damage, there was something about him so intense and powerful, she knew she was out of control as much as she acted the nonchalant princess.
“Finally, you're awake, you missed tennis this morning.” Sasha threw open the bedroom door and walked straight out to the terrace. A maid scurried behind her bearing a tray of fresh juice, pastries and bols of strong french cafe au lait. Just what was needed. “Ready for skiing this aft?” She pursed her lips together in a naughty smirk.
“No. I'm not. I can't water-ski. I did it once on vacation in Aruba, face-planted and lost half my bikini.”
“You'll be fine. I'll show you how. And are you going to fill me in on your meeting with Damien Lothaire Beauregard Le-Comte?”
“Sheesh, what a mouthful. And there’s' nothing to fill in. He came, he didn't conquer. End of.”
“Not yet but Damien is not a guy that doesn't conquer. I have to warn you to be careful, he's got a demonic reputation all over this island. He's seduced every available woman and half of those who aren't. There's no one left to him now apart from the French aristo girls who are kept locked up by their families. If he ever got his filthy hands on one of those there'd be a lynching.”
“Okay, okay, I get it but there's absolutely nothing to warn me about. I took his number right away and anyways I'm not in the head space or any space for an affair right now.”
“I'm sorry, Ind. I haven't asked you about it because I didn't want you upset the minute you arrived. I figure you'd talk about it when you were ready.”
“I know. I'm not sure if I ever wanna talk about it. It was the most awful end and I keep feeling it was my fault. That I killed my own baby.”
“Don't even think that. You didn't do anything wrong. Miscarriages happen far more frequently than women realize and if anyone was to blame it was bastard Bradley not you.”
“Perhaps I did something that pushed him over the edge into drinking to the point of rage. He wasn't always like that.”
“Yes he was. I remember when I was I New York for fashion week and in the three times I met him that week he was pissed at every single one. He got mad with the bartender for not getting him a drink fast enough and tried to punch him out. The only thing Brad had going for him in my eyes was how much he adored you. You guys were at that party, thronged with models and he was talking to some other model hound who was already looking around for an upgrade. He tried to get Brad into rating the passing trade and your boyfriend told him; 'I'm happy with what I've got'. That made him okay in my book but I guess I was too easily sold.”
“So, what are we wearing for our water-skiing date?” Indie said, suddenly keen to get her mind off the recent past.
After feeding the girls lunch, or supervising the maid feeding them, Sasha changed into a swimsuit with a sarong tied low around her gazelle hips. Indie put on a Norma Kamali Hollywood Starlet bikini and sarong-less, embarrassed about her pasty white thighs, begged a borrow from her friend. Tolar was seated in the center of a long sofa on the terrace shouting at molasses-eyes Youssou, the manservant.
“You do not throw the chemicals into the pool, you put them in the filter. Stop fucking grinning at me idiot. Now I have to pay to get the water changed.”
Youssou stood on the grass below him, grinning wide and nodding madly.
“Don't forget to tell my wife she's the fucking best at skiing and everything else, Indie. Otherwise she'll drop you like she has me,” Tolar screamed across the garden as Sasha dragged her quickly and they piled into the car. After the rough drive down the track and the few blocks toward Grande Bay, they pulled up on a private crescent road sporting the entrance to the Grand Imperial hotel. Its crystal entrance was guarded by a pair of Indian footmen in white turbans.
“That's the best hotel on the island,” Sasha whispered as they headed for a pair of foreboding
“Finally, you're awake, you missed tennis this morning.” Sasha threw open the bedroom door and walked straight out to the terrace. A maid scurried behind her bearing a tray of fresh juice, pastries and bols of strong french cafe au lait. Just what was needed. “Ready for skiing this aft?” She pursed her lips together in a naughty smirk.
“No. I'm not. I can't water-ski. I did it once on vacation in Aruba, face-planted and lost half my bikini.”
“You'll be fine. I'll show you how. And are you going to fill me in on your meeting with Damien Lothaire Beauregard Le-Comte?”
“Sheesh, what a mouthful. And there’s' nothing to fill in. He came, he didn't conquer. End of.”
“Not yet but Damien is not a guy that doesn't conquer. I have to warn you to be careful, he's got a demonic reputation all over this island. He's seduced every available woman and half of those who aren't. There's no one left to him now apart from the French aristo girls who are kept locked up by their families. If he ever got his filthy hands on one of those there'd be a lynching.”
“Okay, okay, I get it but there's absolutely nothing to warn me about. I took his number right away and anyways I'm not in the head space or any space for an affair right now.”
“I'm sorry, Ind. I haven't asked you about it because I didn't want you upset the minute you arrived. I figure you'd talk about it when you were ready.”
“I know. I'm not sure if I ever wanna talk about it. It was the most awful end and I keep feeling it was my fault. That I killed my own baby.”
“Don't even think that. You didn't do anything wrong. Miscarriages happen far more frequently than women realize and if anyone was to blame it was bastard Bradley not you.”
“Perhaps I did something that pushed him over the edge into drinking to the point of rage. He wasn't always like that.”
“Yes he was. I remember when I was I New York for fashion week and in the three times I met him that week he was pissed at every single one. He got mad with the bartender for not getting him a drink fast enough and tried to punch him out. The only thing Brad had going for him in my eyes was how much he adored you. You guys were at that party, thronged with models and he was talking to some other model hound who was already looking around for an upgrade. He tried to get Brad into rating the passing trade and your boyfriend told him; 'I'm happy with what I've got'. That made him okay in my book but I guess I was too easily sold.”
“So, what are we wearing for our water-skiing date?” Indie said, suddenly keen to get her mind off the recent past.
After feeding the girls lunch, or supervising the maid feeding them, Sasha changed into a swimsuit with a sarong tied low around her gazelle hips. Indie put on a Norma Kamali Hollywood Starlet bikini and sarong-less, embarrassed about her pasty white thighs, begged a borrow from her friend. Tolar was seated in the center of a long sofa on the terrace shouting at molasses-eyes Youssou, the manservant.
“You do not throw the chemicals into the pool, you put them in the filter. Stop fucking grinning at me idiot. Now I have to pay to get the water changed.”
Youssou stood on the grass below him, grinning wide and nodding madly.
“Don't forget to tell my wife she's the fucking best at skiing and everything else, Indie. Otherwise she'll drop you like she has me,” Tolar screamed across the garden as Sasha dragged her quickly and they piled into the car. After the rough drive down the track and the few blocks toward Grande Bay, they pulled up on a private crescent road sporting the entrance to the Grand Imperial hotel. Its crystal entrance was guarded by a pair of Indian footmen in white turbans.
“That's the best hotel on the island,” Sasha whispered as they headed for a pair of foreboding
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