Page 93 of Their Courtesan
Judith pretended to see it all, although from her vantage it was probably endless white and beige with the occasional glass wall.
“Everything is so packed together!”
“Yes. It’s forty thousand people crammed into the second smallest country in the world. That doesn’t count all the tourists, either.”
“Fuuuck!”
Hopefully.
There was one spot open at the heliport when it came time to land three minutes later. By then, Judith looked like she had an orgasm.
“Bienvenue a Monaco,” he muttered to her.
She was in a daze while Miguel led her through the heliport and to his car waiting outside. Too tired to drive tonight, he had called up one of the family chauffeurs and asked to have him meet them there with the black Maserati Quattroporte. Judith was still all giggles – must be the jetlag settling in – as she tried to see out the tinted windows on the short trip to his apartment.Reminder: take a different car out tomorrow.No point enjoying playing tourist if they couldn’t see anything!
“We’re here already?” That was the second time that day Judith said it. The driver had pulled up in front of Miguel’s apartment building and was about to get out to grab their luggage. “Aren’t we going to park somewhere else? What if someone sees us?”
“Ma cherie,” Miguel couldn’t pick, could he? “There are almost no paparazzi in Monaco. Everyone may know me here, but nobody can photograph me. Back in America, nobody knows me. It’s perfect.”
She brazenly took his hand as they exited the car.I never hold a woman’s hand like this.If he were walking the streets of Monaco with a date – let alone hopping into his apartment – he kept a respectful distance. There may be no photographers, but family gossips abounded.
Whatever. Feeling her hand in his was worth a glib comment at his father’s birthday party.
Miguel lived in the sort of luxury that was expected of him, let alone in a place like Monaco, but his apartment building didn’t have elevator attendants – just the standard sliding keycard lock. The French receptionist standing behind the front counter looked up with a large smile. “Bon retour parmi nous, MonsieurBolivar,” he said. “Do you need anything?”
“Nothing tonight, thanks.” Miguel slid his keycard and waited for the elevator to come down. Judith, meanwhile, turned in little circles as she took in the restored detailing combined with high-tech security. She smiled directly into a camera disguised as a hanging plant.Good eye. I shouldn’t be surprised.There were similarly disguised cameras all over the Château. “Come,mi amour.We can order dinner once we’re upstairs.”
“Ven conmigo!”she cried with an exaggerated accent as she leaped into the elevator ahead of Miguel. He punched in the code for his level. The doors closed to reveal a floor length mirror reflecting his tailored suit and her travel-wrinkled shift. She hadn’t removed the sunglasses yet. Probably too blinded by the diamond-encrusted elevator buttons.
“Your Spanish is pretty good,” he said, stomach lurching as they launched upward. “Not sure where that accent comes from.”
“Eh, we learn Mexican Spanish across the pond.” Judith shrugged. “We preferustedestonosotros.I’m sure you’re fluent in both major dialects.”
“I may surprise you.” True, Miguel spoke motherland Spanish, more specifically the Barcelonan dialect – although Monegasque inspired French had snuck in there over the years. Miguel’s accent was a class of its own. “What if I told you I’ve never been to Mexico?”
“What! Even I’ve been to Mexico!” She playfully slapped his arm. “You should take me to the Yucatan. I’ve always wanted to see Machu Picchu.”
“So now you’re dictating where we go? Why,ma cherie,you’re acting like my girlfriend.”
She winked as the doors opened. “This weekend I sure am.”
Miguel was only one of two apartments on his floor. His, of course, was the better one, overlooking the marina and his sporty vessels. Not that he could see them well from his window, but he knew they were there, and he couldn’t wait to take Judith out the next day, weather permitting.
He checked his phone as they entered his home.Excellent. Balmy and beautiful.A usual day in Monaco.
“Wow.” Judith ambled into the maw of his apartment. “Wow.This is not what I was expecting after seeing the outside.”
The façade? Authentically late 17thcentury, when it was originally built. Only things here and there had been updated to fit with modern safety codes while still retaining the historical beauty of the time period.The Prince of the day used to stay in this building.With his mistresses, of course.
The inside, however, was decidedly modern. Miguel enjoyed the old architecture – and would daresay he was proud of it, as any European worth his homeland would declare – but he loved the comforts of modernity. Even more so than his family, the first family in their part of Spain to hire merciless Indonesian guards to patrol their compound.
Everything was computerized and touch controlled, from the fridge, to the entertainment center, to the window blinds, to even thefloors.Miguel checked their temperature and if there were any wet spots. Everything was clear.
“Wowowowow.” Judith ran to the east-facing windows overlooking the marina. No beautiful sunset from this angle, but the water was calm, dark blue, and bobbing with white yachts and other sporty vessels. Across the marina was more beige and white architecture that spoke of centuries long past. Miguel could guarantee they were as updated as his abode, even if they didn’t look it. “This is absolutely stunning. I knew you were fucking loaded, man, but even I couldn’t guess that Monaco was likethis.Some of my old clients were seriously holding out. Justhowloaded are you, Mr. Bolivar?” Her cheeky look almost matched her voice.
“We are pretty ‘loaded,’ to be sure.” Miguel chuckled as he went into the stainless steel kitchen and found some glasses and a bottle of champagne. “That’s mostly my family, though. Don’t worry. I have my own money.”
“Of course. How much did this place cost?”
