Oliver

I stare at Josephine who is still sleeping on the left side of the bed. It's Friday, which means she will leave for Paris today. I can't believe this is the last time I wake up next to her for two nights.

I already miss her.

She looks so peaceful and beautiful in the light of the dawn. Her long chestnut waves are braided into a plait. Her chest is lifting and falling in regular intervals. She's a stomach sleeper and half of her body is laying in the middle of the bed. It's not my side of the bed yet, but it's almost fully in the middle - which is halfway to me.

Perhaps after Paris she is going to sleep closer to me. Sometimes I wake up during the night and feel the urge to pull her closer to me until our limbs are entwined. But then I remind myself she wouldn't want this. She has to go in her own pace. I can't push her to do something she doesn't want to - and I don't want to.

My fingers start tingling with the need to touch her so I fondle her right cheek. Today is one of those mornings when she doesn't have to wake up at an ungodly hour. I like waking up next to her. My heart stops beating for a moment every morning when I wake up and see her. The tingling sensations spread in my whole body the longer I watch her sleep next to me.

I think last night was a breakthrough. I mean, sure she drank too much wine but the alcohol made her talk to me like she has never before. The conversation in the bathtub yesterday tore down some of Josephine's wall. I know it.

And she does, too.

Suddenly Josephine's breathing changes and her eyelids flutter open. Her iris are sky blue but they still have navy flakes in them from our lovemaking last night. It's something I noticed about her, whenever she's horny and full of lust, her sky blue eyes start glowing in a navy tone which sometimes even sparkle in a royal blue when we're making love. She calls it sex - I call it lovemaking. Eventually, she will start calling it lovemaking as well.

"Morning." I greet her with a smile on my lips. Whenever I see her, my lips automatically stretch into a grin and my hearts skips a few beats. I also feel butterflies in my belly and my cock hardens in record time.

I am so madly and deeply in love with her.

She mirrors my grin, "Good morning." She says before stretching out her left arm touch me. She grabs my hand and intertwines her fingers with mine.

My body goes crazy from this emotion-overload. There are tingles spreading from our intertwined fingers, butterflies in my belly, my pulsing cock that's hard and ready to go after a night full of lovemaking and then there's this ridiculous grin on my lips that basically says IN-LOVE in flashing neon signs above my head.

I found home in her eyes and love in her smile. I fell in love with her eyes first because I looked into their depths and saw the other half of my soul.

She's my soulmate. I know it. She feels it as well. She felt it last night. The way we talked was sincere, honest. It wasn't polite. She lead me through the labyrinth of her true, spectacular self. We had a conversation and then got lost in each other.

In every way possible.

I want many, many, nights like that.

We have a connection. Not just in lust or in each other's images, but in the richness of each other's souls and the vibes we give each other.

And we have a freaking synchronised vibe - our vibe.

Suddenly, her grin drops. "What I said yesterday in the bathtub..." she inhales deeply, "that was the alcohol talking out of me."

She's pulling back. It's one step forward and three steps back with her. I suppress a sigh. She's denying our chemistry. You can't force chemistry to exist where it doesn't, the same way you can't deny it when it does.

And we have a chemistry like no other. "So, you don't like this version of yourself right now?"

"No, I do... I do." She ensures me while squeezing my hand softly. "I just... I tend to talk in poems when I am drunk. My brother thinks it's funny and even got me drunk on purpose a few times when we were still living together in Oxford."

I had no idea they lived together. "You lived with your brother?"

"And sister... and George and Char. We shared a house in Oxford while we all went to uni there. George and Rory studied medicine but you probably know that. Char studied History of Art, Nate studied Philosophy, Politics and Economics and I studied Economics and Management before doing my masters in Economics and Social Media at Harvard Business School." She explains to me. "I won't come back here after work today. I'll drive straight to the airport and fly to Paris with my sister."

I pull on her right arm until she's so close to me that our noses touch and I can feel her hot breath against my face. She definitely doesn't have stinky dragon breath in the morning or bird's nest in her hair. She's as beautiful as she was when she fell asleep yesterday - or maybe she's gotten a bit more beautiful overnight. "So, you're saying this is the last time I see you until Sunday evening?"

"Yes. I should be back before midnight on Sunday but I cannot guarantee that. Ana loves Paris and spending money there so I might be back early Monday morning..." She trails off as her sky blue iris get eaten up by the navy flakes. It's absolutely mesmerising to witness this transition.

"You better make it Sunday evening." I whisper to her and fondle her right cheek. My lips are brushing against hers as I talk.

"Will you be here when I come home?"

Come home. Those two little words turn me on like never before. I roll her on her back and climb on top of her. "I'll be counting the minutes until I can do this again." I promise her as I spread her legs and glide into her wet and pulsing pussy.

She lets out a moan that echoes through my whole body. "You've got yourself a deal." She says with a grin on her lips before kissing me with the same fire that's inside of me.

Josephine

I stare at Oliver as we eat our breakfast together. He's reading the Huffington Post and not staring at me or out of the window front behind me. Today, we cooked together. Veggie omelettes with freshly pressed orange juice and cappuccinos that have horses as a latte art in their almond milk foam. Oliver is an artist.

Last night was hefty. This morning was hefty, too. Oliver fucked me with a kind of strength and commitment I've never felt before. It's like he was keen I wouldn't forget him during the next two nights. It's like he wanted to make sure I wouldn't want sex with another man while I was in a different country.

Like I could need someone else when I have Oliver.

"I can feel your eyes on me." He says, hiding his face behind the newspaper.

"I'm not staring. I'm reading the newspaper." I counter with a smirk on his lips.

He lays the newspaper down with a smile on his lips. "Really? What did it say?"

I have no idea. "Something political."

"I thought you were reading."

I flush, "Fine. I was staring at you."

"Good." He says before picking up the newspaper again.

"Good?"

"Yes. This is about honesty, remember?" He says before flipping the page. "You may stare at me all you want. After all, we're living together for the next 15 weeks."

"Except for the next two days."

He doesn't disagree with me.

And for a moment, we just sit there in comfortable silence, me staring at the man who is hiding behind the newspaper and him reading the printed words.

I never thought I would enjoy having breakfast in the morning, let alone have it with a man that I'm sharing my bed with.

"Do you play piano?"

His question rips me out of my thoughts. "I do but I don't... I haven't played in years." I explain and shrug. "My Mum gifted me the piano when I moved in."

"Does she play?"

"My whole family can play the piano. We usually sing at holidays while one of us plays the piano. But I'm not really good at it."

"You're just afraid." He notices dryly before flipping the page.

"I won't play for you."

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you played not if you played for me."

"Well I still stand by my words."

"Just like I stand by mine."

"Do you always have to have the last word?" I ask him with a smirk on my lips. Usually, it's me who has the last word. But with Oliver... everything is different.

"No. Not aways." He says with the same smirk on his lips as he folds the newspaper and lays it back on the table. "Thank you for the newspaper."

Sometimes when he sits across me like that I forget his background. Because all I see is this man across me. I don't see wealth or poverty, a title or no title, a job or no job... I just see Oliver.

But than he thanks me for buying him a newspaper and I am reminded of everything that surrounds Oliver - especially his struggle to feed his family in Rio. "You're very welcome." I say back with a tight throat and a soft smile.

Oliver

For the first time since being in her penthouse, I don't want to leave. Because I know when I come back she will be gone. She will be in Paris.

The thought makes me sad.

But I can't ask her to stay. I can't ask her to be with me instead of with her sister, doing what she's always doing with her. Because that would make her feel restricted, controlled... dominated.

And that would mean she'd break off this agreement and kick me out.

Being with Josephine means I have to be careful. I can't ask her to do things for me, which she doesn't want to do. I have to take it step by step with her. I have to guide her without her feeling it.

Only then she will open up to me and feel my love.

Because obviously she's completely blind to it right now.

I watch Josephine closing the side zipper of her grey tight business dress. Her chestnut hair is wrapped into a low bun and she's wearing diamond earrings that she paired with a silver watch with diamonds by Cartier. Her makeup is light with her signature black cat eye and nude lips. She looks so professional right now. She looks like a boss lady.

There's no way this woman doesn't rule the world.

Josephine slips into her black Giovanni Russo heels before turning around to look at me. I'm standing in the doorway of her giant walk-in wardrobe. I love watching her getting ready for work. I love seeing how she transforms from the woman I love to the woman who rules the world.

"You can stop staring at me, you know." She says as she turns around to face me. "I like you in Oxford shirts and beige slacks. It suits you."

"That dress suits you as well." I give the compliment back.

"I knew the clothes would look fabulous on you. I'm glad you've decided to wear them." She says with a triumphal smile.

"You've had them tailored to me, so I can't give them back. But I can donate a few." God knows people need clothes all the time. And the collection she bought me could help so many people all over the world.

Her smile drops, "Please wait 15 weeks and four days before doing so."

She's finally understanding my position. "That sounds fair." I give her a reassuring nod.

"Good." She shows me a soft smile before walking past me. She rushes out of her bedroom and down the hallway. She's already stressed and eager to get to work.

To get away from me.

I rush after her. "Josephine,"

She stops in her tracks and turns around. "Yes?"

I gulp, "Can you drop me off at Luigi's?"

Her sky blue eyes widen at my question. "S-Sure." She stutters.

I'd do anything to have more time with her before she leaves for Paris.

Josephine

We're halfway to Luigi's and Oliver hasn't said a word. He didn't even looked out of the window of my black Jaguar with white leather interior. Instead, he stared at me with his sea green eyes.

For the last ten minutes he just stared at me.

And I stared back while Ralph navigated the car through London's traffic.

I had no idea starting at someone could be so fascinating. I stared at his suntanned skin, his full and symmetrical lips, his eyebrows that are just a shade darker than the beach blonde hair on his head, the prominent lower jaw and strong chin, his high cheekbones... I've noticed his long dark eyelashes and that the upper half of his face broader in relation to the lower. I've gotten lost in his sea green coloured eyes in the last ten minutes. We didn't touch each other in those minutes but it feels like his hands are everywhere on my body.

How can a gaze awake these feelings within me?

Oliver

I can't voice my love for her. Not right before she leaves for Paris because she might never come back. This is not the right time to tell her I love her.

I have to wait and see how she slowly opens up herself to me in the next weeks. And then... then I can tell her I love her.

But for now I just stare at her and hopefully make her feel a tiny bit of my emotions. She kept staring back at me for the last ten minutes, so she must be feeling something.

But with Josephine I can never tell.

She's a surprise bag.

Suddenly, she opens her seatbelt and straddles me. Her tight grey dress gathers in front of her flat tummy. Then she cups my face with both hands while staring into my eyes for a moment. Her eyes are glowing in a turquoise colour. My body is going crazy from the body contact and her gaze. I freaking love this woman.

And then she kisses me with a kind of passion I've never felt with her before.

She's definitely a surprise bag.


Josephine

Couture week in Paris is the Creme de la Creme. I'm talking about dresses that start in the tens of thousands and go up to the millions - only about 2000 women in this world can afford to dress this way.

Ana and me are definitely two of these 2000 women. But we're selective about the runway shows we decide to watch. There are only about 15 haute couture designers, known as grande courturier, in the world because the standards are so high. Each one of them is personally appointed by the Chambre syndicale de la haute couture. These dresses go from the runway to a one of a kind custom fit piece, so when we buy a gown we know we buy a piece of history. It's Schiaparelli, Christian Dior, Giambattista Valli, Chanel, Alexis Mabille, Stephane Rolland, Julien Fournié, Alexandre Vauthier, Givenchy, Maison Margiela, Armani Privé, Franck Sorbier, Elie Saab, Jean Pail Gaultier, Viktor & Rolf and my beloved Valentino.

If we see something we like, we have a private fitting afterwards immediately and buy the pieces before anyone else can get their hands on it. We get the clothes tailored to our body shapes until they're perfect. But it's always about wearing a designer without showing the logo. It's something that distinguishes us - the old money - from generations that just recently rose to the upper 2000, known as the young money. With young money typically in the market for flashier name brand items, the old money is all about class and elegance - something that never goes out of style. We don't need to show off our wealth.

Everyone already knows we're the wealthiest there is. We don't need to post our clothes, jewellery, luxury cars and private jets on Instagram to get noticed. We don't need that picture perfect instagram profile that's full of luxury trips in hotels no one has ever heard of. Taking the jet for a shopping trip outside of the town where we live is no big deal and opulent parties are on the agenda daily - but the old money just doesn't like to show it. We don't walk around in a show room of a store, we are immediately ushered into a back room where we're given private time and attention from employees and the designer himself. It's done but not talked about

We don't need to show off because it's evident who we are and where we come from.

But there are also jewellery parties, where we meet the most exclusive jewellers that work for all the big brands like Cartier and Harry Winston but also a few smaller jewellery seller that like to ask us for ideas and give them inspiration for their new pieces. We help them create what the customers buy. We create our own jewellery and then half a year later cheaper brands like Zara and Mango or even H&M recreate these pieces for the masses.

We make the fashion industry.

Chanel, Dior, Gucci, Valentino, Roberto Cavali, Elie Saab, Carolina Herrera - we inspire them to create their clothes. We are the real people behind the brands.

In a way, we rule the world like Royalty never will.

Oliver

The lift doors of Josephine's penthouse glide open and I take a step forward. It's so quite in here. I slip off my sneakers although she's not here and place them into the built-in wardrobe next to the elevator. I don't want to leave dirty footprints in her penthouse although I live in it as well. I walk down the hardwood floored hallway until I reach the wide living space. Her maid was here today and cleaned the whole penthouse so everything is sparkling and smelling freshly like lavender, bergamot and a hint of peppermint. It smells heavenly!

The skyline of London is across me. The St. Paul's Cathedral is to my left and the Elizabethan Tower with the parliament is to my left. Westminster Abbey is behind it. The river Thames is in the middle of the three tourists' magnets.

Just this view makes me fall in love with London again.

It's very strange to be here all alone. I scan the huge living area once more before walking into the kitchen. As always, everything in her home looks brand new- unused. It's a shame that Josephine doesn't use the full potential of her home. She could host dinner parties here or have movie marathons... or just have sleepovers with her siblings.

God, I miss my family. I miss them most on the days I know I'm going to call my Mum via Skype and see her.

Perhaps it's good that Josephine is in Paris and won't see me like this.

I open the door of her fridge and see pre cut veggies for a salad, cooked sweet potatoes and a curry in glass containers. Her maid also cooks?

Well, Josephine won't be here to eat it so I pull out the salad and open the cupboard to get out olive oil, salt, pepper and balsamic vinegar to make a dressing. I haven't eaten the whole day and since Luigi didn't bath me in leftovers today, I'm actually very grateful for this salad.

I quickly make a dressing which I then pour over the salad. It's quite a big portion but I am very hungry. I get a fork and pick up the glass container. I don't bother getting out a clean plate or bowl - it saves me the dirty dishes.

Not that Josephine has ever cleaned the dishes. That's what a maid is for - in her eyes. I shake my head in disbelief as I lean against the kitchen island and take in this insane amount of luxury that surrounds me. I didn't even dare to believe about this kind of wealth, even when I was little. I never wanted to become rich, I always wanted to make enough money to provide for my family one day.

I frown as Josephine's words from this morning ring in my ear. She doesn't want kids. Why doesn't she want kids? She loves kids, I know that. I've seen her with kindergarten kids, deaf teenagers and homeless babies at the soup kitchen. I'm sure she's a brilliant aunt to her little cousins and an awesome big sister for her three little brothers, too. She's all smiley and funny, heartwarming and caring... She flourishes around kids. It's like she's a totally different person around them.

Maybe it's just like she said yesterday in the bathtub with me. She has different faces. She wears different masks.

Is she wearing one with me as well?

She didn't say so but I just can't believe the Josephine around kids is an act. She must be a bloody good actress to be able to perform that good and fool everyone around her, and while I am sure she is a good actress - Bolton genes and all that stuff - I don't think she's acting. This is her.

The woman who helps out in the church that doesn't share her belief. She serves in a soup kitchen and spends hours talking with the people there. She buys a cappuccino for the sake of saving someone else from complete humiliation. She takes stunning photos that not only capture an image, but emotions.

This can't be an act.

This is her.

But why does she think otherwise then? Why does she so desperately want to be someone she's not? A rich woman who is heartless? A rich woman who wears diamonds on her body like others wear lotion? A relentless woman who is doing everything in her power to take over her parents' firm one day?

What made her believe she has to be someone she's not?

The media? Her family? Her friends?

An ex boyfriend?

Trying to figure her out without being able to ask her questions is very frustrating.

Josephine

I open the door to our suite and hold it open for Ana and five security men to walk in. Our hands are full of bags from brands that are located on the Champs-Élysées. Ana and me have watched three shows this morning - Chanel, Schiaparelli and Alexis Mabille. I didn't buy a piece but Ana has fun. She bought an icy blue one shoulder dress by Schiaparelli that she's going to wear to Charlotte's evening reception in two months. The original dress features a wavy design on the one shoulder but it was too short for Ana. My sister wanted a longer dress - so the designer is remaking the dress for her. Rory would have loved the Chanel runway show. The show featured the classic Chanel cuts and fabrics that my daughter is known for. But I didn't buy anything for her since my style isn't really like Rory's. Plus, Virgine Viard, the creative director of Chanel and the designer of Rory's wedding gown, is sending Rory the newest pieces anyway. They even design dresses together that Rory wears for Royal engagements.

The security men place the begs on the floor in the foyer before excusing themselves. The doors snaps back in place and we're alone. For the first time in six hours, we are alone.

Because everywhere we went, we had those five security men following us. Wlad was definitely not joking when he said he wanted to be extra cautious. Since Rory is on her maternity leave in Frogmore House, the world is crazy about the rest of the family. They desperately want to know how she is and what the gender of the baby is - little do they know it's actually three babies. Three girls.

But our mouths are shut until Clarence House, Windsor Castle and Kensington Palace announce the birth of the baby girls. It's going to be a shock no one saw coming.

"Okay, we've got the Cartier jewellery party in an hour. We should get ready for that." My blonde sister says as she rushes down the hallway of the presidential suite. She has already changed three times today for every fashion show that we watched.

And now she's going to change the fourth time.

It's ridiculous.

But I had to play along because it's expected of us to respect the designer by wearing their clothes while sitting in the front row. Our suite is full of clothes that the designer sent us to wear for their fashion show. Each rack in the living room is from a different designer - and we have seven.

I sigh as I follow my sister down the hallway. Oliver wondered why I didn't pack any clothes for this weekend. He has no idea how much Ana and me are praised in the fashion industry. Usually Rory and Char would join us but Rory's pregnant with triplets and Char's pregnant with twins while officially planing her dream wedding to my brother.

I stop at the rack that's filled with clothes from Armani Privé and Valentino. Every piece of clothing is in Ana and my size. Everything is also double because Ana and me tend to wear the same clothes on our outings as I call the viewings of the runaways. The tabloids love comparing our styles and writing headlines such as 'Who wore it better?', 'The Bolton-sisters have done it again! One outfit but two very different looks!' and 'Fashion-twins, the Bolton women wearing the same outfit!'. You've got to perfect the skill of playing with the media. I hate them most of the time, but they can be very useful when it comes to shifting the fashion focus to a social focus - and that's exactly what Ana and I do with every interview that we give. Helping others is in our blood - a Bolton gene as the press calls it. But I'm okay with that.

Because at least the newspapers and tabloids start talking about homeless shelters, soup kitchens and orphanages more. The shows of Armani Privé and Valentino are tomorrow and then we're going to Harry Winston's jewellery party in the evening. But that doesn't stop me from wearing an Armani pantsuit in black with a white ruffled Valentino blouse and black Manolo Blahnik stilettos.

I pick up my outfit from the clothing rack and walk into my bedroom. I was so busy shaking hands, chatting with people, posing for photos, giving interviews and having private fittings after the fashion shows that I haven't even had a chance to eat something. We've had a short lunch break in one of the famous and charming Parisian cafes where Ana and I ate a quick salad before Ana remembered that she wanted to buy some bags from Dior. Even Char gave us a list of things she wanted us to buy in Paris when she can have them all delivered to her doorstep. She's the Princess of England after all. But she doesn't trust her very own royal household staff when it comes to buying 12 Chanel Classic Flip Medium purses in black, red, yellow and nude caviar leather. Thank God we're flying with our private jet otherwise customs would think I am a smuggler. Why the hell does she need 12 Chanel classic flap purses in four different colours?! That's 48 purses! And all in the same size!

But Char kept her mouth shut.

I think it's for Rory's baby shower that I'm throwing in two weeks. 12 is exactly the amount of people I've sent out an invitation to. And I guess Char wants to gift them not one, not two, but four Chanel purses.

That's what people call a Royal gift. The press will call it lavish - if they ever find out. Plus, I bet Charlotte will get the bags embroidered with each attendant's name and Rory's Royal

Coat of Arms - and perhaps a Thank you written in George's stunning calligraphic handwriting.

Oliver would call it a waste of money. And it's true, you could feed millions of people with the amount of money we spent on the Chanel bags. $5,600.00 is the price of one.

I've spent nearly three hundred thousand euros on purses. For me, it's peanuts.

But for other people it means everything.

I take off my Alexis Mabille beige dress that I wore for her fashion show. Ana wore the same dress as me. It has long sleeves but they're cut open and held closed at the wrists with silk bows. Another big bow made of silk is on the left side of the very deep V-cut of the short dress. The dress that was shown on the runway was in icy blue, but I prefer the beige over the icy blue.

I was so busy that I didn't even get the chance to miss Oliver. He only crossed my mind now, when I have a minute to myself.

As I get into my black cigarette pants, I stare at the glittering Eiffel Tower that's right in front of me. The presidential suite at the Ritz is amazing from the exquisite materials they used for the whole floor to the curtains in front of the windows, but the view... the view is what makes me want to come back every year. I love seeing the glittering Eiffel Tower in the evening as well as seeing it in the dawn when I wake up. Paris is breathtaking.

I can't believe Oliver turned this down. I didn't invite him because it's the city of love because I certainly don't love him. I invited him because of this history that's behind every corner you turn in Paris. It's in every cobble stone that's paving the streets and inside every breath you take when you're walking along La Seine... I wanted him to see that.

But he said no.

He turned me down - for the second time.

No wonder I don't miss him. It's his loss.

I get into my white Valentino blouse and start closing the buttons. Oliver didn't call me today. He didn't even text me. It's almost eight which means he's probably calling his mother in Rio right now.

I wonder what he will tell her about me. If he mentions me at all.

Suddenly, the door to my bedroom swings open and I watch Ana walking in, dressed in a tight red silk dress from Versace. I recognise the designer's handwriting immediately. I don't need to read the table stitched into the back of her strapless cocktail dress.

That sexy and elegant cut is definitely Versace.

My sister's blonde hair is wrapped into a low chignon. She looks like sex on two legs. People have started calling her the Karolina Kurkova of our time because she looks a lot like the Czech model - except for her eyes, Anastasia's eyes are almost an emerald green whereas Karolina's are a lot light.

"You forgot to put on jewellery." I notice dryly. She might not have a single Bolton gene inside of her, but she has Bolton written on her face nonetheless. DNA is not what makes you a Bolton.

"I think this dress was sent for you and not me." She says to me with her big green eyes that sparkle even more now that she's wearing a smoky eye as part of her makeup.

"Then why are you wearing it?"

"I just wanted to see if the design would fit me as well..."

I pick up my blazer and put it on. After all, it's still spring and the temperatures drop in the evening drastically. "It definitely does."

"I'm going to change into something more classic. I have an emerald coloured blouse-"

"Keep it on. It suits you really well."

"Are you sure?"

I nod, "Yeah. Pair that with pearl drop earrings and a nice diamond necklace." I suggest.

"Okay, I'll keep it on. It's for Cartier anyway so the colour matches." She winks at me in a way that makes me chuckle. "You can call your lover now. I'll give you five minutes."

"No, let's put on the diamonds and go." I don't even deny the fact that Ana knows about Oliver. She hasn't mentioned him on the flight to Paris, because she was buy working on her MacBook and I worked as well. It reminded me of Mummy and Daddy when they fly - because they seem to work most of the time as well. "But speaking of him, why the hell did you tell Char about him?" I ask her as we walk back into the living room where a few boxes filled with diamonds from Cartier is waiting for us.

"She had a panic attack about this whole title thing again. I had to distract her to calm her down and save our nieces' lives." She says with a shrug. I no longer question her ability to see into the future or just... just know things. She knew Rory and George would happen just like she knew Char and Nate would happen. "I hope you don't mind."

For a moment I wonder what she knows about me. I never asked her. Because a tiny part of me believes that fate doesn't exist. That I have fate in my hands - and it's not the other way around.

But then I see Rory and George, Char and Nate... Della and Wlad.

Maybe they're coincidences.

"But I do mind! Next thing you're going to do is tell Mum!"

"No, I won't. It's just Char and me that know about Oliver so don't worry. And maybe Wlad because Ralph is working for him."

Privacy in my life is impossible. I let out a growl as my older sister opens one of the many red boxes that Cartier sent us prior to their party. They want us to wear the newest collection today and get photographed with it - that's the kind of advertisement that brands usually only dream about. A Royal and her sister wearing jewellery that's worth millions of euros - and unlike celebrities on red carpets, we actually keep the jewellery and buy some more during the party if we like the collection.

Oliver

I log into my Skype account on Josephine's iMac in her study and wait for my mother to come online. In less than five minutes she will see a kind of view she has never seen before. She will see London's skyline behind me. She will see that I'm no longer in the small cubic that I'm usually in when I call my mother. But I am no longer in that internet cafe.

Instead I am in a million pounds penthouse.

And I have no idea how to tell her that I'm going to send her less money in May. How is she going to provide for Caio and Johnathan?

I feel guilty for not being able to help her with as much money as I used to. I know she needs the money. My family relies on me.

I feel sick as I see my Mum going online. I call her.

She picks up after the first ring. My Mum, Maria Rodriguez, looks like she always does. Her beach blonde hair, that I've inherited, is curly. She has warm brown eyes and high cheekbones. I look more like my father than my mother but Caio and Johnathan look like her.

"Mama!"

"Oliver, how are you?" She asks me in fluent Portuguese. I miss her voice, her smile... and speaking in my mother tongue. She only knows the basic words in English. Being here would be hard, yet she's working on that dream as much as me. Bringing my family to England is a dream that Josephine wants to make come true for me but that's not going to work. How am I suppose to tell her I am an illegal immigrant and that my family will be too?

"Good. A lot has happened since we last talked. How are you?" I ask as I stare at her beautiful face. My mother has made so many sacrifices in the last years to make sure my brothers and me would be alright. Nothing's more important than family.

"This is a new background." She says instead of answering my question. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the study of..." I trail off and run my fingers through my hair. I can't tell her about Josephine. I wish I could but I've signed a contract that forbids me to tell her about the joy, anger, frustration and love in my life.

For the first time I start questioning my decision to sign this thing.

"You met someone." My Mum concludes with a smile on her lips. Women in my life are not news for my mother. Back in Brazil I had lots of women and I even brought a few home. We enjoyed each other's company. The sex was good but this... Josephine is so much more.

She's my love.

"I can't talk about her." I tell her, knowing Josephine's paranoid father probably watches her iMac and what she does in the world wide web with argus-eyes. So I better be careful with what I'm saying.

My mother nods. "That's okay... I'll meet her if she's the one."

She is the one. I can feel it in every cell of my body. I've never wanted a woman more than her. I've never felt at home anywhere but with my family... but she makes me feel at home although I'm thousands of miles away from my family. "How are Caio and Jonathan?"

"They're doing well. I bought them the new books for the next school year just a few days ago. We also had to buy new uniforms as they grew out of their old ones."

I can read between the lines. She has spent all the money that I've send her. "I'm going to send you the usual amount tomorrow." I tell her.

"I don't know what I'd do without you, Oliver. But maybe you should keep more to yourself since you know have a girlfriend. I can find another job-"

"No." I interrupt her. My mother is working four jobs already - and the money is still not enough. She has to turn every cent twice but at least with my contribution she can pay for the tuition, new books and school uniforms without the worry of having enough food until her next salary comes. "But next month will be a little less. About 500 pounds less. I've lost two of my three jobs, but I'm working full-time in my third job now. That means I can take on another job. Maybe as a bouncer or a valet parker... or wiping some floors... I don't know. I need some time to figure it out and find someone who is willing to pay me in cash." I think out loud.

"Okay. Jonathan is thinking about working as a waiter-"

"No!" I interrupt her. I may be miles away from my family but I am still the man in the family. "Talk him out of it. He won't work! Otherwise he won't have time to focus on school!" Education is the only way out of poverty. While I couldn't start uni in Rio to become a doctor like I once dreamt I would, Jonathan still has all cards in his hands. He shouldn't gamble with his future.

Otherwise he might end up like me.

She nods, "I'll pass on your message. But he just wants to help, Oliver."

"He can do the household if he's so eager to help you. Doing laundry and cleaning the house."

My mother smirks, "Sometimes you sound just like your father."

Her words hit a nerve because suddenly my throat is tight and tears well up in my eyes. "I miss him."

"I miss him, too." She admits.

On days like this, it's especially hard for me to be so far away from my family. "I miss you as well. I miss my home..."

"We miss you, too. But keep your head up. We're working on coming to you. Maybe in two or three years when Jonathan has graduated we can start making concrete plans."

Three years sound like a lifetime for me.

"I've got to go."

She always has. It's five minutes with her, once a month. The most important five minutes every month.

I miss her so much that my throat tightens and my eyes well up. I can't speak, so I just nod.

She shows me one last smile and gives me a kiss before she's gone and the screen is back to what it used to look like.

I won't survive three years without my family.

Josephine

The jewellery party of Cartier is held in a suite in the Four Seasons. Jewellery parties are not held with celebrities, no matter how famous they are. Jewellery parties are held for the people that rule the world. The upper 2000 of the world. We are known because of our family's history. We are the old money and sometimes, it's like meeting old friends here. Our families have been friends for years, decades and sometimes even centuries.

It's something people outside of this circle will never understand. This is a kind of exclusivity that shows Royalty are just people in the end as well. And Royalty is exactly the kind of people that feel comfortable here. The Spanish Princesses, the Monegasque Prince and Princess, the Swedish, Norwegian and Arabic Princesses - they're all here.

Doing jewellery shopping at Cartier's party while drinking champagne and chatting with friendly faces, old classmates, old friends from uni... but they never make new friends here.

Because we stay within the inner circle. This circle of trust, where no one judge you because of the diamonds you wear which probably were brought to light under unethical circumstances. No one judges the mince that's making your makeup glow so much although we all know child labour is the reason for the sparkle.

No, here we are all rich equally. We're all friends.

It's why Ana and me enjoy these parties so much.

Diamonds are a girl's best friend after all.

But to my surprise, this time there are more male attendants than the years prior. I guess the gentlemen want to buy some surprise pieces for their loved ones.

I take another sip out of my flute that's filled with champagne as I look at a bracelet made out of 45 yellow diamonds in a marquise shape. It's a beautiful, rather thin, bracelet.

My friends, the Princesses of Europe as Ana calls them, are enjoying themselves while staring at big necklaces made of sapphires, rubies, emeralds and other gemstones at the other end of the room. But I've always preferred more delicate jewellery. Sparkly, yes but not flashy. I don't need a big diamond sitting between my boobs for men to notice my cleavage.

It's already breathtaking as it is.

Jean-Luc, a senior sales man at Cartier, picks up the bracelet, "It looks like it belongs on your wrist, Miss Bolton."

I can hardly disagree with him. "Let's see how it looks like."

He opens the clasp of the bracelet before laying the bracelet around my left wrist and closing the clasp again. It's heavy - as it should be.

And it looks breathtaking! The 45 yellow diamonds are sparkling around my wrist. It looks like a mosaic of sparkles around my wrist. I feel tempted to buy this. I don't know the price but I don't have to ask. Money is not an issue for me.

But if I had to guess, probably a few millions given the excellent shape and clarity of the stones. They all have the same colour, clarity and shape - that's why it's so expensive.

"It suits you. You shouldn't hesitate to buy it." It's not Jean-Luc who says that.

I look to my left as suddenly a strong wooden smell fills my nostrils. It automatically reminds me of the strong stormy days of winter when it's too cold outside to get out and the only way to warm yourself is in front of a lit fireplace - wrapped around a man.

The thought irritates me so much that my brain can't process what the lips of the man next to me say.

But I don't need to hear his voice to know what he said. "I'm-"

"Josephine Bolton, I know." The blonde man with turquoise coloured eyes says. His face is perfectly proportioned with high cheekbones, a thin nose, perfectly groomed brows, almond shaped eyes and full lips. He's wearing a blue Oxford shirt and black slacks with polished black leather shoes. Around his left wrist is a Cartier Tank watch. From 1918.

Suddenly it clicks. This is Edward Rothschild. A man that's always been a mystery in our inner circle because you always heard from him and his humanitarian work but never actually saw him.

Until today.

Something tells me this is not a coincidence.

He holds out his left hand, "I'm Edward-"

"Rothschild." I say and shake his hand with a firm grip. A jolt of electricity runs through my body at the touch. "I have no idea why you decided to show up here when all these years you never-"

He leans forward and the gesture makes my heart stop beating for a moment. He has mesmerising turquoise green eyes. It reminds me of French Cay, our private Caribbean island. And his smell is even stronger now that he's closer to me. "Because my watch is celebrating 130 years today and this party is secretly for me and my Tank, but don't tell anyone." He shows me a smile that I've seen on millions of photos that showed him working in Africa, Asia and South America. His family owns half of London- and the other half is owned by my family. Our families co-exist happily. The Rothschilds own lots of luxury hotel chains and various luxury brands, they're a family of bankers - they're one of the few families that actually control the world. The powerful Rothschilds are well known in our social circles but the press on the other hand doesn't know a lot about the Rothschilds. Because they like to work and continue to build they empire without the press documenting every step - unlike our family. The Boltons are always in the spotlight because of our connection to the Royals. It's something that distinguishes us from the Rothschilds. But that's the only thing that's different about our families.

Yet, in 24 years I've never met Edward.

Until today.

Weird stuff happens.

I don't think he's joking because his Cartier Tank is actually 130 years old but it somehow looks brand new. Plus, there are advertisements all over the city celebrating the Tank's 130th birthday. In addition, he's a Rothschild - part of a family dynasty that's actually a bit wealthier than my family.

And that alone is quite the achievement.

So, I actually do think this is his party. Because I know Cartier is secretly run by the Rothschilds. Some even say they rule the world.

Something that's associated with my family as well.

"Do you want to grab a drink in the bar downstairs?" His voice is almost fondling my soul. It's velvety, seductive... and it's so deep that my toes curl inside my Manolo Blahnik stilettos.

I know what that means. "Sounds like a good plan." The words have left my lips before my brain had a chance to catch up.

He gives me a kind of smile that makes me forget everything around us - even the diamond bracelet around my left wrist. "Perfect. Because I'd like to get to know the famous Josephine Bolton a bit better and see if you live up to my expectations."

Oliver

I stare at the TV across me in the living space. It's showing some kind of soap opera in Portuguese that was filmed in Rio. After hours of searching, I finally found some TV channel that showed Brazilian TV Shows. After the Skype call with my Mum, my mood dropped rapidly. Three years without them... Caio would be ten then. Jonathan 17... The thought makes me feel sad and homesick in a way I've never felt before.

And alone. I may be in a million pounds penthouse but I feel lonelier than ever.

Maybe that's why Josephine is always away and never home. She must feel lonely here with all this empty space... the space that cries for kids and siblings and cousins and aunts and uncles... it cries for a family. These walls need to be filled with love.

Love that Josephine is afraid to feel.

Josephine. I frown and look at my iPhone that's laying on the coffee table in front of me. I could call her. I have her number.

But I won't because Josephine deserves her freedom.

Josephine

I take a sip of my Martini with two green olives. It's my second drink and my second hour with Edward Rothschild in the marbled courtyard of the Four Seasons hotel, one of the hotel chains that is owned by the Rothschilds. Le George is a beautiful courtyard made of different marble. Flower arrangements with white roses and an illuminated fountain are in the middle of the courtyard. Right next to the fountain is where we're sitting - inside this bubble of modern Parisian vibes. Big umbrella heaters are surrounding us so we're not cold despite the cold temperatures of this evening. About fifteen round wooden tables with white leathered armchairs, like the ones we're sitting in, are around us. We're completely alone out here - except for the waiter that's occasionally looking at us through the window from inside.

It's a kind of privacy I very much welcome.

Edward is drinking white wine and just ordered some caviar for us as the first course and tagliolni with black truffles and Parmesan cream and baked beef tagliata which was roasted over their exclusive wooden oven as the main course as well as cheese crème brulee & raspberry sorbet for dessert.

I think this is what Oliver would consider a date.

Except this doesn't feel like one. It feels natural.

"You know, they have an amazing breakfast in the L'Orangerie with handmade pastries."

"Edward, I won't spend the night with you." I set the record straight. While I very much enjoyed our conversation, it doesn't mean I will sleep with Edward.

But to my surprise the blonde man with turquoise coloured eyes smiles at me. "That's not what I meant. Not everything is about sex, Jo."

My nickname has never sounded better. "Then what did you mean?"

"Have breakfast with me tomorrow. Before the Armani Privé show, which I assume you will attend since you're wearing Armani right now. Bring your sister Anastasia. We can go together to the show."

I frown, "You're going to attend the show from Armani?"

He leans forward and his smell starts filling my nostrils. He's seducing me without even doing anything - just one man before him was able to do this. I'm really tempted to spend the night with Edward now. "I'm seated next to you."

I smile, "I assume that's not a coincidence."

"You assume correctly." He says as he mirrors my smile. "I've been waiting for the right time to make my move."

Right time? Our families have known one another since we were little. There has been plenty of occasions for us to meet - but we never did. "Yet you've never been to any social events that I go to before. Why did you wait for Paris? For Couture Week?"

He shrugs, "Maybe because I knew Paris would make my job a bit easier. Saying no to me in a city as charming as this, would be very hard, wouldn't it?"

I can feel goosebumps on my arms and legs although I am not cold at all. "Very hard but not impossible, Mr. Rothschild."

He smirks at my statement, "I still had to gather all my luck and karma points for making sure you won't say no to a drink with me."

"Oh, so that's why you're touring the world, building schools and water wells? And I thought you're a philanthropist, Mr. Rothschild."

"I am but that doesn't mean I can't be a little selfish. I've had my eyes on you for a while now but I couldn't make a move without the public noticing it."

I raise my eyebrows at his words, "Because you didn't want the photographers capture how I turned you down?"

"No, because your family was busy taking over British Royals."

I chuckle at his words. "Let me guess, you are one of those people who believe we're an actual clan."

"No, but I also know it can't be coincidence that your little sister and older brother are both about to be married to British Royals. That would pair you with... Prince Louis maybe? No, he's busy fucking his way through St. Andrews right now, following his father's footsteps before he met Catherine - and he's having way too much fun. The press is going to find out about him soon and you definitely don't want to be associated with him in that way. You wouldn't fuck a Royal for publicity. You don't need publicity. So, Archie?" He thinks out loud before shaking his head. "No Archie's not your type, he's too much of a free spirit. Plus he's going to uni in Sydney right now that would mean you guys had to have a long distant relationship... Maybe Arthur Chatto? Yeah, I think he could be a match. He's got the looks and the brain to keep up with you. He's your type."

I must admit, I did flirt with Arthur at the few royal events that we've met. He's very charming but I don't sleep with playboys. And making him sign the NDA would make future interactions a bit awkward. "No, none of them are otherwise you would have heard about me interacting with any of these men. But you didn't because I don't. So you can stop with the guessing game."

"Not even Arthur Chatto?"

"He's a friend but no more."

"You're very hard to figure out."

"That's in my genes, I'm afraid."

"It's why you're so interesting." He says before taking a sip of his white wine.

Suddenly the waiter comes with our appetiser, a stunning collection of six different caviar on golden spoons and a collection of freshly baked baguette slices.

"You're quite interesting as well." I say as the waiter excuses himself again. My belly starts roaring.

Edward chuckles, "You must be starving after a day like this."

"I am. I didn't really had time to eat so this comes very handy." I admit. It's almost like he knew I wouldn't say no to this dinner.

To this date.

Oliver

Laying in her bed alone is strange. It's so foreign that I can't fall asleep. I miss her body weight on the other end of the mattress. I miss looking to my left and seeing Josephine sleeping on her stomach. I miss her long chestnut waves that glow in the early morning light and sparkle in the light of the stars and moon. I miss her smell that filled my nostrils in the last three nights.

I miss her.

And I hope she misses me as well.

Josephine

I walk out of the Four Seasons and onto the cobblestoned walkway with Edward behind me. Old antique black iron wrought lanterns are lightning up the streets at night. The Seine is right across the main entrance of the hotel. The Eiffel Tower is in eyesight. Paris is beautiful at night. We could have had our dinner at the top balcony with a view of the newly rebuilt Notre Dame and the glittering Eiffel Tower, but instead we had it in the marbled courtyard which was equally as special.

Maybe even more because he provided full privacy for us to dine and talk freely. No paparazzi. No noisy tourists. No curious strangers that gossip about us. No journalists, no videographers - not even hotel staff. It was just us.

I valued every single minute of the last three and a half hours. Getting to know Edward was such a pleasure that I seriously considering coming back here in a few hours for breakfast with Ana.

I even want to know what she thinks of him.

I turn around to face the man that's been fascinating me since I met him just a few hours ago. My Mum and Dad would be delighted to see us end up together. We would unite two of the most powerful families in the world.

Perhaps there is some truth to the label Bolton-Clan.

I don't even really know this man but my thoughts are already going crazy. What's happening with me?

"Thank you for this dinner. It was very entertaining and quite delicious." I say with a smile on my lips. I've rarely laughed so much with people outside my family. And I've also rarely seen how fast time can fly by when you're having fun - without having sex. But Edward... I don't know, something about him has sparked my interest and it feels like with every passing second that interest in him only grows.

Edward Rothschild shows me a million watt smile that reaches his turquoise coloured eyes. "I'm glad we met today."

"Well, this was your party."

"Then I should thank my great-great-grandfather for passing on that Cartier Tank Watch."

"Yes but you can also pat yourself on the back for finally having the courage to ask me out to a date."

He licks his lips, "A date, huh?"

Shit, maybe I've had too much alcohol. "Or dinner. Whatever this was, I very much enjoyed it."

"Enough to meet me here tomorrow morning for breakfast?"

I can hear how my black Jaguar pulls up at the driveway without having to look at it. By now, I know how Ralph drives my car. I know how hard he pushes the gas pedal and the way he softly turns up at the driveway. "Yes."

A triumphal smile is on his lips, "Good and then in the evening we can have an actual date."

I lick my lips, "I have to warn you, I'm not good with dates."

"You've done well tonight."

So, this was a date. It didn't feel like one. Do all dates feel so... un-date-like? I don't know. Because I've never had a date prior to meeting Edward Rothschild. "That's because I enjoy your company."

"Then we can enjoy one another's company tomorrow as well. I'll make sure your drive knows where to go." His turquoise coloured eyes look at my lips.

I take a step back before he can make a move. If I kiss him, I will go back into his hotel. He has charmed me. It's almost as if I had no control over my body and mind.

But I like it.

I like it a lot.

"Goodnight, Jo." He shows me a reassuring smile. He got the message.

"Goodnight, Edward." I say back and open the door of my black Jaguar. I get in and am about to shut the door when Edward moves forward and holds on to the door. I don't even have a second before I feel his soft lips on mine. He kisses me gently but also with force and passion. I've never been kissed like this before. It's so good that I actually kiss him back.

"Dream of me." He whispers. It's a demand, not a wish.

As I am still perplex about what happened, I can see how he shuts the door of the car with a smirk on his lips.

The lips that I just kissed.

Ralph starts driving and I touch my lips as if this could change anything. I just had a date with Edward Rothschild. I agreed to another one. I agreed to meeting him again in just a few hours for breakfast and introduce him to Ana. I kissed him - well, no he kissed me but I wanted him to kiss me.

I lean back into my white leathered seat and watch how the many lanterns that stand along the promenade at the Seine pass me by.

And then it hits me.

Did I just betray Oliver?

Suddenly, my iPhone vibrates in my Chanel purse and I get it out. A text from Oliver telling me he misses me.

I didn't miss him.


Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!

This is Paris part one, the introduction of Edward Rothschild. What do you think of Edward? How is their date going to go?

Part two will be posted in two to three weeks - depending on when I've written and edited it.

Please review, favourite and follow this story!

In gratitude,

Nicole