“Oh, I know, I know,” she says. “But what can one do? We will breed, we will secure a horde of nannies, and we will send the children to the right schools. You may shaft a nanny or two. Job well done and all. Then we can get old, circulate socially; we will be frightfully popular.”
The Hampton hyena stifles a dreadful laugh, and I raise a brow. “Let me think on that, will you?”
“Of course, darling. Of course.”
As she walks around me, her eyes darken. I know I’m in trouble, or what some call fucked. That is when she grabs her stomach and winces. “Oh, God!”
“Are you alright, dear?”
The waif staggers, holding her now-sweaty forehead. She is also looking grey. Grey at the gills. “I feel rather nauseous.”
Thank God!
As the heiress doubles over, I go to assist her. I look up to Samantha, and she raises a casual brow. She then tosses a grape and catches it in her mouth.
I try not to smile as she looks at me and bites down. “Perhaps it’s the jet lag. From the Hamptons.”
“Yes, likely,” she says, moaning and distracted.
“Unless you caught another STD from one of those gents.”
“Nonsense,” she says, swatting me away. “That was only once!”
Samantha yawns theatrically through the door, and I shake my head and mouth, “You. Are. Wicked.”
The heiress’ stomach makes a loud sound; it’s the sound of a dying animal.
“Bathroom!” she screams and sprints away.
“Let me show you,” I say, trying to keep up.
“No! Where?” she demands, kicking off her high heels and running away, holding her stomach.
“First on the left!”
The heiress streaks out the door, and another door slams brutally loud. There is then a loud moan as her body purges likely every orifice. I sigh, realizing the worst is over.
Samantha swans out with a spectacular grin. She takes the champagne flute from my hand and knocks it back in one. “You. Sir. Owe me.”
“Ahhh, so you think you’re clever?”
“A bit.”
I follow her to the large arched windows as the stars appear ahead. It is a clear night, and it is now looking up. I turn to her and find her eyes. “Thanks, really.”
“Don’t mention it… Harry, darling.”
We share a look. She said it just like the boring heiress, but in jest. I like it, and it feels right.
She bumps my shoulder with hers and passes my champagne flute back to me.
We look up at the stars in silence, and I have no idea. No idea what to do with her. That’s a lie. I want her to come on my tongue.
Every day.
Forever.
13
