Page 9 of A Royally Fake French Menage (Rippton U Creatives #3)

BARCLAY

“ T onight is going to be an utter disaster.”

I cupped Genie’s chin. When her lips parted for a kiss, I dribbled a mouthful of expensive family labeled chardonnay between them.

The ballroom was full of guests I didn’t know and for that, more was the far more fucking merrier. Because if I was going to self-implode, I’d do it publicly and in style.

The worst of it was that I still didn’t understand why I had hauled my pasty ass partway around the globe to find out what Monique wanted…

because she wouldn’t tell me. So far I’d been shown off in front of her friends, introduced to neighbors I didn’t know I had, and simpered over by a cache of Parisian girls shipped in for the occasion.

Genie saved me from that conundrum of actually telling the poor things that I was taken on two fronts and that they’d just have to make do with the very well hung stable boy around the back, assuming that Vincent still worked for us and that Monique hadn’t banished him from the property yet.

Doubtful, if she’d discovered his particular oral skills that he backed up with stunning enthusiasm and endless stamina.

The concept of doing the decorous thing and leaving deserted me hours ago, around the time of the first course at Monique’s long dinner table.

That was when the woman next to me decided to have a grope beneath my napkin, no doubt in a bid to secure an emergency pregnancy that would lead to a child of semi noble birth that didn’t really count on this country, or some other such rubbish.

I was inclined to give her my American body count just to see the horror written across the face that I’d end up reading as tomorrow’s Parisian headline proclaiming my playboy status and unchanged French tendencies.

Then every whore and its pussy would be after the foppish cock I pretended to be—mostly—and I’d never get enough peace to fuck either Genie or Jacques. Or perhaps both of them together.

A decanter of red wine spilled over the offending guest shortly afterwards, and Jacques ushered her to a bathroom. I hadn’t seen my attacker as my valet fulfilled his secondary, or what that his primary task, whisking away any threat to my personage.

Which brought me back to Genie bent backward in my arms, trying not to let the sweet and sour wine I dribbled into her mouth spill down her cheeks. A game we played where my breath holding skills outmatched hers, apparently. Perhaps we could put that to the test later.

Her eyes widened as she swallowed frantically, desperate to play by my rules—I was grateful, and half hard—as I toyed with her in front of an entire ballroom of my stepmother’s peers.

Read that one carefully. My stepmonster’s peers, not mine.

Which meant I got to play bad, be filthy and absolutely, ten thousand percent, not give a flying fuck what a single one of them thought of my behavior whatsoever.

Especially when Jacques, doubling for a waiter this evening in all white with a black bow tie and bearing a fresh tray of champagne to mix my drinks nicely, topped me up for round two.

“In case of your need, sir,” he murmured almost reverently. Dark eyes glowed at me over the tray of bubbles while Genie choked prettily on my saliva in my arms.

Across the room, Monique and her friends tksed and ahhed like the fucking British, utterly disgracing themselves while I flirted and played with two lovers at once.

France is good for me.

I couldn't deny it as Genie reached through the enormous folds of the ball gown she managed to compress into an overnight case by some miracle.

The voluminous skirts hid her otherwise obvious grope.

She played with my balls through my suit pants while Jacques turned a pretty shade of lily pad green.

I laughed softly, holding his gaze. Tonight couldn’t be more perfect.

Taking the chilled champagne with a steady hand, I tipped a little of the fresh golden liquid between Genie’s lips. She swallowed sweetly, the tip of her tongue flicking out to catch a drop that beaded on her lip.

“Delightful,” I murmured, as she fluttered her lashes. “And cheeky.”

“Should I be any other way?” Genie adjusted my bowtie, a pale pink that matched the scalloped lace on her rose gold gown.

“Sir.” Jacques circled us and discreetly tugged at the neckline of Genie’s dress where it pulled down to expose the dusky top of her nipple on one side.

The heated glance that seared the air between them left me light headed. There is hope. I wrapped my arm tighter around Genie’s waist as a few caustic members of Monique’s posse appeared on either side of us.

I was sure they meant to appear imposing, but Genie just managed to repress a giggle as their strategic appearance, her face pinking prettily with each stifled breath.

“Can I help you, ladies?” I asked, letting my Parisian accent thicken, but spoke in English all the same, just to be a pest.

“Oh, Barclay. Don’t you know how much better a French woman is in bed?” One woman with a head full of ringlets that belonged firmly in the previous century or the one before that murmured, dancing a little closer on heels that left her tottering.

“Or two, or three.” Daphne, a dark haired Medusa simpered from Genie’s other side.

“Oh, do tell, ladies. I’m always up for a little education.” Genie winked at me.

I sipped my champagne and said nothing.

“Well, a French woman uses her tongue on…everything,” Daphne proclaimed, aiming, I suspected for shock value.

“And she always…swallows,” her counterpart offered as Genie finished her flute, timing the comment to perfection.

Still, Rippton had better seductresses than this lot, and as Genie pinned me earlier in the day, I was bored.

“Mademoiselles,” I murmured. “If my stepmother wanted to marry me off to the local courtesan faction, all she has to do is ask.” Both women stared at me with a renewed speculative fervor in their eyes.

Even Genie watched me with a degree of caution.

I smiled broadly. “The answer will always be a resounding ‘no’. Goodnight.” I nodded to them and drew Genie out of the ostentatious, stifling ballroom.

My breath came a little harder as we hit the stairs. I stopped, gripping the banister tight.

“Are you alright, Barclay?” Genie laid a hesitant hand on my sleeve. “I know this isn’t a real date, but if you need to talk, I’m a blank ear. Your secrets have nowhere to go. I don’t know these people, nor do I care about any of them.”

Her blush pink lips parted as if she would say more but the longer I waited, the more strained the silence between us became.

“I don’t doubt it.” I sighed and raked a hand through my hair, mucking up the styling but it wasn’t like it mattered in this place.

“I can’t deal with being back here. My father, mother…

They’ve been erased from this place. I never should have let her stay.

Monique, I mean.” As if there’s any doubt about who.

“We’re only here because I needed to make an overdue appearance that I’ve avoided for the past two years plus, electing to spend my hours in the US and ignore my responsibilities to these people.

” I gestured to the staff with their stiff backs and starched uniforms floating about and serving as needed.

Like Jacques, here without me all this time.

Anger burned within me that he stayed. Damnit, why did he stay?

Out of some misplaced sense of loyalty? Hope?

So much good it’s done him. I’d bet everything I have that the last years under Monique's reign have been anything but prosperous. Only the ironclad contracts myself and my father’s lawyer drew up kept her from pilfering everything.

“Fucking gold digger," I muttered. “Not you,” I added hastily when Genie raised a querying eyebrow.

“They look…neutral,” Genie said carefully after a moment’s thought, apparently electing to ignore my outburst. “They don’t appear unhappy exactly, but also I don't believe that they’re okay with how she manages them.

And she must be crippling your bank account with this bullshit, unless you have guidance in place for that, too. ”

I smiled. Genie read the situation perfectly within seconds. There’s that business brain in play that I knew I would love. “Indeed. Now tell me how you managed to get that gown into your pretty little carry on? Is it bigger on the inside?”

Genie gave me a startled laugh. “Nerd. And the bag, or the dress?”

“Clever girl.” I leaned down to kiss her in full.

Soft lips parted beneath my urgency, letting me in as pure desire shot through me in an instant hit of a drug bearing her name.

I slid my tongue along hers, seeking some assurance I wasn’t alone in this catastrophe of a visit.

“May I take you upstairs, Miss Lockwood?”

Genie pulled back, breathless. “Are you asking, Barclay? Or demanding?”

I bared my teeth. “Tell me what you need and I’ll provide it as a thank you for dealing with my family bullshit, and mine.”

“What I need is to see you happy.” Her hazel gaze searched mine.

I drew back, dropping my hands. The moment I released her, I felt empty. An abyss fell between us that I dared not cross. Or was too cowardly.

“That’s not how this works,” I said, slightly unsteady on my heeled boots. “We agreed it was pretend.”

“I’m human, Barclay,” she said with no small amount of exasperation. “I care about the man kissing me.”

“Not the deal,” I snapped, and sucked in a long breath. “Can I tuck you in? I might go for a walk.”

Across the fields, into the forest. Over the river and never stop.

Or enter the labyrinth and scream myself hoarse, as I'd done a dozen times or more before.

If I cupped my hands over my mouth, I’d learned those screams couldn't be heard from the house. Otherwise, more than one person lied to me.

Genie’s chin tipped up, her cheeks flushing, and not in the way I liked. Her eyes glossed with a sheen of unshed misery. “I can find the way to my room, thank you my lord.” She fucking curtsied flawlessly for me and darted up the stairs like Cinderella running from the ball.

Only I wasn’t the one left holding a glass slipper. I glanced around for Jacques’s support, but he was nowhere in sight. Hell, I was left holding nothing at all, only my battered pride in the house I was born in, feeling so out of place after my absence that I wished I’d never come home at all.

Lie .

Swearing not so quietly, I strode into the nearest small study and grabbed a decanter of some flavored alcohol that could have been pure poison for all I knew.

My head still spun with Genie’s denial and my own frustration on so many fronts.

I headed out the glassed front entrance of the house without recognizing the doormen standing on either side with the intent of obliterating myself deep in the estate’s labyrinth.

My two chosen points for this evening’s entertainment.

Which is what I did, right until the sun began to crest in a pale sky.

Breakfast—officially brunch as the household never did rise before midday, particularly after an event—was over before I made my way back into the house, unbuttoning my shirt that itched with last night’s sweat.

Maybe some other things. My breaths came short with the need to get rid of it now as I winced at the excess of fucking sunlight everywhere .

I’d been happier under the hedge I’d woken beneath, but the ants decided I was their breakfast, and I reluctantly moved along.

I peeled the shirt off as I managed to hold my shit together long enough to walk up the stairs rather than run to my wing like a toddler, though I did throw the offending garment at my bed where Jacques magically appeared to collect the sweat stained material before it hit the coverlet.

“Would you like a—” he started.

I never found out what he was offering as I walked into the ensuite and threw the shower on as cold as it would go. Stepping in while I was still discarding my pants and shoes, I tossed them in a damp heap in one corner, letting cold water cascade over my back.

Its icy prickles soothed me.

Slowly, the itchiness subsided. I breathed in deeply for the first time in what felt like hours and rested my hands on the cold tiles above my head.

“My lord. Is there anything—” Jacques appeared in the doorway I hadn't shut.

Nor had I expected my newfound peace to be interrupted.

“Get out,” I snapped coldly, hating the disturbance that stole my sense of solitude. “I don’t need you today.”

Silence reigned for a full, strained minute. The bathroom door shut gently, and I was alone.

“Fuck,” I grated under my breath, slamming my palm into the tiles, over and over until they stung. “Fuck, fuck, fuck .”

But I'd dismissed him, and as a good valet, Jacques took me at my word and left.

I swallowed hard and tipped my head back into the icy spray, relishing the sharp pin pricks that tortured my skin. The pain offered a particular brand of a distraction against the loneliness swirling in my chest.

I hate this fucking place. And maybe some of the people in it.

Including myself.