Page 122 of Their Courtesan
Chapter 31
MIGUEL
Nobody was more beautiful at the wedding than Judith. Not even the bride could compare to the gorgeous charms of the nation’s most charming woman. Everywhere they went, and with everyone they met, Judith reclaimed the title by sweet talking and flirting.I can barely keep my hands off her.He did, out of propriety, but it wasn’t easy. Judith had kept her hand on his leg for the entire ceremony, and now Miguel felt liable to rip off that dress and have her before the happy newlyweds could go off to consummate their marriage.
“You’re killing me inside and out,” he muttered into her ear as they joined the throng of people milling toward their transportation of choice. The surge of people created a bottleneck from the garden to the front yard. Security personnel directed the traffic. By all accounts, it was a well ran American wedding.Things are different in Europe.The severe lack of helicopters coming in and out of the yard was one tip-off. “I hope we can be alone at the reception. I have… things to do to you.”
“I’m sure you do.” Judith wrapped her arm around him, fingers tapping against his midsection. “Looking forward to it.”
That’s what a man wanted to hear. He could wait. Even if they were in the slowest moving line of the century, he could wait to show Judith off some more. There was always time. Today, anyway.
I saw that other guy.He meant Seth, of course. Sitting with Zack on the other side of the walkway and two rows up. Only once did Miguel catch him and Judith exchanging looks.I will not get jealous. I am a terrific example of manners and poise.Seth kept his words and his hands to himself. He even admirably focused on the wedding, which was something Miguel could not really do. Weddings. He had been to a hundred of them over the past decade.Man meets girl. Girl says she’s a woman. Man and woman tie the knot.It was how the world was meant to be. Or at least Miguel’s world, anyway.
He looked at Judith with more critical eyes. Could he see her being the one he married one day? That’s how he used to look at Rosa. A woman meant for marriage.Whether or not she marries the right guy… who knows.Judith, however, was not the type of woman people looked at and said, “Yup, she’s getting married one day!” Not unless she was the gold-digging type. Naturally, this was not a dig at the woman Miguel loved. Quite the opposite. He was pleased with her independent nature and need to be in control of her own destiny. Too often, he dated women who wanted everything handed to them, whether it was money or service. Judith worked hard for her money – Miguel would know, as he had handed her thousands upon thousands of dollars by now.
“How did you like the wedding?” They were almost to the front of the bottleneck, but it was still slow moving. “The bride’s dress was stunning. It looked Italian.” Miguel tolerated weddings if three things were involved: an unconventional ceremony (check,) lots of alcohol (that was coming up,) and a dress that stopped the showandwas flattering on the woman wearing it. Ethan Cole’s bride, Miss Jasmine, had worn a princess bridal gown handstitched with golden appliques. While Miguel didn’t recognize the style as any particular designer’s, implying it was done by someone he had never heard of, he did recognize it as being decidedly Italian. It helped that he also knew Ethan Cole had a huge fondness for the country.
“It was nice.” Judith remained pleasant. “Weddings aren’t really my thing. Receptions, on the other hand… those can be a lot of fun.” Her hand grazed his ass.
“You’re a naughty one.”
“Says the man implying he wants to do things to me at this wedding.”
“I said later.”
They exchanged coy looks. Judith curled her arm around his and kissed his cheek. “I’m glad you asked me to the wedding. Then again, you don’t know anyone here, do you?”
“Only you and a few choice others. You are the only one, however, I know so intimately.”
She giggled. “Oh, look, it’s our turn.”
They forewent taking one of the shuttles to instead hop in the Aston Martin and drive farther up into the Hills for the reception. Miguel had never been up this way before, but he knew that this whole neighborhood – if sprawling acres and near-city country living could be called that – was the rural living for the elite who worked every day in town but wanted some sizable property to call their own. Those who were more miserly and wanted more privacy tended to live closer to the Château than anywhere else. The Hills, however, had the architecture, landscaping, and price tag to bring millionaires out to squabble over purchases.
Like in Europe, there were community amenities for those who lived here. One such amenity was a public complex sporting gyms, gardens, and reception halls. The main hall, where the reception awaited the guests, was a quaint manor on the way into the complex. Beyond it, past groves of evergreen trees carefully trimmed to still give an illusion of privacy, were the gyms and botanical gardens. The little manor was well equipped with everything a man of means needed to throw his wedding bash: a large ballroom for eating, toasting, and dancing, enough facilities for those who drank too much, and a lounge stocked with a never-ending bar staffed by half a dozen competent mixologists. One of many coat checks up front took Miguel’s travel coat and offered to take Judith’s sweater, but she declined. “I’ll get cold as soon as we sit down in the air conditioned room,” she explained. “Speaking of, let’s take our time and have some drinks first. I’m not in a hurry to listen to toasts, even if Monica will be rambling.”
The madam was here too, although Miguel didn’t see much of her since she spent the whole time sitting down. She went out of her way to say her pleasantries to him and introduce Miguel to her husband, Henry Warren, but beyond that, Miguel was happy to say that the only person he cared about was Judith, whom he ordered a margarita for the first chance they had.
“You should tell me who these people are,” Miguel said, leaning against the far end of the bar. Judith stirred her martini before picking out the olive and brushing it against her lover’s mouth. He bit it, even though he didn’t care for olives.Yes, this Mediterranean man doesn’t care for olives.All he cared about was enticing her. “I need to know who you make money from.” He grinned to make sure she took it as a joke.
One week ago, Judith had called him, screaming and yelling after being shut out of work for a night.I think it was Mr. Cole’s bachelor party, in fact.Miguel had been shocked that Judith wanted his number, but went along with it. She called every other night, usually from her bathroom, asking him about his day and how his work was coming along. Sometimes she asked more questions about his family and what it was like to live in Europe. Mostly, she flirted.
Then he received one of the most unhinged phone calls of his life.“Maybe if you weren’t such a bastard I would be able to make some fucking money!”Miguel didn’t know what that was about, but he made sure to tip her extra the next time he saw her – and brought her a box of chocolates, because even though she said she no longer menstruated because of her IUD, she still had the hormonal fluctuations that came with it.I grew up with two little sisters. I get it.Didn’t understand it, butgotit.
Judith pointed out everyone she knew in the room. There must have been at least fifty milling about the lounge, not including those who came up to the bar and departed again. Half the people were locals. Another quarter was other Americans. Foreigners were the minority, but even Miguel recognized two princes accompanied by their bodyguards and assistants. A Saudi prince, and a fellow European son from another tiny nation that was bigger than Monaco… but not as famous.
“Cole gets around.”
Judith shrugged. “He’s in charge of one of the nation’s biggest companies. You only met him, but lots of others beat you to it.”
“Truly, I feel honored having been invited.”
Judith grinned. “I should be so honored that you invited me to be your date, yes?”
He took her hand and gently kissed her knuckles, eyes never leaving hers. “Te amo, mi amour.”
“I love it when you talk dirty.”
“It’s Spanish…”
