Forever Yours: A Billionaire Romance/C2 Forever Yours: A Billionaire Romance
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Forever Yours: A Billionaire Romance/C2 Forever Yours: A Billionaire Romance
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C2 Forever Yours: A Billionaire Romance

Evan Sterling's POV

(Present Time)

The hotel Jacob prepared was one of my regulars and as soon as I stepped in with Jacob’s and my driver following me with my stuff, the concierge who was attending to some other guest immediately dismissed them and hurried my way.

“Mr. Evan! How lovely to have you,” the average height man said loud enough to attract the attention of everyone in the lobby. I nodded.

“Thank you, Adam. How is your lovely family? And little Emma, I believe she must be a big girl now,” I jest. He laughed with his eyes gleaming. I have learned in my dealings with people, especially folks like Adam, that remembering their names and little details they had dropped here and there about their lives or family always goes a long way in making them feel special. After all, they say people never forget the way you make them feel. And I am a strong believer that no one is insignificant to have in your corner.

“I can’t believe you remember Emma! She is not quite a big girl just yet, and I can't wait. Her teenage demands are giving me gray hair.”

“Of course, I remember Emma, and I can just imagine,” I said, striking a conversation with him, as he subtly collected the key to my suite and followed us to the elevator on the sidewall.

By the time we were on the last floor, I now knew young Emma would be graduating middle school the following week. I retrieved my phone from my pocket and asked him what Emman would love for a graduation present, he told me before he realized what I was doing. I ordered the device and asked for it to be delivered to the hotel. He went speechless for about a minute or two before he started to thank me profusely.

“It’s nothing. Thank you, Adam,” I said as he opened the suite with my keycard and handed it over to me.

“I will let the chef know you are around, sir,” he said. I waved dismissively, already calling Jacob.

“So, I am here, what now?”

“Yes!” he said, pumping a fist in the air. I shook my head in fake exasperation, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“You do recall we are no longer in college?”

“We are not dead yet though,” he said, chuckling. “Why don’t you freshen up, and Paul there will wait to bring you to where we are. Make sure you dress casual and no phones or such devices,” he said with a somewhat devilish relish.

“What have I gotten myself into and who-–pray tell—are the ‘we’, Jacob?” I asked, feeling a bit apprehensive.

“You will see,” he said mysteriously and before ending the call added, “Hurry up Evan, you are already late!”

“I will be downstairs, waiting sir,” Paul said. I nodded.

“Ben, stay with Paul. I might need to get away if it turns out to be something I would rather not be part of,” I said to my driver. He gave me a polite smile and left. I started to unbutton my shirt to freshen up, then my phone rang again. I lowered my gaze to the phone screen on the bedside table, where I had placed it, silently noting the caller before answering it.

“Yes, Mary Antoinette?”I said in a bland tone.

“Hello, E - Evan. I’m just calling to see how your trip went,” she said from the other end.

“Good,” I said curtly without elaborating. “How are you doing? I hope mother is keeping you company—”

“I’m fine. And yes, you know I love having her here with us… the house would be lonely otherwise—”

“Good—” I said with no change in tone whatsoever, completely ignoring her subtle mention of my constant absence, choosing to focus instead on taking off my clothes and preparing to shower.

Anyone listening in would not have a clue of whom I was talking to, and might even think it was someone I especially don’t like talking to but have to, just to be polite, and they would be right.

“So, are you staying alone in the hotel or with all the other groomsmen? Do you have plans to join the others for the um… bachelor party, or Stag Night or Buck's Night, whatever you guys are calling it?”

She asked. I paused with a frown pulling the skin on my forehead.

“Yes, why did you ask?” I replied.

She went all quiet for about a minute then stuttered, “Just… um c - curious.” Her voice was barely audible.

“Ookay, take care, and say hi to Mother. I will see you when I get back,” I said in a rush and cut the line just when she was about to say more. I dropped the phone in front of the bathroom vanity mirror and walked inside the shower stall and began to soap my body.

I probably scrubbed my skin harder than necessary, but by the time I stopped to let the water wash off the soap on my skin, the conversation I just had with … Mary Antoinette replayed in my head.

Even in my thoughts, I could not bring myself to refer to her as my wife. After all these years one would think I should be used to it - be used to her, but it still feels strange like the day I signed those damn papers.

Perhaps it was because I never thought of her as my wife – I have no reason to, coupled with the fact that I never consummated the so called marriage, never ate with her on that elegant dining table I was forced to spend a fortune on, in the equally outrageously expensive house I didn’t need. I could not even qualify her as my housemate. Housemates often hang out together and do stuff together, but it was not that way with Mary Antoinette. She was just… there. Perhaps as a house guest?

I recalled at some point I was tempted to be fully committed to her. She was not bad looking, after all, she was quite pretty, but then her father made it a point to remind me I was expected to give an heir. And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I was literally the mule, breaking my back for her and her father with their fifty percent share of my family’s company, and taking away my choice of who to spend my life with, invading my space! Just because of that bloody Edward…! I took a deep breath to calm myself, breathing hard. It’s been close to six years now and I still get riled up by the recollection.

I recalled pointedly facing the old gizzard to tell him right there and then that Mary Antoinette was free to fuck anyone she likes, because I do not intend to be a saint myself, but I would definitely not be burying my dick in her gut. I immediately regretted my outburst for about a moment when I saw Mary Antoinette blanch, directing a dismayed gaze at me, then her father had the bright idea to threaten me some more and then lunge at me and that was the end of my remorse.

If my mother had not been present, I would have done something I would definitely regret. Back then, I was really raw with the card life had dealt me. I was angry with everyone and hated my life. But with time I learned to bury it deep inside me and all my proclamations became law I could not go back on, mostly for my pride, and because threats are like challenges to me – challenges I take pretty seriously.

Mary Antoinette was just one of the casualties. I know now she had taken my advice and found herself a lover. Someone she sees every other day in some private establishment outside of Charlestown, I never really cared who it was, but I have had her followed just in case.

Since her father has the bullet to sink my ship, I figured it wouldn't be so bad to be prepared as well. But then Mary Antoinette has been weird lately, calling to check on me and acting like a wife? I wonder what she and her father are up to now.

Shaking off the gloomy thoughts, I dressed casually like Jacob requested, wearing a cream raglan sleeve shirt over denim. I picked a leather jacket just in case and left my suite with the determination to have a good time.

Paul drove me to a private helipad, and I had no choice then but to dismiss my driver. I was taken by Jacob's helicopter over notable highrise buildings in Manhattan to a peculiar one on 35th Street, landing on the rooftop of a swanky new club.

Before I exited the copter, I could see Jacob waiting at the side of the roof with a few faces I knew from college. I chuckled, preparing myself for a wild night.

They all started to cheer and make quite a raucous as I emerged as if we were frats boys all over again, and for about a minute I was shaking hands and getting jerked into a hug with hard pats on the back. Jacob handed a glass cup of what I suspected was champagne to me and raised his for a toast.

“... to reuniting with friends,” he said, and we all echoed the words, clicking our glass cups. I chuckled and shook my head.

“What?” Jacob said, beaming with smiles.

“I’m impressed you were able to make me come. Thanks for inviting me, and congratulations on your forthcoming wedding, man.”

“I’m still hoping you will agree to stay after the church service,” he said. I laughed.

“I think we should keep the hazard to a minimum. I’m still a little apprehensive that the pulpit would combust when I enter the church,” I said and all the men laughed.

“Come on, you are not that bad,” one of the guys said.

“But pretty close,” I countered, smiling, feeling a bit lighter than I felt an hour before.

Jacob ushered us all back down a flight of stairs and into a dimly lit clubhouse with loud music and quite a number of ladies dressed like seductresses. Cocktail waitresses carrying different delicacies of hors d'oeuvre and bubbling drinks marched about wearing little to nothing.

Jacob took me to some other guys I met through him back in school and I could see a few of them were already tipsy. A table with a buffet was in the right corner of the room. White and gray-colored futuristic pod chairs were nicely arranged at the center of the room with a buttoned, black leather chaise chair.

The ceiling decoration was something out of space, and I could see tinted glass demarcation with shadowed figures of ladies evidently giving private dances at the left corner of the room. There are snooker tables, golf courses, bowling pens, and even a Karaoke stand nicely stationed to make the room seem like some fun zone. It was literally the Disneyland version for grown-ups.

“I think you have outdone yourself here,” I said.

“...with no cameras, phones, or any such device. We are here to have fun, it’s a judgment-free zone. So, please, grandpa, relax!” Jacob replied. I roared with laughter. A friend called Jacob’s attention and I moved to the buffet table to serve myself some blini with creme fraiche and caviar, then found one of the pod chairs in the corner of the room to settle in, watching everyone have fun. As if on cue a cocktail waitress always appears to refill my cup each time I emptied it. And in no time I was feeling a little more relaxed.

Jacob came with some of our friends to chat with me about old times but it was hardly a place for such. We kept getting interrupted, and one or two of us had to attend to some other stuff or some prior arrangements. I didn’t really mind being left alone, but as the host, and with all the trouble he went through to get me to come, I supposed Jacob thought it necessary to get me occupied somehow.

He may have noticed my eyes drifting to the strippers giving lap dances to three of our friends, he leaned slightly to my side and said, “You know… you could always pick one of the strippers too for… let’s say a more private dancing experience. They have quite luxurious rooms tucked in that corner for that, it’s on the house. Oh, except for those ladies,” he said pointing at three girls standing by the entrance to the lobby he said to have private rooms, and added, “they are simply dancers. No touching policy,'' he said, chuckling.

“Every girl has a price,” I said absentmindedly, sounding gruff, watching the girls he mentioned, and silently sizing them up. Two were backing us and judging from their back view, they were quite lookers. They wore fancy black leather bodysuits with knee-high boots and matching leather masks.

I smiled when Jacob roared, nudging me on the shoulder. The two girls backing us moved aside a little, creating a space in between them and exposing the profile of the third girl. I slowly sat up, and my heart lunged hard in the wall of my chest. The smile on my face wiped off instantly as my breath quickened.

‘No way!’ I thought to myself.

Libre Baskerville
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