“I wanted to stay, Mom. And I still do,” Aimee retorted, anger bubbling within her. “I just have to find a way to make it work.”
“Well. While you figure out how complicated the real world is, I’ll prepare a life for you here,” her mother said firmly. “Just let me know when your flight arrives. I’ll pick you up from the airport.” She paused, her motherly words echoing over the line. “And Aimee?”
Aimee exhaled from her nose, trying to quell her anger. “What is it?”
“You won’t be disappointed about changing your life. I’m not. And I used to think Monaco was the whole world.”
Aimee hung up the phone after a brief goodbye, her fingers shaking with confusion and unrest. A small, aching part of her understood that her mother was right—that Monaco wasn’t the entire world, that the allure of billionaire lifestyles, of yachts that stretched beneath the constant summer sky, would hold no room for her, especially when she grew beyond her mid-20s and into her 30s and 40s. That would be the end of her Monaco lifespan, if she even made it that long. Her mother had made it into her late 40s, and yet, happiness had long fled from her face. Loneliness had been her bedfellow as Aimee’s father had been persuaded by the blackjack tables to ruin their marriage, their family.
Perhaps her offer was the only lifeboat Aimee would find. But that burn of desire, that feeling that she would never grow old—the electrifying hours she’d spent with Enrico the previous week—kept her tied to Monaco.
Suddenly, the reception phone began to ring. Aimee sighed, sensing her mother’s temper flaring back over the ocean. Ever the diligent receptionist, she pushed her shoulders back and lifted the phone, finding her customer service voice.
“Good morning, you’re through to the Delacroix. How may we assist you?” She glanced around the lobby, watching a single chef march from the kitchens out toward the glimmering sunshine. Otherwise, she was alone.
“Hello?” she spoke once more, sensing a bad connection. She swallowed, spinning a pen in her fingers. “Is anyone there?”
Finally, a voice came through the speaker. “Aimee Delacroix. So good to hear your voice.”
Aimee frowned, her eyebrows lacing close to her eyes. How did this man know her name? Was he a regular?
“Yes, sir. Can I help you? Would you like to make a reservation?”
“Oh no, darling. No. I have no interest in making a reservation.”
Aimee tilted her head. The man sounded older—perhaps one of her father’s gambling friends. Perhaps one he owed a great deal of money. Her heart began to flutter.
“How can I be of service, sir?”
“Actually, Miss Delacroix, my employer would like to request your presence at the marina this evening.”
Aimee turned around, her eyes darting toward the marina, visible through the massive lobby window. Sailboats, hitched to the docks, shifted lightly in the morning breeze. She swallowed, sensing that something was about to happen—that the world was tilting for her.
“Could you tell me who your employer is?” she asked, her voice wavering.
“Unfortunately, I cannot,” the man rasped, his voice filled with secrets. “But I can tell you that this evening, at sunset, he plans to make you an offer you won’t be able to refuse.”
Aimee’s lips parted in shock, her mind swimming with questions. “You can’t tell me anything else?”
“I’m afraid not.”
Her heart jolted. All at once, the mysterious, handsome face of Enrico slipped through her mind, a reminder of the very real tension that had built up between them on that fateful night, only days before. She inhaled sharply, suddenly realizing it wasn’t over between them. She couldn’t escape her want for his hands around her waist, for his lips over hers.
“I’ll be there at sunset to meet your employer,” she whispered, her voice sizzling. “And I won’t be late.”
No sooner had she spoken the words, the phone emitted a click, alerting her that the mysterious caller had hung up the phone. She clung the receiver close to her chest, her eyes lifting toward the ceiling. The morning sun swept over her cheeks, and a grin crept over her face, revealing her dimples. Her mood instantly lifted; she felt blissful.
An offer she couldn’t refuse. That was what he’d said. She hung up the phone as her brain buzzed with curiosity, with lust. As she stood, zombie-like, a gaggle of maids rushed through the lobby, an elevator boy stomped sullenly toward his post, and several gamblers wandered in from their all-nighters in the Monaco streets. The Delacroix was days from dipping beneath sea-level for good, and yet: she had a single, glimmer of hope with the billionaire, Enrico.
She thought back to what her mother had said. That she couldn’t continue living this daydream without building a future for herself. Her days in Monte Carlo were numbered; life as she knew it was ticking toward doomsday. And, with this dangling, last-ditch opportunity with a billionaire before her—she knew she needed to cling on to every last chance.
Aimee whizzed through the rest of her morning responsibilities easily, responding to emails, pushing back the reality that her responsibilities at this establishment were coming to an end. Her father called her cell a few times at lunch, but she opted to ignore it, knowing that her anger would bleed through every syllable she spoke. She focused on just one thing that day—her desire to see Enrico again, to feel his touch on her skin, his strong arms around her shoulders, his warm lips upon hers.
They had unfinished business, and she ached to rush to the marina that evening and fix that. Even if her daydream life in Monaco was coming to a close, she yearned for one final opportunity to live in its fantastical environment.
FOUR
Aimee scooted from her position at reception at around five that evening, her heels clattering across the gleaming floor with reckless, life-affirming speed. She slipped from her shoes as she burst into her apartment, taking a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror, giving herself a brief grin.
She yanked her closet door open, grazing her fingers over the fabrics, knowing that her only options were the black dress she’d worn the previous week, along with a simple, slinky white dress which highlighted every curve and accentuated her hourglass figure. She grabbed it from the hanger and shrugged off her hotel uniform, standing naked and gazing whimsically out the window. The sun swam lower towards the horizon, casting orange ribbons across the sea.
She slipped into the white dress, thinking of how it reminded her of her mother, thankful for how it showed off her legs—tanned, long and strong from hours and hours of standing at the desk. She swept eyeliner over her eyelids and donned red lipstick, giving herself a final, anxious smile. She had mere minutes until she was meant to be at the marina. Each second seemed to tick away too quickly. Soon, she’d be out of Monaco, back in Seattle—living out the cold, mundane years that would be the rest of her life.