The Power Trip

Jeromy nodded, fantasizing about how great they’d look in matching tuxedos.

‘Maybe I’ll call Bianca an’ see who else is going,’ Luca said. ‘Could be they’ll have room for Suga and Luca junior.’

Jeromy sat up ramrod straight, almost spilling his drink. Had he heard correctly? Was Luca mad? Did he honestly think he could inveigle an invitation for Suga Tits and the child?

No. It simply wasn’t right. Luca had to be stopped immediately.

‘That’s not acceptable,’ he said, the words almost sticking in his throat. ‘It would… ah… make me most uncomfortable.’

‘Uncomfortable?’ Luca questioned, trying to ignore the fact that Jeromy couldn’t stand Suga. ‘How’s that?’

‘You were married to the woman,’ Jeromy said with a supercilious sneer. ‘Her presence on the trip would definitely make me feel awkward. Besides, it’s not etiquette to start adding guests. This is obviously a very special trip, and I am sure everyone who’s been invited was hand-picked by our host.’

Luca shrugged. ‘I thought it would be a welcome surprise for Suga,’ he said, not thrilled by Jeromy’s attitude. ‘She needs cheering up.’

Cheering up, my English arse, Jeromy thought with a bitter twist. The bitch could light up Picadilly Circus with her phony smiles.

‘Exactly why does she need cheering up?’ he asked through clenched teeth.

‘Her ticket sales are down,’ Luca explained. ‘Kinda a blow to her ego.’

Huh! Jeromy thought. It would take more than a blow to crash that woman’s enormous ego. It would take a nuclear explosion.

‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said tightly. ‘Surely you can think of something else to lift her spirits?’

‘Like what?’ Luca said blankly.

Like who gives a damn.

‘I don’t know,’ Jeromy admitted. ‘We should think about it. Between us we’ll come up with something.’

Luca nodded, although he wasn’t sure he trusted Jeromy to do the right thing.

Meanwhile, Jeromy had no intention of coming up with anything. The annoying diva wasn’t his problem.

Then, deciding a change of pace was in order, he leaned over, gently tweaking Luca’s nipple. ‘Did you miss me?’ he cooed. ‘Were you a well-behaved boy?’

‘Were you?’ Luca retorted. He might be the super-star in this relationship, but he more than suspected that Jeromy was the slut. It didn’t bother him, because he knew that Jeromy was into things he wasn’t. He simply hoped that Jeromy was careful and never came home with any kind of disease to pass on.

‘I would never cheat on you, my little pumpkin,’ Jeromy crooned, completely out of character, his long thin fingers caressing Luca’s oiled abs.

‘Sure you would,’ Luca said mildly, feeling the beginning of a hard-on. He stood up. It wouldn’t be cool to have Jeromy suck him off while there were staff lurking around. ‘Let’s go inside,’ he suggested.

‘I’m right behind you,’ Jeromy said, thinking of the young boy in London, the young boy with the talented tongue and surly attitude.

In Jeromy’s relationship with Luca he’d found that it was always he who had to perform fellatio on Luca, it was always he in the subservient position.

But that’s what Luca was into. And since the one with all the money held all the power, then ultimately it was Luca who called the shots.

Jeromy had yet to challenge him.

Chapter Eighteen

‘Surely you realize that you have it all?’ Clare, Sierra’s sister, said with an envious sigh. She was a pretty woman, but nowhere near as lovely as Sierra. Clare’s hair was brown, not golden-copper. Her eyes were quite close together, not widely spaced like Sierra’s. Clare had compensated by honing her intellectual skills, and creating a warm and wonderful family life. ‘And on top of everything,’ she went on, ‘you’re about to take off on an incredible trip.’

Sure, Sierra thought. Incredible.

‘I wish I was going,’ Clare said wistfully. ‘You’ll have to tell me all about it. Oh yes, and be sure to keep a daily journal. I need to know everything, all the details.’ Another long-drawn-out sigh. ‘You’re so lucky.’

No, you’re the lucky one, Sierra thought. You with your comfortable house in Connecticut. Your teddy bear of a husband and your three terrific kids. Not to mention a successful writing career.

‘Um, yes,’ Sierra murmured. ‘I will.’

‘Do you have any idea who else is going?’ Clare enquired, leaning across the restaurant table, agog for some juicy news.

‘Not a clue,’ Sierra said, taking a sip of her martini. A bold move for lunch, but what the hell — getting drunk could be exactly what she needed. Oh yes, Hammond would love that, she thought, stifling an inane giggle. A drunken wife on his arm. A wife dressed to impress and totally loaded.

‘What are you laughing at?’ Clare wanted to know.

The insanity of my so-called perfect life, she thought.

‘I don’t know,’ she answered vaguely. ‘Nothing. Everything.’

‘For God’s sake, please do not drift off into one of your weird moods,’ Clare begged. ‘And why are you drinking in the middle of the day? What’s that about?’

‘Because I am a political wife,’ Sierra retorted grandly. ‘We shop. We drink. We shake hands. We pick up babies. That’s what we do.’

Clare shook her head disapprovingly. ‘I don’t know what’s up with you today,’ she said, frowning. ‘You’re not yourself.’

‘I wish,’ Sierra murmured, sotto voce.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Nothing,’ Sierra said, taking another sip of her martini.

‘Any news on the baby front?’ Clare asked. It was the same question she’d been asking ever since Sierra had married Hammond.

‘I guess I’m just not fertile,’ Sierra said, unwilling to tell her sister that she and Hammond never had sex. He didn’t want her in that way, and she certainly didn’t want him.

‘Or maybe he isn’t,’ Clare suggested. ‘Sometimes it’s the man’s fault.’

‘May I remind you he already has a child?’

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Clare said, intent on getting her point across. ‘He should still get tested.’

‘I’m not sure I even want a family,’ Sierra murmured, gulping down the rest of her martini.

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Clare said firmly. ‘Of course you do.’

Sierra felt herself losing it. Why couldn’t Clare leave the subject alone? ‘You know what?’ she said.

‘What?’

‘I wish you’d do me a big favour and stop bringing it up all the time.’

Clare knew when to change the subject. ‘I got a text from Sean,’ she said, lowering her voice and glancing furtively around as if the middle-aged waiter standing nearby was even remotely interested.

‘What did he want?’ Sierra asked, thinking about their twenty-nine-year-old drop-out brother who lived in a run-down beach shack with a forty-two-year-old Puerto Rican divorcee in Hawaii.

‘What do you think he wanted?’ Clare said pointedly. Then answering her own question she added, ‘Money, of course.’