“I may surprise you.” True, Miquela spoke motherland Spanish, more specifically the Barcelonan dialect – although Monegasque-inspired French had snuck in there over the years. Miquela’s accent was a class of its own. “What if I told you I’ve never been to Mexico?”
“What! Even I’ve been to Mexico!” June playfully slapped Miquela’s arm. “You should take me. I’ve always wanted to see Machu Picchu.”
“So now you’re dictating where we go? Why, you’re acting like my girlfriend.”
June winked as the doors opened. “This weekend? I sure am.”
Miquela was only one of two apartments on her floor. Hers, of course, was the better one, overlooking the marina and her sporty vessels. Not that she could see them well from her window, but she knew they were there, and she couldn’t wait to take June out the next day, weather permitting.
She checked her phone as they entered her home.Excellent. Balmy and beautiful. A usual day in Monaco.
“Wow.” June ambled into the maw of the apartment. “Wow. This is not what I was expecting after seeing the outside.”
The façade? Authentically late 17th century, when it was originally built. Only things here and there had been updated to fit with modern safety codes while still retaining the historical beauty of the time period.The Prince of the day used to stay in this building.With his mistresses, of course.
The inside, however, was decidedly modern. Miquela enjoyed the old architecture – and would daresay she was proud of it, as any European worth her homeland would declare – but she loved the comforts of modernity. Even more so than her family, the first in their part of Spain to hire merciless Indonesian guards to patrol their compound.
Everything was computerized and touch-controlled, from the fridge to the entertainment center, to the window blinds, to even the floors. Miquela checked their temperature and if there were any wet spots. Everything was clear.
“Wowowowow.” June ran to the east-facing windows overlooking the marina. No beautiful sunset from this angle, but the water was calm, dark blue, and bobbing with white yachts and other vessels. Across the marina was more beige and white architecture that spoke of centuries long past. Miquela could guarantee they were as updated as her abode, even if they didn’t look it. “This is absolutely stunning. I knew you were loaded, but even I couldn’t guess that Monaco was like this. Some of my oldclients were seriously holding out. Just how loaded are you, Ms. Bolivar?” June’s cheeky look almost matched her voice.
“We are pretty ‘loaded,’ to be sure.” Miquela chuckled as she went into the stainless-steel kitchen and found some glasses and a bottle of champagne. “That’s mostly my family, though. Don’t worry. I have my own money.”
“Of course. How much did this place cost?”
Usually, women, regardless of background, didn’t ask that question so bluntly. If they were sophisticated like Miquela, they dropped hints implying they wanted to know. Miquela hated those games, but she knew they asked only out of propriety. Lower-class girls would never in a million years ask unless they were that uncouth – and Miquela usually avoidedthat uncouth, let alone in Monaco. June, however, was a unique case. She was used to dating high-rolling clients of means. Or at least having them dote on her with their money. She had been all over the world at one point or another. Dined at the fanciest restaurants. Worn the finest designer clothes, purchased for her by her various lovers and clients. She didn’t just sell sexual services and general entertainment. She sold a girlfriend experience. Miquela had to remind herself of that.
That was also why she couldn’t have her off-grounds date with her back in America. That wasn’t special. Any schmuck could wine and dine June in her own country. Even flying to Miami or the West Coast wasn’t good enough. Hawaii? June had been there a dozen times.
She had never been to Monaco, however. Who else could give her this unique experience? Not the other woman vying for her affections, that was for sure.
So she didn’t feel bad replying to June’s original question. “A cool seventy million. Of course, that was a few years ago, when prices were a little more inflated… but still. Dent in my bank account. Worth every penny, of course.”
“Naturally.” Still smiling – and still wearing her sunglasses – June ran her hands over a burnt orange leather couch and stared at a yellow and green statue on top of the fireplace. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Actually, about half of that was paying for the original owner to move her ass out. She was reluctant, but I absolutely wanted this unit.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Miquela handed her a glass of Champagne and pointed to the marina down below. “This is my favorite residential view in all of Monaco. The unit above this one was empty, but it wasn’t the same. I could imagine what the view was like from here, and immediately went downstairs to see if the owner was willing to sell.”
“I take it she wasn’t.”
“Nope. She was a widow, and this was where she and her husband lived for decades. Felt kinda bad, but you know how I am,mi amour. When I want something, I get it.” Miquela clinked her glass against June’s. She knew what she meant.
“Hmm.” June sipped, eyelashes fluttering. “What an asshole move, though.” Her tongue clicked in her mouth. “Almost turns me on. I said almost.” Her hand was on Miquela’s chest, holding her at bay. “Now, show me your room. I want to see if you’re one of those bitches with the computerized wardrobe.”
She was. Not that Miquela ever used the damn thing, but when she told the renovators that she wanted all the extras, no cost too high, she ended up with more than she bargained for. That included a computerized wardrobe that would keep track of her outfits and make sure she never wore the same one twice. Most of her day suits looked the same, anyway. All she had to do was change out the blouses and jackets.
Today, she wore a gold shirt, but no jacket. Miquela leaned against the bedroom doorway while June ran to the bedroomwindow and took pictures of the view. She then turned, giggling over the bed that came complete with an automated bed-maker. NowthatMiquela did make use of.
She approached June, swinging one arm around her torso and nuzzling the nape of her neck. “Are you impressed, my princess?”
She still giggled. “It is pretty impressive, but don’t call me princess.”
“Aw,por que?You’re regal enough for me. I would know. I dine with plenty of princes and princesses around here.”
“That’s the name my boss’s wife calls her. Too much baggage, ma’am.”
