Josephine
I open the heavy doors of the St. James's Roman Catholic Church and walk inside. It's completely empty and a peaceful silence surrounds me in this magnificent church. It's a bright morning, so the sun shining through the many stained-glass windows covers the altar, the wooden benches and the stone pillars in breathtaking colourful lightning. It looks magical.
Suddenly music starts filling my ears. I do bad things for the sake of good times... I don't, I don't regret... Call me what you will... Yeah, I'm in it for the thrill... I'm just, I'm just selfish... The words ring in my ears as I walk down the altar. I need redemption... For sins I can't mention... Too many nights and there's no end... I'm hellbent, the reckless one... Too many nights I justified... All my casualties of love... For all the times I can't reverse... For all the places where it hurts... I need a little church.
I need a little church.
I stop at the brass construction that's holding up tea lights. The flames flicker from my breath. Suddenly, the room darkens and goosebumps start covering my arms and legs as the temperature drops rapidly. The heavy doors of the church shut with a loud bang and I turn around. A stone cold wave of air rushes through the room until it meets me. It clashes against me, kissing me with its cold lips.
Just as fast as it came it's gone again.
The room starts filling with sun rays that coat the whole gothic stone church in the same stunning lightning again. It feels like a warm spring day after a cold long winter. I do bad things... Can you see it on my face?... I got caught in every lie... I can't even stop to take care of my own self... Let alone somebody else... I need redemption.
For sins I can't mention.
I turn around again and stare at the brass construction and the tea lights. The many tea lights have changed their positions and the message is clear.
Oliver.
In big letters the name flickers in front of me.
"Oliver," I whisper out the word that's across me.
"Josephine,"
I turn around at his deep masculine voice that's roaring my name through the whole church. It's a cry filled with longing... A cry for me.
He's standing in front of the closed doors of the church, about twenty meters away from me. He's wearing the same jeans he wore the last time I saw him and a deep green lumberjack shirt with white sneakers that are almost falling apart. But his eyes... those pine green eyes are glowing.
He looks breathtaking. Absolutely breathtaking.
I wince as my alarm rips me out of my dream. For a moment, I don't know where I am. It still feels like I'm in the St. James's Church where I saw Oliver last. It's ridiculous how I dream of him every night. It's been a week since we met a God's place as he called the church.
It's been a week since I've realised I actually feel attracted to him. Every men I've met at Annabel's this week, I automatically compared to Oliver. And each man couldn't compare with Oliver's height, his shoulders, his eyes, his legs, his torso... his voice... his eyes.
Those beautiful pine green eyes that transformed into a sea foam colour when we danced the salsa.
That salsa... just thinking about it gives me goosebumps and makes me wet.
Damn, I have a problem.
I let out a growl and the throw my pillow next to me through my white and light grey bedroom. I love my bedroom for its light colours and different textures. My bedroom is the only bedroom with hardwood floors, all the other bedrooms have a beige carpet. On my walnut vanity across my bed are a few framed photos of my siblings and friends and I. A round sunflower shaped mirror is above it.
I stare at my reflection for a moment. My long chestnut waves have formed knots overnight. The ivory silk shirt sleeved pyjamas top has the first button open. My name is stitched on the left breast pocket in a light blue colour. The skin on my face looks dull and I look tired.
Of course I look tired. I've been dreaming of Oliver non-stop!
This is not what was suppose to happen! I was not supposed to develop some kind of interest in Oliver. I was supposed to take over my parents' firm but instead I'm working two floors beneath them in the social media department.
This is so not going according to my plan!
What the hell is going on with my life?!
I wince as my iPhone suddenly starts ringing. It's the ringtone for my older brother.
I reach out to the walnut nightstand next to my light grey Häastens bed and pick up. "Yes?"
"Silverstone Circuit. In an hour?" He asks me.
That's his way of saying he fucked up - and since I feel pretty fucked up as well, this sounds like a pretty good idea. "Yes."
He hangs up without saying another word.
He really did fuck up.
I stare out of the window front that's the fourth wall in my bedroom. I stare at the London Eye that's already working on this Saturday morning. The skyline is breathtaking on this cloudless morning.
I really fucked up as well.
An hour later, I stop my silver Aston Martin next to Nate's electric blue Ferrari. As always the whole racing circuit I'd empty and exclusively booked for us.
He lets down his window and grins at me. "Four rounds. The looser pays 20k to the nearest animal shelter."
I let down my window as well. "Get your check book out." I tell him with a smirk on my lips before rolling up my window again.
He chuckles as his window closes again as well. He has never won against me, but these races are not about winning or losing. It's about getting or minds off of our problems for a few minutes - or four rounds. Still, my Aston Martin and me - we're a very good team.
Suddenly, the loud sounds of helicopter propellers fill the air. This place does not allowed any air transportation of all kind. But then a dark red helicopter appears on the sky. The Royal Household S-76C helicopter with a HRHPCOW in gold written on it.
HRHPCOW stands for Her Royal Highness Princess Charlotte of Wales - Nate's girlfriend and my best friend.
I let down my window and so does Nate. "Your girlfriend is ruining all the fun!" I hiss at Nate.
My brother growls, "I can't believe she found me!"
I stare at him with wide eyes, "You fled from her?!" I ask shocked.
He opens his car door and gets out. "Don't judge me. You would've done the same."
I get out of my Aston Martin as well, "Nate, what did you do?! Did you guys had a fight?"
"Not in the traditional sense." He says to me as he leans against his car with crossed arms in front of his chest.
"Nate, what's going on?" I ask him as the wind from the propellers blows through my long hair.
He tilts his head to meet my gaze as the helicopter lands in the middle of the Silverstone Circuit. "Knocked her up." He whispers.
I must've misread his lips. "I'm sorry?" I ask again.
"Char's pregnant!" He yells at me just as the helicopter propellers stop turning.
"She's pregnant?!" I ask him shocked. I'm sure I'm still dreaming, aren't I?! Charlotte can't be pregnant! Not Her Royal Highness Princess Charlotte of Wales! "Nate! How could this happen?!" I hit against his chest.
"Turn out even the pill and a condom don't give you a 100 percent security." He answers simply.
I shake my head in disbelief. "Do Mummy and Daddy know?"
My older brother shakes his head, "Not yet. Char just told me this morning."
"And you fled to the Silverstone Circuit?!" I ask him shocked.
My brother just shrugs. Really, he might look like our father but his actions couldn't be further away from our Daddy's.
"Nate, you can't do that! I mean you knocked up the third in line to the throne!" I hiss at him. "A fucking Princess! A future Queen!"
"Rory's currently breeding the next three future Queens or Kings. So technically, Char is sixth in line to the throne which makes it very unlikely for her to ever become Queen."
"But the world doesn't know that!" I yell back at him. "Nate, for Christ's sake!"
"Look, that pregnancy obviously wasn't planned. It just happened!"
"A pregnancy doesn't just happen! You should have kept your dick out of her pussy!" I hiss at him as the helicopter doors open and shut again. I stare at Charlotte who walks over to us. She's wearing simple medium washed skinny jeans, moccasins in beige and a navy striped long sleeved shirt underneath her khaki Barbour jacket. Her long blonde hair is wrapped into a loose bun in her neck. Her navy eyes look furious.
"Look at her! How am I suppose to not fuck this beauty?!" Nate says to me.
He is so not our father. Our father would've never said fuck. He would use the phrase make love... "She should've used a different birth control then."
"Yeah, well it's too late for that." Nate says just a moment before Charlotte slaps him so hard that his head swings to the left.
That hurt.
"You bloody idiot!" She yells at him. "You don't run away from me! Do you know how worried I was?!"
"Char-"
"Don't you dare Char me!" She yells again and presses her forefinger into his chest. "No more car races!"
"But-"
"No fucking car races!" She explodes. "You are now responsible for two more lives!"
Two?! Did she say two more lives?! Lives as in plural?! He fucking knocked her up with twins?! I stare at Nate in shock. The bombs he throws at me just get bigger and bigger!
"Okay." Nate whispers.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you."
"I said I will stop." My brother says in a firm voice and looks into her navy eyes.
"Good. And now on to you." Her blonde head swings to the right and her navy eyes meet mine.
"I just found out. I had no idea. If I knew," I walk over to her and wrap my arms around her, "I would have called you and hugged you and told you that everything will be alright..."
Charlotte returns my embrace, holding on to me just as tightly as me. "Thank you."
"I love you, Char, and you'll be a great mother to those two babies."
"She's my girlfriend." Nate says with a smirk on his lips.
"Shut up! She's my best friend!" I hiss back at him and let go of Char. "How far along are you?"
"Three weeks along. Almost four." Char explains. "Just told Nate and then he took off to... to race with his little sister!" Charlotte narrows his eyes at her boyfriend.
"Won't happen again. I promised you."
"Three weeks is early..." I think out loud, "When do you want to tell our parents and yours?"
"Next week. On Easter Sunday." Charlotte says. "I'll be four weeks along and we're going to have to start the wedding planning."
Of course there's going to be a wedding now.
"But you gotta have to act shocked when we tell everyone. You're the first we told that we're expecting." My brother says to me.
I nod, "I'm a good actress, you guys know that. So that wedding... when shall it happen?"
"We're thinking June for now. Early June so I hopefully don't show too much."
"You want to fool the folks?"
Nate shrugs, "Should we rather tell them I knocked her up and now we're getting married because of that like in the early 20th century?!"
"Right... But you guys love each other."
"Of course we do so it's not a complete lie. It's just... we're doing it reverse."
"Well, at least Mum's going to be alright with it."
"Why?" Char asks me confused.
"She was pregnant with Della when she married our father." Nate explains to her. "On French Cay."
"Yeah, French Cay sadly won't happen. We're going to have a public wedding. St. George's Chapel would be good. I wouldn't want to do it in London."
"Windsor's closer to Rory and George as well." Nate says with a shrug. "And I'm pretty sure she's going to have given birth to the triplets by then."
"But the King has to approve of it first, doesn't he?" I ask them confused. "Does he know?"
"Not yet. But we will tell him on Saturday."
"He won't be amused." I tell them.
"No, he surely won't." Char agrees with me in a sad voice.
"Do you want to drive home with me?" Nate asks her.
"No, I have an engagement to get to in Manchester."
"Like this?" I ask her surprised.
"Some kindergarten stuff. I'll be planting trees and stuff." Char says with a shrug.
"See it as practice." I say with a smirk on my lips.
Char giggles before embracing me. "I've got to go. I'll see you on Easter Sunday." She promises me before looking at Nate. "And you this evening."
He embraces her and kiss her passionately.
I look away, "Guys really?! You already created twins. You can cut back on the passion."
Char giggles," See you on Sunday." She says before turning on her heel and walking back to that dark red helicopter.
"So, no more races?" I ask Nate who watches his girlfriend climbing into the helicopter. The two security men kept their neutral faces through the whole time.
"No, I'm going to be a father. I need to start acting like one." He looks at me and shrugs. "Sounds a little crazy, doesn't it?"
"Daddy Nate!" I say with a grin on my lips and hit him lightly with my left elbow. "I knew it was going to happen one day. You love kids."
"I do. But I sure as hell won't have eight. Two are enough." He smiles at you. "And you?"
"No. Never."
"Never?"
"Never."
I quickly read through my text that I've written for the blog of Bolton's Enterprises before publishing it with one click. It's the first part of the social project that I've titled 'Small hearts, big dreams: a kindergarten project by the Bolton Foundation'. Liam didn't even cared what I wrote or the photos I put into the article, he said he had to do the actual work.
Bastard.
"Jo,"
My head swings up at my father's deep voice. He's standing in front of my walnut desk but all the employees around him ignore him like they're totally used to their boss coming down two floors for a quick break. Maybe my father is doing this... I honestly have no idea how he's spending his lunch breaks. I always thought he'd be spending them with Mum, but I could be wrong. I have been wrong in the past. "Daddy, hi. What brings you down here?"
He sure as hell has to have some kind of reason to come down instead of calling me up.
"It's lunchtime and I want to spend my lunch break with you." He answers simply.
No, there's more. I can read between his lines. I lean back and stare at him. He's perfectly groomed in his silver suit and black tie that matches his shoes. "Who's joining us?" I ask back.
He shows me the same grin that he always wears at home when no one but us - his family - is around. "Your uncle."
It's not uncle Luc because he's in France for this week. "Why did you ask uncle Ryan to join us?" I ask again.
"You'll find out on our lunch break." He challenges me.
Whatever's the reason, I won't like it. Otherwise he would have dared to say it out loud during his employees.
I rise from my chair and pick up my black Chanel bag from the floor. "Okay."
"Okay?" He asks me confused.
I walk around the table in my red Manolo Blahniks that I've paired with a medium skinny washed jeans, a black blazer and a white blouse by Givenchy. I might no longer wear skin tight business dresses like a week ago, but I can still keep up with my Daddy.
Because I'm a Bolton and that always shines through. Whether I like it or not.
"Where will we have lunch?" I ask my father as we walk down the grey marbled floor that has pale blue painted walls. The reception desk is as always too busy to visit the loo or have a cup of coffee.
"I thought maybe Luigi's. We haven't been there for such a long time."
Hell no! "How about the Pharmacy instead? It's a vegan place I often go to with Char." I suggest. I can't be at the place where Oliver works with my father and uncle next to me.
"Where is that?"
"It's in Chelsea. It's good. Della showed me this place."
"Okay. I'll inform Ry." He says before reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. He gets out his iPhone and writes the text as we get into the golden elevator that only works for us Boltons. It has an iris scan so the doors of the elevator only open whenever one of us steps in front of them. It's such a treasure.
The elevator doors close and we slide down into the lobby without one stop. "Mum won't join us?"
"No, she's visiting Rory and George in their new home today."
Right, the renovation at Frogmore House just finished. Rory send me photos throughout the whole process almost daily. There is still a little bit of decor to be done but the major stuff is done. "I'll visit them after Easter." I tell him. Easter is in a week.
"Your Mum said she really likes it so far." He smiles at me. "How do you like the new job?"
"It's very different than the job I did before." I answer with a nod. "But I enjoy being out of the office every once in a while and I like to visit parts of London I've never seen before." Like Putney, where I was yesterday.
"So you're not mad at me anymore?"
I shake my head as the doors open again. "I never was. I was mad because you didn't give me the social project. I still think I deserve it more than Liam but I can't change that. But now at least I get to see first hand at how Liam fails." I think out loud.
"He won't fail. He's a Bolton just like you."
He's the child of an actress and a business man. He loves the spotlight for all the wrong reasons. He only wanted that social project so I don't get it. "Yeah well I don't see much of that." I tell him as we walk through the lobby. It's made out of marble and busy with people in suites and business dresses.
My father chuckles as we move through the revolving door. His silver Bentley with his driver is already waiting for us. The driver in his black suite is Dan, one of Wladimir's men. He has broad shoulders, black hair and deep brown eyes. He reminds me of Dwayne Johnson and I'm glad he doesn't watch me because I wouldn't be having the freedom I have otherwise.
Dan opens the door and I climb into the car first. I love the white leather interior and I have the same in the black Jaguar that I like to drive around in. There's even a minibar and a light grey cashmere blanket that has my mother's initials - GB - stitched on it in a navy colour. I know she's always freezing when she drives too long and despite the heating system I can understand why she would want to have a blanket. It's cosier that way.
My father sits down next to me and Dan drives off. I love the Embankment area in London. It has brilliant views of the river Thames.
I finish my Buddha bowl that was filled with sweet potatoes, chickpeas, kale, spinach, tomatoes, roasted peppers, carrots, broccoli and edamame. The tahini sauce and the sprinkled black sesame seeds were the best part of the whole dinner uncle Ryan and Daddy talked about the Foundation and our hospital. They didn't say why they wanted to have lunch with me yet and it's nearly time to get back to work.
"This Place is really good!" Uncle Ryan says before taking a sip of his green juice.
"Yes. Thanks for choosing this over Luigi's." My Daddy says with a smile on his lips. He had a Mexican stuffed sweet potato that was quite similar to the way he cooks it. Maybe that's why Della likes this place so much - it reminds her of home.
"So, why are we here?" I ask them across me.
"To have lunch." My Daddy says simply.
"No, why am I here with you guys?" I ask again. "There's gotta be a reason why we're having lunch together and it's not because you missed me so much, uncle Ry. We've seen each other a month ago."
My uncle looks at me with wide blue eyes before looking at my father. "She's good."
"Told ya." My Daddy says with a smirk on his lips.
"Tell me the reason now." I demand.
"I want you in my boat." Uncle Ry says.
"What?" I ask confused. "No, I'm not transferring to the Foundation. I want the big prize. I want the firm."
"This is our firm, too." My Daddy says.
"Non-profit is not what I'm interested in." I tell them. What the fuck are they thinking?!
"Okay, how about this: We're hosting a charity gala tonight. You could attend and I show you how this works... maybe participate in one of the auctions?"
I lean back at my uncle's words, "Now, you're telling me the truth."
"Damn, she is good." Uncle Ryan says to my father, "But I wasn't lying before. I would really love to work with you."
"Alright, I'll come to your little charity gala. I'll even do the auction but only if you never ever mention this again. I will not work for the Foundation, got it?"
Both men nod.
"Great. When and where?"
"Ritz. Eight sharp. And it won't be little."
"Your Mum and I won't be able to attend. We have work to do."
Translation; I'm on my own. Well, under the prying eyes of the guests attending and Wlad's men hiding somewhere in the crowds but other than that I'm alone. "I'll be there."
Oliver
It's organised chaos in the huge stainless steel kitchen of the Ritz. Pans are sizzling, pots are steaming, knives are chopping veggies, waiters are rushing around and chefs are yelling through the massive kitchen in the Ritz hotel. There's a big charity gala here tonight in the ballroom by the Bolton Foundation. Some even whispered that the Duchess of Oxford could make a surprise appearance today but since she's heavily pregnant right now, I don't think she'll come - not that I would care. Royals are people like us, they just live in castles and palaces.
I'm one of waiters tonight. It's good money for relatively little work. Walking around with a tablet that's full of flutes with champagne is easy.
And God knows my family needs that money very badly.
"Hey you!"!" One of the chefs yells at me. "You're not getting paid for standing around. Grab a silver plate with champagne and get your ass out!" He hisses at me.
I pick up a silver tablet with fifteen flutes filled with sparkling champagne and rush through the swing doors of the kitchen.
It's a glamorous event. The ballroom has been transformed into a room that looks like straight from Buckingham Palace. While I've never been inside, I do sell a lot of postcards with some of the State Rooms there. And it looks just the same. There's marble on the floor while a square of hardwood is in the middle - that's the dance floor. Round tables with pompous floral decor surround the dance floor. There's gold cutlery and three different crystal glasses for each guest on the table. I count three different knives and four different plates as I rush through the dining tables. In just a few minutes the auction will start. I have no idea what the auction is about but seeing all these rich people in dresses and suites so expensive that they could finance the people in my home a whole house, disgusts me. They claim they do good, collect money for cancer research when they can't even see the problems right in front of there eyes. People in Africa die because they don't have clear water, toilets, let alone something like a hospital... but for these selected guests all that matters is who wears the biggest diamonds or who donates the biggest amount of money.
This is not for a good cause.
This is a show off.
I pull my shoulders back. I shouldn't judge them. I am in no position to think I'm better. I'm here for work.
I walk through the crowds and the women quickly exchange their empty flutes for full ones. The women are all wearing their finest jewellery and prettiest dresses. They are colourful and all floor length, yet some don't seem to have taste at all. Just because it's expensive doesn't mean it looks automatically good. Some ladies look like they're coming straight after their beauty appointment at a very bad doctor. Why would someone throw their money out of the window just like that? It doesn't make sense when parts of the world are dying out of hunger.
I shake my head, I'm judging again. I shouldn't do that. I'm sure they had their reasons for trying to optimise themselves.
After the last flute has been taken, I turn on my heel. However, I stop in my movement when a women catches my eyes and leaves me breathless.
The woman that's facing me with her back is standing about twenty meters away from me, surrounded by a group of people. She's gesturing with her hands and I notice the sparkling three inch wide bracelet on her left wrist and her nude nail polish. She's dressed in a tight black sleeveless velvet dress. It's been tailored to her stunning body and has a high slit on her left side that stops on her upper thigh. I can see her black stilettos. The dress is classic, yet sexy. But maybe it's the woman who makes it look sexy and not the other way around. Her chestnut brown hair is wrapped into a messy up-do to the left side of her head and there's a black rose tucked into it. Thanks to the shape of the dress her shoulders are exposed. She has a strong back with lean muscles that also form her long arms and hands. Her earlobes are glittering with long diamond drop earrings. A matching diamond necklace is wrapped around her neck. Her posture is straight, filled with elegance and grace. She looks breathtaking - even from the back. She's probably saying pretty smart things as well as her surroundings seem to be mesmerised by her. Some men hang on her lips, other focus on her chest. And the women can't stop staring at her eyes - or diamond earrings I can't really tell.
But she's got them all under her spell. Seven people - and they're all mesmerised by her. It's remarkable and amazing to watch. I had no idea one can have so much power over their surroundings.
Suddenly, she looks over her shoulder.
And I nearly fall over.
It's Josephine! How the hell is this Josephine?!
But I would recognise those sky blue eyes everywhere. She emphasised them with a black winged eyeliner and candy apple red lips. But that's all the makeup she's wearing. She doesn't need much anyway.
How the hell is she wearing this?! How can she afford wearing real diamonds?! And that dress?!
I quickly hide behind a pilar as her eyes scan the crowds for a moment.
I didn't expect her to be here. Otherwise I wouldn't have taken the job.
Who the hell is Josephine?
Josephine
I scan the crowds for a waiter with champagne as my surroundings continue eating my ears off. I hate charity galas for this exact reason. It's always the same people, just in a different dress and for a different fundraising event. But the stories remain the same.
I can't believe I let uncle Ryan convince me to come.
It's torture!
No wonder Della and Ana are not here today. Of course they have some kind of excuse like working at the hospital, but really this is... this is just boring.
"Gentlemen,"
I wince as I suddenly feel big hands around my waist. I turn around and see Jacques!
"Hope you don't mind me stealing this lady from you." He says in English with his heavy French accent. Jacques has deep brown eyes and light blonde hair. Like every men here, he's wearing a black tuxedo with a bow. He looks very handsome.
"Of course not, Your Royal Highness."
Oh, yeah and Jacques is the Prince Monaco. His sister Gabrielle should be here somewhere as well but I couldn't find her yet. Usually, whoever is surrounded by the biggest crowds - that's where Gabrielle is but today I didn't find her yet.
"You saved me!" I breathe out before hugging him. "How are you?"
"Good. You know, doing that Royal stuff now."
"Just like Rory."
He chuckles, "Without the spouse and upcoming baby, but yeah."
"Is Gabrielle here somewhere as well?"
"No, it's just me."
My eyes widen, "You're here without your parents?" Usually Princess Charlène of Monaco is here with Prince Albert of Monaco - they're the reason why all those rich people come here in the first place.
"Yes. First time and I'm glad I bumped into you." He smiles at me. Jacques and I both graduated as best of our class at Harvard Business School. The memory is still fresh in my mind whenever I look at Jacques. But that's also when I remember Prof. Porter - the man who dared to blackmail me with photos and a videotape after I ended our liaison.
I tore him apart in a way that will ensure he will never find a decent job again.
No one messes with Josephine Bolton.
"Well, then it must be your lucky evening because I'm actually part of the auction tonight."
His brown eyes start glowing like melted chocolate, "I'll make sure to bet on you."
"I sincerely hope so. Can you imagine if I had to dance a tango with one of these fat men?"
He chuckles, "You're the tango?"
There's a woman and man getting auctioned in various dance categories. There's the Viennese waltz, cha-cha-cha, salsa, jazz, foxtrot, jive, quickstep, samba and tango. I'm the last as I'm the tango. People usually auction the dance, paying up to 5 million pounds for 3 minutes of dancing.
It's just one way the foundation raises money for their projects. "Well, I couldn't really be the Viennese Waltz, could I?"
Jacques grins, "Not your style."
"Not my style." I agree with a nod. Finally, a waiter walks past me with a tablet full of champagne flutes. I pick two up and hand one to Jacques. "To an unforgettable evening."
"To an unforgettable evening." He agrees with me, clinks his glass with mine and takes a sip of his champagne.
Oliver
She is dating someone. Not just someone - she's dating Prince Jacques of Monaco, a Grimaldi. I thought she wasn't dating. She told me she wasn't.
How many times has she lied to me?
"Oliver!"
I wince as one of the other waiters hisses my names. I can't believe I'm trying to hide behind a pillar. It's ridiculous. She's making me do ridiculous things!
"You're not here on holiday! Get back into the kitchen." Ingrid tells me with angry brown eyes. She's been doing this waiter-job a lot longer than me. In the fast five years she has always worked for the Bolton Foundation and their charity events, which happen 3-5 times a year depending on their schedule. Apparently this foundation is really doing good with their collected money. They just built houses in Zimbabwe last month for whole villages.
I nod and follow her into the kitchen that's far away from the ballroom. Maybe I can help out in the kitchen and stay there for the whole evening.
Meeting Josephine here was the last thing I expected.
But then again, that's kind of her specialty. She's always good for a surprise.
Josephine
Now that I'm with someone in my age, the event isn't so bad anymore. It's still boring but the dinner that followed my five flutes of champagne was very good and I actually enjoyed catching up with Jacques. He even managed to make me laugh. I'm sure the hired photographer caught us talking and took photos of our smiles. Knowing my uncle, he's definitely going to release the photos of Jacques and me together on the blog post that will follow this event. Photos of princes make headlines and therefore raise awareness of the Bolton Foundation and the causes it supports.
It's a small price to pay when you help millions of people.
"And now to the best part of the evening: Our auction! Ladies and Gentlemen, as always we've selected the finest male and female dancers to participate in this auction tonight." My uncle starts behind the podium. He looks very handsome in his black tuxedo. His blonde hair is short and his bright blue eyes are sparkling. His wife and my aunt Kelsi is sitting next to me at one of the round tables. They are the only couple - apart from Ana and Sasha - who don't have any kids in my family. But they're really happy. They showed me that happiness doesn't depend on bringing children into this life.
They're kind of my role models.
"As always, we start with the Viennese Waltz. Give it up for Mister Daniel Rogers and Miss Stephanie Charleston." He says before the crowds erupt in loud applause. The couple gets up from his chairs and walks over to uncle Ryan. "Gentlemen and ladies, open your wallets and get those signs ready to be held up in the air. We'll start at 15k for the lady." Uncle Ryan starts and as if it's a marathon the hands starts rising.
"Are you okay?" My aunt Kelsi asks me, shifting my focus from the auction to her.
I nod, "Yes. A bit nervous."
"Don't be. Jacques said he's going to bid on you."
"Yeah that doesn't mean he will win."
"He's the Prince of Monaco. No one will even dare to lift a finger. You're pretty safe."
"This is the last and only time I'll do this."
Kelsi grins at me. "Okay."
"You don't believe me."
Kelsi shrugs as her husband leads the auction with levity, after all he has been doing this this for over a decade. She's wearing an emerald chiffon dress tonight with matching heels. Just like me she's wearing diamond drop earrings and a necklace with a huge diamond. "I know you have a big heart, Jo. You just like to hide it very well."
"I'm wearing diamonds that are worth of three million pounds on a fundraising event. I can hardly hide with that many sparkling diamonds on my body."
My aunt grins at my words, "Sometimes it feels like I'm talking to your mother."
"I would be more flattered if you said Daddy."
She chuckles, "Him as well. You're more like him than her I think but sometimes... sometimes you are a lot like your mother, too."
"Except I don't write songs like her, Della or Ana. Or Rory. I don't even sing under the shower. I have zero musical talent."
"That's not true. You know how to play a piano. You have one in your penthouse!"
"That was Mum's housewarming gift. I didn't choose it."
"But you kept it."
"Because it would be rude to remove it!" I argue back.
"No, you like it."
"Of course I do. It looks good in my penthouse but that doesn't mean I spend my Sundays sitting on the piano stool, playing sad music." I wave with my hands.
"No, you're not the piano playing type. Although you are quite good at it."
"I strongly disagree." I haven't played in years. The last time I touched a piano was on Christmas Eve when we were still little. I think I must've been about 10 or 11 the last time my fingers touched the keynotes of a piano.
Oliver
"And now for the last dance, I saved the best. My niece Josephine has been kind enough to volunteer for the Argentine tango." the blonde man announces.
My eyes and ears widen at his words. Josephine rises from one of the round tables and walks over to him like a dancing queen, she undoubtedly is. Her skin tight black dress looks stunning in that light. The diamonds on her earlobes, around her neck and on her left wrist sparkle like crazy.
She's too beautiful to be alive.
"I think it's fair to say we start at 50k for her." Josephine's uncle says and the arms shoot up in the air like mushrooms in autumn. I can't even keep up with the number that raises in seconds.
"1 million." A firm voice says, stopping all the other bidders.
It belongs to that blonde guy that sat next to Josephine during the dinner that Ingrid served at because she has the most experience.
The Prince of Monaco has put his foot down.
And no one overbids the Grimaldi man.
"1 million. Thank you very much! The Argentine Tango is sold!" The blonde man announces with a smile on his lips. I think his name is Ryan or Richard or something.
The crowds start clapping and Josephine actually bows her head before Prince Jacques walks over to her. As with the other dances, the music starts playing. But unlike with the other dances, this time I cannot ignore it.
I have to look at her dancing with him.
The lights get dimmed until only Grimaldi and Josephine are seen on the dance floor. Classic tango music starts playing. Jacques grabs her left hand. Josephine places her right hand on his hip. Grimaldi places his right hand on her hips. He whispers something to her and she smirks before turning serious. Everyone turns silent.
The big band starts playing Santa Maria and I witness how Josephine turns into a femme fatale right in front of my eyes. She's seducing him on the dance floor. She's playing with fire.
The next sharp sound of Santa Maria fills the ballroom. And Jo allows him to lead her.
Just like that. With passion, they push and pull, tangle up and untangle themselves on the dance floor. It's so passionate that I form fists with my hands.
She's fucking dancing with him! An Argentine Tango!
And it looks like they're the most passionate couple on earth!
Josephine
The music stops as I stare into Jacques's eyes. The crowd cheers around us and I can't help but grin. He saved my life! I could've never dances with one of those big man's who are twice or three times my age. "Thank you for saving me."
"You are worth every penny." Jacques says with a smile on his lips. "You're a very good dancer."
Because he is not. I made up for most of his mistakes and lead him instead of being lead but I made it look like he was leading me because that would've hurt his image and ego. The Argentine Tango can't be dance by everyone and with anyone. Not even a Monégasque Prince seems qualified for this dance. It's special.
It requires a very special connection.
"You're not too bad either." I give the complement back before we make our way back to the table.
Suddenly, a big man collapses and falls off his chair. There's a shocking sound coming from all the guests but not one of them is lifting a finger to help him.
I run over to him and look for a pulse on his neck. There's none so I start with chest compressions. "Call 911!" I yell into the crowd but no one moves.
I continue pushing on his chest, using my full weight. Then I look for my aunt Kelsi and stop her on my right side. "Kelsi, call 911!" I yell at her so loudly that she snaps out of the shock. She nods and grabs her iPhone before calling 911.
Della and Ana taught me the trick. You can't just yell for help or for someone to call an ambulance. You need to point at someone and make him do it. Only then you rip the person out of the state of shock.
"Alright, everyone I think it's safe to say this evening is over. If you would please exit the room in a quite way." My uncle's voice starts filling my ears.
But I barely pay attention to him. My focus is on the man underneath me. At 150 kg he's no lightweight. Maybe he has blocked arteries. It could be his heart.
Or anything else in his body, I really don't know.
Because I didn't go to Oxford Medical School like Ana, Della and Rory.
The people around me start moving, making their way to the exit. This evening definitely wasn't the best of the Bolton Foundation.
"Let me take over." Jacques offers after five minutes of chest compressions.
I nod and let him take over. I'm sure this will make headlines tomorrow. Prince saves a man's life at charity gala from the Bolton Foundation - there's no better and global press than that.
I rise from my knees and scan the crowd that's moving out of the ballroom. That man came with someone. A blonde thin woman. I've seen him with that woman. I think she's his wife.
"What's going on?!" I can suddenly hear a hysterical voice calling over the noise.
That's her. The blonde thin woman in a light blue dress rushes over to me. "Oh my God! Richard! RICHARD!" She screams as tears start rolling down her eyes.
"He's going to be fine. We already called 911. An ambulance is on it's way. Help is coming."
"Richard!" She screams again before falling down on her knees.
I knee down as well and embrace her in order to keep her away from Jacques, who is still reviving him. Every now and then he breathes air into Richard's lungs.
Where's the fucking ambulance?!
"Do you want me to take over?" I ask him after three minutes. Jacques looks tired.
"No, I've got this."
This and the headlines of tomorrow.
I turn my attention back to the woman in my arms. "Help is on its way." I repeat as she still cries in my arms. I have to distract her. "What's your name?"
"Elizabeth. But Richard calls me Lizzie."
She's responding to me. That's good. "Lizzie, does Richard have any allergies?"
"Latex."
Okay, I have to tell that the paramedics. Whenever they arrive. "Anything else? Did he say something about chest pain or head pain or pain anywhere else in his body? Did he voice any discomfort?"
"He had a bit of a headache earlier this evening but took an aspirin."
Aspirin. It dilutes the blood. "Does Richard have a high blood pressure?"
"Yes, he's taking some kind of medication for it."
"Did he take it today?"
"Yes, this morning. After breakfast."
That and the aspirin must've caused the collapse. "How old is Richard?"
"59."
"Did he had alcohol?"
Lizzie nods, "Five bourbons, three glasses of champagne and one glass of white wine."
Finally, the paramedics start arriving. They rush in with an orange stretcher and a medical bag.
Thank God!
"This is Richard. 59. No pulse for about five minutes. Hypertension patient. Allergic to Latex. Took aspirin for his headache and medication for his high blood pressure this morning. He had five bourbons, three glasses of champagne and one glass of white wine."
One of the paramedics nods at me, "Thank you, Miss Bolton."
The other paramedic looks at Jacques, "I can take over now, Your Royal Highness."
Jacques stops, totally breathless. He rises from his knees before Lizzie wraps her arms around him.
"Thank you so much! You saved my boyfriend's life!" She tells him with tears rolling down her eyes. Lizzie is at least 20 years older than Richard but I don't judge. My sister is married to a 23 years older man. Really, I don't judge.
"You're welcome." Jacques tells the woman who rushes after the paramedics that start carrying out her boyfriend.
"I hope you don't mind me taking the credit for that."
I shake my head, "Of course not. Now, if you would excuse me, I have to use the loo." I excuse myself and walk out of the ballroom, leaving everything behind.
Oliver
I watch Josephine rushing by me as she practically runs down the marbled hallway, probably to the loo. I witnessed the whole scene: from Josephine applying first aid to Jacques taking all the credit for her hard labour. She was the one who started with the chest compressions immediately, while all the other people were just staring at the lifeless man. She used her whole strength to keep the man's blood flow going before she breathed air into his lungs. She worked until exhaustion and only let the Prince take over because she knew he had more strength than her at that moment. However when Jacques showed his tiredness, he didn't allow her to take over again.
Because he wanted to take credit for saving the man's life.
Fucking bastard.
"Oliver," I wince at Ingrid's voice. "The show is over. You can go home now. The cleaning staff will be here shortly."
"Does it always end like this?"
"No, usually it ends with some kind of show act. Last year, they had Adele and Celine Dion perform to finish the evening. This year... I guess, this year it sort of ended with a bang as well." She says with a shrug before walking past me.
Josephine
I wash my hands with soap for the third time in the sink. I'm surrounded by marble, by luxury yet I've just experienced the most scary moment of my life. No money can buy you health. No money in the world can buy you a healthy working heart. Death and life - that's something we all share, no matter the numbers on our bank account.
I don't know how Della and Ana are dealing with death on daily basis. I couldn't balance on the thin line between life and death all the time.
It scares the shirt out of me.
I dry my hands with a white towel and look at my reflection in the mirror. For some kind of miracle, my make up still look flawless. I still look flawless - the total opposite to what's going on within me. I just reanimated a human being! I breathed air into his lungs and did chest compressions to fake a heartbeat!
I was on the thin line between life and death.
I never want to stand on that line again.
I pull the sparkly bobby pins out of my hair and let my waves loose. I leave them on the marbled sink. Someone will be lucky and find them tomorrow. Then he will discover they're not made with Swarovski stones but real diamonds and get a few thousands of pounds for them. I hope someone from the cleaning staff will find them.
God knows, those people work their asses off.
I walk out of the ladies room, but stop in my movements as I suddenly notice Oliver standing a few meters in front of me. He's dressed like one of the many waiters that served here tonight. He's been here the whole evening?!
"Oliver," I breathe out surprised as I walk over to him. His pine green eyes are glittering more than the diamonds around my neck, on my earlobes or on my left wrist.
I prefer the sea foam colour, though.
"You are amazing." His deep masculine voice is filled with amazement.
Shit, he saw me working my ass off as I reanimated Richard. "I didn't realise you were working here tonight."
"I'm starting to think we're meeting on purpose."
"Oliver, I'm not stalking you. I was here because my uncle asked-"
"I'm starting to think this is fate." He interrupts me.
My eyes widen at his words. Fate?! No, this is not fate. It's a row of circumstances - coincidences - but nothing else. This is not fate. Oliver wouldn't survive in the world of the rich and famous. He doesn't belong in my world. He wouldn't survive it and everything that comes with it.
He wouldn't survive me.
Oliver
"Dance with me." I whisper my invitation to the Argentine Tango. An invitation to dance is traditionally done by "cabeceo," a head nod by one dancer met with eye contact.
And while Josephine meets my eyes, she keeps being her stubborn self. "No. I won't dance a tango with you."
"Are you afraid I'll seduce you?" I challenge her. She looks even more breathtaking with her hair open like that. Her chestnut waves almost reach her hips.
"No. I'm afraid once we start, we won't stop." She whispers before placing her forehead against mine. Tingles start running through me from the touching point immediately. It's quickly gaining intensity until it feels like an inferno. It's so hot, so wonderful... so addictive. Just as I fear we would go up in flames, Josephine takes a step back and turns on her heel.
I grab her left wrist, feeling the diamonds of her bracelet, and pull her back into my arms. "Dance with me." I demand as I stare deeply in her sky blue eyes. Suddenly, I notice navy sprinkles forming in her irises. They're so tiny that I've never noticed them before. But up close, with our lips brushing against one another with every breath we take, I see it... I see her in her most complicated form.
She wants to dominate but she wants domination at the same time. She wants to lead but also be lead. She wants to seduce while being seduced herself.
She's that perfect enigma.
She starts dancing with me to a music in our hearts, our minds that is the same... the exact same. And I realise the passionate Argentine Tango was made for us.
We embody that dance perfectly.
There may be no music audible but inside of us it's an Argentine tango. With the spirit of the music being characterised by counterpoint marking in our minds that's perfectly synchronised. We move with clarity in the articulations while flirting with each other at the same time. The music in us has a clear, repetitive pulse or beat, a strong tango-rhythm that can only be heard by us. The Argentine tango is danced in an embrace that can vary from very open, in which leader and follower connect at arms length, to very closed, in which the connection is chest-to-chest, or anywhere in between.
And Josephine and me are definitely the two extremes. From chest-to-chest in a tight embrace to almost out of reach, to the point I think she might walk away from me - we're fire on the dance floor. Our the ankles and knees keep brushing as one leg passes the other and we dance, walk and dance again to the music in our hearts. In the hallway that we've transformed into a dance floor anyway.
She stops with her arms wrapped so close around me that she nearly slices her nails through my clothes and into my skin. She's holding on to me so tightly that I never want her to let go of me. It feels so good to have her so close to me.
It feels so right.
Her sky blue are almost completely glowing in navy as they have deepened with desire. I didn't make the connection earlier but now I have proof. While my desire is clearly pulsing against her sex, her desire for me is glowing in a navy colour in her eyes. It has eaten up the sky blue that was there before almost completely.
It's just as breathtaking as the rest of this woman.
Our lips are brushing against each other as we both are breathing heavily from our dance.
But we don't kiss.
"Tomorrow. Eight. Ritz Hotel." She breathes into my face.
I stare into her eyes, unable to let my tongue form any words.
Suddenly, she lets go of me and unwraps herself out of my embrace. "Be punctual." She says before turning on her heel and walking away from me.
I watch her strutting down the hallway like it's a runway before she turns at a corner and is gone. I can still feel her firm thigh underneath my fingers. I can still feel her hallowed back underneath my hand. I can still feel her chest getting pressed against mine. I can still feel her breath against mine. I can still hear her angelic voice ringing in my ears...
And I'm still hard in my pants.
The things this woman does to me go beyond my comprehension. She can't be dating that prince when it's clear what we have is much stronger. After this dance, this freaking tango... she can't seriously think he's worthy of her. I smile as I remember her words. The Ritz. Tomorrow. Eight. I've never been here before unless in the kitchen and this ballroom. I walked in using a side entrance for employees. I don't even know what to wear. But the thought of seeing her again scares away all of my worries.
I can't wait to discover another side of her. Or maybe see a side of her that I've already seen again. I don't know which Josephine I will meet tomorrow but I know I'll do anything to be punctual.
I brush through my hair and suddenly notice some weight in the inside pocket of my jacket. I reach into it and pull out the diamond bracelet that she was wearing. It's sparkling so much in the light coming from the chandelier above me.
How the hell did she get that into my pocket?!
And did I just managed to get a date with her?
Thank you for taking the time to read this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it!
Do you think Oliver is going to sign the NDA? How will he react when Jo presents that to him?
To find out how Gabriella and Troy reacted to Char's pregnancy, please read chapter 40 of A Million Times More!
The song used in the beginning of the chapter is called "chruch" by Aly&AJ. That song also inspired me to write the church scene in the last chapter.
As always please review. :)
In gratitude,
Nicole