“I’ve got two weeks of shoots booked, and my mother just invited me to go away with her for a few days. I think I might do that.”
“Oh, fun! Can I come? I love your mother.” He was like a big kid, or a large unruly dog wagging his tail. It was hard to get angry at him. He was exuberant and lovable, although Véronique wasn’t in love with him, but she liked him a lot.
“No, you cannot come,” she said, laughing at him. “You’ll keep me out all night, wanting to go to parties and nightclubs. I want a couple of days of downtime with my mom. I work a hell of a lot harder than you do, and I need a break.” He looked mildly disappointed as they arrived at her apartment, and he poured them both another glass of champagne when they got upstairs. Véronique didn’t touch hers, and went to get ready for bed, while he enjoyed the view of the Eiffel Tower and finished his champagne.
She was already in bed by the time he walked into her bedroom and sat down on the bed next to her. He kissed her amorously, and tried to inspire her. She smiled sleepily at him.
“I had fun tonight,” she said. She enjoyed her time with him, and loved dancing with him. She just couldn’t party all the time the way he did, and didn’t want to. She worked too hard to be out every night, a concept he never understood. At twenty-seven, he wanted to have fun all the time. He came to Paris for that, not to sleep.
“We should have gone on somewhere to go dancing,” he said and kissed her again.
“You’re trying to kill me,” she said, and he laughed.
“Definitely not. You’re way too much fun. Why would I want to kill you? Back in a minute,” he said then, and headed for the bathroom. He had been drinking steadily all night, but he was never disagreeable, even when he was drunk, and he had an amazing tolerance for alcohol. He was always a gentleman, no matter how much he drank.
He was back two minutes later, had taken off his jacket and tie and was unbuttoning his shirt. She was in bed with her back to him, and he kissed her back and her neck, and was surprised when she didn’t respond. He bent over her, and kissed her with mounting passion, and then saw that she was sound asleep. It had been a very long day for her, and an endless four weeks.
“Oh well,” he said with a smile, and walked back out to the living room to finish the bottle of champagne. Véronique was dead to the world.
Chapter 2
Cyril spent the next two weeks in Paris with Véronique. He slept late, got massages, and had lunch with friends while Véronique went to her photo shoots and honored her commitments. They met at night to have dinner or go to parties she was invited to, or that he’d wangled invitations to on his own. Knowing she would be with him, people invited him to everything nowadays. She was his entrée to the most elite, closed jet-set circles, and even though she worked long hours at the shoots, it was much less demanding and stressful than the fashion shows were, and she was game to go out with him in the evening. His father was fuming in London, and Cyril didn’t care. He was a spoiled only son, who had not lived up to their expectations yet, and maybe never would. Véronique was used to men like him, who behaved more like boys. He wasn’t much older than she was, only five years. He loved to have a good time, and was addicted to beautiful women. It was a breed that was familiar to her, the men who chased supermodels. Cyril was a prime example.
Cyril said openly that Véronique was the most beautiful girl he had ever known, and she was smart too. She saw right through him, which he found amusing. There was no artifice to Cyril. He never pretended to be something he wasn’t, and he never made promises he couldn’t keep. He lived by an honor code according to his upbringing, which in his case didn’t include work. He had no desire to grow up, and wanted to play for as many years as he could get away with. She made no demands on him, and didn’t want anything from him materially. As far as Cyril was concerned, she was the ideal woman, and they had the perfect relationship. Even her mother couldn’t get too angry with him, although she deplored his lack of work ethic, but he was just an overgrown child in a handsome young man’s body, with no malice to him, and he treated Véronique well. He was a gentleman and a kind man.
Véronique’s plans to go away with her mother had firmed up, and they were both looking forward to it. They had decided on Miami, which was just glitzy and corny enough to appeal to both of them, and the shopping was great.
“That’s not fair,” Cyril complained, when he heard Véronique make plans with her mother on the phone. “I want to come too.”