Page 39 of Forbidden (Wicked Billionaires #1)

STORM

I awaken early, and I walk onto our rooftop. I check on Falcon, and I crouch at his side. After, I walk to the corner of the roof with my coffee, and I stand high next to the stone eagle.

As the sun rises, I hold the eagle’s wing.

I cannot believe last night, or the amazing sex. Even if it’s incredible, and exciting, it feels like things are spinning out of control.

I am so caught up in us , I’m nervous. I love Lorenzo with all of my heart, but things are moving fast.

The energy we create together, is intense, and maybe too intense.

The distance from my friends, and family, plus society, as we live together with Falcon high above the city, and all alone, is electric.

And our energy together is powerful.

I’m excited, but I am scared.

Deep down, I know I will never find anyone more amazing, more passionate, more caring, and more incredibly capable.

Of loving or protecting me.

I know Lorenzo is private, and I know he is not a big social animal. Neither am I. Few book loving nerds like me are.

Any ceremony to marry, will likely be some kind of remote signing, with a priest or celebrant. Or, more likely, we’d fly in the chopper out to sea, and land on a yacht.

Then, as is the ancient rite, a ship captain would legally marry us.

Lorenzo has several friends with super yachts, I think Troy Remington has one. It would be easy. Easy for a yacht to be sailed offshore, or even rented for the evening.

We could chopper out, marry, have a drink, far from the paparazzi and nosey people.

Simple. Private. Perfect.

Then we would be one.

Then, I would have to tell people back home. Oh shit!

Seeing Lorenzo’s ex-girlfriend at the gala was disturbing, and she hung around way too long. If Lorenzo is my husband, it may help people stay away, and know he is mine.

I hate the fact I was jealous last night, the emotion makes me feel sick. It’s so uncontrollable.

As Lorenzo walks across the rooftop in tight black shorts with a coffee, he looks perfect in the warm light. He comes towards me, and his immaculate body glints. The shower water still coating his eight pack, broad shoulders, pecs, and powerful thighs.

How can I not marry him?

I love him, like I will love no other. Lorenzo is the one.

But is it this?

Too fast.

At the end of the week, and after we dance around discussing marriage, and talking about us further, Lorenzo tells me he has to fly to the world’s biggest film market.

It is where movie, cinema and production companies buy and sell movie, and series, rights. Lorenzo says it’s like a fish market, but it is more complicated, and prestigious.

“As always, the market is held in the South of France and in a stunning French Riviera city called Cannes. I want you to come Storm, because there’s nothing like it on the planet.”

Neither of us are into red carpet events, dressing up, or fame, but Lorenzo tells me, the movies selected to screen, are the best in the world.

I finally agree, and we have a national vacation coming up.

The timing is perfect, and I want Lorenzo close.

We are becoming inseparable, and the idea of a week away from him, does not excite me. The other thing that worries me, is the fact that Lorenzo has been on edge this week.

He is working more hours than usual, and he is likely taking on too many entertainment deals. He is pushing into Europe now, and I can tell it is changing him some.

I guess it’s hard to take your foot off the gas, when it is what you do, and what you enjoy.

We are both hoping to see the trailer of the movie we’d flown down to help stabilize in Texas. Lorenzo tells me, they’ve only just wrapped shooting.

Dear God. At what cost?

Finally, the day comes, and we pack, and say goodbye to Falcon.

He is now walking around the roof, and he tries to stretch his wounded wing daily.

We have let him do it, the aim being, when he’s stronger, healed, and ready to fly, one day he will fly away, to find his place in the world.

The other option is, we lock him up, hope he gets better, then fly him back to the national park and we let him free.

The thing is, we cannot keep him locked up in the kennel any longer. That is wrong. He also needs to exercise, stretch his wings, and move.

After saying farewell to our dear Peregrine, Lorenzo takes my hand, and we take our private elevator to the Bentley. Alfred drives us to JFK airport, and Lorenzo’s jet, and I am calm and content.

As usual, we are flying without staff. It’s our way, and we are becoming even more reclusive. We are also becoming one.

I’m unsure if it’s getting unhealthy, like we are addicted to each other, but the train has left the station.

I have been telling Lorenzo I love him when I leave for work, and he does the same. We are as close to a normal couple as we can be, and I feel fulfilled.

I still make him lunch before I go to the library to work, and sometimes he even eats it.

Even if a piece of me still worries things have happened too fast, I know it’s more than infatuation.

I love him!

I know I get agitated when woman come on to Lorenzo, and I know he has many exes. I have trouble controlling my jealousy, and I hope being married will calm my fears. I can tell Lorenzo is equally possessive, but I know he is better than me, at keeping it in check.

Wanting to hold onto what you love, is likely healthy, but this does feel as if it has ramped up.

In saying that, I am likely too close to know. I am likely way too caught up in… us!

After landing in the French Riviera, we drive past beaches and yachts, and we check into a five-star hotel. We then reach Lorenzo’s usual penthouse suite.

It feels way over the top, but Lorenzo reminds me Monte Carlo, and Monaco is just down the coast, and Europe is old. With some very old money, royals, castles and bloodlines.

After we place our passports, and my jewelry in the suite’s safe, Lorenzo tells me we’re going shopping. I don’t understand.

“Baby, this is a business trip, and even I have to dress up. I don’t like bow ties or gold cufflinks, but it’s to be expected at times, especially at these high-profile premieres. Trust me, you’ll see.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” I say, looking down, “I have two matching sandals.”

Lorenzo laughs and he holds me close. “You’re going to make a perfect wife.”

I gulp, and I know we need to talk more.

Before it gets awkward, our fingers find each other, and we are heading for the tall ornate door.

Three crazy hours later we re-enter the hotel’s gorgeous lobby, and two men push a trolly with dresses and shoe boxes.

I’m embarrassed, and it feels ridiculous.

I keep my sunglasses on, and I tilt my head down. Lorenzo keeps his on too, and I huff low. “I cannot believe you, Mister. You will need a lot of punishing.”

There is no way I’m wrong. The classy trolly is covered in Valentino, Givenchy, and Dior.

It is absolutely ridiculous.

As an impeccably uniformed Frenchman holds the elevator open for us, we enter. As soon as the doors close, he turns to me. “Do you know what we forgot?”

I drop my sunglasses, “Lemme guess. Panties?”

“That’s the thing, here in Cannes, it’s a no-panties town.”

I raise an eyebrow. I pull my wickedly hot black thong off, and I do it slowly. As Lorenzo tries not to grin, I stick it in his navy suit jacket. I then adjust it, so it looks like a silk handkerchief just sticking out. “There, happy?”

The first night, we have dinner with Troy Remington. As always, Troy is classy, charming, distinguished, and graceful. He should be, he and his brothers grew up in Beverly Hills, and they are basically Hollywood Royalty.

Troy invests in movies, and his family company produces over a dozen a year. The family also has interests in real estate, and they own more than one vineyard. His wife Zara, a fashion designer is not here, but she sounds talented and humble.

Over the next few days, Lorenzo, and his US, and European staff, have endless meetings about their movie projects, and who to sell the completed movies to. I try to ignore the stunning women on the French Riviera, and around the movie market, but it is hard.

They are all over the place, and some of Lorenzo’s female staff, are gorgeous. That I don’t like, but Lorenzo is mine, and I trust him.

Between meetings and me exploring the stunning coastal town and reading books, Lorenzo and I attend red-carpet premieres of movies, and we see a few great films.

Lorenzo explains, the once-a-year film market and festival is key, and like most investors, and producers, he has to circulate, and connect with the industry heads.

We have a little fun in the evenings, when he is not in talks with people, and completely distracted. We spend some time with his billionaire friend Dante, who flew in with Troy.

They are still in talks over their planned business deal, and Dante is sweet. I like his exotic accent, and like Troy, he is sophisticated and graceful.

Also, weirdly, a bachelor.

The short week of premieres, screenings, red-carpet events, meetings, parties, and busy days and nights, is about to end, and it has felt like a mini marathon.

Lorenzo and I have had little time together, and he and his staff have been in rolling meetings.

It has been intense, yet glamorous.

It feels like Lorenzo has been spending way too much time with two leggy French women, that sell his movies to companies in Europe.

I watched the women closely when I was around them, and Lorenzo, and I didn’t like it.

I trust Lorenzo, but I think I know body language. I can tell the French ex-model Sophia, has designs for him, and she gives me the chills. She is way too chic, way too seductive, and way too cat-like.

Over the last few days, and as we passed each other at events, screenings and parties, we have avoided each other. She knows who I am, because we have met. I started out being friendly, but the arrogant ex-model has started to act like I do not exist.

The thing is, she does not even seem to care, and I suspect she’s up to no good.

As soon as we’re on the jet home, I’ll carefully have a word with Lorenzo. I will explain I’m uncomfortable with her being around, and I will ask him to consider distancing himself from her.

I know he loves me because he says it daily.

I also know he will consider my request. He is not some sex-crazed brute that fucks everything he can, anymore . He is committed to us.

However, Lorenzo and I have not had sex for a week.

Considering we usually have sex several times a day, it has me slightly on edge. I know it’s due to his schedule, but I sense something else.

Ever since we arrived, and I’ve come on to Lorenzo in bed, or the shower, he’s been distracted.

And he has backed away.

I put it down to work stress, but deep down, I know, and I know him. I also know he craves sex because that is his way.

Finally, we are down to one last movie party on a yacht, then, we will be home, married, and safe.

As we shower before the super yacht party, I tell Lorenzo, I miss him. I also tell him I miss sex, and I miss us.

I explain, I want him, and I want him, in my mouth.

We kiss under the cascading warm water, and I drop to my knees.

I want him to come in my mouth, and then I want him to take me against the warm marble, and to make me come.

“No, babe,” he says, pulling me up, “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Are you alright?” I ask, unsure, and confused.

Lorenzo nods, and he looks frazzled. “Sorry, I’m just distracted.”

I look at him, worried, and I hope all is fine. I know he has more deals on now, than ever, and I know in this single week of the year, he must sell his movies, fast and hard.

It does however send alarm bells ringing, and I’m new to being turned away. I know a release will be good for him, to relax him, and also me.

It’s just confusing because he seems so very distant. And all of a sudden.

We dress in silence, and I put on the crisp black Dior gown. It is not over the top design wise. It’s more of a classic.

I do my eyes, and I paint them slightly cat-like. After, I do my hair, and I put on a basic Cartier necklace and matching earrings. It helps some, but I don’t care about the fancy clothes and diamonds.

I just want us.

After Lorenzo dresses in his tux, he puts his gold cufflinks on in silence. He is not the man from NYC, and I don’t know what to say or do.

I look across the French Riviera, and through the billowing curtains in silence. I stare at the yachts on the harbor, and the moonlight reflects off the water. It is a stunning evening, and I mutter a few words to myself.

I remind myself to stay strong, and I remind myself to have faith. I also tell myself to not fear, and to believe in us.

Only, us has happened so fast. So very fast…

As I turn and watch Lorenzo lock our safe, our eyes meet. He does not smile. He does not even acknowledge me. He is somewhere else, and I hope not thinking about someone else.