourself. If you want to be touched somewhere, tell him; if you want to try something new, let him know. Just enjoy, babygirl!” I smile. Emma has always known how to be reassuring. “And remember, he’s most likely done everything, so I doubt any of your requests will shock him,” she says, before taking another puff on her cigarette.

“I see…” I nod pensively. “Emma, may I ask you something?”

“Sure…”

“How was your first time? You never told me.”

“Well, you never asked me either.” She pauses, trying to put it in the best words possible. “It was alright. I was drunk and horny as fuck, so I don’t remember much. It was against a wall at a party. He didn’t know I’d never done it before. I’ve always looked so mature and confident. It all happened very fast.”

“So you didn’t enjoy it?”

“I was totally wasted. I didn’t even notice it was happening.” She chuckles. “Just after he was inside, I realized…” I feel so sad for her, and lay my hand on hers. “It’s alright, don’t worry, babygirl. I was fifteen or so… Long time ago.” I admire her strength. Emma has always been so strong and confident in any situation, even in her most vulnerable ones. “Anyway, we’re here to talk about your first time, not mine. I’m super happy for you. Remember, stay curious. And you will both love it.”

CHAPTER 20

Hudson Valley, December 1, 2019

Emma Hasenfratz

It’s snowing over the entire state of New York. I wake up this morning missing Bali and the tropical weather. I don’t like the cold. I miss my mornings by my private pool with the spectacular views to the jungle and rice fields, taking a bike and riding up to my favorite coffee shop, where I’d meet with nomadic young entrepreneurs from all over the world. It was absolute freedom in every sense. I got a sleeve tattoo entirely covering my right arm to my wrist, but since it’s been so cold here, my parents haven’t seen it. Fortunately! They’d probably cut my monthly allowance in half if they’d found out.

But I’m not in New York because of them, or because I’m missing home. No. I’m in New York because I’m missing terribly the only person I’ve ever cared for and loved—Petra. But Petra loves someone else. A man. A terrible one. A playboy. Damn, how can she possibly be in love with him? I can’t see how Petra, a young, sexually inexperienced woman can be a long-term possibility for him. Most likely Van Dieren is having the time of his life hanging out with such a young and innocent lady. My heart pounds hard, picturing both of them. What if he’s just manipulating her for the sake of taking her virginity? What if she’s his new favorite game, his new fantasy?

I can’t figure out why Roy, such a protective father, would let his young daughter be in the hands of that man. Something is missing from the equation. Or is Roy also being manipulated? Deluded? After all, he knows Alexander better than anyone else. How did Roy let this happen? I’m so confused. Fuck. I wish I could have been around the last couple of months to figure out what the hell is going on between them.

Well, no matter what, they have been very discreet. I checked the current tabloids and gossip blogs, but didn’t find anything about the duo. Not even a single picture! Nothing. Only a quick story that was written well back in October about Alex spotted with a Brazilian woman at Asiate restaurant and attending a pompous wedding in Rio. If reporters knew the most wanted bachelor in Manhattan was in a relationship with his young goddaughter, it would’ve been everywhere! But there’s very little about his romantic life since October. My critical analysis leads me to a conclusion: his relationship with Petra must’ve started then.

Holy shit. What I have in hand is quite a secret! I feel tempted to share the story with Carol and Laura, but I can’t. Or even to share it anonymously with the press, but no. I care too much about Petra.

I also have more important things to do with my time while here in New York. I’ve decided to throw an amazing party like in the good old days. Plus, Petra’s entrusted me with preparing a memorable dinner for her eighteenth birthday before the party, right here on my estate. Babygirl is not hard to please. Her only request is to start the dinner early, six p.m. at the latest, and invite just close friends. Simple enough. I wonder if Van Dieren will be attending…

I can’t help but chuckle. If I allow smartphones, everyone will be sharing pictures and videos on social media, tabloids, and blogs, which means it’ll be the first official event where they’re seen together. Would Van Dieren want that? And Petra? Does she want to be seen with him? I don’t know. But I’ll find out in four days. I step out of bed, take a shower, and get fashionably ready. My iPhone in hand, I call my loyal squad, Carol and Laura, to get their precious help.

Manhattan, December 1, 2019

Alexander Van Dieren

“I’m going to Singapore with Roy and Paulo,” I announce, drinking my espresso. “We leave tonight.”

“What? Now?”

I know she wasn’t expecting it. I had requested to meet her in the same library bar at the NoMad Hotel, but she thought it was just to spend some time with her, not to tell her I’d be leaving precisely a couple of days before her birthday. “Yes, since we recently acquired that firm, we need to make a few changes and elect the new management. It’s only for a few days.”

Petra seems confused. “But what about my birthday dinner at Emma’s? You’re not coming? Without you it won’t be the same.”

I smile. “I’ll do my best, but I need to get everything sorted out.” Nope. I have no intention of going and no interest whatsoever in drawing attention to ourselves and feeding the rumor mill.

Petra sighs, her face disappointed. “What about our trip together, then?”

My eyes locking onto hers, I tuck some hair behind her ear, give her a kiss, and whisper, “Don’t worry. I wouldn’t miss it for anything in the world.” She smiles, reassured, and reaches over for more. “I love you,” I add.

She doesn’t know it, but I have chosen this library bar precisely because I know no one from finance or from the media would come here. It’s a hidden gem for most people, a place with a certain charm, yet discreet enough to kiss and cuddle her in public.

Singapore, December 4, 2019

It’s such a big contrast going from freezing and snowy Manhattan to humid and hot Singapore. Even in the evening, the weather is still warm and sticky. Despite being overly tired and jet-lagged, we’ve decided to have a small celebration at the iconic LAVO Bar—the famous rooftop lounge perched on Marina Bay Sands Tower with sumptuous views of the city. After all, it’s our last night here. Since Paulo is on his way, Roy and I are sitting at a table alone, patiently waiting for him. But Roy is still acting very distant. With a pensive air, he takes a sip of his drink. Neither of us says a word. Finally, he looks back at me and sighs. “It feels so weird, Alex. I can’t even show you girls now.”

I burst into laughter. “Well, you’ll have plenty more for you.”

We finally see Paulo at the entrance, looking across the lounge for us. Roy waves at him, quite happy.

I remain thoughtful. Maybe Roy is finding it weird, not because of my relationship with Petra, but because he’s now the only bachelor among us. And as the oldest, it might have some sort of impact on his ego.

“Hey, Paulo! How are you?” greets Roy, warmly shaking his hand, followed by a pat on the back.

Paulo seems as excited as ever, just like a kid. He came from a dinner with our new office’s financial team and is enjoying Singapore much more than either of us. Paulo sits down beside Roy, glances around the lounge, and claps his hands before rubbing them. “So, did you guys spot anything good for tonight?”

I lift my eyebrows, my mouth opening wide, totally shocked by his question. “You are married, Paulo.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, but we’re in Singapore, right? And what happens in Singapore… stays in Singapore,” he replies joyfully.

Roy takes a sip from his glass, speechless.

But I shake my head, quite confused. “So why did you get married?”

“Have you seen my wife? How beautiful she is? I’m not young anymore, but I still want to have a few more kids.” I can’t stop glaring at him in disapproval, while he happily orders a gin. “Oh, relax, Van Dieren. I got a great prenup, don’t worry. Look over there. Those three chicks.”

I let out a sigh. This guy will never change. I know Paulo’s wife, Anabela. After all, I personally attended their wedding. I even saw them looking into each other’s eyes, taking marriage vows, for God’s sake. And yet here he is, looking for a one-night stand. I shake my head again. I’m definitely not interested in witnessing any of this. “Well, I’m gonna get some rest,” I snap, standing up.

“What? You can’t be serious. It’s only ten p.m. We need your blue eyes to catch girls,” protests Paulo.

“I’m sure your credit cards will be enough. Gents, have a great one, enjoy for me.”

Manhattan, December 5, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

“Happy birthday, Ms. Van Gatt,” Janine says as she steps into my bedroom.

My face beams with joy. I’m finally eighteen! An adult. “Thank you, Janine. Good morning.”

Before I can say more, my iPhone starts ringing. It’s Mom requesting a video call.

“Hi, Mom. How are you?”

She waves and smiles at me, glasses on, her short blonde hair impeccably styled, sitting on the sofa. “Happy Birthday, my little angel. I wanted to see you before you go. How are you doing? Officially an adult, huh?”

I can’t help but giggle. “Indeed, officially one,” I reply. “Thank you for the video call, Mom. I’m so happy to see you! You look great as always.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. Tell me, what are your plans for your birthday? Is Emma doing something for you?”

“Yes, she is organizing a dinner.”

“That’s great. Who’s attending?” she asks.

“Just friends from Loyola and Columbia. It’s a small dinner.” I wonder if Alex will manage to make it in time.

Mom smiles radiantly. “Very well, and who are these friends of yours from Columbia?”

“Oh, well, we are known as the geek squad of the freshman class, as we spend most of our time in the library. But it’s fine. I enjoy it.”

“Hmm, I see. Any cute boys?” I blush. I don’t know what to say. Should I lie for the sake of pleasing her?

“Not really,” I ultimately reply. “But Matthew is nice. He’s one of my closest friends at Columbia.” I’m happy with my response; it sounds like a decent one. “I’ve been focused on my studies.”

“That’s good. Well done. Will I see you for Christmas? I miss you so much.”

I smile. “I miss you, and Anika too. Of course, I’ll be back to Rotterdam for Christmas.”

Mom looks as excited as ever. “So good to hear. I will prepare us an amazing dinner for the twenty-fourth,”—she means Anika—“then we can go together to Midnight Mass. Father Thomas is looking forward to seeing you.”

I smile in return. Father Thomas is the one who baptized me. I haven’t seen him in ages. “Sounds like a great plan, Mom. And what do you have in mind for the twenty-fifth?”

“We can go to a dinner hosted by Carice, one of my closest friends. She is an amazing lady, one of the lawyers that works with me at my nonprofit.”

“Oh! You have a nonprofit?”

“Well, I’ve already been working without any proper legal structure to help as many women as I can, and since we’ve done tremendous work and feel the need to expand, we’ve decided to get the paperwork done. You know, I’ve seen some terrible injustices, Petra. Judges ruling against restraining orders meant to protect women from their dangerous husbands, just because there supposedly wasn’t enough evidence,” she confesses. “Anyway, now it’s official. We’re hiring, and the team is growing.”

“I’m so proud of you, Mom. No wonder everyone loves you.”

“Thank you, my little angel. Well, I suppose you have classes very soon. I won’t take anymore of your time. Have a great day. I love you so much. Take good care of yourself and enjoy your dinner.”

After hanging up, I scroll down through the many WhatsApp birthday wishes. I find Emma’s, my father’s, Matthew’s... I grin and click on the one that matters the most: Happy Birthday, Ms. Van Gatt! I hope you slept well. I’m missing you dearly. We are on our way back to NY. Can’t wait to see you soon. A car will pick you up at 9 p.m. from Emma’s house. Don’t forget to have your luggage ready. Love you, Alex. P.S. Bring warm clothes.

Holy moly. I decide to prepare my bags straightaway before heading to campus. I have to make sure everything is ready. After all, I have little spare time between my classes and the dinner. Plus, Emma’s house is still an hour drive away.

I put the white dress and heels in my bag. Oh God. I suddenly realize something. Tonight will be my last night as a virgin. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves.

“Ms. Van Gatt, are you alright?”

I blink at the sound of her voice. “Sure, Janine. I’m preparing my bags for my birthday trip. I have to hurry up. It’s getting late.”

“Breakfast is served, Miss. Don’t leave before eating something.” Janine’s about to leave, but I call her back. “Yes, Ms. Van Gatt?”

“Would you like to attend my birthday dinner tonight at Emma’s house? It’d be an honor to have you there.” Janine smiles at me but remains speechless. “It starts at six p.m. It’d truly mean a lot if you would join us.”

“Thank you so much, Miss, for your kind invitation. I… I don’t know what to say…”

I walk toward her. “Hmm, a ‘yes’ would be great.”

We both smile at each other.

“Well, since you are so insistent, I gladly accept.”

I immediately hug her. “Oh, Janine, thank you for agreeing to come.” I see some tears rolling down her face. After all, she has raised me almost like her own daughter. “Janine, why are you crying?”

“Oh…” She sniffles. “I’m just so proud of the woman you’ve become.”

My smile gets wider. “Well, I was blessed to have someone as special as you to raise me.”

She laughs while drying her tears.

Hudson Valley, December 5, 2019

Emma Hasenfratz

I have just received the final list of Petra’s guests for dinner. I raise an eyebrow. Sarah, Katrina, Janine, David, and Matthew. Only five people? And what about Van Dieren? Will he come later? Which Janine is she talking about? The maid? I don’t recognize the names of the two girls either, and who are those guys? Damn! Petra has a new group of friends, and I know nothing about them.

Since I have promised to host a small private dinner with only her closest friends, I only add Carol and Laura. This will be the smallest birthday dinner ever! For now, I need to make sure the table setting is ready and that the playlist for the dinner is quiet and sophisticated, while the one for after dinner is more commercial. On the food side, Petra has forgotten to tell me how many vegetarians, vegans, and gluten-sensitive people are among her guests. I have to know, and fast. Thanks for the list, babygirl, but what about food preferences and allergies?

Fortunately, Petra doesn’t take long to reply back. Two vegetarians, one vegan, two pescatarians, and one meat-eater—Janine. No one mentioned allergies.

Why on earth does she have to bring Janine? It doesn’t make any sense.

Since my parents are away, I decide to wear a high-waisted black miniskirt and an oversized white Dolce & Gabbana T-shirt to show off my new tattoos. I put on some matte red lipstick, my favorite choker, my new fourteen-carat gold septum piercing and my matching nose ring, fifteen denier black tights, and my new Balenciaga black-and-gold ankle boots. I smile, happy with my style.

It doesn’t take long to see the first cars pull up in front of my gates. Laura and Carol are on time, as always. A couple of minutes later, I glance out and see Petra. I rush to the main door to greet them. “Happy Birthday, babygirl!” I scream, hugging her. “Oh, Janine, such a great surprise to see you.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hasenfratz. Great to see you too.”

“How are you? You look amazing, Petra. Glowing like a godly princess.” She looks so damn cute and yummy with her long wavy hair, some strands clasped in the back with a ribbon, and her vintage fit-and-flare dress. “Where are your friends?”

“They’re on their way.”

I take Petra by the arm, and we walk a few steps forward, away from Janine. I murmur discreetly, “Where is Van Dieren?”

Petra looks around. Janine’s standing at the entrance chatting idly with Carol and Laura. “On his way back from Singapore. I don’t think he’ll be joining us. We are leaving tonight anyway.”

“Did he tell you where?”

“No, it’s a surprise. I just know it’s outside New York.”

We hear the doorbell ringing.

“Looks like your nerdy friends just arrived.” I open the door wide, impatient to see who Petra’s new friends are.

She promptly introduces them to me. “Hi, guys! I’m so glad you made it. This is Emma, my best friend. Emma, this is Katrina, Sarah, David, and Matthew. My friends from Columbia.”

I can’t help but chuckle. They look so young and naive, just like Petra. Matthew is the cutest—dark-blond hair, hazel eyes. He reminds me of James. He’s also the most athletic… Truthfully, though, they all look quite boring and plain. No wonder Petra prefers Van Dieren and me. “Well, let’s head to the dinner table. I’m starving.”

Following dinner, I excuse myself and go to the winter garden to smoke. Petra decides to come with me. After all, we want to spend as much time together as possible before she leaves. The winter garden is an indoor room made of glass walls overlooking the terrace and the pool area, where my mom grows her favorite plants. I play some music on my iPhone before lighting up my cigarette. Sitting on the green velvet sofa beside Petra, I remain thoughtful as I pull the smoke into my lungs with a long, steady breath. “I’m worried about you and Van Dieren, babygirl…” She raises an eyebrow. “You always had a penchant for bad guys— James, Jimmy…” I finally say.

“You don’t know him,” she snaps instantly.

But I’m not convinced. “Petra, we all know Van Dieren is a womanizer, a heartbreaker… You’re not like that. Don’t you think you should be with someone your own age? Someone who hasn’t been with half of Manhattan?” I sigh, my stare serious. “I just don’t want that guy to break your heart once you’ve had sex with him.”

“What the media says about his romantic life is a big exaggeration.”

“Babygirl, you know how much I care about you, right?” I remain anxious.

“We are together, Emma,” she announces. “Like, really together. My father knows about us.” What? I gape at her. “We haven’t done it yet, but not because I don’t want to. I’ve tried to convince him many times, trust me. But because he wanted to talk to Dad first.”

“Wow.” I take a deep breath. “So, wait, Roy’s okay with you guys being together? I can’t believe this! Your father? Roy Van Gatt? The man who’s firmly against boys and sees them as a useless distraction? He’s okay with you being with a forty-year-old heartbreaker?”

“Well, they’re best friends. He knows him better than anyone else.”

Holy shit. My mouth remains wide open, still dazed by her revelation. My heart thundering, I take another puff of my cigarette and ask, “So, you mean, together together? Like a couple?”

She giggles. “Yes, together together, like a couple, like a serious monogamous relationship, like girlfriend and boyfriend.”

I’m speechless, utterly mute, my mind still digesting all this madness. I gasp, thinking about an eventual reality. “Wait. So does it mean you see Van Dieren as”—I swallow hard and try to put two words together that have no place whatsoever in the same sentence—“husband material?”

Petra blushes, chuckling, and lowers her gaze. “Yes,” she mumbles. “And”—she tucks some hair behind her ear with a tiny smile—“father material too.”

Have you lost your mind or what? “I should’ve smoked a joint before talking to you, instead of this shitty cigarette.” I glance around for some alcohol. “I need a drink.” She hands me her glass of champagne, which I drink all at once.

“Relax, Emma.” She laughs. “Alex and I haven’t talked about it. I’m just sharing my long-term goals.”

How can I relax? I take a deep breath and play the usual cool friend. “Well, I never thought you had such goals with him. I mean, it’s one thing to have fun; it’s another to…” I swallow nervously. “Anyway, good luck with that. If you marry him, I want to be maid of honor.”

We hear knocking on the door, and I shout for the person to come in.

One of the housekeepers steps inside. “Ms. Van Gatt, your driver has arrived.”

I glance at my watch. It’s just nine p.m. “You’re leaving now? But the party’s just starting.”

“I know, I’m sorry to leave so soon. I imagine we have a long trip ahead.” Petra hugs me tight. “Thank you so much for the amazing dinner, Emma. You’re incredible,” she whispers in my ear. “When will I see you again?”

“Hmm… Are you spending Christmas here?”

“No, I’m leaving for Rotterdam after my exams.”

“Well, then next year, I guess, around March for my mom’s birthday.”

“I’m gonna miss you.” She presses her lips against my cheek in a long, tender kiss.

“Me too, babygirl.” I smile at her big blue eyes, and I can’t stop thinking how lucky that asshole Van Dieren is. “Well, have fun with your boyfriend.”

“Thank you for everything, Emma. I’m so happy to have spent this time with you.”

We hug each other once more. I smell her jasmine perfume, feeling a deep squeeze in my chest. “You know I will always have your back, right?”

“I know,” she replies with a big, cute grin. Afterward, she stands up and leaves.

I remain sitting on the sofa, my appetite for partying totally gone. I’d have preferred not to know how serious their relationship is. One thing is for sure—if Van Dieren breaks her heart, for whatever reason, I will be in the front row, baseball bat in hand, ready to tear him down, just like I did with James… or maybe even worse.

CHAPTER 21

Aspen, December 5, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

After a flight that lasted over three hours, Alex and I have finally arrived in the state of Colorado—more precisely, in the beautiful ski area of Aspen.

“I can’t believe it! I know this place,” I babble happily as I step into the entryway of his winter residence—a private modern villa perched in the high altitude with mountains all around, overlooking the lake and village further down. “We used to come here during the winter! You taught me to ski here, right?” I ask, barely containing my excitement.

He smiles as I explore further.

I cross the dining room and look through the high windows, staring intently at the gardens, all covered in white. I smile at my childhood memories. “We used to build snowmen right in front. Do you remember?” I look to the sideboard beside me and gasp in surprise, taking in the framed picture. “You still have a photo of us and our snowman?” I laugh hard. “Oh God, you age so well. You look even better now. More adult.”

He chuckles, his eyes darting down to the picture, and he reaches out to lift my chin. “You too,” he murmurs before kissing my lips. My heart parts in fury with his kiss, craving to feel so much more of him, but I get a hold of myself. “You know, I haven’t been here for at least ten years. This house has been managed by an agency that rents it out all year long. The maid must have decided to put this frame back in its original place when I told her I’d be coming back with you.”

“Why haven’t you been here for so long?”

He smiles at my usual curiosity and caresses the long black strands of my hair. “Too many memories, Ms. Van Gatt.” He plants a long, tender kiss on my forehead. “Let me show you around.” Alex holds my hand and walks me to one of the rooms, turning on the lights. “This used to be your bedroom…” I step into the suite with a private bathroom and a terrace with direct views to the lake and mountains. I smile, noticing that the porter put my luggage here. “Not sure if you still want to sleep here though…” I giggle at his comment. Alex remains leaning on the doorframe, hands in his pockets, a contemplative smile on his face.

“Indeed, I prefer to stay in yours,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck. “By the way, I’ve never seen it…”

A small smile settles on his mouth. “You’ll need to change first,” he replies. I swallow nervously. “Meet me in the dining room once you are ready.” Alex gives me a quick kiss on my lips and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

I feel my entire body shiver at his words. My hands are shaking as I open the first suitcase to look for my dress. I take it out and lay it on the bed. Then I rush to take a shower. Damn, I have never felt this nervous. My body is trembling and sweating for no apparent reason. I spread some perfume on my neck, my chest, and my wrists; put on my dress and matching heels; brush my teeth once more; apply some cherry gloss on my lips; and take a deep breath. You got this, Petra. You are an adult, and you got this. I touch my pendant to calm myself down, smiling at my reflection in the mirror.

As I slowly walk down the corridor, only my loud breaths and heartbeats can be heard. Arriving in the dining room, I see a cozy, bright fireplace. I just want to run over there and warm up my hands, but as I look to my right, I find Alex sitting at the table, a bunch of papers in front of him and in front of my empty seat, with a Montblanc pen in between. I notice how he’s already removed his sweater, sporting a slim white shirt, sleeves rolled up as always.

“Hey,” I timidly greet him.

His gaze goes instantly to my dress, the corners of his mouth lifted. His eyes marvel, and he takes a sip of his whiskey. “Have a seat,” he replies back.

Not what I was expecting, but I obey and sit in front of him. I glance down at the papers. “What is this?”

“It’s a confidentiality agreement, Ms. Van Gatt.”

My heart skips a beat. I blink twice. “A what?”

“Read it over carefully. If you agree to it, kindly sign every page on the bottom right corner, as well as the last one.”

I swallow hard, scared of such formality. I wasn’t expecting any of it. This is very far from the romantic evening I had in mind. Nevertheless, I start to read and realize his signatures are already there. I gasp in horror. “It says you have the right to move forward with legal procedures if I say anything?”

“No.” He takes the first page of the contract. “It says: ‘Both parties have the right to move forward with legal procedures if there is a voluntary breach of confidentiality intended to damage or to harm the reputation, dignity, and the good name of the other.’ Petra, this is also in your own interest. I’m protecting both of us. I care about your reputation. The world is full of assholes who are ready to publish anything in the press to discredit us.” He pauses. “You are eighteen now. Welcome to the adult world.”

“Alright,” I mutter. Then I take the pen lying between us, sign all the pages on the line next to his signature, and give him back the contract. “Here, Mr. Van Dieren.”

He scans through every single page to make sure I didn’t miss any. “Thank you.” And he hands me a copy with all the pages already signed by him. “Here, Ms. Van Gatt.”

I play his game and check every page thoroughly, while adding my own signatures. “Very well. Thank you.” I cross my arms, dazed and confused at his behavior. I wonder if he does this with every woman he sleeps with. Is this really necessary? Doesn’t he trust me enough?

“You’re welcome.” He smiles and gets up from his chair, but I remain seated, digesting such rigid procedure. As he stands behind me, I feel a shiver down my entire spine at his presence, his fragrance, his warm breath. But I don’t dare to look. Alex starts to fondle my long black hair, my neck, my shoulders… until he bends down to my ear. “May I show you our bedroom?” he whispers.

My heart skips a beat, and my breath comes out in short gasps. He has this power over me. The power to make me shiver, sweat, nearly cum at his words, at his question. He turns the palm of his hand up. I grasp it, stand up, and follow him. We leave the dining room, crossing the hall, and go down the corridor past my own bedroom until we finally reach, at the very end, a closed door. I’m about to open it, but he stops me. “No shoes inside.” I chuckle but remove them and place them alongside his.

Finally shoeless, I open the door and gasp in surprise at seeing the main wall in front of me made entirely of glass. It overlooks the lake, the small village down in the valley amid the mountains, and the ski runs, all lit with a blanket of bright stars. A fireplace is burning in the corner. I walk closer to the glass and admire the view. Unbelievable. It looks just like a painting.

With his body pressed against mine, Alex bends down to smell my perfumed hair and slowly starts unzipping the back of my dress. I feel his fingers removing the garment while he kisses my shoulders. I don’t dare to move; I let him to discover me all over again.

My white dress falls on the floor.

His hands fondle my waist, my hips, my abdomen, just like an artist touching his creation, until I feel him caressing my inner thighs. I’m getting so drenched but decide to turn around and face him. After all, I have something urgent to ask. “Can you make me a promise?”

“Tell me,” he murmurs with a tender smile.

“I want to try everything. No conditions, no fears, no holding back.”

He blinks at my request. I know he didn’t expect that. He swallows hard, but I remain steadily looking at him. “Are you sure? You really want to try everything?”

I nod and wrap my arms around his neck. “Yes, everything. I want to become a woman, your woman.”

A smile of pride and satisfaction lights up his face. “I’m afraid to say, Ms. Van Gatt, we’ll need much more than a week, then.”

I beam at him, my cheeks flushing. I have to look down and take a deep breath before I can face his gaze again. “Well, we’ve got our entire lives, don’t we?” His blue eyes devour mine, picturing exactly that.

“Indeed, we do.” He places a warm kiss on my lips. “I promise.”

Then he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist, and carries me to his bed, laying me beneath him. I start unbuttoning his shirt, our eyes wide open, savoring every single moment. He reaches for my hand and presses it hard against his chest, letting me feel his heartbeat; his skin’s so warm and smooth that I gasp. While he’s kissing me, I timidly move my hands down to unfasten his belt. He watches me do so. I unzip his jeans and swallow nervously as I see the hard bulge inside his black boxers. Wow. He removes his pants completely, lifts up the bedsheets, and slides inside with me. Only then, under the sheets, does he take off his boxers, but the white bed linen is hiding everything. He lies on top of me once again; this time, though, I know that he’s naked. He looks into my eyes, then at my face glowing by the warm light of the fireplace.

“I have to tell you something…” he breathes.

I feel his vulnerability.

“Tell me,” I whisper.

But the words seem hard for him to get out. “I do really love you, Petra.” That’s all he manages to say.

I chuckle and kiss him on the forehead. “I do really love you, Alexander.” He’s about to reach for the nightstand to get a condom, but I stop him. “It’s alright, I’m on the pill…”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, don’t worry.” I wet my lips and whisper in his ear, “I want to feel you, and only you, inside.”

He swallows hard.

As I kiss his mouth hungrily, I spread my legs apart, letting him know I’m ready to give myself entirely to him. “I love you,” he murmurs once more as he brings his cock to my opening.

“I love you too.” I’m about to reach to meet his lips when I suddenly feel the first stroke between my legs. God! Now I understand why he didn’t want me to see him. I feel him so thick and hard that I shiver. My entire body tightening, I close my eyes, my mouth wide open to breathe. He moves some strands away from my face then softly kisses my eyelids, my cheek, my chin, my neck, and my lips again. He thrusts slowly into me, and I gasp.

“It’s alright,” he whispers. “Give me your hand… Look at me.” I open my eyes. “I will go very slowly, I promise. Squeeze my hand if you feel pain.”

I nod timidly.

He plants a long, tender kiss on my forehead while pushing gently inside. I open my thighs a bit more. I can feel my flesh giving away, my hymen tearing... I squeeze his hand. He keeps his cock still and motionless, while nuzzling and kissing my lips. I drag some precious air into my lungs, trying to tame my loud, intense pulse. After feeling me calm, Alex forces himself deeper.

“Ahh…” I moan again. From pain? Pleasure? Both? I can’t tell. He then sucks my neck, sending my heart in a flurry of wild beats. Oh my... His touch is so delicious, so protective, gentle, and warm. I bring his chest down closer to mine, reveling in his body heat as much as I can. He continues to push very slowly, nervous to hurt me by shoving farther, as he knows I’m bleeding. “Ahh...” I have to feel him totally inside. “Deeper,” I beg in a whisper.

He gets goose bumps just hearing my voice.

“Are you sure?” he asks again.

I smile as I look into his blue eyes. “Of course.”

Alexander Van Dieren

Consumed by the desire to have her entirely, I support my upper body with my hands so I can look at her tits and watch her moaning as I go deeper into her. I notice her eyes are closed. But not mine. I don’t want to miss anything. I feel her so warm and drenched, yet so narrow that it’s hard to even move. Despite her tightness, I persist in pushing myself farther in. My strokes remain gentle, yet firm and determined. I want so badly to be totally inside, filling her completely. She wets her lips. I know she’s enjoying it—she just brought her hands to my ass, squeezing and pressing it into her. I pound her faster with shallow strokes as I feel myself totally immersed in her little pussy, my thrusts becoming more insistent, more deliberate.

“Ahhh…” She looks so damn beautiful when she moans. I love to see her sweaty face, her flushed cheeks, her parted lips panting for me... I still can’t believe she is mine. God, she’s really here. Oddly enough, I can’t see her being just my girlfriend. Every time I look at her, my dream tells me I’m making love to my future wife. After all, I know I will marry her. Somehow I always knew. And this is how, one day, I want to give her children. Damn, why am I thinking about this now?

I lean down to her face, her lips, devouring her mouth hungrily. My mind is so possessed, euphoric, wild. I know I can’t keep my orgasm back much longer. My body’s trembling and sweating, my heartbeat suffocating. I close my eyes tight, give a last deep push, and like it’s hurting me, let out a groan before finishing in her. She smiles, feeling my warm cum pulsing inside, then pulls me against her chest and moans in pleasure, carrying my seed inside her for the very first time. “I don’t want to ever move from here,” she breathes.

Damn, my heart has never pounded this insanely fast. “Do you like feeling me inside?” I ask, my tone soft and barely audible.

“Oh, I love it. I wish I could stay here forever with you.”

I give her a tender kiss on her forehead and, looking into her eyes, I tell her what I’d wanted to say earlier. “I’m all yours, Petra. And you’re all mine. As long as we shall live, we’ll remain together.”

Her lips part in astonishment. “Oh, Alex.” She hugs me tight. “I love you so much.”

As I come back to my senses, I continue to move slowly back and forth inside her. I don’t want to leave just yet, and I know she likes my slow movements.

“I want to taste you,” she demands.

My eyes open wide in shock. I can’t believe what I just heard. I want to object, tell her it’s too soon, but no—I don’t protest. After all, I made her a promise. No conditions, no fears, no holding back, I recall her saying. I take a deep breath and exhale. Then I gently remove my cock from her and sit back on my knees, while she props herself up on her elbows. With my two hands, I hold her hair back and push her head forward, as she opens her little mouth, tasting me for the first time. Holy shit. My cock’s still so warm, firm, and wet from her. She starts caressing the tip with her lips, her tongue, before taking me in. I close my eyes in pleasure and guilt, yet the image of her delicate, innocent mouth sucking me is all I can see. I can feel her enjoyment growing, her saliva, her warm breath, her moaning. Oh, fuck... I decide to let myself go, lose control, and let her explore me further.

“Open more,” I murmur.

She obeys, and I gently force my cock deeper. She’s breathing quietly, gorging herself on me like a succulent ice cream. I can feel myself near her throat. I back off a bit and slowly push in and out of her mouth. I groan, staring down at her, so satisfied. You’re so damn mine. “Oh, Petra…” I moan, my eyes shut tight at the intensity of my gratification. She keeps sucking me so eagerly that I wonder how long she’s wanted to do this. “Ahh…” I release short, loud gasps, barely restraining another orgasm. “Fuck…” I can’t hold it for much longer. “You gonna make me cum,” I warn under my breath.

But she keeps devouring me, her mouth moving up and down, and I know that’s what she wants.

I give a long-lasting grunt of pleasure and, before I can say anything, she starts eagerly sucking the tip and swallowing my cum. Once I’m done, I pull free, push her chin down to open her mouth, and check her throat—there’s nothing left of me. Damn. Such a naughty little thing. I smile, quite proud. “Good girl,” I say, kissing the top of her head.

Petra Van Gatt

Colorado winter mornings are always beautifully white but extremely cold. I wake up to find our bed empty. I lean forward and contemplate the massive white mountains of Aspen through the transparent glass. I can see the small village further down and smoke curling into the sky from the chimneys. I hear someone in the kitchen putting silverware on a tray. I smile when I hear knocking.

“Good morning.”

I try to stand up to greet him, but the soreness stops me.

“I think it’s better you take breakfast in bed,” he says with a smile, bringing in a tray with red fruit, matcha tea, avocado toast, and grilled mushrooms.

“How do you know what I like for breakfast?”

“I know everything…” he teases. I blush as I look into his smile. It’s so fucking charming and enticing, and makes me go wild at the sight of it. Having him right here beside me feels surreal. Oh God. My heart is hotter than my tea. While I’m drinking it, he softly kisses my shoulder. Then I feel him watching me intently as I start eating my toast.

“I’m terribly in love with you,” he confesses. I swallow hard around my bite of bread. “Thank you for yesterday. It was an incredible night.” He reaches down and gives my hand a kiss.

“But after all, was it my first time or your first time?” I ask, teasing him.

“Well…” the corners of his mouth curve up, his stare lost in mine. “Yesterday I made love to the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.” My heart explodes like fireworks. “So, it was also my first time.” I kiss him hard on his lips, trying to contain my emotions. Those are the most beautiful words I have ever heard him say.

I look him in the eye and speak my true feelings. “I want to spend a lifetime of incredible days, and nights, with you, Alexander Van Dieren.”

Alexander Van Dieren

Damn, my heart has never been so filled. She makes me fly without leaving this bed. I feel a sudden urge to taste her. To make her cum in my mouth. I remove the tray from the bed, lay down over her body, and start kissing her lips. I feel myself desiring her all over again. I move my mouth slowly down to her chin, her neck. Then I stop to lick her tits, her delicious pink nipples, sucking them wetly. She moans with pleasure and runs her fingers in my hair. The simple sounds coming from her mouth make me see stars and grow hard. My head moves slowly further down to her belly. I squeeze her waist while kissing her pelvis. She moans louder, her body wriggling nervously. She shivers as I delicately push open her thighs, kissing the insides of them.

“Oh gosh!” I hear her saying when I move down to taste her. Her body instantly bows. “Alex…” she gasps. But I proceed nevertheless, kissing and soaking her clit with my tongue, my saliva. I feel my brain intoxicated with dopamine. Her pussy tastes so sweet that it makes me go wild. I hear her moan again. Her breath is loud, her body trembling with every touch. She doesn’t realize the more she moans, the more it turns me on and the more I want to fuck her. I know that’s what she wants. But I’m not going to do it. First, I want to feel her at my mercy, tormented by desire.

“I need you inside,” she begs.

“Petra, you are very fragile, we should take it easy…”

“I don’t care, I need to feel you.”

But I ignore her and continue eating her out.

“Alex! I need to feel you,” she repeats louder, her tone more insistent.

I don’t protest further. Fuck, she’s too stubborn. I remove my boxers quickly. Leaning up on my knees, I start rubbing her clit with my cock. “Is this what you want inside?” I ask with a roguish smile as I observe her pelvis lifting, her mouth wide open, her body so needy for me.

“Yes, come inside,” she replies between panting breaths.

But I keep teasing her with my tip. “And why should I?”

“Because you are driving me crazy!”

“Are you mine?”

“All yours.”

“For how long?”

“Forever,” she nearly yells, craving her reward.

I spread her legs further and decide she is ready to get pounded again. I alleviate her torments, thrusting straight and deep. Damn, I forgot how narrow her little pussy is. “Did I hurt you?” I ask, instantly worried.

“No, keep going…” she breathes.

I heave a sigh of relief, but remain cautious nevertheless, pushing more gently. “You feel so good, Petra.”

She moans at me in reply. Then she bends her knees, supporting her ass with her arms to keep up with my rhythm. Despite her bleeding yesterday, she seems to be enjoying every single stroke.

Petra Van Gatt

It’s so hard to stop. The more we make love, the more desperate I am to feel him all over again. My body, my mind, my soul, my heart, everything is so addicted to him. We’ve spent countless hours in bed, yet time feels meaningless. Hours are just seconds. He’s perfect to me. He knows how to touch me so well, how to make me tremble, how to make me cum. After all, I’m not making love to a random guy, no, but to the man I will eventually marry. My heart always knew I would.

We’re resting in bed, cuddling and savoring the peaceful silence of the mountains. The last sunlight casting through the room makes everything even more sensual and mellow. His tongue is playing around my breast—he loves to see my nipples get hard at his touch—while my fingers are lost in his wild hair.

“We should have supper. Aren’t you hungry?” he asks, looking up at me.

“Indeed, I’m starving.” I make it sound like a naughty hint, but he ignores it.

“Should I order food, or would you like to try that fine-dining restaurant down in the village?”

My cheeks flush, and I smile softly. “I don’t think I’ll even be able to sit…” I confess.

“Really? That’s amusing…” He leans toward my face, close enough to make me feel even more drenched. “What are you feeling?”

“Well,” I start, clearing my throat. “It’s hard to explain. It’s as if my pussy has been violently used.” We burst into laughter. “But it’s a good feeling. She misses you already…” I insinuate while I nibble his bottom lip.

“Petra, I don’t want to have to take you to the doctor tomorrow because you are crying in pain. Today was already too much. You were still bleeding.”

But I give him a cheeky, confident smile. One he’s never seen before. “You know…” I bite my lip. “There is another hole you haven’t yet explored…”

He gasps upon hearing this, and gets up from the bed at light speed. “Forget it, young lady. Way too soon to do that.”

“Why? Why not?”

“It’s…” He tries to find the words as he dresses in boxers and jeans. “Much more painful…” He ultimately replies. “You are too young to even think about it.”

I frown and shake my head, annoyed. I hate when he brings up my age. Such a lame excuse. “I’m sure with you I will be fine.” I devour him with my stare and I can’t help but smile—I love seeing him uncomfortable, vulnerable, embarrassed, lost…

“You’re being very naughty.” He briefly kisses my lips. Does that mean he likes it? “I’m ordering dinner—you have barely eaten anything today.” With his iPhone in hand, he leaves the room to make a phone call and order Italian. He knows I love Italian food. He comes back to find me still naked lying in bed. “Dinner should arrive within thirty minutes, Ms. Van Gatt. I’m going to shower. Pay attention to the doorbell.”

“I’ll go with you,” I declare, standing up.

He rolls his eyes. “With one condition: you have to behave. Otherwise I go alone.”

“Pfff… Fine.”

He turns the shower on. The water is so warm it starts evaporating. I step inside first. It’s slightly warmer than what I’m used to. I feel the first drops soaking my hair, my face, and my body. I shut my eyes, enjoying the heat. I hear him coming in from behind. He wraps his arms around my chest, bending just enough to place a kiss on my shoulder. I can’t help but lay my head back against him. He squeezes the tube to pour some shower gel in his palm, then starts gently rubbing circles over my tits to form a lather.

While he’s cleaning me, I grind my ass against his cock, provoking him. I bite my bottom lip in guilt and pleasure, feeling him. Oh... I can feel his heart pounding so damn hard and his warmth invading my neck.

Alexander Van Dieren

The idea she wants to try that hole is driving me crazy, but I’m determined to contain myself. She’s too young for that. I focus on cleaning her belly, ignoring her little game. I need more gel, but instead I feel her hand reaching for mine. She takes my middle finger, opens her mouth, and sucks on it. Dear Lord. My entire body shivers. My lips spread apart as I feel my finger in her warm mouth. Fuck, she’s such a naughty temptation.

“Try…” she timidly mutters.

Damn, I know exactly what she wants. After taking a much-needed breath, I decide to obey, bending her over, and she braces her forearms against the wall of the shower. I look down between her ass, and there it is. The holy one. I start to gently caress the entrance. My lips part in excitement. I feel my cock growing as I touch her, and her breathing gets louder. She then starts moving her ass around my finger, and I rub it between her movements. Damn, the simple fact that I’m exploring this part of her body makes me go wild. She moans with pleasure, and I’m getting fucking horny, but I know I’m not the only one—my finger naturally enters on his own. I gasp, looking down.

“It’s inside?” She knows perfectly well it is.

“Yes, now come here.” I grip her neck, forcing her to stand. I feel my finger going even deeper as she tries to stay upright. I suck her skin between deep kisses. “Does it hurt?”

“No…” she moans, rubbing the back of her head against my shoulder. I slowly thrust my finger deeper, my mouth wide open in awe. I continue to push in and out. Fuck, she’s so tight. I hear her whimpering louder, more often. She starts following my rhythm with her ass. “Don’t stop…” she breathes as I go faster.

I swallow and shut my eyes to not lose control of myself. Yet, my cock’s begging to get inside, to give her what she wants. But I have to resist. I never expected her to enjoy this so much and be so comfortable with it. I start to understand better the reason she asked me to make that promise, the meaning of her words to “try everything.” Yep, Ms. Van Gatt is that curious. Burning with desire to challenge her further, I bring my mouth closer to her ear and murmur, “Do you think Ms. Van Gatt can handle a second finger?”

She moans at my question, speeding up her movements. “Ms. Van Gatt can handle much bigger,” she replies bluntly.

Holy shit. How can she switch from an innocent girl to a delicious slut like that? I know she wants me to lose control, and I love her for that. I take a deep breath and bend her over again. While keeping my middle finger inside and remaining motionless, I delicately add my index finger to her entrance. Her body contorts at my touch. She moans, excited, scared, weak, impatient. I trace a line of kisses on her back, and while rubbing my finger at the entrance, I feel her ready to welcome it inside. I’ll go slower with this one—I don’t want to hurt her. I wet my lips and realize she’s touching her clit to keep up with the challenge. I fondle her tits with my other hand and thrust my index finger deeper. She gasps, whines briefly, bites her lip, and continues to breathe out, while rubbing her clit even faster. Despite being harder than she thought, I know she can handle it. I shut my eyes and can’t help but picture something other than my two fingers inside her ass. Fuck. She whimpers as I push deeper, now moving in and out. And the more I do it, the more I feel the urge to cum. I gently remove my fingers from her, putting them into my mouth, and suck them. Then I touch myself while caressing her back still bent before me… Oh Petra, you’re my little slut, aren’t you? I can’t help but groan loudly and cum on her skin, just like I did in Rio.

“Was it painful?” I ask.

She stands up, turns to me, smiling radiantly, and wraps her arms around my neck. “No, it was so good…”

I smile with pride before pressing my lips against hers. “Not sure if you know, Ms. Van Gatt, but someone has been ringing the door for five minutes. I need to go.”

Petra Van Gatt

I dress in a cozy oversized white knit sweater and my most comfortable floral cotton panties, and go to the dining room. I stand leaning against the wall, my arms folded across my chest, entertained as I watch him juggle between the kitchen and dining table with cutlery and plates in hand, preparing the dinner setting, opening the food packages, pouring the pasta into a main serving bowl, and filling a pitcher with water.

“Please, enjoy staring.”

“I should record this,” I chuckle.

“Why?” he asks, placing the cutlery on each side.

Oh boy. If he knew how hot he looked in his black denim jeans and gray Henley, with his stubble, and his strands of thick hair falling on either side of his striking blue eyes—“You look great,” I just say. “I’d make a fortune sharing it with the tabloids.”

“Very funny, Ms. Van Gatt.”

I move closer to the table and check what he ordered. “Why so much food? There are only two of us…”

“Well, I don’t know if the food is good or not. I hope the spaghetti alla bolognese is alright, at least.”

I shake my head in amusement. “Always so picky…” I realize it’s the first time we’re having a private dinner together in his house. Instead of face to face, we sit beside each other— Alex at the head of the table and I on his right side. I observe him, marveling as he puts some salad on my plate. I can’t help but picture what living together would look like. I don’t feel eighteen inside, but so much older. Maybe due to the father who raised me, maybe the strict education I got, maybe my love for Alex, maybe my own personality… One thing is for sure: I don’t fit the eighteen-year-old stereotype. While my friends dream of big careers, financial freedom, parties, power, and hooking up, I dream of living with him and spending every evening like this one.

“I have something to ask you,” he declares, looking at me.

I blink at his voice. “Sure, what is it?”

“Would you like to join me for Christmas at my family estate in the Netherlands?”

I didn’t see it coming. My eyes widen, and I try hard to keep my mouth from doing the same. I swallow instead. “You want me to meet your family?”

“Well, I know yours. So I think it’d make sense for you to know mine.”

“But…” I look down, pondering. “How are you going to introduce me? As your girlfriend? I’m not sure about that… Plus, I promised Mom I’d spend Christmas with her.”

“What if you just join me for the dinner we are hosting the evening of the twenty-fifth? You could stay overnight. If it makes you feel more comfortable, your father is attending, so I’ll introduce you as his daughter.” Since he feels me hesitating, Alex reaches for my hand, holds it tight, and looks intently at me. “I would like you to meet my mother, Margaret. She knows about us.”

I gasp in surprise. “Your mother knows? What does she know exactly?”

“Everything. She’s very much looking forward to meeting you.”

I’m still baffled but try to articulate properly. “Very well. I was going to leave Rotterdam on the twenty-sixth, but I guess I can leave a day earlier.”

Alex smiles radiantly. “I’m very glad. I’ll send a driver to pick you up from your house.”

Once I finish my plate, I stand up from my seat, walk toward him, and sit on his lap, nestling against his chest. I love to feel his body heat, his scent, his heartbeat. I’ve always found it so comforting. So I close my eyes and fall asleep.

CHAPTER 22

Aspen, December 7, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

I wake up with his lips deliciously caressing my shoulder, placing soft kisses there until they reach my neck, where they start sucking my skin so greedily that it makes my entire body shiver. It’s so good waking up with him spooning me. I realize I’ve spent the last few nights sleeping either on his chest or nestled in his arms. I wonder how hard it will be to adapt to my big empty bed back on Park Avenue. I can feel his warm breath near my ear as he nuzzles my hair. “Good morning,” he whispers.

Somehow, those two words sound so sensual and erotic from his mouth. I bite my lip, hungry for more, but he can’t see it. I recall how we didn’t make love last night, since I’d fallen asleep on him.

I start rubbing my butt against his pelvis. “Hmm… You’ll need more than that to wake me up…” I mumble, my eyes still closed.

He chuckles, but my ass teasing his cock is enough to feel him growing hard and long against me. “You are right. Forgive me.” His hands push my panties down, fondling my thighs. I twist at every touch. While sucking my neck, he grabs my waist tight, nestling his own legs against mine, and I squeal, feeling his first sharp stroke. “Is it better now?”

Oh God, having him inside me has become my new fixation, a powerful and uncontrollable craving—a terrible desire I’ve never experienced before. “Yes,” I pant. This is where you belong. I’d give anything to wake up every morning like this.

His hand moves down slowly until it reaches my pussy.

“Ahhh…” I moan lustily, while his fingers are rubbing my clit.

His breath comes out in short, heavy gasps, matching my excitement. Damn, my pussy is soaking; I feel his cock diving so smoothly inside. “Oh, Alex…” He keeps running his fingers over my clit in a circular motion, but more insistently. “I love it so much when you touch me,” I cry, barely containing an immediate orgasm. Dear Lord, his fingers know so well how to play with me and get me there in a heartbeat. I contort my entire body to resist cumming now, but it seems he has decided otherwise. “Ahhhh!” I close my eyes at the intensity of it. “Fuck…” He savagely grunts near my ear in response. “Cum in me,” I beg him. His pace accelerates. He tightens his grip on my waist, pounding into me harder and faster. His groans of pleasure set my mind bursting, sending me into pure ecstasy. I can’t help but moan louder, crying, “Oh! Cum in me now.” He keeps groaning behind me while ramming farther in. “Ahhh!” I feel his cock hardening and throbbing. He gives one last deep push with all his strength, and I’m brought to an earth-shattering orgasm the moment he makes my pussy his by filling it with his seed. “Oh fuck, why are you so damn good?”

I hear only his exhausted breath near the shell of my ear. “Because I love you,” he whispers.

Alex decided it was time to leave the house and get some exercise, but this time on the ski slopes. I haven’t been skiing for quite a while, but I do recall the basics. We rent some gear and hit the smallest and easiest ones first. While I feel like a World Cup champion on the green circle as I master these slopes, Alex acts like he’s on the bunny slopes. “Petra, let’s hit the runs on top. This is just too damned boring!”

But I joyfully protest while going down a short slide. “I love this run! Didn’t fall, not even once!”

“Well, of course. This is just for kids to get started.”

He takes a quick slide down to where I am, in an attempt to convince me further. But once he reaches me, he suddenly becomes mute.

Alexander Van Dieren

Why did we even leave the house? Her mouth can do so many better things than talk about skiing. Before I can press my lips against hers, I remember that Aspen is full of New Yorkers. I have just spotted two hedge fund managers with their kids. Most of my entourage usually come here during this time of year with their families, and mainly to this run to play with their children and teach them some moves before hitting the bigger ones. I take a deep breath and try to calm my starving desire to kiss her. “Let’s hit the big ones now. I’m sure you’ll be alright. If you fall, you know how to stand up.”

Petra rolls her eyes but follows me nonetheless to the cable cars. We take a gondola and go straight to the top. The view from the ride is even more impressive. Looking through the glass window, Petra contemplates with a twinkle in her eye the magnificent mountains surrounding us, the fir trees spread across the slopes, the skiers below looking tiny… She looks back at me. I’m also enjoying the view: her.

I bend my head slightly down and kiss her glossy lips. They taste like I predicted—cherry. My heart pounds faster with every touch—a reminder how blessed I am. We communicate with smiles and a sparkle in our eyes. She nestles her head on my shoulder as we wait to arrive. I smile before kissing her forehead. “Did I tell you how much I love you today?”

She giggles at my question. “At least three times—the first in bed, the second at breakfast, and the third when we left home…”

“Well, you can add a fourth to your list, then.” I kiss her once more. “You have no idea how much I love you, Ms. Van Gatt.”

“I’m getting a slight idea.”

I grin looking at the new run in front. “Here we are. Let’s have some fun.”

Petra Van Gatt

Mr. Van Dieren’s finally in his element, sliding at full speed down the black diamond run. And I’m frightened as hell! My body is paralyzed as I look down to the steep slope. The professional skiers passing by are not helping either. Oh God, I’m gonna crash in the middle! I bet Alex will laugh hard once my butt hits the snow. I feel like I’m seven all over again. Alright, you can do it.

After taking a deep breath, I grab my poles and give a soft push in the snow to start my descent. I control the speed, slowly turn right to avoid some other skiers, and find myself smiling with joy as I overtake Alex, who stopped in the middle to chat with some skiers. Yeah! Who’s the best now? I’m skiing a diamond slope!

As I reach flat ground, I stop and look around quickly. I see a welcoming coffee shop not too far away where all the skiers are heading. Where’s Alex? Of course, he’s still up on the slope chitchatting. I turn and see him waving at his buddies before he finally slides all the way down to where I am.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“I’m exhausted.” Not really, but I want a break.

“Already? We’ve only been here for half an hour.”

“Can we get some hot chocolate with marshmallows from that coffee shop down there?” I point with my pole.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, Ms. Van Gatt. Let’s take a break.” I beam triumphantly, and I slide as excited as a kid all the way down to the chalet. We take off our skis and leave them at the entrance with our poles. We remove our snow goggles, gloves, and beanie hats before stepping into the cozy, warm coffee shop. I like this spot, with its wooden interior and fireplace burning. Some kids giggle and run around while their parents are calling and rushing after them…

“Alexander?” While it’s not my name I hear, I look instantly toward the bar, following the sound of the female voice.

“Sophie! Long time no see,” he replies excitedly.

A blonde emerges from behind the counter and happily trots in his direction before hugging him and kissing his cheeks. Sophie seems to be in her late thirties with a lean and fit body and very few wrinkles, probably the manager or owner of the place.

“Indeed! Wow. It’s been so long. What? Ten years, if not more? We’ve got so much to catch up on,” she adds, brushing his arm playfully. “What are you doing after eight p.m.?”

“I appreciate the offer, Sophie, but I’m here with Petra, for her birthday, you know.”

Finally, Sophie looks over slightly. Yes, I’m here! “Oh, your goddaughter, isn’t it?”

We nod.

“I do remember you coming here when you were as big as this.” She holds out a flat hand by her hips. “So, it’s your birthday?” I nod again. “Congratulations! How old are you now?”

“Eighteen,” I reply, nerves flowing through my veins.

“Oh, wow. Such a baby. My son is just two years older. Your godfather is the sweetest to bring you here, isn’t he?”

“He’s great, yeah…” I mutter, yet my expression doesn’t match my words or Sophie’s excitement.

She looks back at him. “So, no wife, no kids, huh?”

“No wife, no kids.” He chuckles. “Always the same.”

“Well, in case you manage to free yourself up for an evening”—she leans closer to his ear— “you know where to find me.”

He smiles back idly before rushing me to the outdoor terrace with a direct view of the ski slopes. We find a table in a sunny corner near one of the heaters. I’m still astounded by Sophie’s attitude. But I can’t blame her—after all, we’ve kept our relationship a secret.

While looking intently at the many skiers sliding down the slopes, some dangerously fast, I can’t help but say, “Am I gonna be known forever only as your goddaughter?”

He smiles, probably seeing that question coming. “They know us like that, just let it be. What’s important is us, not them.”

“So for the rest of the world, society in general, you have no intentions of introducing me as your girlfriend?”

“Petra, there is no need to feed gossip…”

“It’s not about feeding gossip,” I snap. “I told Emma you are my boyfriend. I’m proud of it.”

“Emma is your best friend. These people are nothing to us.”

“So our relationship will always be kept secret?”

“Let’s just say for people who don’t matter, they don’t need to know anything for now. They won’t see it the right way…”

“How would they see it, then? I love you, you love me. Seems good enough.”

“Well, they would find it…” He pauses, searching for the best word. “Inappropriate,” he manages to say, before taking a deep breath. “Not everyone is pure and loving like you. Most people would love to expose us, paint a different reality for the sake of making a few bucks.”

I smile at him in understanding, but I feel tormented. How long will I have to wait before we can make our relationship official? Getting married will solve the problem. But I know neither Alex nor Dad will be keen to talk about engagement and golden rings at this point. “Too young” will be the usual answer. I sigh, saddened.

He notices and lays his hand on mine. “Hey...” I blink at the sound of his voice. He gives me the stare. “Let’s go home. I’ll prepare you a hot chocolate with marshmallows.”

I smile, radiant, picturing not only the hot chocolate, but something else just as hot inside.

He goes to the kitchen while I’m still changing into a comfy pair of jeans with fluffy brown winter boots and a light-pink knitted sweater. As promised, I find a big mug with hot chocolate and marshmallows on the dining table and a fire already glowing in the fireplace. I grin and take a big sip as I look out the window. The sky has gone from light gray to blue with just some clouds finally clearing.

“How is it?” he asks.

I didn’t even notice him walking toward me.

I smile, leaving some chocolate on the edge of my lips. “Fucking delicious.”

Alex chuckles while looking at me. “Glad you like it.” He moves closer and wipes away the chocolate with his thumb, bringing it to his mouth. “Indeed, not bad.”

I leave the mug on the sideboard beside me. “But…” Then I reach up to his lips, tasting them, and whisper, “Not as delicious as you…”

Alexander Van Dieren

I swallow hard at her words. How can a young eighteen-year-old sound so naughty? She’s such a paradox to me. “You are incorrigible, Ms. Van Gatt.” She bites her lip, her stare devouring me. Then she brings her hand to my chest over my gray sweater, giving me a starving look. Craving more, she traces a line with her fingers down to my abdomen, until she reaches my waist, her eyes dropping a bit lower. At that moment, she quickly unfastens my snow pants.

While caressing the strands of hair at the edge of her face, I tenderly watch every move—her lips parting in excitement, her gaze focused on the button and zipper, her hands trembling, her breath getting louder as she pushes the garment down my hips… Her heart begins thundering as I reach for her jeans, unfastening them at once and shoving them below her ass—enough to see her pink cotton panties with a white bow in the center. I strip off her sweater, looking hungrily at her beautiful tits. In a sudden move, I spin her around to face the table, and bend her over. Supporting herself only with her forearms, she grows desperate, moaning, while I pull down her panties. The view of her ass is magnificent, her skin spotless, pale, firm, and smooth to the touch. I grow even harder feeling how drenched she already is. Damn, she really was born to have my cock inside her.

“Oh Alex, fuck me now,” she begs under her breath.

Her words electrify my whole body. God, I love seeing her so hungry, so horny and desperate like this. I pull my cock out and hold her tight by the waist, finally giving her what she has been begging for with the first hefty stroke into her delicious pussy.

She squeals with pleasure, relieved to feel me inside—exactly where I belong.

I pound her repeatedly, with more insistence, more urgency, rocking lustily back and forth. Her tits balance over the table, following my rhythm. I hear the slapping sound of her ass against my pelvis. “Fuck, you are soaking, Petra.”

And damn right she is. I feel her entire body in a trance. “Ahhh, faster… Ohhh… Harder, harder,” she begs with her slutty little voice. Jeez, how did she even pull that off?

I narrow my eyes, and with a grunt, I obey her orders, shoving hurriedly inside. Fuck, my mind goes wild and I need more. Devoid of any control, I lean forward and push the back of her neck down, forcing her to fall completely on the table, losing any support. I love to see her at my mercy, totally dominated. My hands grab her ass firmly, mounting her lustily like a beast. I rock as deep as I can into her, wishing to get farther in somehow. At that instant, our eyes shut with the intensity of our pleasure, I push one final time as deep as I can and let out a long, wild groan while pumping my cum inside. Then, nothing but the sounds of our heavy breaths and the warm feeling of my orgasm in her.

Exhausted, I drop my head down on the table beside hers, lay my hands on hers, and rest there for a while, enjoying her heat.

We hear only heartbeats.

I lift my head up enough to kiss her left temple, near her closed eyes, and as I’m getting my breath back, I murmur, “You drive me insane.” I kiss her once more. “So insane.”

Recovering my senses, I quietly push up and look down at my cock still inside her. I pull it out very slowly, then pull my pants and boxers up again.

She doesn’t take much longer to fasten her jeans and pull on her sweater. And before I can say or do anything, the little miss grabs her ski gloves, trots to the door of the terrace, opens it, and runs outside.

I’m perplexed but put on my gloves and my coat, taking hers with me, too, before I follow her out.

As I reach the outdoors, I find Petra already down the stairs in the yard, gathering as much snow as she can.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“We’re gonna build a snowman, but this time one of my size!”

“Last time, it was also your size.”

“It was tiny!” she snaps, rolling the snowball to become bigger and bigger.

Hell, we just made love, and all she’s thinking about is to make a snowman?

“Are you gonna watch me all day?”

I blink and find myself grinning. “That’s a good option.”

I walk down the stairs to the yard, the ground covered with snow, open her coat wide so she can slip into it easily, and help her form another snowball, this time for the upper body.

She seems as excited as the first time she came here.

“We need one more for the head, two small ones for the feet, and two tree branches for the arms,” she notes.

“Does he really need feet?”

“Yes, don’t be lazy, let’s go.”

I roll my eyes while forming another snowball for the head.

Petra does the small ones for the feet and puts them one beside the other. She smiles, proud of how the snowman is finally taking shape.

I take the ball for the head and put it on top. She brings two skinny branches and puts one on each side.

“Alright, we need to get him a nose, two eyes, and some clothes,” she instructs, before running inside the house. A few minutes later, she comes back holding a carrot, a beanie hat, a scarf, and two black olives.

“You know, it’s usually two buttons, not olives…”

“Didn’t find any buttons, Mr. Van Dieren. Olives should do the trick.” She looks intently at the face of her snowman, puts the carrot in the middle, and draws him a big grin. Then she gently thrusts the olives into his head, and her lips lift victoriously, seeing them holding still. She wraps the scarf around his neck and puts the hat on top. Her face radiant, Petra contemplates her snowman as a work of art.

“So? What do you think? Not bad, huh?”

In that instant, my eyes lost in hers, I feel my heart imploring me to talk about what I’ve had in mind since the day I had that dream, since the day I talked to Roy, and since the day we arrived. Fuck, stop. She just turned eighteen. Give her some time. “I’m so fucking blessed to have you here, Petra.” That’s all I manage to say.

She blushes, lowering her gaze, then reaches up to my lips for a lingering kiss. “Me too.” She looks back at our snowman. “We should update our picture in that frame.”

“Indeed, hold on.” I go back inside for a few minutes and return with a tripod and my camera. I place the tripod into the snow at the perfect distance to get everything in the frame, and mount the DSLR on it. I set the counter for fifteen seconds. “Alright, picture time.” She stands to the right of our snowman, and I move behind her, leaning a bit down near her shoulder, an arm wrapped around her waist. And we smile, holding our new five-foot-seven buddy. Click.

CHAPTER 23

Aspen, December 11, 2019

Alexander Van Dieren

“It’s our last night here,” she declares in a serious voice while we lie in bed, her head on my chest.

“I know...” I caress her strands of hair, trying to forget the terrible fact that I won’t sleep with her tomorrow.

She raises her head up and looks me straight in the eyes. “I want to do it tonight.” Fuck, she is so stubborn, even in bed.

I know exactly what she’s talking about. “And I said no, Ms. Van Gatt.”

“But why? Why are you so against the idea?”

“I’m…” I look briefly away before facing her again. “I’m afraid of hurting you.” But she doesn’t seem convinced. “Sometimes it’s hard to control myself.”

“Why don’t we just try and see? If I can’t handle it, I’ll tell you.”

I sigh loudly, shaking my head. “I have never met someone as stubborn as you.” She smiles, thinking she’s won. But I decide to scare her further. “What if you tell me to stop and I can’t control myself and do it anyway?” I know this should be enough to make her back out.

“I don’t mind.” I raise both eyebrows. “My idea, my risk.”

I shake my head again. She has no idea what she’s talking about. “Petra.” I reach down to take her hand and put her flat palm on where I’m already erect. “This is not two fingers…” Damn, I have to breathe out of my mouth as I picture it inside her ass.

“I know”—she grows desperate—“but I really want to feel you…” She pulls this off with such a sweet little voice that I shiver madly.

I kiss her lips and caress her cheek with the back of my fingers. But I don’t say a word. She affects her most innocent face, batting her eyelashes. “Please?”

I laugh, quite flattered. If I recall properly, only my former subs used to beg me to fuck their asses. Wow. I tremble at the thought that Petra might actually want to become one. Fuck, does she? It’d explain quite a lot… I take a much-needed breath, trying to brush such thoughts away. But damn, her curiosity never ceases to amaze me. “You’re very naughty, Ms. Van Gatt. You know that, right?” She blushes at my compliment, smiles, and bites her lip with a starving look. Jeez... “Very well,” I breathe out. Her face beams with joy. I reach for my pillow and place it on her side. “Turn over and lie with your belly on here.”

She obeys, lying on her stomach on the pillow. Her head down, she bends her arms, legs driven wide apart, her ass ready for me. “Will I also bleed?”

I have no idea. I hope not, but I prefer to prepare her for the worst. “If I go fully inside, maybe. But it might be too painful.” Raising up on my knees with her legs in between, I take the lube from the nightstand. “I’ll just put the head in tonight.”

I put some gel on my fingertips and start rubbing them around her anus. I feel her getting nervous but impatient. While I massage her, I can’t help but feel apprehensive about what I’m going to do. Anal has always been my weakness, my Achilles’ heel. I take a deep breath, put some more lube on my palm, this time for my cock, and caress her opening with the tip. She shifts her pelvis at my touch. “Do you really want to feel it inside?” I ask in a whisper, just once more.

The question is enough to drench her.

“Oh yes,” she moans between breaths.

I keep circling it slowly around her entrance.

Her impatience growing, her body trembling, I bend my chest over her back, my elbows supporting me. I reach for her left hand and whisper, “Here. If it hurts, squeeze my hand and I will stop moving until it feels better.” She holds me tight. I nibble the shell of her ear and ask in a voice barely audible, “Do you love me?”

“Madly,” she breathes while I kiss her neck.

“I want you to be comfortable and relaxed. If you contract your muscles, it’ll hurt more,” I explain. She nods in approval and squeals instantly, feeling a bit of me inside. Unlike my fingers, this is indeed more painful—I’m so thick and hard that she trembles, but her muscle is opening to me with ease. She starts pushing her butt back onto me, like in the shower. I thrust very slowly into her, but my cock goes deeper with her movements. She whines and squeezes my hand. I remain still for a while—the tip just got inside. I kiss her gently. She’s sweating, her breath loud. “I’m feeling so weak,” she confesses shyly. “So fragile…”

I feel even more euphoric at her words.

“It’s normal…” I kiss her again. “You are tighter here.”

Indeed, between two fingers and my cock, there is a whole difference. As I feel her relax, I slowly stroke farther in, then move back and forth while keeping it inside. She continues to rub her ass around me in pleasure, getting used to my presence.

“Ahh…” she moans for the first time.

I know she’s enjoying it. I wet my lips and decide to thrust deeper into her.

“You said you were just going to put the head in…”

I chuckle at her sweet little voice. “I’m very sorry”—I bite the shell of her ear—“but it became impossible to stop there.”

Petra Van Gatt

I don’t protest—his words make my entire body shiver, drenching me madly. I want to be at his mercy, feel him deep inside and belong entirely to him. I know he has the power to hurt me, to make me whimper and cry in pain if he wants to. And that is exactly what I love the most. I have never felt so dependent, weak, fragile, and submissive at the same time; yet, all of this is giving me pleasure beyond what I have ever expected. I move my right hand down to my clit and start touching myself. His breath quickens, becoming louder and more impatient, his excitement growing too. “I want to throw myself entirely into you,” he whispers in my ear.

“Oh God,” I moan louder. He knows exactly what I want. He thrusts back and forth vigorously, then pushes in only, farther and farther and farther. I feel his cock getting close to filling me to the hilt. I squeeze his hand, whining continuously and loudly, but he doesn’t stop. “Ahh!” I moan, sweating and trembling, feeling everything.

The more I moan, the crazier his movements become. After a few more strokes, he gives a hard thrust with all his strength that nearly takes my breath away. Oh my... I love the sensation of his cock throbbing and pulsing as he cums in me.

Alexander Van Dieren

While I remain motionless inside her, I trace a line of kisses from one shoulder to the other, then bring my lips close to the shell of her ear and whisper, “You are incredible...” I kiss her again. “I’m so proud of you…”

She smiles broadly at me. Then we cherish and treasure this moment as much as we can, but I suddenly realize tomorrow night she won’t be with me anymore. I feel the harsh reality crashing down, taking my wife away. I shut my eyes, disappointed by the hideous truth: she’s not my wife, and I’m not her husband.

I don’t want to mess up by rushing her into marriage. After all, no girl her age would think about getting engaged, let alone getting married. She’s never mentioned anything about it either. I know I’ve got to be patient, take things slowly. But damn, it’s harder than I thought, much harder now, with my entire cock and cum deep in her ass.

Aspen, December 12, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

Painfully for me, we’ve got to head back to Manhattan at two p.m., back to the ugly reality of life. As I wake up and turn around, I find the other side of the bed empty.

I hear the sound of a door unlocking, then a slight squeak and steps coming closer. I grin, seeing him enter his—or our—bedroom. A paper bag in hand, he takes a tube from it and tosses it on the bed near where I’m lying. “Here.”

I grab the tube and read the description. “A vaginal cream?”

“The physician said this’ll do wonders to alleviate your pain. You may also apply it…you know… there.” I chuckle, seeing him so embarrassed. While I know I bled a bit after yesterday, the only pain I have is leaving Aspen and him. He sits on the bed, leaning toward me. “I’m so sorry for yesterday.” He sighs loudly, a disappointed expression on his face.

“For what?” I ask, confused.

“Sometimes it’s hard to control myself.”

I giggle and shake my head. “I loved every single moment.” I take his hand and entwine our fingers. “I’m yours. My entire body belongs to you.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“It drives me crazy, dangerously crazy.” He reaches down to taste my lips. “You know what I love so much about you?”

My eyes sparkle with excitement. “Tell me.”

“You are curious. Very curious. I love it. Never stop being curious, Ms. Van Gatt. Curiosity is what makes life exciting.”

Although I beam at him, I can’t help but feel a squeeze in my heart at leaving Aspen today. After all, in just one week, I’ve had the most exciting time of my life. I’ve gotten so used to living with him; to sharing the same bed, the same shower, the same dinner table; to sleeping with him by my side; to having him here. Just like a couple. I hate the idea of not living with him in New York. I sigh.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

When can I move in with you, Mr. Van Dieren? But instead, I say, “I’m sorry, I’m just sad to leave today. I’m already missing you and we haven’t even left yet.”

He holds me tight. I love to be nestled against him, feel his scent, his heat, his heartbeat…

“I’m sad too, Petra.” He plants a long kiss on the top of my head. “But you have exams very soon, and you need to be focused this coming week. Otherwise your Dad will kill me.”

“I know…” I pause. “May I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Can we make love just once more before leaving?”

I glance out my seat window and heave a loud sigh at the view. This is it. New York. Alex is sitting right in front of me, looking at me intently, a drink in hand. “Your last exam is the twenty-first, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I reply.

He empties his glass, his stare serious, thinking something through. “Very well. We won’t meet or talk until then.”

I gasp in horror, my heart wounded.

“But, in return, I’ll pick you up and we’ll celebrate the end of your first semester at my estate. What do you think? You could spend two nights there before flying to Rotterdam.”

I smile joyfully, thinking about my reward. Being with him again, but this time in Bedford Hills? Alone with him in his main residence? There is nothing better! “Sounds like a great plan.”

CHAPTER 24

Columbia Economics, December 21, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

As I enter, I see that my usual group is already in the appointed auditorium, taking a last look at their notes. I nod to them while taking a seat. I’m as always the last one to arrive, just a couple of minutes before Mrs. Chilnisky. This morning, I woke up extremely excited and nervous at the same time. First, Alexander finally texted after eight days of terrible absence to say he’d be waiting outside at the entrance, and, curiously enough, he requested that I wear a dress, along with black lace thigh highs. I found it odd, but loved the idea nevertheless. Second, I have the terrible feeling I know nothing about the most basic principles of economics. I’ve spent the entire semester studying them, yet now my mind feels like a total blank.

“Good morning, everyone,” greets Mrs. Chilnisky as she walks through the door, looking as elegant as ever with her long beige coat, her enigmatic smile, and her blonde hair brushing her shoulders. She’s accompanied by her associate professor, who holds the papers in hand, ready to distribute them around the room. Then she wishes everyone good luck and a Merry Christmas for those who celebrate it, and finally leaves the room, while her assistant will stay here for the next two and a half hours.

When the exam is finally over, my friends and I compare notes on some of the answers we provided.

“How did you answer the multiple choice question about supply and demand?” asks Sarah apprehensively.

“Um, B, I think.”

Sarah looks even more worried. “Oh crap. I think I put A… Matthew?”

“B too,” he replies.

“Well, I’m screwed.”

“Relax.” I try to comfort her, putting my hand on her shoulder. “It’s only one question.” Suddenly, I hear my iPhone beeping, and I can’t help but smile looking at the text message. “I’ve got to go.”

“I’m leaving too,” adds Sarah, following my quick pace as I leave the room. And Matthew’s close behind.

The instant we step outside, I take a deep breath of the freezing air. But I couldn’t care less. It smells like Christmas. And I love the Christmas season. Exams are finally over and behind me!

“Wow,” shouts Matthew in surprise. “A Rolls-Royce Phantom. I have never seen one up close before.”

What? I look down the street and roll my eyes, seeing the car parked in front. Damn. Alex knows how much I hate pretension. I shake my head in annoyance, while Matthew pulls his iPhone out. “What are you doing?”

“Petra, take some pics of me in front of this baby,” he says, quickly brushing his hair.

I grab his arm before he can jump up and down like a kid near the car. “You’re not taking photos of yourself with this car. It’s really embarrassing, Matthew. You’re behaving like a teenager.” But after all, Matthew’s just nineteen.

“Why not? This is really dope.”

“I won’t tell you again.”

The rear door opens, and an imposing male figure gets out of the car, smiling radiantly at me. I forgot how hot he is in a waistcoated suit with a white shirt underneath, open collar and no tie.

Sarah gasps. “Petra, who’s this hottie over here looking at you?”

Oh God. I want to disappear at that moment, or make Sarah and Matthew disappear by magic. I swallow, feeling as embarrassed as ever. But I suddenly realize they have no idea who he is. I can tell them whatever I want, and for the very first time in my life, I do exactly that. “My future husband.”

They take it as a joke, but not me. I smile back at him, my heart in flames.

“Oh, wow. Is that true?” asks Matthew.

“Yep. Well, Merry Christmas, guys. And just in case we don’t see each other before, Happy New Year!”

They both remain silent, taken aback by my statement, but I happily trot in his direction, welcoming him with a joyful grin and a long kiss on his lips.

“How did your exams go?” asks Alex, stroking my cheek.

“Quite well. Glad they’re over.” He gives me another kiss, opens the door, and invites me to get in. I’ve never been in this car before, but I actually love the idea of the privacy screen more than anything else. “I was about to ask why you brought this car, but now I understand…”

He removes his jacket and sits beside me, closing the door. “We have a one-hour drive ahead, Ms. Van Gatt.” He then leans closer to my ear and whispers, “I want to make sure you enjoy it properly.”

I devour his mouth then, starving to feel him. In a sudden move, he pulls down my panties. I help him unfasten his belt and pants, shoving them and his boxers down his hips. I play with his tongue again, run my fingers through his tousled hair, suck his neck beneath the open collar, and inhale his scent. I go back to his lips, kissing them between quick breaths. It feels like I haven’t seen him for centuries. My brain is getting so addicted to him, it’s unbelievable! He takes me by the waist and mounts me lustily on his cock. “Ahh...” Oh yes, this is where I belong, right here.

Bedford Hills, December 21, 2019

“I just have two rules in this house,” he starts as we step into the entrance hall.

Rules? I chuckle. Dad has tried to implement many in his household, but I’ve never managed to follow any of them.

“What are they?” I ask.

“First, you don’t leave the lunch or dinner table before me, or without having my permission to do so. Second, every evening after dinner, you’ll change into and wear a nightgown—and only a nightgown. It’s already on your bedside. Are we clear?” His tone sounds quite serious... I swallow hard.

“Well, I kind of grew up with the first rule, but after breaking it so many times, Dad just gave up.” I’m being playful, but not him. “Okay, deal. Your house, your rules.” I sigh. “What about for breakfast? Can I go to the table in the nightgown?”

“Ms. Van Gatt, breakfast is in bed. I intend to have you early in the morning too.” My cheeks flush instantly at his words. I lower my gaze, picturing that. Before I can say anything, he grasps my hand and gives me a proper tour of the house, just before we head to dinner.

It’s such a strange feeling being here in Bedford Hills with his full-time help, Maria, constantly around. In fact, the privacy and intimacy I felt with him in Aspen has totally vanished. Maria is a very discreet fifty-year-old lady from the Netherlands who can barely speak English. Her family has been working for the Van Dierens for generations, and Alex trusts her entirely. She’s a bit like my lovely Janine, except Maria lives here. And unlike Janine, Maria doesn’t seem to be much into friendly chitchat. I notice how she takes pride serving us dinner, pouring the soup into our bowls, refilling our glasses with wine or water as soon as they are half empty. Maria seems to take every single task very seriously. I wonder why she has to remain in the dining room, standing against the wall, as we eat. Even Janine would return to her tasks and leave Dad and me so we could eat together peacefully. I smile and nod, but I don’t feel at ease during the whole dinner.

On the contrary, Alex doesn’t seem to mind at all. He happily chats about Columbia, my exams, Singapore… But I don’t want to stay here. I want to go somewhere where we can finally be alone, maybe his bedroom. I suddenly get an idea. “May I leave the table to change clothes?”

He smiles at my cheeky tone. “Where are your manners, Ms. Van Gatt? I don’t think you asked politely.”

I chuckle and glance instinctively at Maria standing near the wall, her gaze down. “Mr. Van Dieren, may I kindly leave the table to change clothes?”

“See? Much better.” I blush at his stare. “You may do so. Maria will escort you.” And I roll my eyes hearing her name.

Very quietly, Maria starts walking ahead and I follow closely behind. Arriving upstairs, she leads me into his bedroom. I smile seeing my nightgown at my bedside—a long, delicate Victorian-inspired white nightdress made of cotton, lace, and a ribbon bow at the chest. It’s got a touch of vintage and long sleeves for winter, just as I like. The bedroom feels cozy and warm. Oh, no wonder—the fireplace is already bright and burning. I love hearing the crackling logs. It feels so inviting.

“Do you need help changing, Miss?”

“No, Maria. It’s all good. Thank you.”

She bows her head and silently leaves.

Alexander Van Dieren

“What are you doing sitting on the floor?”

Petra looks up in my direction, but clearly she didn’t hear me coming into the bedroom.

“Well, the carpet is fluffy, and there’s the fire too, so I’m warming up here.”

“Not sure if you saw, but there is an armchair on each side,” I snap.

She just shrugs her shoulders. “I like the floor. It’s cozy.”

Yeah, right. What you like is to be stubborn. I shake my head and head for the bar cart in the corner to serve myself a last Macallan before bed. A glass in hand, I sit and lean back comfortably in the leather armchair. I smile, staring in wonder at her. She looks even more exquisite with this nightgown on. I take a sip of my drink. I have everything I need. She’s finally here, back with me where she belongs.

“What are you thinking?”

I blink at her voice. "It’s a secret, Ms. Van Gatt.”

“Share it with me.”

“I don’t think so,” I reply back.

“Please. Tell me,” she insists.

I chuckle in amusement. Such a curious little thing. “You really want to know?”

She nods, smiling at me.

“Then come closer and I’ll show you.”

She crawls a few steps in my direction and kneels right in front of me. Oh boy. I lean slightly forward. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” she replies.

“Can you follow instructions?” She nods. “Of every kind?” She giggles timidly, but nods again. Damn, I knew it. “Very well.” I press my lips against her forehead, lean back in my chair, and empty my glass before putting it on the side table. I look straight into her big blue eyes, her gaze as curious as ever. I love seeing her like that. In a cold, stern voice, I give her my first order. “Unfasten my belt.”

Petra blinks twice, her face unreadable, and swallows hard, but she reaches for my black leather belt and does so.

She waits for my next instruction. My eyes dart down to my pants then back to her. “Take them off.” She smiles, unbuttoning and unzipping my pants before pushing them down with my help.

At the sight of my hard-on, I press her flat palm against it. She gives a quick gasp at the touch and gazes again into my eyes. “And now?”

I shiver at her cute little voice. She’s so damn perfect. I pull my cock out, push her hair back to form a ponytail, and bring her head down to my crotch. “Now take what is yours.”

Her cheeks flush as she gorges herself on me, but this time I don’t close my eyes. No, I want to observe her every move. She’s such a hungry little girl, and I have the firm intention of feeding her properly, of challenging her, and of breaking through her own boundaries. “Go deeper,” I growl while slowly pushing her head farther down.

Petra Van Gatt

I’m breathing slowly through my nose, hoping to control my gag reflex. It’s all about the breathing, I had read online before going to Aspen. I’ll show him how proud I am to be his and how, despite my age, I can be like his previous girlfriends. Fuck, I feel a growing pain in my jaw and throat—after all, my mouth is not used to receiving such a big and thick intruder—but I want to go beyond my own limits, so I try to take him as deep as possible. I manage to remain calm while he’s thrusting in and out. I hear him groaning, satisfied with the slurping sounds I make, drenching me even more. Damn, my heart is pounding so hard! I hope I can remain quiet and calm until I make him cum.

Alexander Van Dieren

I find her too comfortable. I wonder how she can manage to have her mouth stuffed so full and not be terrified. She also hasn’t gagged yet. I decide to force myself a bit farther. Fuck, she has to let go, give her entire control to me. As I’m lustily moving up and down, her eyes start watering. I can see her drooling, her breath getting louder, her pulse quickening, then I finally hear her gag for the first time. Oh God, I love to hear her gagging. Her reflexes are trying to expel me. I pull my cock away from the back of her throat. The view is breathtaking, and my heartbeat is just as loud and intense, if not more so, than hers. She is really here. Fuck. She’s really here on her knees sucking me deep. I’ve got to shut my eyes at the intensity of the pleasure. I’m so warm that my body starts sweating, and my mouth drops wide open to drag some precious air into my lungs. “Ahhh… Keep going…”

And she does keep going, eating me so hungrily that the slurping sounds coming from her become too loud for me not to tremble. Damn, she’s driving me crazy. “Ahhh…” I can’t stop groaning at the feel of her warm lips and saliva on me. Shit, I’m the one who’s losing control. My mind is in such a state of euphoria that I can barely contain my imminent orgasm. “Fuck…” She’s gonna make me cum sooner than I wanted. “Oh Petra…” I give up. I’m so insanely possessed that with deep, loud moans, I let myself go and finish into her little mouth. She manages to suck my tip and drink me all. Jeez! She has well-earned it. I notice tears coursing down her face, and when I hear her swallow all I have to give, I can’t help but growl between panting breaths. As I remove my cock from her mouth, she instinctively coughs and splutters, taking quick, short gasps, her face wonderfully red, wet, and messy. “You are so beautiful. God,” I breathe, exhausted, kissing the top of her head repeatedly. “I’m so proud of you,” I whisper.

I tuck my cock back inside my boxers, pull her up on my lap, nestle her head against my chest, and stroke her long hair.

Petra Van Gatt

I can still feel him in my mouth as sharply as if he were still inside. My heart is still racing, the back of my throat still hurting. Since it feels too hard to talk, I remain silent. A smile of pride and satisfaction lights up my face as I observe the flames dancing in the fireplace. He’s so wild—more than I ever thought. I should feel scared, ashamed, terrified of him, and yet, to my surprise, I feel a craving for more of the sensations that only his wildest side can provide. Wow. I realize how much pleasure being his gives me, to an extent I didn’t even know was possible. Is there something wrong with me? I let out a breath and close my eyes.

Alexander Van Dieren

Without Petra noticing, Maria, her face down and restrained, silently steps inside the room with a big glass of water and a painkiller served on a silver tray—I’m still impressed how fast she can read my texts and bring what I instruct. I take both, and Maria walks backwards, leaving without a sound.

“Hey…” I whisper before placing a kiss on the top of Petra’s head. “Take this and drink some water.” She looks back at me, her face still wet with tears as she wonders for a second how this glass and white pill appeared, but it doesn’t matter. She puts it in her mouth and takes a long drink before I kiss her forehead. “Feeling better?”

She smiles and nods. I know the back of her throat is still sore—talking might be too hard. The medicine needs some time to take effect. “In an hour or two, you’ll be fine,” I whisper in her ear.

She snuggles herself comfortably against my body and shuts her eyes, resting there quietly.

“Thank you,” she murmurs before falling asleep.

I wonder what she is thanking me for. Is it the glass of water? Or because I fucked her little mouth rough and deep? I don’t know, but from the big, proud smile she had on her face, I’d say it’s the latter.

Bedford Hills, December 22, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

I have never felt this kind of love before. Heck, I don’t even know if it’s healthy. And yet, I need more than what he’s given me so far. I want so much to move here, live with him, marry him, and bear his children, but I know all of these are just wild fantasies that have to be contained deep down in my heart. I’m “too young,” as everyone—especially him—would say at just the thought of these things. I let out a sigh. These are the fantasies that terrify me the most. I feel so embarrassed and ashamed to even think about them. But I know he’s the one, so why wait? After all, we’ve met all of the conditions required to move the relationship forward. I’ve tried to quiet my desires, but it seems so obvious, so why not? Why not talk to him about it? Why should we wait years to make our relationship official? Oh my... I swoon just at the idea I could be his wife. “Why don’t we get engaged?” I ask quietly, my face in the pillow.

Alex remains focused on tracing a line of kisses down my naked back as we lie in bed, waiting for breakfast.

“You just turned eighteen...” he replies as he reaches the small of my back. “Don’t feel pressure because I’m older. I can wait…” And he places another kiss there.

“I know...” I sit up and look at him. “But I can’t. I love you so much, I… I…” Wow, I’ve never struggled so much to finish a sentence. “I really want to get married, Alexander,” I finally tell him.

His lips part in astonishment, and I hear him swallow. “Have you thought about your father? What his reaction would be?”

Oh, crap. Dad again. “What if Dad was okay with it?” I dare to ask.

His eyes down, he ponders for a moment. I hear only my heartbeat pulsing hard in my chest. I’m not ready for his next excuse.

Total silence arises in the room.

Maybe I shouldn’t have talked about it… Damn it. Why did I have to open my big mouth again? Just kill me now. His silence is long and unbearable. I should just tell him to forget it.

“Then I’d love to, yes.” I shut my eyes at his words. It can’t be true! He can’t have said that! Oh God, why feed my wildest dreams like that? He smiles at me with a twinkle in his eye, then suddenly lowers his gaze. What is he thinking?

He finally makes eye contact again. “Having you as my wife, Ms. Van Gatt”—he lets out a sigh—“would be a dream come true.”

I gasp at his revelation. Dear Lord, those are the most beautiful words I have ever heard. I feel my heartbeat fluttering hard and loud; simply the word “wife” coming from his mouth is enough to cause my entire body to shiver and light up.

But all of a sudden, his face gets more rigid and serious, his stare worried. “But your father nearly had a heart attack when I told him about us, Petra. I don’t think he’s expecting to have another brutal shock that soon. After all, you just turned eighteen two weeks ago.”

“I’ll talk to him first, then. He can’t get mad at his one and only daughter.”

He chuckles. “Indeed, who can? Just don’t be too tough on your old man…” I laugh before he reaches up to meet my lips and kisses them tenderly. “I have something to show you.”

I raise an eyebrow—he’s got that cheeky smile on his face. He gets up from the bed and goes to his dressing room. There I can see him open a drawer and take out a package wrapped in black with white satin ribbons. “I want you to wear this for your sleepover at my house in the Netherlands. Clarissa, one of the lady’s maids, will help you put it on. I can’t show you what’s inside, since it’s for Christmas, but will you promise to wear it?”

I smile radiantly, curious as a kid. I want to know what’s inside so much, but I decide to be patient and wait until Christmas to find out. “Very well. I promise.”

Manhattan, December 23, 2019

I decide to talk to Dad before leaving for Rotterdam. I find him in his library listening to Nina Simone on vinyl while reading a book. Any rational person would be intimidated to confront my father. After all, Dad’s known to have dirt on everyone—and ready to use it when needed. His mood is also hard to predict—sometimes cold and distant, other times friendly and caring. Dad makes sure he never reveals any fear, indecision, or vulnerability at a press conference, interview, or public appearance. But there’s one thing—and only one thing—that can intimidate Mr. Van Gatt, making him swallow hard and causing his heartbeat to race like a sprint...

“Dad, can I ask you something?” The most terrifying question I can pose.

He raises an eyebrow and turns off the music. Knowing all too well that I always start a painful conversation with this question, he already seems terrified.

“Sure,” he replies, closing his book.

I sit beside him, and with an innocent, childlike face, I ask, “Why did you get divorced from Mom? Was it because of me?”

He was not expecting this. “Of course not. You are the best gift I could ever have wished for. I can’t thank God enough for having you in my life.”

“So why did you guys get a divorce?”

He searches deep down in his soul for a reply, probably wondering why I suddenly want to know this. But he’ll soon find out. “To be honest, my dear Petra, when I stood at the altar, I knew it was probably a mistake…” He pauses. “I didn’t know then what I know now… Don’t get me wrong, your mother was a wonderful lady…”

“How did you know it was a mistake, then?”

“I just felt it.”

“So why did you go ahead anyway?”

“I guess I didn’t want to disappoint anyone… Mainly her. But deep down in my chest, I felt I shouldn’t do it.”

I nod. “So, you still believe getting married makes sense if you feel deep in your heart it’s the right thing to do?”

“Of course I do. You know what they say: ‘the heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing.’”

“I see…” I pause, thinking something through. “Dad? Would you be very disappointed if I told you I would like to get engaged to Alexander?”

He doesn’t seem surprised. After all, he probably knew this whole discussion had something to do with him. “Well, I knew this would happen sooner or later… I just hoped it would be on the ‘later’ side. You know, after graduation or so…” He pauses. “Does he know about your intentions?”

“We talked about it, yes. This is something we both want. He’s just afraid of your reaction; he thinks you won’t be able to handle it after the talk you two had. But I’m sure you can.”

“Indeed, that was the hardest talk we’ve ever had. He would’ve never risked our friendship for any woman in the world. I mean, except for you.” He ponders a few more moments, then takes a deep breath. “Are you really sure about this?”

“Very much so,” I assert confidently.

“Well, if you feel he’s the one, then my only duty as your father is to stand by your side and, when the day comes, walk you down the aisle.” I grin radiantly at his words. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

I really have the best dad in the world. I jump into his arms, holding him tight. “That would be perfect. Thank you so much, Dad.”

He gasps, feeling squeezed a bit too tightly. “Alright, don’t be late. You have a plane to Rotterdam to catch. Did you buy a present for your mother? It’s Christmas after all.”

“I’ll buy it when I land.”

But Dad seems to have everything already arranged, as he hands me a Tiffany gift bag. “Here. Take this. She’ll like it.”

“Wow. You really think of everything.”

“Well, my assistant does.”

I hug him once more. “You’re the best dad in the world. Thank you.” And I kiss his cheek before leaving.

Roy Van Gatt

As Petra leaves my library, I sigh and smile at her kind words. I knew since that talk with Alex that their announcing an engagement was just a matter of time. After all, he wouldn’t have risked our friendship if it wasn’t serious. I would’ve preferred for them to get engaged after her graduation, but there’s no changing Petra’s mind. She’s as stubborn and determined as I am. When she has something in mind, nothing and no one can knock it loose. Strangely enough, though, it feels like everything was already written a long time ago. I smile happily nevertheless. After all, she’s getting engaged to my best friend, utmost confidant, and business partner, someone I trust entirely. I know he’ll take good care of her.

“Janine!”

“Yes, Mr. Van Gatt?”

“Kindly prepare a special dinner for two, please.”

“Sure, who is coming?”

I smile, feeling playful. “My future son-in-law.”

Alexander Van Dieren

After serving supper, Janine has been asked to leave. Roy and I are now totally alone. We’ve spent most of our time laughing and toasting while indulging in a special reserve Château Pétrus to celebrate the occasion. But suddenly Roy becomes quieter, his gaze thoughtful as he looks steadily down at his plate, then back up again. “She doesn’t know about your past, right?” He sighs. “I don’t want my daughter to have anything to do with your… well… previous lifestyle.”

Fuck, I didn’t see that coming. I take a sip of my wine and shake my head. “Of course not. I told you, my past is over.”

“I hope so,” he replies instantly. “Otherwise, this might have serious implications for both of us. I don’t want her to have any trouble.”

“I gave you my word, Roy. I’ll never put Petra in any such situation.”

“I know, and you always do what you promise.” He pauses. “Very well,” he mumbles while finishing his meal. The only sound is the chewing of his filet mignon. “Can you promise me something else?”

“Tell me.”

He wipes his mouth and takes a sip from his glass. “I give you my blessing for you to get engaged,” he announces. “And at this pace, I bet the big day will come sooner than I’d like, but”—he pauses icily on the but—“promise me she’ll only bear children after she graduates.”

I choke on my wine, taken aback, dazed and confused. Of all the requests Roy could have possibly made, this one is the oddest.

“Rest assured, we’ve never spoken about kids, Roy. I’m sure Petra is totally focused on her studies.”

“Good. She’s very young and deeply in love. I need her to keep her feet on the ground. She’s made for greatness—a bright, bold future in finance, Forbes Thirty under Thirty. Can you imagine—she could even be the chairperson of our company when I retire, who knows?” His face glitters with joy and pride as he languorously talks about her future achievements. But his joy suddenly shifts to a cold, censoring stare. “And motherhood is very time-consuming. Children can wait, right?”

I remain totally baffled and mute. Not only have I never spoken about kids with Petra, but I also have no idea whatsoever what her thoughts are about them. Heck, I don’t even know if she wants to have them. If she’s like her father, it for sure won’t be anytime soon. I don’t want to answer now, but I feel like I have to. After all, Petra told me she’s taking the pill. I just hope she’s doing it right, as I have no intention of ever using condoms with her. I love leaving a part of me inside her. Condoms belong to the past, to those one-night-stand, no-strings-attached relationships and girlfriends I didn’t trust. “Of course. I promise she’ll graduate before having kids.”

CHAPTER 25

Rotterdam, December 24, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

My iPhone beeps with a new WhatsApp message. I grin with joy—it’s Alex. I can’t help but feel something warm in my chest when I get a new text from him. I open and read it. Good evening, Ms. Van Gatt. I imagine you must be at your mother’s house having dinner by now. I have excellent news! Your father and I discussed our intention to get engaged. He’s okay with it, but wants you to graduate from Columbia before we have kids, which I think is totally fine. Right? I’m dying to see you tomorrow. I love you so much. Merry Christmas!

A big grin emerges on my face, and I text him back. Hi, Merry Christmas! Yes, having dinner now. I’m so happy! That’s great. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Love you so damn much.

“Why are you smiling like that? Any good news to share?” asks Mom, sitting right in front of me.

“Well...” I lock my iPhone and turn it facedown. “I’m not sure if you really want to know…”

“Of course I do. What is it?”

I’m still pondering, my expression hesitant, but I remember I’m finally an adult and, at least here in the Netherlands, I don’t need anyone’s consent anymore. I take a deep breath and proudly say, “Alex and I are getting engaged soon, Mom.”

“What?” She loudly puts down her silver spoon, gaping in horror, her eyes enraged. “This is a joke, right? Have you lost your mind?” I remain speechless. “Did you… Did you have sex with him?” Now I break eye contact, looking down at my plate. “Oh, dear Lord! Are you fucking insane?”

Wow. I’ve never heard Mom swear and scream like that before. Never. She has always been nothing but a lady. I’m in shock. “Dad’s okay with it.”

“You can’t be serious! I can’t believe it! Petra, listen—”

“No, you listen! I’m not seven anymore, Mom! I’m eighteen, and I’m tired of hiding my relationship with him. I can legally get married. So stop with your bigotry.”

Mom takes a deep breath, rubs her eyelids, and tries to calm herself down. After all, we know screaming won’t solve anything. “My little angel”—she has switched to her most complaisant tone— “you know I care about you more than anything in this world, right? But don’t you think your relationship with this man is evolving a bit too fast?” She pauses, shaking her head. “This obsession you have for your godfather is becoming a mental illness. You need to get treated.”

“Mom, this mental illness is called love. I’m sorry if you’ve never been ill like me.”

“Petra, you’re way too young, and he is way too old. Forget it. I won’t let you ruin your life! Call it bigotry all you want!”

“You might not understand what it means to be an adult, but it means I can do what I want, including getting married to the man I want. Plus, Dad has been supportive.”

Mom looks down, thinking something through. “So your dad's approval is the only thing that matters?”

“Since he and Alex are best friends and business associates, yes.”

“Petra, look, I have to tell you something…” She removes her glasses, rubs her eyelids once more, and puts them back on.

I sigh in annoyance. “What now?”

“I went to visit a friend… She is gifted… She sees things—visions. She predicted I’d have only one child, a daughter, and she also predicted my divorce… This relationship is going to destroy you, my dear. She predicted your…” Her eyes watering, Mom tilts her head back and sniffles.

“My what?” I ask, rolling my eyes. Such drama!

“Your death, Petra.”

“Unbelievable, the lies you tell! You’re the one who is mentally ill, Mom.”

“I swear it’s true. She said your relationship with that man will only bring misfortune.”

“Look, you can bring thousands of prophets in to tell me my relationship with Alex will destroy me. I wouldn’t care less.”

“Why are you so stubborn?” She punches the table with her fists, shaking the silverware. “So blind, so naive! Why that man? Why?”

“Because I love him!” I snap louder. “I want to be his wife!” I take a deep breath and exhale. “I don’t want to be introduced as his girlfriend, his fiancée, or worse, his goddaughter. I want the world to know I’m his wife. I always knew I’d marry him, you know that.”

“Petra, that man… that family…” She shakes her head in disgust. “You know nothing about them. Believe me, nothing!”

“I know I love him, and he loves me.” Shit. I forgot to tell her about the dinner tomorrow. Oh God, Mom’s gonna hate me. “And by the way,” I pause for a beat, “I’m having dinner tomorrow at his family’s estate. Dad’s also attending… I’m sorry I won’t be able to join you.” I look at my plate, expecting the worst.

“Oh, brilliant!” She punches the table again. “Now my daughter is spending Christmas at the Van Dierens’ instead of with her own mother! Don’t you see what he is doing? He’s literally showing off that he can control you!” She exhales loudly. Afterward, a freezing silence settles while Mom seems to be consumed by her thoughts. “Petra,” she calls icily. “Alexander is a manipulative man, and a dangerous one.”

“Pffff...” I shake my head, tired of such nonsense. “Mom, stop. Enough of your drama. They’re having a dinner tomorrow for Christmas, and they invited me over. That’s all. Relax.”

“The Van Dierens never invite outsiders for Christmas. That’s one of their rules. And by now you should know how much they love rules, contracts, and so on, no?”

“I’m not an outsider. Anyway, I’m going to leave tomorrow in the late afternoon, instead of the twenty-sixth. I’m sorry if it bothers you.”

Tess Hagen

“Petra, I’ve spent these last fifteen years helping women escape abusive relationships and marriages. You’ve got to get out now. It’ll get worse if you wait until later,” I say, feeling like I’m suffocating.

Pfff, how easy it’ll be for Van Dieren to abuse Petra. She’s always seen him as her caring, protective, and beloved godfather—one she trusts entirely. How convenient for him to turn it into his advantage. Of course he wants to marry her! She’s such a different kind of prey—a woman never touched before but by him. That possessive asshole wants to make sure she belongs entirely and exclusively to him, just like a rare, expensive toy. I know it’ll be harder for Petra to leave him once she becomes Mrs. Van Dieren. And even worse, once she has kids. The women most reluctant to report their husbands to the police or take them to court are mothers.

I imagine Petra must be his biggest trophy. Dear Lord, banging the barely legal daughter of his best friend without Roy blinking an eye, just because he promised to marry her afterward sounds like the most disgusting misogynist transaction ever. Like a property ownership trade between Roy Van Gatt and Alexander Van Dieren. God, what wouldn’t he do to feed his unmeasured ego and pleasure?

“Oh, Mom, stop! Can’t you see I’m happy with him?”

I’ve had enough. I’ve seen this over and over again—the young virgin lured by an older man with a gentle smile. “You’re not happy, Petra. You are brainwashed. Drunk. Delusional. Manipulated,” I yell. “This isn’t love. At eighteen, no healthy girl thinks about marrying a forty-year-old heartbreaker!” I take a deep breath. “You won’t marry him, and you won’t be part of that family. End of discussion,” I insist louder. “One day you’ll understand and you’ll thank me. Mark my words.”

“Very well.” She removes her white napkin from her lap and stands up. “Then we have nothing else to discuss. Merry Christmas, Mother.” She leaves the table hurriedly, runs to her bedroom, and locks herself inside.

CHAPTER 26

Dieren, December 25, 2019

Petra Van Gatt

It only takes ninety minutes from Rotterdam to get to the Van Dieren estate, which is located near the city named after them. I didn’t see my mother the entire Christmas Day. She left home early in the morning, and only Anika was present. Anika said Mom had some urgent affairs to take care of. But I know perfectly well that she’s simply hurt from our heated argument, and we’re both too proud to apologize. I just can’t understand why Mom is so apprehensive. Why can’t she stand to see me in a relationship with him? And why did she attack his family?

Perplexed, I decide to do a quick Google search on the Van Dieren family. I don’t find anything disturbing or shocking. Most likely Mom is overreacting.

As I stare out my window, I notice the car has just stopped in front of black metal gates. The driver speaks to the security guards, then they inspect the car and trunk before finally nodding, opening the gates. We drive onto the property. It looks bigger than Bedford Hills. The road through the snowy gardens stretches on for what feels like miles. The car stops again. This time at… street signs? I lift my eyebrows. I see a perpendicular road and read the directions: the right leads to the stables, park, main gardens, and tennis court; the left goes to the chapel and staff house (staff house?); and straight ahead is the manor. The car continues straight, finally reaching the main roundabout and the entrance. Everything is white, covered by the beauty of winter. I smile nervously, my stomach knotting. Oh, dear Lord, I never imagined meeting my future in-laws at only eighteen, but I also never imagined loving someone like Alex so unconditionally at such young age either. I take a much-needed breath.

As the car parks in front of the entrance, I see Dad standing outside, talking on the phone, his face serious and annoyed. I frown. Who’s he talking to?

A valet opens my door, and once I exit, Dad finally hangs up.

“Hi, Dad. Is everything alright?”

He doesn’t reply immediately.

“Hi, Petra. Well… Your mother is really upset, to say the least.” I shake my head. “She’s not happy about your plans, and she thinks I raised you poorly.”

“Neither am I about her behavior and the way she is talking to you.” Dad smiles at my comforting voice, but I know he’s still vexed by Mom’s vicious words. I move closer to him and into his arms. “Mom doesn’t know me as well as you do. She’s just freaking out because I’m more mature than any girl my age. Plus, she spends her days at that nonprofit dealing with abusive relationships and marriages, so I imagine she’s even more worried. It’ll be alright, don’t worry.”

Dad takes a deep breath. I know it’s not easy for him either. “Thank you for your kind words, Petra. I’m so glad to have you.” He hugs me tight and plants a kiss on my forehead.

“I’m so glad to have you too, Dad.” I feel him getting slightly emotional. “Shall we?”

“Sure. Don’t forget to be polite.” I try hard to suppress a laugh. I love how Dad translates “don’t kiss Alex in front of me and his family” in such a charming and politically correct way.

Before we can ring the doorbell, someone opens the door wide.

“Welcome, Mr. and Ms. Van Gatt. My name is Stuart. I’m the main butler.” He greets us enthusiastically. “I hope you had a great trip getting here. And Merry Christmas!”

“Thank you very much, Stuart. Merry Christmas to you,” adds Dad.

As we step inside the entrance hall, Stuart helps me take off my black coat, then Dad’s, and disappears to hang them.

I gape as I take in my surroundings. The wood-paneled hallway opens into an opulent lobby with high ceilings, a crystal chandelier in the center, and a majestic stairway. Old family portraits in golden frames—maybe some centuries old—decorate the walls.

I see five figures emerge from a room—two women accompanied by two men I don’t recognize, and Alex. Ahhh… I feel my body melting at the sight of him. My heart starts fluttering nervously. After all, it’s the first time Dad’s around since we’ve been together.

“Roy, always so nice to see you.” Alex gives him a warm, friendly hug and a clap on the back. “Merry Christmas, my dear friend.”

Dad grins with joy. “Merry Christmas, Alex.”

His blue eyes finally land on me.

Alexander Van Dieren

All of a sudden, my heart stops for a moment, frozen at the sight of such a holy creation. I lose track of time as I stare at the thin figure standing beside Roy, with long, wavy black hair falling below her chest, a barrette holding some strands back, and wearing a red plaid dress and black stilettos. I swallow hard and dare to look into her big blue eyes. They petrify me. I manage to compose a smile—hopefully a good one. She giggles innocently at me. Damn, my eyes can’t help but devour her. My heart always pounds faster and louder when she’s around. I feel like just a poor human admiring the most divine creature ever created.

“Ms. Van Gatt,” I greet for the sake of politeness in front of our respective families.

She beams at me. “Mr. Van Dieren.”

I take her hand and slightly bend down to kiss her hand. She shuts her eyes for a brief instant as I lay my lips on her skin. But for me, that’s enough time to picture our entire stay in Aspen and to know exactly how right this is. There’s nothing in this world that I’m more certain of than her—her as my fiancée, her as my wife, her as the mother of my children, her as my lover, her in every sense. She smiles tenderly, as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking. I love you, my gaze says.

“Alright, enough, Van Dieren,” snaps the most annoying woman I know, stepping forward. “Welcome, Petra. I’m Yara, the youngest sister. And this my husband, Elliott. Merry Christmas!” Yara greets Petra by plunging her into a warm hug.

“And I’m Maud, the second youngest. This is Philip, my husband. Merry Christmas!” Maud also does the same, and Philip shakes her hand.

“Nice to meet you all. Merry Christmas.”

Petra Van Gatt

I can’t help but notice the difference in the two sisters’ appearances. Yara is fit and tall, with spotless pale skin. She has a defiant, cold dark-brown stare and seems like a general in the army with her impeccable posture. On the other hand, Maud’s shorter, tanner, not as athletic, and a bit curvier. Her face is much warmer and shows more empathy. Their styles are also quite the opposite—Maud is wearing a simple long silk tunic with loose black pants and heels, plus an oversized necklace, while Yara wears an elegant white shirt buttoned up to the neck, beige slim-fit pants, and equestrian-style boots.

“Yara’s a professional polo player,” states Alex, probably noticing my curious face. “She has an obsession with boots and an aversion to stilettos.”

We all burst into laughter.

“Ha Ha. Van Dieren is in funny mode tonight.” She looks back at me. “Let’s just say I wear heels only in extreme situations, or when there’s a mandatory dress code.” I can’t help but chuckle. “And Elliott loves to see me like that, right?”

“Of course.” He sounds sarcastic. “It wouldn’t be the Yara I know if you wore stilettos at Christmas like everyone else.” I love this Elliot. His sarcasm is fantastic. We all laugh even harder.

“Well, glad to meet someone like me. I don’t wear heels very often either.” I add, but obviously tonight I made an exception.

“You know, Petra, Yara plays even in winter when the fields are covered in snow,” adds Maud.

“Wow. I hope one day I’ll be able to attend one of your games. Where do you usually play? Here in the Netherlands?”

“Sometimes, but in winter it’s mostly in St. Moritz. They usually do the World Cup there.”

“Amazing! You’ve got to show me some pictures and videos when you can. I’ve never seen a polo game in the snow.”

“Sure. I’d be happy to show you after dinner.”

“Actually, her bedroom is full of awards and pictures, so it’s not hard to get an idea of her obsession for polo,” teases Maud.

“Well, I just copied my dear brother…”

“You used to be a polo player?” I had no idea.

“Nothing serious, just as a hobby. But our team did win some competitions,” Alex says. “Everyone used to play, right, Maud?”

“Indeed…” She sighs. “Sports have never been my thing. But we have annual tournaments between families. It’s always fun.” I wonder what Maud’s “thing” is—after all, she looks more creative and artistic and much less rigid than Yara. “I’m a lab scientist, so nothing to do with all of that,” she ultimately admits. Definitely not what I had in mind. “I must have the most boring job in the family…” She smiles with an ounce of embarrassment and takes a sip of her water.

“It is the most boring, Maud,” teases Yara.

We hear footsteps coming down.

“I’ve never seen a single picture of you…” I follow the sound of the sharp voice on the stairs, laying eyes on an elegant, fit lady with silver-white hair. She’s probably over sixty-five years old, wearing a black shirt and pants, and a long, sophisticated jacket, with red lips and an impeccable but imposing posture. “Yet I’m pretty sure you are Petra Van Gatt.” Her face welcomes me with a warm, beautiful smile, and I find myself blushing at it. “Alexander has spoken about you so much that I could draw you blindly. Welcome home, Petra.” Margaret gives me three kisses on the cheek and a maternal hug that feels quite odd. “And Merry Christmas.”

“Many thanks, Mrs. Van Dieren. Merry Christmas.”

“Please, Margaret,” she corrects, pinching my chin playfully. Margaret glances around. “And of course Julia is not yet here.”

We hear the doorbell ring.

Margaret decides to open the door herself. “Ah, Julia, finally. Where is your sense of punctuality? You are dressed as if you just came from the office. This is Christmas, dear Lord.”

Stepping through the door, Julia sighs and rolls her eyes at Margaret’s sermon. “Right, because Yara dressing like she just came from a polo game is perfectly acceptable.”

“Merry Christmas to you, Julia,” replies Yara with a smirk.

Julia sends one back, like they’re used to the banter. She then takes off her Burberry light-gray gabardine, gives it to the butler, and greets Margaret with three kisses on the cheek. “I’m sorry, Mom, but I had to finish a motion for next week. I’m handling a very delicate case.”

“We know. They are all delicate for you,” Margaret snaps. “Hello, Sebastian,” she says, looking at Julia’s husband.

“Margaret,” greets Sebastian.

“Petra, let me officially introduce you to my three wonderful daughters: Julia, my second oldest, followed by Maud and Yara, who had the decency to arrive on time and whom you’ve already met. And as you know, Alexander is the oldest and my only son.”

“And the one who never settled down,” teases Yara, taking a sip of her tea.

Everyone bursts out into laughter.

Except Margaret. “Yara!”

“Oh, it’s a joke, Mom. You take yourself way too seriously.”

“And you not enough.”

I give three kisses to Julia, and she gives me a warm hug afterward. Wow. Looks like all the girls love to hug each other. “I’m so glad to meet you, Petra. You’re divine. I love this dress on you.” Julia seems to be the sweetest of them all. Her energy feels so bright and reassuring. She’s also the most beautiful to me—incredible glowing skin; white teeth with a magnetic, friendly smile; wavy blonde hair to her shoulders; and an impeccably fit and toned figure. I also love her elegant dress, beige with a white pattern in a fit-and-flare style, and matching earrings and beige stilettos. I get the sense that she’s the friendliest of them all, and also the most mature. I smile, a bit envious not to have her as a sister. I also realize none of the sisters have blue eyes—just Alex and Margaret.

“Thank you, Julia. I love your dress too. I have a lot of fit-and-flare dresses at home. They are my favorites.”

“Indeed, they look great on you.”

While Margaret invites everyone to move to the grand salon, I wonder who the three women are left standing behind in the hallway in uniform. The first one holds the hands of two teens maybe twelve-to-fourteen years old, the second one is holding hands with two younger girls between six and ten years old, and the last one carries a small baby and has a toddler. They go upstairs and discreetly vanish into a room.

“Julia’s governess and two nannies,” murmurs Alex as he catches me staring.

“You mean those three ladies work for Julia?”

“Yep, the others had already arrived.”

“So, wait… You are telling me those six kids belong to her?”

Alex chuckles. “Margaret has twelve grandchildren. So imagine having them all here among us. It’d be quite chaotic.”

I’m doing the math, but it seems like quite a lot of children in the family. Or at least to me, growing up alone with no siblings, just like Emma. “Indeed, a bit chaotic.”

“Ms. Van Gatt?” calls one of the staff.

“Yes?”

“Lady Margaret would like to see you in the Picasso room. May I escort you?”

“You have a Picasso in your house?”

“You should go. It will be like heaven on earth for you.”

As I follow Clarissa down the long corridor, I look up at the walls and wonder who these people in the gold-framed portraits are. Are they all ancestors and family members? Does Alex also have a classical oil portrait of himself hanging on a wall somewhere?

Clarissa knocks on the door and, after hearing an approval, opens it, invites me inside, and closes it behind me.

“Ah, Petra. I’m glad you are here. Alexander told me you love art, so I thought this might interest you.”

“Wow.” I gape as I take in my surroundings. The room features not only modern artwork on the walls but also abstract sculptures in the center. “Indeed, this place is amazing.” My eyes roam around the room until they stop at the Picasso painting on my left. Shit, I also see a Monet! Unbelievable! I have always admired these artists, but have never seen any of their work in such a private collection. “I hope you’ve got a lot of security for these paintings.”

“Don’t worry, we manage.”

A housemaid enters, setting a silver tray down on the low glass table and removing the tea set of Chinese porcelain with a hand-painted motif. I notice that there’s only one teacup. “Do you want sugar or milk in your tea, Ms. Van Gatt?” she asks.

“Just tea is fine.”

She pours the tea into my cup and hands it to me.

“Thank you.” I take a first sip and smile—jasmine tea.

She nods and leaves, closing the door behind her.

“Can I tell you something?” asks Margaret as she sits on one of the sofas facing the low table.

I stop looking around and sit down in front of her.

“Sure.”

A whiskey in hand, she takes a sip with a pensive look on her face that transforms into a sly smile. “My son doesn’t like what he can fully tame,” Margaret declares confidently. I, still in shock, wonder if it’s a hint. “All the women in his past were determined to please him, no matter how old, how rich, how beautiful they were. After being with him for a while, they’d just do whatever he asked them to do and be whatever he wanted them to be. He has never truly respected one enough to settle down with.”

“I know,” I admit. “He’s a heartbreaker…”

“Indeed, and a master at it. But with you…” She pauses. “I have never seen him so vulnerable, so soft, so tender…” I blush and lower my gaze. “It looks like you have been taming him as well. I hope you’ll never change.”

I instantly gasp at her words. Why would I tame anyone? I don’t understand what she means. “I don’t tame anyone, Mrs. Van Dieren. I think Alexander just likes the way I am.”

“You may call me Margaret, Petra,” she corrects me again. “And you will soon enough, believe me.” She takes a deep breath in then exhales slowly. “Do you really want to marry him?”

My heart starts racing nervously. I’m still not used to such directness. “I do.”

“You know… Alexander is not a simple man, Petra,” she warns. “He’s been raised with centuries-old traditions, customs, rules, values, and principles that we observe and follow strictly.”

“Like the table thing?” Margaret raises an eyebrow. “I mean, that I have to ask permission to leave the table, unless he stands up first?”

“Yes, that is one of them. If you become his wife, you become part of this family, and therefore you’ll also have to observe and follow these customs.”

Fuck! My heartbeat is pounding faster and louder with every word out of her mouth. Suddenly, I recall the argument with Mom just yesterday, and her harsh criticism about his family. Well, it doesn’t seem as harsh now. “Like, which ones?” I ask, my tone dangerous.

“Will you give him offspring?”

I almost choke on my tea. “I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t be surprised. I know many women that don’t have kids, not because they can’t but because they simply choose not to. I respect that, but not for my son. I want Alexander to have a Catholic wedding and heirs before I die.”

Damn, she’s so blunt! I take a deep breath, but my jaw has already dropped. Cool down, Petra, you got this. After all, I also have an authoritative mother just like her. I think for a second how Dad seems to be the coolest and nicest parent ever, compared to them. Being raised by him doesn’t seem as terrifying either. “If this reassures you, Margaret, I intend to have children, yes.”

“Do you smoke?”

Looks like the inquisition has started…

“No.”

“Do you drink alcohol?”

“Sometimes.”

“How often?”

“Not much, just when there is a celebration.”

“Do you take drugs?”

“No. Never have and never will.”

“Coffee?”

“I’m a tea person.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

“Three fluently.”

“What are the Van Gatts’ views on politics?”

“We don’t do politics. We finance them.”

Margaret nods with a thoughtful air. “Looks like Roy did a good job.”

“Do you have any other questions, Margaret?” I ask, my tone assertive and confident.

“Just one, but I will ask later. I don’t want to scare you…”

“Please, go ahead. I have nothing to hide. I’m fully aware that Alexander is your only son and the only one who never settled down.” I smile at her astonishment. “I also understand you want to know who I am.”

Margaret raises both eyebrows. “Wow. Your maturity impresses me. Very well…” She looks straight into my eyes, her stare defiant. “Have you had other lovers before him?”

“I was a virgin until him.” This time I neither blush, nor look away.

“That’s all I wanted to know, Petra. Thank you. Now, let’s take a tour around the artwork. I’m sure you want to see them all.” And just like a kid, I stand up, tension vanishing, ready to enjoy my reward.

I leave the Picasso room alone, as Margaret had to discuss some urgent matters with her butler. I try to find my way back, following the laughter coming from somewhere. One of the corridors is particularly dark, but I can’t find how to turn the lights on, and unlike at home, they don’t seem to be automatic.

“Still alive?”

“God! You scared me. Of course I’m still alive.” I love seeing Alex standing in this corridor alone—I’ve missed his lips so much. But Margaret or any member of the staff could come by at any moment, and tonight is definitely not the right one to make a bad impression.

“How was it?”

“Great actually. The room is wonderful. Such an amazing art collection. I wish Dad could’ve seen it.”

“I wasn’t talking about the room…”

I knew he wasn’t, but I had to try nevertheless. “Oh, Margaret is great too.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Great? Really? Petra, you can tell me the truth.”

“I’m serious. She was just trying to get a sense of who I am. It’s alright. She cares a lot about you and wants to make sure I’m not some psycho stealing her precious son.”

He nods, and before I can blink, he snatches me up and shoves me against the wall, pinning me with his body. Holy shit! He parts my legs, lifts me, and presses his erection between them. Fuck, I can feel his cock already so big and hard. He starts humping against me, my legs wrapped around his waist, while devouring my mouth with such greed I can barely breathe. Oh, dear Lord... “Alex, not here.” I manage to mumble while he’s sucking my neck.

“Let’s do it quick before dinner,” he growls, in a hurry to unfasten his belt.

What? He’s crazy! My eyes can’t stop darting around. All of a sudden, we hear silverware clanging and footsteps coming. Alex closes his belt immediately, wipes my gloss from his mouth, and takes a step back while I smooth my dress and hair. We see a waiter crossing the perpendicular hallway, carrying a big tray of food to the dining room. Alex chuckles. But not me. “It’s not funny. Your entire family is here. My own father is here. Kids are playing around. They don’t need to see this,” I scold. But he has that cheeky smile on his face.

“You are right, Ms. Van Gatt.” He takes a step forward, puts his hands under my dress, reaches for my panties, and pushes them slowly down my legs.

“What are you doing?” I snap.

“I want them,” he gently asserts.

“I can’t have dinner without them.”

“Of course you can.”

I’m shaking my head while involuntarily lifting each foot. I can see my panties in his hand—a black lace thong with a bow at the back, just like he’d instructed me to bring.

He smiles victoriously and slowly stands up while caressing my legs, then shoves my thong into his pants pocket. I huff and fold my arms, displeased, but he licks his lips and meets my eyes again. “Before we go, kindly listen carefully,” he begins. “When you go to sit, discreetly lift the back of your dress up so your pussy touches the chair.” I gasp at his words. “Then, bring yourself close to the table, your posture always straight, your elbows down, your legs slightly open and never crossed.” I giggle but not at him. “I’m serious, Petra. Do you understand?”

I nod.

“Perfect, let’s go. We are late.”

It’s an intimate dinner with only ten guests, which includes Margaret herself, sitting at the head of the table, Alex on her left, me at his side, and Dad on Margaret’s right (which would usually be Julia’s seat). Their offspring are having dinner in a separate room with their respective governesses and nannies. I can’t help but wonder why each daughter has a governess and a nanny—what is the difference? Julia, the oldest, even has two. Why so much help? I blink at the sound of Julia’s voice among the laughter. Apparently, she seems to be telling a joke that caught everyone’s attention but me.

“So he turns to me and says, ‘No, your Honor, I don’t have any.’ So I ask him, ‘Why are you lying? We know you have a boat; we need to account for all the assets in the divorce.’ And he finally turns to us, his face as red as a lobster, screaming, ‘Because it already belongs to her!’” Everyone bursts out laughing, but I didn’t catch the first part of the story.

Alex notices. “Julia was telling us one of her many stories in divorce court. This guy put the ownership of his boat in his wife’s name to avoid paying taxes, and when she wanted the boat, he said he didn’t have one because it was already hers, crying like a baby in court, since he’d had a prenup to protect his ass,” he explains, laughing.

“Alex!” snaps Margaret, irritated by his vulgarity.

“Assets, I meant.”

I can’t stop chuckling. It’s so hilarious seeing him being reprimanded for once. “You only handle divorce cases, Julia?” I ask.

“I do family law, which includes divorces, custody of children, domestic abuse, and so on.”

“Oh, my mother has actually been helping women of humble background get decent lawyers in court.”

“Very noble of her. What’s her name? Maybe I know her.”

I glance at Dad, but he’s entertained discussing something with Margaret. “Tess Hagen,” I reply. Julia tries to contain her surprise, taking a sip of her water. “Do you know her?”

She swallows and seems to be measuring her words. “I know a Tess Hagen, yes… She also finances political causes, if I’m not mistaken…”

“Julia,” trills Margaret. “No politics at the table!”

“My mother finances politicians?” Alex squeezes my leg tight under the tablecloth.

“It’s alright, Mother,” says Julia. “I respect everyone’s ideologies. She just supports political and social causes I’m not very keen on, that’s all.”

I don’t ask further, but I keep wondering which social and political causes she is talking about. After all, if I recall correctly, Mom has a great reputation and esteem in the public eye. I’ve seen many interviews praising her for her achievements in financing renewed lawyers for women who can’t afford them. Lawyers that maybe Julia knows well.

“Do you want some wine, Miss?” asks a waiter, showing me the decanter.

I glance at Julia’s wineglass and find it empty—Maud’s and Yara’s too—but the rest are happily drinking. I can’t figure out why. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.” As the waiter leaves, I lean discreetly over to Alex and murmur in his ear in a tone barely audible, “Why aren’t your sisters drinking? They don’t like wine?”

Alex nearly chokes on his burgundy. He looks at me with a twinkle in his eye and gives me a smile I have never seen before. “One day I will explain.” Jeez... His voice is so warm that my lips part in excitement. I suddenly feel his hand fondling my inner thigh. I hold my breath for a second, eyes glued to my plate, and try to focus on my vegetables, but he’s moving dangerously close to my pussy. Holy shit! No panties there. My heart starts racing in total alert, beating faster with every touch. I try to put some food in my mouth, but I’m too scared I’ll choke on it. I drink some water instead. My cheeks flush at the feel of his fingers rubbing my clit. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I want to tell him to stop, my face will tell it all in a few seconds! But Alex acts nonchalant, chatting away with Dad and Margaret. How can he keep up a conversation while turning me on? Fuck. I despise him in this moment, but I have to do the same. As I’m about to talk to Julia, Alex pushes a finger inside me.

“Ah!” I cannot restrain my gasp. I’m getting dangerously horny, wet, and warm. I’ve never hated him more than I do right now. I start picturing our week in Aspen, his cock pounding me for the first time, how much I trembled at the feel of him, how I sucked him right after…

“Are you alright, Petra?” asks Julia.

I blink at her voice. “Yes, of course. I just like to eat slowly.” I take another sip of my water. “I noticed you have six kids. Isn’t that challenging?” It’s the first subject that came to mind. I have to remain focused, forget he’s fingering me—otherwise it’ll only get worse.

“It’s alright. I have some help. When Arthur, my youngest, wakes up, we can go and see him if you want. He’s seven months old.”

I try to focus as hard as I can on Julia’s words, but Alex adds a second finger to challenge me even further. Damn it. I just know one thing—he’ll regret it later. “Of course. I’ve never seen a baby that close, actually,” I manage to say.

“Really? You don’t have siblings?” I shut my eyes for a brief moment, not because of Julia’s question, but those two long fingers are slowly thrusting in and out, giving me thoughts I shouldn’t have at a Christmas dinner table. “Are you sad? I hope my question didn’t offend you.”

But I open my eyes again instantly at the sound of her voice. “Not at all, Julia. I was just thinking how lucky you are to have siblings. I grew up mostly alone in New York. Glad I have Janine.”

“Janine? Is she your nanny?”

“Not really.” I take a deep breath to cool down my pleasure, but it’s harder than I thought.

“Governess?” She keeps asking.

“Janine’s a special lady to me. She’s an amazing cook and housekeeper, and at the same time, she managed to raise me, give me advice, go shopping with me…” His fingers are taking my breath away; I’m even soaking them. I wonder if my fluids will wet my seat too. Holy shit! I gasp in horror. I figured it out. He did it all on purpose! This is a fucking game to him. If I soak my seat, he wins; if not, I do. Oh God, help me. I can’t let him win—it’ll be a total embarrassment! What if someone notices and then reports it to Margaret? I’ll be perceived as some horny slut who can’t control herself.

“That’s quite remarkable that she managed to do it all and have time to raise you,” adds Julia. “I have two nannies, two maids, a chef, and a governess, and even so, I see them struggling to keep up with the pace of the household.”

I nod, but all I want is to cry out loud, beg him to put those fingers deeper into me and make me cum. Fuck, Alex! I know in that instant that I lost.

A waiter whispers in Julia’s ear.

“Petra?” I look up at her. “Looks like Arthur just woke up. Would you like to see him?”

Julia murmurs to her husband, and I see him nodding.

I decide to do the same and whisper into the ear of the most annoying man at this table, who still has two fingers in my pussy, “Mr. Van Dieren, may I kindly leave the table to go upstairs with Julia?” His face looks unreadable, not a single beam of joy. He just nods. As I stand up and make my way out, he looks discreetly at my seat and finally smiles.

Julia and I go upstairs to her bedroom. I’m astonished by how grand it is, with high ceilings like the rest of the house, tall windows, and elegant drapes. Julia also has her own en suite bathroom and dressing room. We go to check on little Arthur, who’s happily awake in his white wooden crib. He stares intently into my eyes and starts giggling loudly, probably finding it amusing that we have the same eye color. “Oh, he is so cute! Can I hold him?”

Julia raises an eyebrow. “Sure. Aren’t you scared?”

“How can someone be scared of such a little cutie like him?” I mean, Arthur looks like a very calm baby. I softly hold the back of his head and nestle him against my chest. “I’m sorry to have brought up my mother. I shouldn’t have.”

I notice Arthur drooling on my dress and decide to hand him back to Julia.

“It’s alright, Petra. Don’t worry. My mom just doesn’t like when we talk politics, that’s all.” Julia places a soft kiss on his head, but Arthur seems to want something else. “Would you mind if I breastfeed him?”

I’m shocked. I’ve never seen a baby do that, let alone in front of me. I’d prefer to leave Julia alone, as I feel strange disturbing her privacy, but then someone knocks on the door and, before we can say a word, opens it.

“May we come in?” ask Yara and Maud playfully.

“Of course. What a question.”

The women enter and each give Arthur a kiss. Yara holds him and starts giggling with him, while Julia sits on a sofa at the back of the room. I notice how Clarissa, the maid, is unzipping her dress from behind. As Julia pulls the dress down, I lay eyes on her beautiful white lace bra. Yara hands her little Arthur back, who seems delighted and joyful to be nestled against his mother’s chest. I look away when Julia pulls her right breast out.

Yara opens the first window in front of the door, which is the one furthest away from Julia, and lights up a cigarette.

“Oh, beautiful, Yara,” rebukes Maud. “I can’t believe this.”

“Still smoking?” Julia shakes her head. “Didn’t you tell everyone you stopped?”

Yara takes her first puff quietly. “Calm down, you two. It’s only one cigarette to celebrate Christmas. I stopped in public and in front of the kids. That’s what I promised. Oh, sorry, I’m so rude. Do you want one?” she asks, looking at me.

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Well done, Petra. Don’t smoke—it’s terrible for your body and skin. Plus, you’ve got such a spotless and flawless one,” flatters Julia. “You will age gracefully.”

Yara rolls her eyes.

“How do you handle your stress and anxiety, Petra? I’m amazed by your discipline. You don’t smoke, you don’t drink…” asks Maud.

“I’m sure she has other ways of releasing her stress,” teases Yara.

The three girls burst into laughter, but I raise an eyebrow.

“We know about you and our brother. It’s okay, don’t worry.”

“Did he tell you?” Did they notice he was touching me?

“No, but you and your father are the only non-family invited. So, it’s not hard to guess… Plus, let’s be honest, the way you both look at each other says it all.” I blush and smile, looking down. “By the way, you know he’s gonna have the talk with Margaret, right? That’s why he brought you here,” continues Yara, enjoying her cigarette.

My heart skips a beat. “The talk?”

“Well, yeah. He never invited Amanda to Christmas in ten years. Margaret has this weird old tradition that Christmas has to be spent only with family.” Wow, Mom was right. “Or those who will soon be a part of it…”

“Lovers are therefore excluded,” interposes Maud.

“That’s why you and your Dad are here,” adds Julia with a big grin on her face.

“You mean he needs to ask her?” WTF? He’s an independent adult, after all. And what if Margaret doesn’t like me?

The sisters look at each other, carefully choosing their words.

“Yep. She has to give him her blessing.” Yara has to be joking—after all, she always speaks in this playful, frisky way. “Poor guy, we never needed it, but since Margaret has to give him the family ring… Anyway, you'll be fine.”

My heart skips beat. It doesn’t seem like a joke anymore.

Julia smiles at me. “Indeed, otherwise he wouldn’t have brought you here. Don’t worry,” she adds with her usual soft and mellow voice.

“But what about Hendrik Van Dieren?” I dare to ask. “I didn’t see him. Are he and Margaret separated?”

The sisters fall silent, looking again at each other.

“Kind of dead,” giggles Yara. “You know, when Mom found out about his bastard, she didn’t take it lightly.”

“Yara!” triggers Julia.

“What? It’s alright, Petra knows him. You know Jimmy, right?”

“Vaguely.”

“Let’s say Hendrik is far, far away,” snaps Julia, closing the subject.

A cold silence arises in the room, but Julia breaks it. “What if we brunch at my house tomorrow? Sebastian will be out duck hunting with his friends and family.”

What? Her husband is a hunter? No one else seems bothered by her announcement. As a vegetarian, I can’t help but feel sick picturing the poor animals being killed by those men. Fuck, it’s so barbaric! I start to wonder if Alex is also a hunter. Oh God... I shudder at the thought.

“Great idea. I’m in.” Yara takes a last puff of her cigarette before throwing it to the snow.

“Sounds like a plan,” adds Maud.

Julia smiles radiantly at their assent and looks back at me. “What do you think, Petra?”

Pfff, I can’t believe this woman married a man who kills animals for pleasure. She looks so lovely and caring. “Sure, sounds great.”

CHAPTER 27

Alexander Van Dieren

A couple of hours later, it’s finally time for my sisters to leave the estate. Petra wanted to see the other kids, but they were already seated in their respective cars, patiently waiting for their parents to finish their goodbyes and small talk.

Once they are gone, Petra and I wish good night to my mother and Roy, but they don’t seem to be paying much attention to us. We find them happily chatting in the petit salon—a cozy sitting room with a bright fireplace. I hold Petra’s hand and we go upstairs, excited like teenagers. We cross the hallway, past my sisters’ bedrooms, and at the very end, I open a door, welcoming her inside.

“This is your bedroom?” she gasps while taking in her surroundings. “Wow. You’re kidding me. This is probably bigger than most apartments in Manhattan.”

“Yep. And I never brought anyone here,” I reply, hands in pockets, caressing her panties. I love the fact she doesn’t even remember I have them in here.

“What do you mean?”

“My mother is very... um… old-fashioned.”

“So why does she accept me staying over?”

“Well, according to her, only the woman I will marry can bed me under her roof. And since I never intended to marry anyone before…” She blushes at my answer, but her eyes remain glued to the wall, which features framed photos of my equestrian competitions and polo games, accolades, some horse riding implements, and trophies standing on a chest of drawers.

“It’s hard to believe you were a professional equestrian.”

I chuckle. “Indeed, time flies.”

She points to one of the frames where I’m on a horse performing a working trot. “What kind of competition is this?”

“This one was a long time ago. I was maybe twenty-six there.” I smile, recalling the memories. “It’s an upper-level dressage competition.”

Petra raises an eyebrow. “A what?”

“I taught you that, Ms. Van Gatt.” We look at each other and chuckle. “Alright, you were maybe slightly too young to remember.”

My eyes instantly lock with hers. Fuck, I just want to pin her against this wall, spread her legs wide, wrap them around my waist, and do everything I’ve pictured the entire evening. But instead, I take a deep breath and remain as courteous as possible as I explain, “It’s a highly skilled competition where judges assess how well-disciplined a horse is for its rider. For that purpose, the animal is trained to perform from memory a series of predetermined movements, like a choreography.”

She doesn’t seem impressed. “That’s it?”

“It’s an art, Petra. Even if it’s only pursued for the sake of mastery.” Dear Lord, why are we still talking?

Petra Van Gatt

I try to find the excitement behind such “art” while scrutinizing his memories on the wall. “Did you hit your horse with this?” I point at the riding crop that’s next to the frames and awards.

“Well, it’s normal.” He starts chuckling. “You want him to be obedient. If you’re not strict, he’ll never get trained. But don’t worry, there are specific rules in competitions—you can’t just strike your horse as it pleases you.”

Although I know he’s genuinely talking about horses, the talk with Margaret strangely resonates through me and seems less blurry. He has always loved equestrianism and has transmitted this passion to me, but I’ll never understand why whipping a poor animal is considered an art. The art I know and love doesn’t require any type of violence.

“I could never hurt an animal for the sake of awards or training. Sounds barbaric,” I snap to demonstrate my firm stance against animal brutality.

Alex smiles with great amusement. “I know. You used to be afraid you’d be too heavy for the pony.” He laughs hard, shaking his head. “You, a tiny little thing, thought you could hurt a pony. You are so funny, Ms. Van Gatt.”

“That’s me.” I smile back at him, and before he can reach me for a kiss, I see a half-open door with access to another room. “What’s over there?”

Alex lets out a sigh, displeased to have been thwarted. “My study and library, Ms. Curiosity.”

I skip over joyfully. Alex follows behind me. I gasp in admiration at the two-level library linked with a spiral staircase. I feel like I’m in heaven with the walls of books. This library and office space feels like a hidden secret room. I love it!

“So many books! Have you read them all?” I take one from the shelves that looks quite dated and dusty—maybe a first edition—and look at the back cover, intrigued. I can already picture myself stealing it to read tomorrow.

Suddenly, I hear him unfastening his belt and unzipping his pants.

“What are you doing?” I snap while trying to turn around. But he holds me tight against him, grabs the back of my neck, and bends me over his desk, my face resting flat on it.

“I need to fuck you now,” he growls hurriedly while lifting my dress up.

And before I can even blink, he rams so deep into me that it takes my breath away. “Ahhh!” I squeal at the intensity of it. My heart starts racing nervously as he pushes his cock slowly back and then savagely forth with a strength that scares the hell out of me. “Ahhhh…” I panic and whine, as I’m filled with fear. I’m breathless for a moment, but he keeps groaning even louder. He pulls back again and I shut my eyes tight, trembling at his next move. He grunts lustily while forcing himself farther in, and I whimper in a broken and feeble voice. But he doesn’t care. His strokes become more urgent, hurried, pounding me repeatedly in and out while gripping my waist so hard I wonder if it’ll bruise. I feel my pussy breaking apart, my body quivering. But I don’t beg him to stop, no. “Ahhhh...” Instead, I continue whimpering as I endure every single thrust. He neither kisses me nor holds my hands. He’s just entirely satisfying himself . The more frightened I am, the harder I feel his cock forcing inside—and the wilder he seems to be. I’ve never heard him growling so savagely before. At this point, I feel like that horse who has to remain obedient to its rider. I shut my eyes, as I can’t shut my ears. He rams farther and faster into me, propelling my hips forward with every thrust, but I’ll never ask him to stop. “Ahhh…” My breath comes in short, loud gasps, and my mind can barely digest so many emotions. I feel fear, pain, anger, and… fuck, desire. Desire to obey and let him do it. I remain silent, my face resting on the desk, ashamed that I want him to keep going—to keep using me so savagely for his own pleasure, to keep satisfying himself with me, his slut, his sub, his in every sense. Damn, I can’t even believe this is turning me on.

With his arms holding me tight, his strength blocking me from making a single movement, he pushes himself into me one last time as deeply as he can to fill me completely, and with a long, bestial groan, I feel his cock tighten and pump his cum inside. I wish I could have been deaf to not hear it so sharply. Even after that, he keeps going back and forth, and with each thrust, I feel more of his cum entering me. He starts to slow down, until he finally stops and remains inside me for a moment, savoring the pleasure at having used me so selfishly. I can feel his orgasm dripping out of me. It must have been a lot. Then he removes his cock very slowly, wipes it on my ass, and, once the tip is totally dry, puts it back into his boxers. I can hear his zipper and belt fastening. Why did he do that? Why was he so rough with me? I’m still paralyzed, barely breathing.

“Turn to face me,” he orders icily. His tone is enough to give me goose bumps.

I obey, totally mortified, in shock at what I just went through. My face messy, scarlet, my cheeks wet with tears, I stand up and feel his warm cum trickling down my thighs.

“Look at me.” He pulls my chin up, forcing me to stare at him.

Frightened by his glare, I swallow my anger and keep quiet.

“There will be times I might want to throw myself entirely into you without foreplay, without tenderness, without cuddling, without being gentle.” He sighs. “Do you feel comfortable with that?”

My jaw drops at his words. How can he ask me if I’m okay with that? “I…” That’s the only word I manage to mumble feebly. I’m so disappointed, confused, and enraged by his attitude that my mind is totally blank, unable to form a proper sentence. But he’s still waiting for an answer… And to my surprise, I stare downward and mutter the word he’s expecting, a word I find repulsive and humiliating for the very first time. “Yes.”

“Good.” He kisses my forehead like a rewarding gesture for my behavior, then moves down to my lips, but I show no reaction whatsoever to his touch. I don’t even look at him. He brings my hand to his chest where I can feel his heartbeat, and presses it against his skin. “Can you feel it?” I nod, looking away. “It belongs entirely to you, Petra. I’m all yours.” He pauses. “Are you all mine?” We hear knocking at the door. “One moment!” He waits for my answer, staring intently at me.

I look back at him and reply, despite my voice being weak and broken. “I am.”

He grins with an air of satisfaction. “I love you, Ms. Van Gatt.” Then he brings my hand to his lips, very slowly kissing my knuckles, and I find myself smiling timidly at it. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. It’s just frightening the first time,” he adds, bringing my body closer to his. “May I have a kiss?”

I give him a quick one for the sake of him letting me go. Once he does, I run into his bedroom and close the door behind me. I hear him sighing loudly, then walking toward the library door and opening it.

“My sincere apologies, Mr. Van Dieren, but Lady Margaret would like to see you in her office. May I escort you there?”

“Sure, many thanks, Stuart.”

After he leaves, I take a shower with the intention of washing away my pain. Yet my mind is still tormented by what he has just done. I’ve never refused him before—why would he need to be so rough? I think about Mom and her warnings about Alex, and Margaret telling me how all women, after a while, were trained to please him and do whatever he wanted. I’m scared. Very scared. Not of him, but of losing him if I become too docile and too obedient, like his previous girlfriends. After all, I’m still so inexperienced, so young—easy prey for him. Oh God, what if I’m just a game to him? A dressage competition to win? Is the engagement also part of it? I swallow hard, petrified.

Someone knocks on the door.

“Yes?”

The door opens timidly. It’s Clarissa, the lady’s maid.

“Good evening, Ms. Van Gatt,” she greets. “May I?”

“Sure. Good evening, Clarissa. What can I do for you?”

Clarissa raises an eyebrow. “Um, I’m here to help you to dress in your nightwear, Miss.”

“Oh, sure.” I realize I’m again following his orders, but I’m too curious to see what he’s brought for me. Plus, I already promised to wear it.

Clarissa goes to his dressing room and takes the package from a drawer. As she opens it, I see that the content is enveloped in black tissue paper.

“Could you kindly undress, Miss?” I obey and remove my dress, my black bra, and my black lace thigh highs.

She opens the tissue paper. I glance over to see a red corset—Christmas red. I can’t help but smile. Clarissa takes the lingerie and lays it on the bed. I take the red lace thong with a bow on the back and put it on, then pull on the new pair of black lace thigh highs. Clarissa takes the red corset, wraps it around my bust, and starts to close the clasps on the front one by one.

“Miss, could you please brace yourself on the back of this chair, so I can tighten the back?”

I push the chair, turning it to face the wall that displays his awards—as I definitely can’t stand to look at my figure in the mirror—and hold myself against it. Clarissa starts to tighten up the red laces from behind. I’ve never worn a corset before, but I feel Clarissa compressing my waist and chest a bit too much. Breathing feels difficult as she continues to push even further. “I’m sorry, Miss. But it has to be tightened well.”

I let out a sigh, the nerves boiling under my skin. I know Clarissa is just following his orders… And so am I. Damn it. I look again at the wall in front of me with all his “dressage” awards and the framed photos of him holding his trophies, him riding his horse, him mastering the poor animal. Fuck, I’m not his pet to be domesticated, for God’s sake! And I have the firm intention of reminding him of that.

CHAPTER 28

Alexander Van Dieren

“I’m so happy to have met her, Alexander. She’s such a wonderful enigma,” states my mother, sitting beside me on the sofa.

I smile, quite flattered. I knew she would like her. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

“You know… God works in very mysterious ways.” I raise an eyebrow, although not surprised—Mother has always been quite religious.

“What do you mean?”

“Her father was telling me about that incident when she was seven. Isn’t it incredible? This young lady loved you even before knowing what love is. And despite all the efforts from her family to remove you from her memory, no one managed to remove you from her heart. And do you know why?”

I’m perplexed, knowing Roy has shared such a secret. “No, I don’t.”

“Because she gave it to you, Alexander.” Her lips twitch into a sly smile. “While stealing yours.”

She then opens her jewelry vault, standing on the low table, and hands me a small midnight-blue velvet box.

“What is it?” I ask, opening it. “Mother! It’s your engagement ring.”

“Not really…” She has that twinkle in her eye. “It belonged to me, to your grandmother, and to your great-grandmother. It dates back to 1870 when Mr. Van Dieren found the finest and purest sapphire of his time in Sri Lanka. He took it to a jeweler, who polished it and created this unique piece that has been worn in our family ever since. If you take a closer look, you’ll see our family name has been engraved inside. We only pass down this ring if we truly believe our oldest son will get engaged to the right woman, with the right heart and the right mind. It’s hers now.”

I gasp, speechless. And just when I think I know every single custom and tradition in my family, my mother still manages to surprise me. I look down and try to find the right words, but they aren’t coming. “I don’t know what to say… I… Thank you, Mother.” I hug her tight. “How did you even know about my intentions to propose to her so soon?”

She smiles at me, caressing my jawline. “Oh, Alexander, I’m a very resourceful woman.” But I remain staring at her, confused. “Well, Roy spoke to me about it. After all, that’s what best friends do.”

“Indeed. Roy will never stop surprising me. Just like my future wife.”

I’m still quite emotional as I head back to my bedroom, the velvet box held steadfastly in the inner pocket of my jacket. I wonder where I can take her for the proposal. After all, it has to be somewhere as special and magical as her.

I also wonder if she’s still mad at me. C’mon, Petra, just because of some rough sex? Really? I have to talk to her, but as I step into my bedroom, I gasp and my heart skips a beat. “Oh, dear Lord…” My cock grows hard at the sight of her. Petra’s sitting on the edge of my bed, her lips red, her wavy hair styled like a fifties diva, the red corset I gave her wrapped very tight around her body to accent her delicious waist and chest. She’s also wearing her new black lace thigh-high stockings and stilettos. She smiles, waiting for me quietly and silently. Just like I’d imagined. She’s so hot. Fuck, my Christmas present is right here, waiting for me to possess her again. I smile with pride. She’s so perfect, docile, and obedient, just as I wanted.

“Do you like it?” she asks in the sweetest and meekest voice I’ve ever heard.

Wow. I blink twice to be sure I’m not dreaming. “Very much so,” I reply, barely containing my excitement.

“Take off your clothes.”

I obey immediately and prompt myself to undress as fast as possible. She’s not mad at me anymore—she wants me!

“I believe you forgot something, Mr. Van Dieren.”

I smile again and remove my boxers, revealing my cock, already long and hard, ready to pound her again.

She doesn’t look down, doesn’t blush, just wets her lips. “Come closer.”

I move forward excitedly, ready to lie down on top of her.

“I said ‘closer.’ Not ‘over.’” She presses her heel against my chest, moving me backward.

I stand right in front of her, perplexed, confused. What does she have in mind?

“Now sit on your knees.”

I raise both eyebrows. “What?”

“I said ‘sit on your knees,’” she repeats, emphasizing every word.

I want to protest, but I’m too damn curious and excited to see what she’ll do next. Therefore, I obey and sit on the floor on my knees. Fortunately, there is a carpet underneath.

“Head down.”

I smile and look at the floor.

She stands up, walks around me, and stops right behind me. “Now bend over, forearms on the bed.”

Fuck. This is too much! Who does she think she is? “Petra…”

She brutally brings her heel down on my back, forcing me to bend.

I whine.

“Do not contest my orders,” she yells like a general.

I grudgingly obey again and brace my body and forearms on the edge of the bed.

“Head down,” she repeats louder.

I shake my head, displeased with her childish behavior, but I find myself putting my head down between my arms. Is she crazy or what?

At that moment, I feel a light caress on my back. But it doesn’t come from her fingertips, it feels like leather. Leather? Wait—

“I let you have me the way you wanted. Now it’s my turn.”

And with all the strength and rage boiling in her, she violently strikes me with my riding crop.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I snarl.

“Shut the fuck up! Or I’ll do it harder!” She hits me again with even more strength. I try to endure it, but my body twists instinctively and my back starts burning. She hits me again, again, and again… I bet she loves hearing the sound of the strong leather violently hitting my flesh. It’s probably drenching her little pussy… Damn! I’m trying hard to handle the strikes, but I whimper at the last one. I feel my back growing hot as hell—it’s probably marked. Her breath quickens as she beats me even more enthusiastically.

I can’t stand it any longer and start whining. “Petra! Fuck! Stop!”

She finally shows some mercy and stops, while observing me—more precisely, while enjoying my pain and my reddened back. She violently grabs my neck and bends down to my ear. “Look, there’ll be times I might just want to whip you without foreplay, without tenderness, without cuddling, without being gentle…” My body shivers instantly at my words repeated back to me. “Do you feel comfortable with that?”

My heart skips a beat. I’m not sure if I love or hate her behavior. “Does punishing me like that turn you on?” I ask, my voice broken.

She smiles, triumphant. “Very much so.”

Damn. I sigh loudly. “Then yes. Let me turn you on.”

I hear only silence.

“As you wish,” she snaps icily, before letting out a breath of annoyance. Wasn’t that the correct answer?

Fuck! Another stroke. Looks like she’s decided to grant herself as much pleasure as possible by flogging me even further.

I whimper louder and louder, then swear and snarl at every hit.

But she ignores me. After all, I didn’t beg her to stop yet. My pride tries to endure every flog. I bet my back is in terrible condition by now, covered with wounds.

Thankfully, she finally stops, and I hear the riding crop fall to the floor beside me.

Petra Van Gatt

He whines as I press the cotton with the antiseptic cream against his bright red marks. He then sighs loudly but hasn’t said a single word the whole time I’ve been taking care of his back. His silence is unbearable. I know he wants to say something. I feel it…

“I’ve never let any woman flog me before,” he finally snaps, his tone cold as ice.

While I feel pity for his poor back, I have no intentions of apologizing. I actually feel quite relieved, the pain in my chest gone. Margaret was right: taming him was the perfect antidote. “I see.” I tremble thinking about the question stuck in my throat. “Have you ever flogged a woman with that kind of strength?”

“What strength?” he teases.

I press the cotton firmly against his worst bruise.

“Ouch!” He stays silent for a moment, pondering, then lets out a sigh. “Yes… Many.”

My heart drops, hearing the truth. I get goose bumps picturing him being so violent.

“But I won’t do it to you. Even if you beg me to.”

I burst into laughter at his serious tone. “You’re so funny. Don’t worry. I have no intention of begging you to do such a thing. Seems way too painful,” I reply. “Quite interesting how everything is relative.”

He chuckles at my observation. “Well, what I did to you didn’t leave any bruises…” Okay, he’s got a point. I might have gone a bit too far. “Ouch! Can you take it easy on my back?”

I giggle like a child. “Stop complaining, Mr. Van Dieren. Otherwise I’ll leave you just like this.” He turns to face me, starting intently at my mouth. But I have more to say. “I love you, Alexander. But never take me for granted. I’m not like those women you can tame and do whatever you want with. If you repeat what you did in the library, I’ll punish you again.”

But Alex is still obsessively staring at my lips instead of my eyes. I smile, catching him distracted. I wait patiently, and he finally blinks up at me.

“I see,” he mumbles vaguely, his mind far away, probably still pondering my words. “And once we are married?”

My jaw drops in shock. “Does it make any difference?”

Alexander Van Dieren

I can’t help but chuckle at her astonished face. Yes, Miss. Not possessing my wife when I feel like it is a bit too much to ask. “Not for now. I’ll keep that in mind, Ms. Van Gatt.” And I finally manage to kiss her lips. She’s so young, so innocent—she’s got so much to learn. After all, she has her entire life for that. And I have the firm intention of teaching her everything. Everything, like I promised her. I know she enjoyed it in the library. Her pussy has never been so soaked. She’ll learn to submit to me and enjoy it entirely without guilt, shame, or prejudice. She’ll most likely punish me again. But seeing her scarlet face, tears rolling down, and feeling her at my mercy—so fragile, frightened, and weak—is totally worth some red marks on my back. I know the more I do it, the more she’ll enjoy it—and the more violent I will have to be to keep her face and body wet for me…

“Good,” she reaches to meet my lips, kissing them intensely. “Now undress me,” she instructs.

My heart begins thundering in excitement. I open the clasps of her corset one by one, like a Christmas present, until it’s finally wide open. I toss it away and contemplate her pale, soft skin, delicately caressing her tits. I move to her right one, sucking and licking her hardened nipple. She closes her eyes and moans. While devouring her mouth, I pin her body against mine, and she spreads her legs wide apart.

Petra Van Gatt

I’m not sure why, but I’m already so wet and horny again. More than usual. Maybe it’s the idea of having him in his family house. Damn, I recall how he’s never brought any woman here before. He’s finally being tender like he’s always been, kissing my lips, sucking my neck and my tits, fondling my skin, and squeezing my thighs. I open my mouth wide to drag some air into my lungs. My pelvis arches, following his rhythm. “I love it so much when we make love this way,” I murmur between panting breaths.

He gives me that cheeky smile, intrigued. “What do you feel?” he asks while slowing his thrusts.

I sigh and blush at his question. I feel too shy to tell him. Instead, I bring his hand down to my abdomen.

I see a twinkle in his eye and his mouth twitches into a smile full of pride. He knows the meaning, and I feel our bodies get closer to cumming. “That I’m giving you a child?”

“Ahhh…” I shut my eyes, but my mouth remains wide open and my body can’t stop trembling. I’ve never felt so drenched at a simple question. I nod. How does he know me so well? But suddenly I recall that stupid promise he made to my dad, and decide to apologize. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s alright.” He smiles, staring at my sweaty face, then kissing my forehead. “I feel it too. Most of the time, that’s what I’m thinking when I cum.”

What? I can’t believe what I just heard! Does he also want a baby? I feel like cumming at his words, and I can’t help but moan louder than usual. “Oh, Alex, don’t say that,” I plead between squeals of pleasure as he keeps pounding harder and farther in.

“One day, you will bear our children, I promise,” he declares, while finishing deep inside. He kisses my lips, enjoying and cherishing the sound of our heartbeats.

Oh, Alex, why not now? Why waste so many years? I couldn’t have hated my father more for making this request. I sigh, irritated. This is exactly the type of obedience that I despise the most. “It takes so many years to graduate… I can do both, you know…”

He chuckles at my words. “You have plenty of time, Petra.”

I do, but he doesn’t.

Nevertheless, since I don’t want to ruin the evening, I smile at him and silence my thoughts.

CHAPTER 29

Dieren, December 26, 2019

Alexander Van Dieren

I’ve decided to propose on New Year’s Eve. Tight schedule, I know. I have not even a week to plan a romantic escape. It has to be somewhere that surprises her, takes her breath away, and makes her eyes sparkle. A place where we can spend a memorable evening. Maybe somewhere in Venice? Or Paris? I can’t wait to see her face when I finally bend down on one knee and ask her: Ms. Van Gatt, will you marry me?

Damn, I can’t help but shiver at the thought of it. While looking at the ring nestled in the box, a tender smile alights on my lips. This ring is so perfect for Petra. I know she’ll look sublime wearing it—after all, I already saw her doing just that in my dream.

I hear knocking on my office door. I close the box, put it back inside my jacket hanging on the chair, and order the person at the door to come in.

A security guard from the gate steps inside. “Mr. Van Dieren, my apologies for interrupting, but we have an unexpected guest.”

“Who?”

The guard moves closer and shows me on his iPhone the live feed from the gates.

“Let her in,” I reply.

“Mr. Van Dieren, are you sure?”

I nod.

He takes his walkie-talkie and conveys my answer to the security at the gates.

“Kindly stay here,” I instruct. “I might need you to escort her out, in case she becomes violent or doesn’t want to leave.”

My heart starts pounding as I serve myself a glass of Macallan from the crystal decanter. I will definitely need more than one.

After a few minutes, I hear knocking.

I know she is here.

I take a long drink and sit slightly on the edge of my desk.

The door opens, and Stuart lets her in.

“What can I do for you, Ms. Hagen?” I dare to ask, despite knowing exactly why she’s here.

“Don’t get engaged to my daughter!” barks Tess furiously, swaggering toward me until my guard restrains her from getting any closer.

“I see news travels fast.” I take another sip. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hagen, but this will be up to Petra to decide, not you.”

“Don’t destroy her life, Van Dieren! You know she deserves better than you! She deserves to meet someone who doesn’t have your past, who hasn’t done the things you have. Someone good. Stop this relationship now. This is beyond evil!”

Damn, the high-pitched sound of her voice is deafening. “Ms. Hagen, I’m sorry you can’t see beyond my past and the mistakes I made then, but you should get used to this new reality. Petra and I will be engaged soon, and she’ll ultimately become my wife and the mother of my children—your grandchildren.” Her face flushes instantly, boiling with rage. Not a good sign. “I’ll ask you to leave now,” I order.

But she has no intention of doing so. She points her index finger at me in disgust. “You’re repugnant! You and my ex-husband might have the money and power to hide everything, but I have nothing to lose! I only have one daughter. ONE. And I’ll make sure to protect her from your evil grip! You can bet I will!”

“That’s enough,” I shout louder. “How dare you threaten and insult me in my own house.”

“I have people who are ready to testify in court and share their stories with the media, Mr. Van Dieren. People who know how dangerous and cruel you and your family are.”

I give a quick head signal to the security guard.

He grabs Tess by the arm and drags her to the door, but she violently resists. “I know where the exit is, thank you!” While walking backwards, she glares at me one last time. “Leave my daughter alone! Or I’ll destroy you, my ex-husband, and your precious family. You’ve been warned.”

The security guard escorts her out until she gets into her car, making sure she leaves the property without any further damage.

I’m still in shock. I can’t believe Tess came here, screamed and threatened me on my own family estate! It all seems like a terrible nightmare. Except it’s not. I take a deep breath, refill my glass, and call Roy to come urgently.

It doesn’t take long for him to knock on my door. After all, my tone over the phone was quite alarming.

“What happened, Alex? It looks like you just saw a ghost.”

“Worse than that…” I rub my eyelids. “Tess came here. She knows about my intention to marry Petra, and she’s not happy, to say the least.”

“What? Tess came here? She’s insane.” Roy shakes his head. “I spoke to her yesterday over the phone. She asked me to withdraw my blessing, but I refused. I won’t break the hearts of my daughter and my best friend.”

I smile briefly. “Thank you, Roy.” I give him a warm pat on his shoulder. “Did she threaten you if you didn’t?”

“Apart from saying I was a terrible father, a disgusting pig, and some other nasty comments, no… Why?”

“She did threaten me.” Roy swallows hard. “She intends to destroy us and my family.”

“Bullshit! She has nothing. Don’t worry about her.” I stare down, pondering his words. “Are you okay?”

“Bullshit or not, we need to find out what she has against us, and who these people are that she’s talking about.”

“We’ll find out, don’t worry. I know what’s at stake.”

“Roy, I promised I’d keep Petra out of this, but… Do you think we should talk to her?”

“Definitely not! She can’t be involved at all. I don’t want her to become an accomplice in any way. Otherwise she’d have to report us to the police in order to remain innocent.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m still in shock,” I reply.

“We should talk to Margaret. She’s the only person who can still carry on a civilized conversation with that insane bitch.”

CHAPTER 30

Rotterdam, December 26, 2019

Tess Hagen

I’m radiant. I pour some tea in my cup while reading a couple of emails. But suddenly I hear knocking and Anika steps in.

“Tess, there’s someone here for you.” Anika opens the door a bit further, and I smile—even though I’m not that impressed to see her here.

I stand up, adjust my pink dress, and keep my posture as straight as I can. “Mrs. Van Dieren, such a pleasant surprise to see you here in my modest house.”

I check the lady out briefly. She sports a long carmine-colored coat and wears a shade of lipstick that matches her outfit, along with imposing gold earrings. Her short silver-white hair is pushed back, and her elegant smoky eyes gleam.

“Good afternoon, Tess.” Anika closes the door behind Margaret and she moves closer to me. “I apologize for my unexpected visit,” she begins. “I heard you came to my property this morning. I’m saddened you didn’t even let me know you were there. I would have invited you in for tea.”

“Indeed, I had some urgent matters to discuss with your son.”

“I figured that out. Shall we have a seat and try to discuss this rationally, as two mothers who only want the best for their children?”

“Sounds reasonable.” Margaret and I sit on either end of the sofa. “Would you like some tea?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.” Margaret studies me while taking a deep breath. “So, may I ask the reason why you are so against my son marrying your daughter?”

“You know perfectly well the reason, Margaret.”

“You know perfectly well that everything he’s done was consensual.”

“Right, and what about one of the women dying because the choking stopped her from breathing? Consensual?”

“It was an accident,” she snarls immediately. “And you know perfectly well it wasn’t him.”

“There was no evidence found against him, but that doesn’t make him innocent.” Margaret heaves a loud sigh, irritated. But I remain calm and serene. I know Margaret will do anything to protect her family—I only have to persuade her. I put my politest and calmest voice on. “Look, if you care for your son as I do for my daughter, then convince him to leave Petra alone. That’s all, Margaret. If you do that, we are all good. I can assure you I’ll say nothing.” I take a sip of my tea, smiling triumphantly as I observe her. I can tell she’s taken my request seriously.

But Margaret shakes her head. “I already gave him my blessing and the engagement ring…”

“That’s none of my business. Tell him you changed your mind. Or just tell him the truth. Tell him I’m ready to move forward and expose him, my ex-husband, and more, if necessary. My daughter won’t marry a murderer, an abuser, and a manipulative man like him!”

“Watch your mouth, Tess!”

“Margaret,” I snap assertively. “There are millions of girls in this world—he can pick any one he wants! But not Petra, not my daughter.”

“Very well. Time to talk seriously now.” I smile. Finally. “What do you have against my son that could seriously compromise him? If you show me your game, I will convince him.”

“Now we are talking.”

I stand up, reach into my purse, and take out a file that I hand to Margaret.

She puts her glasses on and attentively examines every single page.

I sit again and pour some more tea in my cup, my expression victorious.

Margaret lets out a sigh. My smile gets wider. She closes the file—looks like she has seen enough. “That’s the only thing you want in exchange for your silence?”

I nod. “That’s all I ask, Margaret. Have I ever said anything before?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

“It’s a simple request. It might be painful at the beginning, but I’m sure your son is rational and smart enough to know what’s at stake.”

Margaret ponders a few more moments. “There is no other way we can negotiate this?”

“The life of my daughter is not negotiable.”

Margaret Van Dieren

On my way back, I’m not happy, to say the least. Tess isn’t bluffing. Those are serious allegations. Enough to feed not only the media—as I know perfectly well there are a couple of reporters out there just waiting for a juicy story about my family—but also for a judicial investigation, lawsuits, and trials. That’s a Pandora’s box I do not want to open. Even the names of Julia and Sebastian Van Den Bosch are on the report! My daughter cannot be involved. Julia needs to know about this.

I have regrettably no good news to bring home. I shake my head. I despise Tess so much. Such an evil creature indeed. No wonder she’s gone into politics. How did she manage to get those documents? Who did she pay to get them?

“She showed me the police reports filed against both of you, along with some photographs, the location of the club, a list of its members…” I inform Roy and Alex when I return. “Julia’s and Sebastian’s names are also in there. She has some women who are ready to testify.”

I hate to bring bad news. The petit salon is the usual room for serious discussions. My dear Alexander is sitting beside me, holding his head in his hands and trying to fathom this nightmare. He probably never thought one day this would come back to haunt him and destroy his happiness. I sigh, my heart bleeding to see him like this.

Roy leans on the wall near the window, his stare furious, shaking his head. “The women won’t talk. They all signed an agreement.”

“So did Tess. But looks like she’s ready to break it to prevent Petra from getting engaged,” I reply.

My son is still thinking. “What about Yara? Is she named in the papers?”

“I don’t think so. But who knows? If they start digging, if some women recognize her, Yara’s name might appear too. And she still has those stupid tattoos. If anyone recognizes them…” I shiver at the thought of it.

“I tried to convince her to remove them with laser treatment, like I did with mine. But you know Yara…”

“Yara might face jail time. We cannot take this lightly, Alexander,” I remind him.

My son seems lost. If Tess was not Petra’s mother, it’d be so easy to take care of the problem. But unfortunately, she is.

“What should we do?” he asks.

I look down thoughtfully, then I stand up, put my hand on his shoulder, and say what has to be said. “Alexander, you are my only son, and God knows how much I want to see you happy. I know you truly love her. But if Tess moves forward with this, no matter how innocent you are, your reputation, your businesses, our family, and God knows what else might be at stake. It’s not an easy decision. I’ll leave it to your wise consideration.”

CHAPTER 31

Bedford Hills, January 9, 2020

Alexander Van Dieren

I wonder if God is punishing me for my past crimes and sins. I know I deserve it. And yet, I feel so tempted to sin again and silence that Tess Hagen once and for all. But what kind of man would take the life of the mother who brought into this world the woman he loves and cherishes the most?

But fuck, Tess is so monstrous. I despise that vicious snake so much. I haven’t slept properly since she came to hunt me down after Christmas. Making love to Petra has also been harder. Next to impossible, without having a clear idea of where our relationship is heading. Just two weeks earlier, I was thinking about where to propose, and today the idea of it seems like a far distant dream—a utopia, a myth.

“What’s your next move?” asks Roy.

That’s exactly what I’m wondering. Oh, never mind. I look again at my pieces positioned on the chessboard. Then I take my bishop and make a move.

He sighs loudly. “You’re not focused today.” Roy moves his rook and captures my bishop. “It’s getting boring playing chess with you.”

But I don’t reply. While I look at my pieces in the chessboard, all I can see is my queen standing there without protection. I decide to move a knight near her.

“What are you doing?” he asks again, displeased. “It’s not the queen who needs protection. Look at your king. With two more moves, I can checkmate it.”

“I don’t know what to do, Roy,” I finally declare.

“Well, maybe you should protect your king.”

“I mean about Petra and me. I can’t break up with her. But I can’t let Tess do what she has in mind either.”

He looks at me with some unsettling hostility. “I thought Margaret made it quite clear.” His eyes shift back to the chessboard, and he moves his bishop.

I raise an eyebrow. “I’m the one who has to decide. That’s what she said.”

“With wisdom,” he corrects. He leans back against his armchair, studying me. “Go on, make a move.”

I have no appetite to play today, but I look again at my pieces. I see Roy’s bishop standing near my queen. With my rook I capture it. “I’ll take care of Tess.” I pause. “And I’m going to marry Petra.”

Roy’s face is unreadable. He rubs a finger against his lips, the air pensive as he looks intently at the chessboard. After a few more moments, he leans forward to move his queen, which takes mine. Damn it. I shouldn’t have moved that rook. “You are not marrying her.”

My heart skips a beat, and my jaw drops at his declaration. I look at my queen in his hand, just as if it were Petra. “What the hell are you talking about? We just have to take care of Tess. Problem solved.”

He sighs again. “You will leave her mother in peace, and you will stop this relationship.” I chuckle at the absurdity of it. “That’s wisdom, Alexander. And that’s the decision your mother wishes you’d make.”

“I’m not going to end my relationship with Petra because of some blunder made nineteen years ago! That’s ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous is your obsession for my daughter,” he snarls back.

“It’s not an obsession, for God’s sake! I love her!”

“So do I,” he replies just as loudly.

Nothing but silence remains between our defiant glares.

I look absently at my pieces again, wishing they could scream at me which one to move. I decide to take my knight and move it near his queen. One more move and I can capture it.

“You’ll be transferred to our Singapore office in March. You have two months to break up.”

I feel his words crash into me. “This is a joke, right? I’m not leaving New York, Roy. Forget it!”

But Roy keeps his face calm and serene as he looks at the chessboard. “We’ll start going to Singapore more frequently in the coming weeks. This will give you enough time to prepare a speech for when the time comes.”

“Roy, we are best friends! How can you do something like this to me? To her? To us?”

“There is too much at stake, Alexander. I won’t ruin my reputation, my family name, and everything I’ve built because of your relationship. Petra needs protection, my protection.” And he takes his queen away from my knight. “She is still young. She has time to find someone else.”

An arrow just perforated my heart. I try to drag some precious air into my lungs while I move my remaining bishop near his queen. “Roy, you’re the one who is putting our relationship at stake now.”

He looks down at the chessboard. “You have two months, Alexander. In March, you’re gone.” And he makes his move. “Checkmate.”

CHAPTER 32

Manhattan, January 13, 2020

Petra Van Gatt

Surprisingly, Dad has been taking his breakfast with me every single morning since we came back from the Netherlands. I can’t help but wonder if it’s part of his New Year's resolutions. After all, he knows it’s just a matter of time before I move out to live with Alex.

Today is no exception. Dad is still here in the kitchen with me, reading his paper while I’m finishing my tea.

“You don’t mind revealing your identity to the press now that you are no longer an intern, right?”

“Um, what do you mean, Dad?” I ask before giving a sip of my matcha.

“Forbes would like to interview you. Are you available tomorrow?”

But I choke on it just as fast. “What? Why me?”

“They are writing about young raising stars in finance and entrepreneurship. I talked to Chloe, the reporter, about your investments in art and your own fund. She’s keen to meet you.”

“Dad, is this really necessary? I’m still in my freshman year…”

He puts down his paper, staring intently at me. “Of course it is. Now that your agoraphobia has been under control, we need to start building up your public image, not as my daughter, but as Petra Van Gatt—with her own identity, her own personality, her own dreams.”

I roll my eyes. I want to decline, but Dad seems so happy. Seeing me profiled in Forbes is such a dear dream for him, and I don’t want to ruin it. Plus, like most things in my life, he isn’t giving me much of a choice.

I take a deep breath and give him the answer he expected from the beginning, “Fine. I’ll do it.” I stand up and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I have to go. I have class in an hour.”

Manhattan, January 14, 2020

I hear Janine pull the curtains wide apart, but I don’t dare to open my eyes just yet. “Good morning, Ms. Van Gatt.” Then hangers rattle from my wardrobe. “So, what do you think about wearing something a bit more smart-casual today? Why not some heels? After all, it’s not every day you’ll be live on YouTube.”

I gasp in terror. “Live on YouTube?” I prop myself up on my elbows instantly. “What do you mean? It’s not just a simple interview?”

Janine seems confused. “No, Ms. Van Gatt. Your dad told me you will be interviewed live for their social media channels. How incredible, isn’t it?”

“Live?” I feel like throwing up. I stand up from the bed and run as fast as I can to my bathroom. There, my knees on the floor, I throw up all my anxiety in the toilet.

Janine shakes her head. “Oh, Ms. Van Gatt, I’m so sorry to have scared you. Are you alright? Do you want to take something to help control your panic attack?”

I take a deep breath with my head down and wait, making sure there’s nothing left before standing again. “Oh, Janine, I’ve never done a live interview. What if something goes wrong? Everyone will see it.”

“Nothing will go wrong. Don’t worry, Miss. It’s a quick five-minute interview. You have to relax. All you need is a yummy breakfast. I’ll make some pancakes. What do you think?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you, Janine. A matcha tea, that’s all.”

“Miss, you need to eat something. Just avocado toast, then.”

“I’m fine, Janine, really. I’m not hungry.”

I jump into a warm shower, wondering how I’ll manage to remain in one piece in front of the camera, but one thing is for sure: I have to fight my agoraphobia. I can’t let my fear come back and haunt me again.

Columbia Economics, January 22, 2020

The interview was such a smashing success on social media that Chloe, the reporter, received approval to publish it in their biweekly printed magazine. “Success in Art: How Petra Van Gatt Is Shaping the Future of Alternative Investments.” Such a big exaggeration, dear God. The feature was three pages long with a big, colorful picture of me, taken during the interview.

Surprisingly, I’ve become an overnight role model for all my freshman colleagues who just a couple of days ago didn’t even know my name. I see some of them whispering, their faces glued on me while I close my books and laptop. The class is over, yet they are not leaving. “Congrats, Petra. Nice interview!” they finally shout from their seats on the other side of the auditorium. I nod and smile.

“Ms. Van Gatt?” Mrs. Chilnisky is now right in front of me.

“Yes?”

“I saw your interview in Forbes magazine. Very well done. Congratulations on your fund.”

I smile, humbled. “Thank you, Mrs. Chilnisky.”

“Petra, on February fifteenth, we are hosting a panel of highly talented and entrepreneurial students. Students who already have a successful career or venture on the side. I would truly appreciate if you could join us.”

I raise both eyebrows and, to my surprise, find myself nodding at her.

Columbia Economics, February 15, 2020

Standing behind the door, I glance discreetly at the big, dark auditorium where over three hundred students have gathered. There’s a stage in front with a big sofa already in the spotlight, two screens behind it, and two big cameras on the edges.

“Oh God. Have you seen the number of people in there?”

“They are all excited to see you,” Matthew cheers me up. “It’s amazing, Petra. You’ll be fine. I think a lot of business channels are out there too. You’re gonna meet so many journalists.”

Despite Matthew’s attempts to comfort me, I’m not feeling amazing at all. “Give me a second.” I run to the bathroom to calm myself down before stepping on stage. I’m glad Alex and Dad are far away in Singapore. Having them in the crowd would have been even worse. I try to breathe slowly, but the acid in my stomach comes up. I rush to one of the toilets and throw up. No one at Columbia knows I suffer from panic attacks or agoraphobia, and it’s better to keep it that way.

I take my dental kit from my purse, brush my teeth, and put some blush on my cheeks to hide how pale I am. Then I smear gloss on my lips, and try smiling at the mirror. I observe myself attentively. I realize I’ve lost some weight, as my collarbone is more visible than usual and my arms look skinnier too. I can’t let my phobia get in the way, yet eating is hard. So hard. Any type of food feels repugnant. I glance at my chest and smile—well, at least this part of my body looks the same, if not bigger.

I focus on my breath, inhaling and exhaling deeply, but my heart is thundering. I’ve never been on stage before, let alone spoken about myself in front of cameras, journalists, and my own colleagues.

Bedford Hills, February 22, 2020

He’s finally back from Singapore! And furthermore, Julia is in town. Alex has planned a small celebration in my honor over the weekend. Nothing too fancy—just a small dinner between us three. He saw my interview onstage and said he couldn’t believe how I’d managed to remain so calm during the entire panel. He also added I’d acted just like Dad, strong and confident, even if I was terrified inside.

“Julia! I’m so happy you’re here.”

“Me too, my dear Petra.” We hug each other before kissing each other’s cheeks. “Congratulations on your interview and your panel at Columbia. My brother shared it with me.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really.”

Julia glances at my figure. “Have you been on a diet? You look even thinner than when I met you.”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.” I hold Julia by the arm, walking her into the dining room. “So, tell me, what brings you to New York?”

Julia sits in front of me, with Alex between us at the head of the table. “Well, just a quick getaway.”

Maria prepared a special feast for today’s celebration. After all, she’s known Julia since she was born. She cooked her favorite meal: pea soup, followed by andijviestamppot—a pan full of Dutch mashed potatoes and escarole endive—accompanied with meatballs for Julia and tofu for me. Alex also decides to have the tofu. I smile at his choice. He knows I don’t like him to consume meat.

While Maria seems extremely happy to see everyone enjoying the meal, she couldn’t help but frown looking at my plate. “You didn’t like the food, Ms. Van Gatt?”

“The food was great, Maria. Thank you. I’m just not hungry.”

“You are so skinny, Petra. You need to eat a bit,” adds Julia, seeing half of the soup still in my bowl. “It’s only vegetables.”

“I’m fine, Julia, really… Don’t worry.”

Julia exchanges a glance with Alex. He wipes his mouth and looks at me. “Petra, would you mind checking on Arthur? Maria will escort you.”

Alexander Van Dieren

“Well, I won’t serve you any whiskey, since I know you don’t drink.” I prepare one for myself and invite Julia into the sitting area of my office. She sits on the sofa against the wall, a glass of water in hand, while I take the armchair beside her.

“So, tell me”—I take the first sip—“what brings my lovely sister to New York?”

“This.” Julia plays a video on her iPhone and turns it to me. It’s Tess Hagen giving an interview to NPO 1, the biggest national TV channel in the Netherlands.

“So, Tess is really getting into politics…”

“Yes, looks like she is officially tied to the CDA. Provincial elections are next month and the national ones are next year. She’s been gathering big audiences and public support. I’m not sure what she has in mind. My husband is worried about what she knows and what she might do…”

“I see… And how can I help?”

“Alex.” Julia glances discreetly around. “You didn’t propose to Petra yet, right?”

“No, not yet. Roy wants me to break up with her.” I pause. “But I’m incapable of doing it.”

“Tess knows too much. She made it clear she will expose us. There are too many people involved, too many families. Our mother has made so many sacrifices—”

“Julia,” I snap to calm her down. “I’m very aware of what Tess knows, but”—my gaze drops, I let out a deep breath, then look my sister in the eye again—“I can’t live without Petra either. I just can’t.” There is some sort of melancholia in my voice, as I know all too well that distance from her body doesn’t mean distance from her.

“I know…” She leans closer to me, her face sharing the same pain. “Do you want us to take care of Tess?”

I’m not surprised by her question. After all, I know what’s at stake. “Julia, despite Tess being a threat, she’s still Petra’s mother. And Roy is also firmly against it.”

“But she’s a threat to your happiness,” Julia protests instantly. “Our happiness!” I feel her gaze studying me for a moment. “No one will know. We’ve got people who are very discreet…”

“I know, Julia, but I can’t do it. Promise me no one will harm Tess.” My sister doesn’t reply. She looks away, her face distant and displeased by my answer. “Julia, if something happens to Tess, I won’t hide the truth from Roy and Petra.”

“Fine. But what are you going to do? Are you gonna break the heart of the only woman you’ve ever truly loved? That’s your plan?”

I shut my eyes and rub my eyelids. “Roy gave me until March sixth to do so. Afterward, I’m moving to Singapore.”

Petra Van Gatt

“There is nothing for you here, my little Arthur. Your mom will be back soon.” I kiss Arthur on the head while snuggling him in my arms. He smells so good—I catch a mix of his own scent and Julia’s perfume.

All of a sudden, I hear knocking.

“May I?”

“Right on time, see?” I place a goodbye kiss on his pink cheek before handing him back to Julia. “I think he is hungry. He was trying to grab my shirt.”

“Indeed, that’s his way of asking to be fed.” Julia seems to be checking me out closely.

“Are you okay, Petra? You look so pale and tired.”

“Give me a second.” I run to the toilet of the en suite and throw up once more. “I’m sorry, I’ve been going through a lot of stress and pressure lately,” I admit while splashing some fresh water on my face. I wash my mouth and leave the bathroom, feeling as bloated as ever. “Dad wants me to build a public image, and I hate it. I don’t like crowds or being the center of attention, but he insists I give interviews, speak on panels, meet journalists…” I let out an exasperated breath. “I just need to start managing my stress, and I will be fine.”

Julia nods, then puts Arthur back in his white crib. “Of course, I understand perfectly,” she says with a sly smile on her face. “Well, regarding your ‘stress,’ I’d recommend a lot of rest, no alcohol whatsoever, a clean diet with a lot of calcium, moderate exercise but no weights, and folic acid and iron supplements.”

“Wow, so that’s what you do to handle the pressure at work?”

Julia chuckles. “Exactly, and I’d also make sure to see a doctor and follow up.” She gives me a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

I frown, confused. Is she that happy about the public image and interviews? “Julia, are you crying?”

“I’m sorry, it’s all the emotion. Oh, Petra.” She dries her tears, holding me tight again.

My eyes widen in confusion. “Okay… I never thought you would be as proud of me as that. Wow.”

While stroking my hair, Julia observes me attentively, with a big smile on her lips and a contemplative eye. “My brother is so lucky to have you.” I smile back at her, and she places a kiss on my forehead.

At this point, I’m feeling slightly uncomfortable with so much affection. “Alright…” I clear my throat. “I’ll let you be with Arthur. I’m gonna get some sleep. I’m feeling exhausted. Have a great night.” I give her a kiss on the cheek.

“Sure. Good night, Petra. And don’t forget to see a doctor soon.”

Bedford Hills, February 23, 2020

I didn’t feel his touch last night. Granted, I was tired and fell asleep immediately, but when I wake up, I don’t see him either. He seems colder and more distant, talking and laughing with me less. The way he looks at me is also quite unrecognizable. He used to whisper how much he loved me and what he wanted to do to me, but with these many trips to Singapore, it all feels so far behind. I wonder what happened. I’ve got to talk to him.

Maria said he’s in his office. I knock on the door before stepping inside. I find him casually sitting on the sofa, reading with his glasses on. He closes his book upon seeing me. “Good morning, little hermit.”

Holy… I feel myself waking up just now at his warm words and beautiful smile. “Hey.”

“Did you sleep well?”

I nod and sit beside him. My heart starts racing as I look into his tender blue eyes. Oh God, I’ve missed them so much. And his scent, his lips, his wild hair…

He smiles at me, caressing my cheek, and places a lingering kiss on my lips—one that enflames my heart faster than a lighter.

But I want more than that.

I lean forward to reach his mouth again, straddling him, and hold his jawline while I hungrily devour him. “I love you,” I whisper.

His eyes locked on mine, he beams at me and strokes my long hair. “I love you so much, Petra.”

Then he presses his lips against mine once more, but this time with such urgency and fervor that I feel how intensely he’s missed me. “I love you so much,” he repeats, his voice barely audible, holding me tight in his arms. He starts lifting my sweater up. I help him strip it off. I’m not wearing a bra underneath. He returns to my mouth, but as he glances at my tits, his lips twist into a naughty smile. I know they somehow look bigger, swollen—my areolas too. He fondles my left nipple very slowly with his thumb before sucking it into his mouth.

I whimper at the touch. “I’m sorry, I’m slightly more sensitive lately.”

He looks hungry. “They are bigger…” And by the sound of his voice, maybe even starving. “If I touch them with my fingers like this, does it hurt?”

“A bit,” I mumble. He bites his bottom lip while staring intently at them. From my chest, he traces a line with his fingers. When he lowers his gaze to my belly, I decide to get off his lap.

I reach for my top, put it back on, and change the subject. “Why didn’t you sleep with me last night?”

“I did sleep with you. Julia told me you were exhausted and needed rest, so I just got up early.”

“Where is she, by the way?”

“She went back to the Netherlands.”

“She just came here for one night?”

“Indeed, she has work on Monday.” He grabs my hand and pulls me over to sit on his lap. “I’m very proud of you, Petra. I know it’s not easy for you to go through these interviews, be on these panels, and meet all these journalists. Julia doesn’t know how hard it is for you to do all this, but she is right. You can’t stop eating. I called the doctor this morning. He told me eating disorders are quite common among agora- and social phobias, but you can’t let yourself down.”

“I know,” I sigh. “Dad reminds me of that all the time.”

“Promise me you will eat? Maria made a soup—it has nothing in it but vegetables.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll eat.”

“Thank you.” He tenderly kisses my forehead. “And kindly go for a checkup when you can. You haven’t seen a doctor since October.”

“Pfff. You’re worse than Dad. Fine, I will go this week.”

Hudson Valley, March 5, 2020

Emma texted. She’s finally landed in New York. I’ve been dying to see her! As usual, we meet at her parents’ residence in Hudson Valley. She’ll be in New York for just a week before leaving for a long trip across Southeast Asia with some of her new friends.

“You look so different! Look at you, you’re glowing! You look more… hmm…. womanly,” she praises, while dragging me to her bedroom. I know she’s impatient to know all the secrets and gossip she’s been missing. I sit on the sofa while Emma locks the door so we’re not disturbed.

“Well, it has been a couple of months since you left for Bali. I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Me too, babygirl.” She hugs me tight. “So, how is Van Dieren?” she asks excitedly, clapping her hands, anxious for all the juicy details.

“Um, I thought you’d ask about me first. But, if you want to know, I think he’s fine.”

“So naive, my God! I don’t care how he’s actually doing—I care about how he’s doing with you.” I remain confused. “Oh, babygirl… How is he, sexually speaking? Are you enjoying it? I want to know everything!”

“Oh…” I blush, looking down. “I can’t talk about it.”

“Why not? I’m your best friend. Did you sign an NDA or what?”

“Actually… I did.”

“Wow. He takes his reputation very seriously.”

“Or maybe mine…”

“Indeed. Well, if you are happy, I’m happy. What else did I miss?”

My face gets unusually serious. “Emma, you know you are like a big sister to me.” Emma smiles with pride. “I need your advice.” I let out a sigh, and, armed with courage, I face reality through Emma’s eyes. “I screwed up.”

Her jaw drops in confusion. “You screwed up? That’s hard to believe...What happened?”

I take a deep breath before saying these words to someone for the very first time in my life: “I’m fifteen weeks pregnant.”

“Holy shit!” She looks me straight in the eyes without even blinking. “Indeed, not sure if I should congratulate you on this one.”

“I messed up, I know. I lied to him and told him I was taking the pill.” Emma crosses her arms; her face remains astonished. But I proceed, “Alex promised my father we’d only have kids after I graduate, and in exchange we could get engaged. So since I found out, I’ve been hiding the pregnancy…” I take a long breath. “But I won’t be able to hide it much longer. My bump is growing, and it’s starting to show when I’m naked… He invited me over for the weekend—I’m so scared he’ll find out... Oh God...”

Emma Hasenfratz

I’m speechless. She is crazy, crazy, crazy! Way beyond any craziness I’m capable of! Damn, I can’t believe babygirl is getting engaged and having a baby. Fuck, she doesn’t waste time. While I was looking for some juicy details, this is definitely not what I was expecting.

“Wow.” That’s all I manage to say. “Well, in that type of sweatshirt, I can’t see anything. May I see under?” Petra knows I locked the door, so she stands and lifts up her loose garment. Holy moly! She really is pregnant! “Hmm, so far it just looks like you ate twenty big pancakes,” I reassure her. “But I agree, Van Dieren might ask you why you’re so bloated. Did he already bend the knee? I don’t see a ring…”

“No, not yet, and I don’t know why, Emma. It’s driving me crazy. Maybe his mother didn’t approve, maybe he found out about my pregnancy, maybe he just gave up… I’m so confused. I thought he was ready for this. Since my classes started, he has been going back and forth to Singapore with Dad, and we haven’t talked about it anymore.”

The more Petra talks, the more lost I am. I feel a sudden urge to light up a cigarette, but now that I know Petra’s secret, I decide to refrain.

I have an idea, but I’m 99 percent sure Petra will reject it. Nevertheless, I ask, “Have you considered… well… an abortion?”

“Of course not. I just came from an ultrasound. The baby is healthy and growing so fast. I want to keep it. We have all the means in the world to raise it. Alex is mature enough to be a father. He’s forty, after all.” Right, keep dreaming. Petra’s stubborn as always, but seriously, is Van Dieren ready to be a father? I know Petra is romanticizing the most important man in her life. She is delusional. Very delusional. After all, it’s not for nothing that I call her “babygirl.” Sometimes Petra can be as naive as one.

My heart keeps thundering nervously. “Well, if you want to have this child, then you should have it. It’s your call. But it’s a decision that might bring painful consequences…”

“Such as?”

Such as the harsh reality of life. I try to be gentle, but I’ve got to prepare babygirl for the worst-case scenario. “Well, such as Van Dieren breaking up with you, your dad disowning you… But don’t worry—there’ll always be a room for you here.” Petra takes it as a joke. But I mean it.

“They’d never do such a thing.” She thinks a bit more. “Right?”

I take a deep breath and search for the best words to explain as gently as possible what I have in mind. “Petra, relationships can only survive and thrive if both parties are honest with each other. And you’re basically betraying their trust. You’re about to get engaged to your father’s best friend and business partner, which is literally putting his relationship on the line for you. The only thing your dad’s asking in return is for you to graduate before starting a family.” I sigh. “If you don’t want to end your pregnancy, then the very least you should do is tell them the truth before they find out. I’m surprised the clinic hasn’t called your father yet.”

“Actually... I’ve been going there under the fake ID you gave me.” We fall silent, while Petra continues processing everything I’ve told her. “Do you think they will forgive me?”

I cringe at her question. “I’m gonna be straight-up honest with you, babygirl…” I don’t want to, but I’ve got to. “I don’t think Van Dieren will propose after you tell him.”

Petra gasps in terror. “Why? Just because I hid it from him?”

“No, because you lied to him and he made a promise to his best friend based on it. You know how serious Van Dieren is about keeping his word. Maybe you should talk to your father first…”

“Dad first? I think Alex will be easier to get on my side than Dad—after all, it’s his child too.”

“Hmm, just be careful. If you need anything, call me. These type of men freak out when things are out of their control.” I hold Petra very tightly for longer than usual. “You know I will always have your back, right?”

Petra smiles. “I know.”

CHAPTER 33

Bedford Hills, March 6, 2020

Alexander Van Dieren

I’ve pondered Roy’s ultimatum for over two months now. And throughout this time, half spent in Singapore, I know two things with absolute certainty: one, I love Petra more than my own self, and two, if I can’t marry her, I shouldn’t have her. I started this romantic relationship solely so I could spend the rest of my life with Petra, not as my goddaughter, but as my wife. If our relationship is doomed to never evolve, then we shouldn’t continue any further. And as Roy once said, she’s still so young—she has her entire life to meet someone else. I hate the idea that Tess Hagen will win, but that woman is so evil, she would do anything and beyond to destroy me, Roy, and anyone else if needed. The impact it’d have on Petra’s life, reputation, and health might be even worse than breaking up with her.

I invited Petra over to talk. A talk I never expected to have. I sent my driver to pick her up while I wait in my office with a Macallan in hand, the fourth glass of the day and it’s only three p.m.

Incredible how this office has witnessed so many hard talks: the talk I had with Roy, not so long ago, regarding my feelings toward his daughter and my intention to marry her; the talk with Julia asking me if I would approve the assassination of Petra’s mother; and now, the worst of them all, putting an end to all of this—killing myself, it feels like.

I hear knocking. The door opens.

I can’t help but smile at the sight of her—she’s wearing a loose white sweatshirt, her usual jeans, and a pair of white sneakers. Her cherry lips smile back at me, her skin glowing, her eyes sparkling. She looks like she’s going to run in my direction like a kid, and she does. I welcome her with a kiss, tasting her lips one last time, but she probably feels the bitterness in my heart more than anything else.

“What’s wrong?” She knows me so well.

“Petra, have a seat.” I invite her to sit where her father sat before. But Petra is not Roy and she doesn’t obey. Instead, she studies my face, my expression…

“Tell me,” she insists again. I look down but remain speechless. “Wow, seems serious.”

“It is,” I reply, but nothing further seems to come out.

Petra Van Gatt

The more I observe him, the more I wonder if he knows about my pregnancy. Maybe the clinic found out my real identity, maybe they sold the information to Dad… Oh God, this is it. He knows everything! The words he’ll say next, I know them. He won’t propose. I’ve got to throw up. “Is there a bathroom around?”

He points to a door, and before he can say a word, I run to the back of his office, open it, and find a small bathroom. Unfortunately, I vomit into the toilet before I can close the door behind me. I feel so embarrassed that he witnesses it all. He turns his face away at the terrible sound I make when the acid evacuates my mouth.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve thrown up,” he snaps. “You haven’t eaten properly either. This could be serious. Let me call the doctor.”

What? He doesn’t know yet? Or is he just pretending to test my honesty? “No need. I can explain.” I sigh nervously. I’ll have to play the honesty card—just like Emma recommended.

“Well, I’m listening.”

“I’m… I’m...” I reach down to my abdomen, but words don’t come. I feel so ashamed for what I did. I shouldn’t have lied to him, and now I’m so scared I’ll regret it. But it’s too late. I shut my eyes, anticipating the worst.

“Oh, Petra…” His tone is enough to petrify my entire body. I swallow hard. His hands go to his face, and he rubs his eyes tiredly. “You are with child, aren’t you?” His question is laced with disappointment as he looks in my direction.

I nod.

He lets out a deep breath, gazing intently down at the floor, then back at me. “How many weeks?”

I can’t even move, think, or talk in the face of so much hostility, but I shut my eyes once more, and with my voice broken and weak, I mumble, “Fifteen…”

“What? You must be kidding me,” he immediately snarls. “That goes way back to early December. You told me you were on the pill. You… you fucking lied to me! Why did you do that? Why?”

“Because I wanted this!” I shout through tears. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but since you promised Dad we wouldn’t have kids before I graduate, I kept it to myself. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone. But, oh God, I was so happy when I found out.”

“Petra, you’re only eighteen, for God’s sake! Your dad will hate me. I made him a promise I can’t even keep because his daughter is a fucking liar!”

“Stop talking about him and your stupid promise! He has nothing to do with us!”

“Really? He has nothing to do with us? In what world do you live?”

“We can still get engaged,” I insist. “We don’t need his fucking permission anyway.”

“No, we cannot,” he announces, sounding defeated.

My jaw drops to the floor as I look at him in the eye. His are red and watery. I’ve never seen him like this before. Is he holding back tears?

“I’m sorry, Petra, but it’s over.”

I gasp, covering my mouth. Oh God, I feel my heart reel at such a punch. The pain is so deep that I can barely breathe. “You can’t be serious!” I start sobbing. “Just because I’m pregnant? Just because I lied?”

Alexander Van Dieren

Oh Petra, if you knew… “It’s either me or the baby,” I add, knowing she will choose the latter.

She caresses her baby bump, despite it being very small. “What’s wrong with you?” she shouts through her sobs. “You’re really suggesting I end my pregnancy or else we are done?”

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and say what has to be said. “Yes.” Please, Petra, just choose the baby and break up with me.

“Very well.” She sniffles and dries her tears. “You are the cruelest person I’ve ever met! Mom was right! You are nothing but a disgusting heartbreaker, a monster! I hate you!”

I can’t contain my tears for much longer. I need to get out of here before I lose control. Before I tell her the truth once and for all. Be wise, Alexander! I hear Roy shouting in my head. You know what’s at stake. “You have some belongings in my bedroom. I’ll get them for you. Wait for me here.” And I shut the door behind me, just as my tears start falling.

Petra Van Gatt

He leaves me alone in total agony. My entire world is crashing beneath my feet. Emma was so right. I feel so disgusted and disappointed by his words, his attitude, his reaction. While I knew he’d be shocked, I never ever imagined he’d prefer me to have an abortion. Fuck, it’s his baby too! This feels like a nightmare. I don’t recognize him! Oh God, what happened to him? I can’t stand either him or my father, who’s always in between, controlling us and how we live. I hate both of them! I sniffle and dry my tears quickly. My agony switches to anger. If I have to choose, like he just told me to, well, my choice is made. I have to get away. Far away.

Seeing Alex’s car keys on the desk, I grab them and head outside. I find his Mercedes parked right at the entrance. I get inside quickly so as not to be seen. I’m not used to driving, but I decide to give it a try. The engine roars, and the car starts moving. I press another key, the metal gates open, and I leave.

My iPhone keeps ringing. I’ve already blocked Alex’s phone number after his successive calls and after rejecting them all. This time, it’s Emma. Good. “Hi, Emma. No, I’m not in Bedford Hills. In fact, I’m leaving New York, driving south. I’m thinking Florida or so. Yes, I’m driving… I know I don’t usually drive, but who cares! No, my decision is made! I don’t want to talk or see anyone from my family, him included. I’m done with them. Done,” I yell. “If anyone calls you, you have no idea where I am. No! I won’t talk to him, Emma. You were so right. As soon as he knew about my pregnancy, there was no more engagement, or relationship at all. He even suggested I have an abortion—kill his own baby! Such an asshole. I don’t need anyone to raise this child. Alex and my father can live happily together. I won’t disturb any—”

Manhattan, March 6, 2020

Alexander Van Dieren

Despite Janine’s insistence that Mr. Van Gatt was not available, I run into his office/library and fling the door wide open. “Roy, I need to talk to you.”

Roy shuts his book abruptly. He turns his face toward the entrance of the room and gestures to Janine, who leaves, closing the door behind her. “Sounds serious. What is it about?”

“Petra took my car and ran away,” I begin. “I spoke to Maria, Emma, my sisters—no one knows where she is. I called her, texted her, nothing.”

“What? Okay, calm down,” says Roy, mainly to himself. “She must be somewhere nearby. Let me call her.” He puts the call on speaker, and we wait, wait, and wait… “Not answering. Let me call Emma…” Emma answers. “Emma? It’s Roy. Is Petra with you?”

“Nope, she told me she’s spending the weekend at Van Dieren’s.”

“Well, unfortunately, she took his car and left. She’s not at home either… If she calls you, could you kindly let me know where she is?”

“Sure.”

“Thank you.” Roy hangs up. “Emma won’t say a word to us. But I think you’re right. Petra ran away. I’ll call some people. They should be able to track her down.”

“Her phone is no longer in service. She probably threw it away and got a new one,” concludes one of the agents sitting in Roy’s office, eyes glued to his laptop.

I feel myself losing my temper. “I can’t believe this! So, she doesn’t want us to know where she is?” I look back at Roy in fury. “This is because of you. See? I never wanted to break up with her. I never should have listened to you!”

“You did the right thing,” he snaps. “We just have to find her, bring her home, and everything will be okay. Then you will go to Singapore as planned.”

“No. Once we find her, I’ll tell her the truth, Roy. And I will propose. My decision is made.”

“Don’t even think about it, Van Dieren!”

“She is pregnant,” I announce.

Roy gasps in shock, instantly falling onto the sofa behind him. There he remains livid, speechless, and paralyzed. But I’ve got more to say. “I might lose everything, but I won’t lose her. She’ll be my wife, whether you and Tess like it or not.”

He rubs his eyelids before looking back at one of the agents. “Did you manage to track his car?”

“We are working on it, Mr. Van Gatt.”

“Then work harder!”

We hear knocking.

“Mr. Van Gatt?” Janine steps quietly inside, a phone in hand. “I know where your daughter is…” she mumbles gravely, head down.

“Well, Janine, where is she?” Roy snarls. But Janine remains mute and still. “Speak, for God’s sake!”

“The police called… Oh, poor little girl…” She shakes her head, sniffling.

“Janine, speak!”

She quickly dries her tears and looks up at Roy. “There was an accident. She’s at Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia.” Her voice gets lower, harder to understand through her sobbing. “The car crashed into a truck. Oh, dear Lord…”

I’ve got to close my eyes at the intensity of the punch to my chest. It can’t be true; it can’t be Petra! “In Philadelphia? She left New York? Are you sure it’s her, Janine?”

“They found her ID in her purse, Mr. Van Dieren. That’s how they reached us.”

“How is she?” Roy asks.

“Janine, tell us! How is she?”

“She’s not conscious… The doctors advised to come as soon as possible.”

With a defiant glare, Roy looks back at the agent sitting on his chair. “Get us a helicopter. We’ll leave now.”

Pennsylvania Hospital, March 6, 2020

When we get to the hospital, we’re escorted by a physician to room forty-two on the fifth floor.

Janine starts sobbing when she sees Petra lying in bed, unconscious and wrapped in white bandages. I try to remain calm and comfort Janine, but my heart is as paralyzed as hers.

Roy walks closer to the bed. “When is she going to wake up?”

“Unfortunately, we don’t know, Mr. Van Gatt. The head injuries and her unconscious state are serious. There is no response so far to any neurological stimuli. So, it could be in one day, one week, one month… or longer.” The physician takes the report and reads further. He raises his eyebrows, rubs his eyelids, takes a deep breath, and, for some reason, looks at me. “I don’t know if you knew or not, but”—he pauses for an instant— “she was also about fifteen weeks pregnant. Unfortunately, the fetus didn’t survive the accident. The miscarriage was instant. We performed a D&C surgery to remove the fetal tissue left in her womb to prevent further complications. I’m truly sorry to have to give you this news.”

The reality too harsh to face, I close my eyes and press my lips tightly together. I feel so much rage, anger, and hate consuming me. I never should have followed Roy’s “wise” advice. I should’ve followed my heart, gotten down on one knee when she announced her pregnancy, told her how much I love her, how happy I was, and kissed her. But I didn’t. And all this rage, anger, and hate are entirely toward myself. I feel my eyes watering and a tear already coursing down. This is my fault. I promised to protect her, told her no one would ever hurt her again, and I’m the one who did the worst.

I look back at Roy. He seems distant, far away, in denial of this nightmare. “Are you telling us you don’t know when she will wake up? How is this possible?”

“She is in a coma, Mr. Van Gatt.” The physician takes a deep breath. “Comas can last several days to several years. So far, her heart, lungs, and brain are stable. She can breathe on her own, which is very important. But we can’t predict if she’ll ever wake up, or if she does, how she’ll be afterwards. The medication can only prevent further physical and neurological damage. But rest assured, only rare comas last longer than a month—most patients wake up after a week or two.”

Roy shakes his head. “Can we transfer her back to New York?”

“I’d like to have her here for at least a week or two to examine and monitor her condition. Then, if she doesn’t wake up, you can transfer her.”

“Oh God, Tess is calling…” Roy takes the call despite it coming at the worst moment. “Tess, how are you…? Petra’s unfortunately not available right now. She is…” He swallows hard. “Can you get a flight to Philadelphia or New York? It would be easier to explain once you get here.”

Pennsylvania Hospital, March 7, 2020

Tess Hagen

If there’s one thing we mutually agreed upon and respected these last seventeen years, it was that I would never step foot in New York and Roy in Rotterdam. We each have our territory, our cities—our space. Roy rarely comes to the Netherlands, and I, a proud born and raised Rotterdammer, never much enjoyed the other side of the Atlantic either. But today I’m landing on American soil after seventeen years.

I nearly collapse when I find out my daughter is in a coma. Roy and Alexander are standing near the closed door, faces down and serious. They don’t know what to say or do—the duo remain speechless.

“The doctors said they should be able to remove the bandages in four weeks,” mumbles Roy after a long silence.

I want to cry out loud, but the rage and hate I have for these men is so grave, so deep, that I place a tender kiss on my daughter’s forehead, stand up from the bed, and make a life-changing decision. “I’m moving to New York to take care of her. Enough is enough!”

“You’re not moving here. Forget it, Tess!” barks Roy. “Alexander is leaving for Singapore. You won’t have to worry about him anymore,” he reassures me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” rebukes Van Dieren, looking at us. “Tess, I truly love her. More than anything in life. You are hurting her as much as me. Just accept it and move on. Let her be happy with me.”

“Never, Van Dieren!” I point my index finger at him in disgust. “You’re a fucking disgusting pervert! This relationship is cursed! This is not love—this is a cruel and twisted obsession! You better go to Singapore, unless you want to lose everything!”

Van Dieren doesn’t say a word. He starts rubbing his eyelids and takes a deep breath before looking me in the eye again. “I won’t disappear again without saying goodbye,” he adds feebly. “Let me take care of her until she wakes up.” But I remain mute, unmoving. “I just lost a baby and the woman I love, for God’s sake! Can’t you at least do that?”

I consider his request while observing his eyes fill with tears. “If God is merciful with her and grants her a second chance, you better forget this relationship once and for all,” I snarl. “She can stay with you in New York, but I’ll choose the physician who will monitor her condition on a daily basis. And once she wakes up, you tell her goodbye, and you are gone—for good. Are we clear?” He nods. “If you ever try to see Petra afterward…” I squeeze my lips together, head shaking. “I swear to God, I’ll make sure the entire world knows what both of you did.”

“Tess, enough! It’s time for you to leave.”

“That’s alright,” interposes Van Dieren. “I’m going outside to get some fresh air.”

CHAPTER 34

Manhattan, August 26, 2020

Petra Van Gatt

I don’t recognize my bedroom. It looks unfamiliar. My mind’s blurry, as if I’d overslept. Every movement is difficult, but I manage to turn my face enough to the right to see my mother sitting beside me, stroking my head.

“Mom?” She smiles, still focusing on me.

“Hey, my little angel.” Her voice is so calm and reassuring. She plants a tender kiss on my forehead. “I love you so much. You have no idea how many times I have prayed to see these beautiful eyes again.”

I smile at her words, but my curiosity takes over and I look around the room. “Where am I?”

“In your new home. I moved to Manhattan to take care of you. I’ll never leave you again.”

“To take care of me?” I repeat, perplexed, while sitting up in bed. “What about Alex? Where is he?”

Mom lowers her gaze, thinking something through. “Honey, your godfather made me a promise…”

“What promise?”

But Mom doesn’t reply. Words seem difficult as she keeps studying me. “To let you live in peace.”

“Are you kidding me? No! I don’t believe you!” I touch my neck, but my pendant is gone. I feel such a terrible pang in my heart that I cry instantly, devastated by the pain.

“Darling, shhh…” She hugs me tight. “I understand it’s hard now, but it was such a dangerous obsession. It nearly killed you. You finally have a second chance to live a happy and healthy life.”

“I have to talk to him,” I howl louder.

“Oh, my little angel, he left New York. He sold his estate. He…”

“He what? Mom, speak!”

Mom swallows hard. “He got married, Petra.”

I nearly faint. I try to drag precious air into my lungs, breathing in and out.

Because my goddaughter forbade me to marry anyone but her, I remember him saying in Brazil.

“I don’t believe you. He loves me. He’ll never marry anyone but me.”

“Oh, darling, you’ve been in a coma for so long… It was destroying him. He had to tell you goodbye and move on.” She pauses. “He’s now happily married to Amanda.”

No, no, no! Agony takes over my soul, and I start sobbing like never before. “I want to die... Oh, Mom…” I hold her tight and let myself go in her arms. “I can’t live like this.”

“Of course you can. I promise you can,” she says, while gently stroking my hair. “You’ll have the best psychiatrists to take care of you. We’ll ensure you fully recover.”

Mom tries to calm me down, but I know it’s impossible. “Where’s Dad? I need to see him.”

She lets out a sigh. “Well, since I won the case to transfer you with me, your dad sold his stocks and his penthouse on Park Avenue, and decided to retire. He bought an island in the Pacific and has been living there like a hermit for the past few months.”

What? I can’t believe it! I shut my eyes and try to wake up from this nightmare. The two most important men in my life are gone? Mom has to be lying! I take my iPhone, get out of bed, and head to the living room. There I try to call Alex, but his number is no longer available. I try Dad’s number. That line doesn’t go through either. I text Yara, Julia, and Maud, but no one replies. I call them—still nothing. It seems like no one from the Van Dieren clan wants to talk to me, Margaret included. They all left. Abandoned me. Deceived me. I close my eyes, tears falling. He’s really gone. Again.

Mom sits on the floor where I’m sobbing and holds me tight. “Mom, let me die...” I sniffle. “There is no point in being here...”

“Shhh, my little angel. Never. I will never give up on you. You will heal, I promise. You have your whole life ahead. I understand it’s hard now…”

She can’t understand, no. She can’t understand there’s no possible life. The life I want is no longer here. I lost everything I most cherished. “Let me talk to him,” I insist through my sobs. “He loves me, he needs me.”

“Petra, it’s over. Your godfather moved on with his life. You have to do the same now. Let him be happy with Amanda.” But I keep shaking my head in denial. “You’ll start therapy tomorrow,” she announces assertively.

“I don’t need therapy. I need him. He doesn’t love Amanda. This is bullshit!”

Mom lets out a breath. “He does. He just wasn’t ready to marry and needed a break. What happened between you and him was just a terrible mistake.”

“Is Emma here?” I ask, thinking of something.

“Yes. She actually came here to see you many times.”

I stand up, feeling half dead inside. “I’m going to surprise her, then.”

“No, you’re not going anywhere. First, you need to see a doctor.”

“Mom, please, let me go to Hudson. I’m suffocating here.”

“I’ll go with you, then.”

“Oh, Mom, stop! I can still book an Uber,” I snap back.

“Petra, you’re not stable. You can’t go alone. You are ill!”

“Don’t worry. I won’t do anything dangerous. See? Uber booked to Emma’s.”

I head to my bedroom, put on a simple black hoodie and jogging pants, take my wallet, and look around. “Do you have a spare key?”

With a scolding face and a defiant glare, Mom stands in the doorway of my bedroom, probably to block my way. “You are not leaving this house.”

“Can’t I go out to see my friends now? Am I gonna be your prisoner?”

After some pondering, Mom finally hands me her key. “Here. Promise me you’ll be back in four hours. No more. And text me once you arrive and when you leave her house.”

“I promise. My Uber just arrived. See you later.”

It will be an easy death. A simple injection will put me to sleep for good and silence the pain my body and mind can no longer bear. It’s two a.m. Alone in bed, I take out the syringe and flask I bought today while Mom thought I was in Hudson Valley. Then I fill the syringe with the yellowish liquid. I close my hand as hard as I can so the veins will become more prominent on my forearm. Without thinking twice, I perforate one with the needle, press the plunger, and see the liquid entering my veins.

The poison will be fast, they said. It won’t take longer than fifteen minutes to stop my heart completely. I shut my eyes, just like I’m sleeping. I know Mom could come check on me at any moment.

They also said before you die, you see your entire life flashing before your eyes. But all I can see is the life I dreamed of with him. The life I didn’t live. From the day he would’ve gotten down on one knee and proposed, to the day we would’ve exchanged our wedding vows, to the day he would’ve cried with happiness finding out I was pregnant, to the day we would’ve held our newborn for the very first time… Years later, we’d be running in the green fields of Bedford Hills with our children on a warm, sunny day. We’d have picnics by the lake. Alex would make paper windmills that spin when you blow, and the kids would giggle, enchanted by them. We’d go to Aspen and teach them how to build a snowman and how to ski, but most importantly, they’d be loved and cherished, and they’d never feel lonely like I did growing up.

Then I picture myself in bed with him, waking up together. He’d smile at me and, like every day, he would say, “Good morning, wife.”

A big grin would warm my face. I would touch my pendant and give him a kiss. “Good morning, husband.”

But suddenly, I feel myself crying.

“Why are you crying?” he asks.

“Because this is not real…” I tell him. “And the truth is so ugly that I can’t live with it.”

“Oh, Petra.” He reaches out, gently taking my hand. “Why would you go that far for me?”

“Because I love you,” I mumble, eyes down. “Why go on living if I can’t be with you?”

“If you are dying, then I want to die too.”

At that instant, he turns to the nightstand, opens the drawer, and pulls out a sharp, pointed knife.

Breathing feels harder and heavier as he gently takes my hand and puts the knife in my palm, closing it. “I want to go with you.”

“I can’t kill you. I love you so much,” I reply through tears. “You have to live. To be happy.”

“I can’t. Do it for me. For us.” He puts his hands over mine and sets the sharp knife over his heart. “Take me with you,” he implores.

“No,” I whimper in pain seeing him like that.

“You have to.”

“No. I can’t kill you.” I want to remove my hands from the knife but he’s holding them so tight. I close my eyes and shake my head repeatedly.

“Petra, look at me. Look at me!” I obey. “Do you love me?”

“More than anything.”

“Then please don’t leave me here. Take me with you.” He keeps pressing the knife against his chest. I tremble, seeing his flesh perforated and blood emerging. “Do it, Petra.” I can’t strike him. I’m motionless. “Do it!”

“No!” I cry harder, shaking my head as I see the knife going deeper into him.

“Do it,” he yells louder.

“No!” I abruptly pull the knife from his chest, and with all my strength, strike as hard as I can into my own heart.

Then I take one last look at his blue eyes, give him one last smile, take one last breath, and the pain is finally gone.

CHAPTER 35

Bedford Hills, August 27, 2020

Alexander Van Dieren

They told us she should wake up two weeks after her accident. Then four. And, well, now they just say she should wake up before the end of the year. Nothing makes sense to me. Her brain is stable, her lungs too. She breathes normally on her own, but she doesn’t wake up. Science feels futile and in vain, at times like this. Petra remains a total mystery to every physician we have seen. A complex paradox that no one understands despite the countless tests and brain scans. She should be awake, they’ve said repeatedly. Yes, she should. But she is not.

Madama Butterfly, an Italian opera, is playing from the speakers. The dramatic female voice in the second act resonates against the walls of my bedroom.

I remain motionless, living in the chair beside my bed, where Petra has been lying since the day she was transferred from the hospital.

Every single day, I wish she’d wake up so I could see her big blue eyes one last time. But they remain closed, as if she knows that once she wakes up, I’ll have to say goodbye.

A Macallan in one hand and an envelope in the other, my eyes are also shut, tired of this world, tired of myself, tired of life. I try to control the headache, but it’s become the normal state of my mind, and I don’t care anymore.

The door opens, but I don’t even blink.

“Alex, it’s two a.m. You can’t continue like this. You’re becoming an alcoholic,” scolds Roy, stepping into my bedroom. “I moved here to give you moral support—me, not the whiskey.”

“You know what day it is?” I ask, drinking a bit more, my eyes still closed.

He lets out a deep breath. “August twenty-seventh.”

I reach for my forehead, pressing the cold glass against my boiling skin, and try to contain the pain consuming me.

I focus on the sound of the female opera singer—her angelic voice reminds me of Petra. She sings “Un bel dì vedremo” from Act II. I love this opera, but I never thought Petra’s fate would be as tragic.

“And according to the letter from this clinic, our baby’s due date.” I empty my glass and swallow hard. “I just want to die, Roy. Seeing her like this destroys me.”

“She’ll wake up, Alex. The doctors said she’ll wake up,” he repeats, his voice heavier. “I’m sure she’s fighting internally to wake up.”

But I’m in tears, my head shaking as I recall every moment before she left this house. “I’d give my life in a second to save hers. There is not a single day that goes by that I don’t think about that horrible argument.” I sniffle. “Maybe Tess is right—maybe our relationship has always been cursed…”

“Nonsense.” Roy stops the music, walks a few steps over, and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Look, at seven years old, my daughter screamed out loud in the middle of the dinner table what she felt for you… And if you look back, she predicted this relationship from the very beginning. There are things in life we simply cannot explain.” He starts patting me consolingly. “I’m so sorry you can’t be together. Believe me, I am.”

“I know, Roy.” I sigh and look up at her. “In my heart, Petra will always be my wife, no matter what she does with her life once she wakes up.” I take the box from my pocket and contemplate the engagement ring once more. “This ring is hers. It always will be.” I smile as I let my mind picture her wearing it. But I force such thoughts away, close the box, and put it back in my pocket. “I just want her to wake up. She doesn’t deserve this.”

I hear nothing but his breathing. With no further words to add, Roy just glances at his watch. “I’m gonna get some sleep. Try to do the same.” And he takes the glass from my hand. “We said no more whiskey.”

Afterward, he leans forward and places a kiss on his daughter’s forehead. “Come back soon, Petra,” he whispers. “We love you.”

Petra Van Gatt

Sunlight timidly shines through the windows of the bedroom. It feels like morning. It’s hard to keep my eyes open. My body feels like stone, and I don’t even try to move my legs. Instead, I try to move the fingers of my right hand. But I feel something holding them. I manage to turn my face. Petrified by what I’m seeing, I blink many times, but I’m still lost.

“Hey,” I breathe. He’s sitting on a chair, asleep. His arms are perched on the edge of my bed, his hand on mine. I move my fingers again, feeling his palm. It feels real. Very real. Alex wakes up. I smile at him. He blinks, looks around, and blinks again. “Hey,” I repeat feebly.

He smiles in return. Tears of joy start rolling down his face. The emotion consumes him, and he lets himself cry. “Oh God,” he sobs. “Hey.” He leans forward to kiss my forehead, and I feel his tears wetting my face.

But I’m beyond dazed and confused. “Where am I? I didn’t kill you. Why are you here?” I ask quietly, my voice weak.

He raises his eyebrows. “Um, you’re here at home. Bedford Hills. In our bedroom.”

“But... I just killed myself. Why am I here?”

I see him struggling to find a viable answer. “Maybe you were fighting internally so you could escape your subconscious and come back here, to the real world.”

“My subconscious?” I repeat. “You mean…” My face beams at him. “You mean, I’m alive?”

“Yes. You are alive.” He kisses my hand repeatedly, drying his tears on my skin.

“What day is it?” I ask.

“August twenty-seventh.”

Suddenly I remember everything: the baby, the fight, the truck crashing into his car while I was on the phone with Emma… I close my eyes, my smile vanishes, and my face falls. I bring a hand to my flat belly. I’m so heartbroken that I can barely breathe, but nevertheless I murmur, “It was a girl.” It was.

He drops his stare, trying to find the right words, but there are none. “I know.” He sniffles. “I found the ultrasound in your purse.” He closes his eyes, trying to contain the tears already wetting his cheeks. “Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

I don’t reply immediately. I look at him again; I’ve never seen him so dejected. I want to reassure him, but instead, to my biggest surprise, I give him the answer that comes from my heart. “I don’t know,” I confess sincerely.

His eyes lock with mine. “Do you still love me?”

I chuckle. “So much. And you?”

“I never stopped loving you, Ms. Van Gatt.” He shuts his eyes and kisses my hand. “Never.”

I caress his stubble, looking at him tenderly. Then I let out a sigh and ponder for a moment. “May I ask you something?”

“Anything, Petra.”

Before I do, I observe him attentively. He looks miserable and tired. His face seems older, with wrinkles I’ve never seen before. I can see how his countenance has changed too. It’s now so melancholic, so gloomy…

Nevertheless, I hold his hand tight, look straight into his piercing blue eyes, and, determined to give him a second chance, I proudly ask, “Alexander Van Dieren, will you marry me?”

THE END OF BOOK 1.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A big thank you to all of you for reading my debut novel. I’m so grateful for the amazing support, positivity, and excitement you’ve shown, from my community on social media, my friends and family, to coffee shop owners where I hang out, etc., thank you so much!

Thank you so much to my editors from New York, Ann Leslie and Katherine, and to my proofreader, Natalie Psaila. I’m so blessed to have met you all.

To all the influencers and bloggers who have spent their free time reading, reviewing, and sharing it online and offline. I love you guys!

To those who inspired me for the book:

My life partner, best friend, and compagnon de route, Diogo, thank you for always standing by my side and trusting my craziness. Eight years with you feel like eight minutes.

My Roy Van Gatt—my dear friend Roy, you are officially my first reader, thank you for all your support, loyalty, and kind words.

Mom, because I can’t get enough of our philosophical chats over a good meal and bottle of wine. I promise I’ll translate the book in French so you can read it.

And, not that surprisingly, my own private school in Portugal, who is over seventy years old now, and gave me the best memories a teenager could dream. Thank you to empower the arts; from the studies of History of Art & Culture, to painting classes, dance, music, and acting—thank you.

Currently working on the second book of the series. All I can say is; it’s gonna be wild.

Melanie Martins writes provocative love stories laced with thriller, anti-heroes, controversies, and erotism. She believes unconditional love is human’s biggest superpower along with kindness and gratitude. When she is not behind her laptop writing, she can be found globetrotting, reading, daydreaming, and sharing her adventures on social media such as Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Goodreads.

Born in France and raised in Portugal, she currently lives in the beautiful Mediterranean island of Malta.

Find more at: melaniemartins.com

Table of Contents

Title Page

Contents

Copyright

Disclaimer

Dedication

Quote

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Acknowledgments

About the Author