Billionaire on Board (21 page)

"You would? Good to know." I felt downright nauseous. 

Who did these people think they were and what did they think they could do to other people? The worst thing was, they really could do it, they could buy the permission, they could pay the lawyers, pay the fees, pay, pay, pay.

"I'm not hungry anymore." I walked away from the others and down the stairs to the cabin deck. I went into my own little refuge and locked the door. Nobody came after me.

I sat down on my bed and looked out of the half opened window. Right next to me was the Supernova and another half opened window. A stunningly beautiful woman in her mid-thirties stood in it with a baby in her arms. She saw me and waved.

"Hi, I'm Irina!"

"I'm Jude." 

"Sorry about what happened there, I saw you were upset." Her English was excellent, with only a slight tinge of Eastern Europe.

"Yes… I didn't think it was right how your security handled the situation."

"I agree. But they are what they are, ex-military. We have been so worried recently. They are on alert. My husband, he's not a fan of certain developments at home. We live in London, not Moscow. They overreact. But with the children here, Gregory has ordered tight measures. I don't understand why the man could get past the guards by the pier. There should be controls. We pay so much for it, just to be left in peace." She looked stressed and tired.

"I understand."

The baby started to cry.

"Sorry, I have to feed her. It was nice to meet you, Jude."

"Bye."

She closed the window and disappeared.

I wondered, if I was her, how would I feel? Married to a man rich beyond belief who was involved in politics, if I was the mother of three little children, in a place where organised crime was not unheard of? 

I could not imagine it. 

In my world, there was no imminent danger of kidnappings or piracy. As a child I had been taught not to go with strangers and not to accept anything from them either. We once had burglars trying to break into my parents' house. They were met by the two Great Danes we used to have then, Bobby and Mausi, and ran away faster than their feet could carry them. We never had expensive cars or valuable paintings at home and we did not own any jewellery.

In this world, in Ryan's world, things were different. Myrtle looked harmless enough and even though we only had four real security guards who worked in shifts, Myrtle had guns aboard and not too few, enough for the entire crew and passengers, if need be. Ryan had a safe by his bed which would open to his thumb print and there was a pistol in it. Since it had not been possible to secure the cabins one by one for the same reasons it had not been possible to make them sound proof, the entire cabin deck could be locked down with steel curtains within four seconds

How would I feel if it really were me? Because right now, it was not. I was on a holiday in a world which had nothing to do with myself, I did not identify with it at all. But if I stayed with Ryan I would have to come to terms with this reality, would I not?

I thought of him as he had been the night before. He had fallen asleep with his head had resting on my chest and he had held on to me in his slumber. It had brought tears of happiness to my eyes. Two weeks are a short time when you first get to know somebody, but two weeks of living together on a boat were a different thing. During our nine days without having sex, we had actually got to know each other quite well, as humans, not as lovers. The rhythms, the gestures, the little things, you know, how does he hold a cup, how does he type an email, how does he talk to his employees, when does he go to bed, what does he look like when he sneezes. It had been our own private laboratory. Now, I somehow felt our world had been broken up by the outside. By the lifestyle and the people. I wanted to go back into isolation with him, be alone with him and look at him the whole day long, make love to him whenever and wherever I wanted, without anybody listening in or working next door.

I stood up and left my cabin. 

I found Laetitia by the pool reading the Vogue. "Where's Ryan?"

"At the bow, I think, watching the race."

"Thanks."

I made my way around the boat and found him standing at the utmost tip, where the rails came together in a peak.

I climbed over the ropes and rings and walked up to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist. He was wearing the white t-shirt he had worn on our harbour cruise with Heidi, on the day we had first made love. I inhaled his scent. "Can we go somewhere? Only the two of us? I want you all to myself."

"Gus should be here in half an hour."

"Afterwards?"

"Yes. —  Buttercup, I also did
not
think it was right how they did it, but they had to do it, do you understand?"

"Yes. I think I do. Let's not talk about it, please, and stand still because I have to nuzzle you for a while."

"Go ahead."

Gus came and went. He proved to be pleasant company. I was happy to see there was at least one sensible person in Ryan's life. 

There was Jacob Weinberg too, of course, but he was more of a walking calculator crossed with a retriever who ran back and forth from his cabin to the deck, carrying documents. 

In his hands, not in his muzzle.

At 2.30 pm, Ryan had the crew lower a tiny speedboat into the water and we started on our excursion, heading west. I relaxed as soon as we left the loud marina behind. 

"Where are you taking me?"

"Surprise…"

I yawned. "How long is Jacob going to stay?"

"Only until tomorrow. Once he's gone and Titia's gone we'll be on our own again and I'm going to take you so hard the boat is going to fall apart."

"Poor Myrtle! — Were we so loud last night?"

"You were…" 

I smiled. "You had me in a deadly grip"

His right hand left the wheel and settled between my legs. "Like this?"

"It was more all-encompassing. Shouldn't you have both hands on the wheel?"

"I'll manage."

We were met by several boats on our way to wherever we were going. 

"Ah, the grotto gang is going home," Ryan declared, clearly satisfied.

"The who?"

"We're going to a special place. Normally it's a tourist trap, but we're still in the off season. At this time of year they don't bother to stay after the peak time. The sailors are only interested in the regatta and they won't come here anyway. I had counted on it. The sea conditions are good, so we can go in."

"In where?"

"You'll see."

He directed the boat towards a rock and turned off the engine. He had brought oars and he rowed towards an opening, no larger than six feet.

"Duck your head."

"Are you sure we can go in there?"

"Yes, yes. Duck your head."

I ducked and closed my eyes.

"Are we through yet?"

"Yes, you can come up."

I opened my eyes.

We were in a large cave and the water surrounding us was illuminated by a magical blue light. It was also reflected from the rocks above us.

"Welcome to the Grotta Azzurra."

I gaped. I had never seen anything as beautiful as this in my entire life. For a moment I thought I was in a dream. 

"There's another opening further down in the rock through which the sunlight enters and makes the water glow. We can swim in it too, if you like."

"Yes…" I breathed. 

We eased ourselves into the water. It was soothing and calm. I held on to Ryan and we kissed for long time. When a little wave interrupted us, he smiled in that earth shattering way of his, threw his head back and howled like a wolf. It echoed from the walls.

I laughed and swam a few feet away from him to paddle about and inspect the cave.

"Do you know who you look like?" he asked.

"Charlize Theron? Scarlett Johansson? Brigitte Bardot?"

"Smurfette."

"What?" I fumed in mock rage. "I'll never let you near
my
blue grotto again!"

"I think you will."

"Never!"

"Yes. You will. Right now."

We returned to Myrtle shortly before dinner.

"When are we going to leave Capri?" I asked when we entered the marina.

"Tomorrow afternoon. The day after tomorrow we've been asked to lunch in Portofino by an Italian textile entrepreneur. He has a gorgeous villa, you'll love it. He wants me to invest in his company when it gets launched at the stock market. We'll be spoiled rotten."

"I could use some spoiling."

We had almost reached our pier. 

"I'm going to spoil you so much, Poppy Jude, you'll want to stay with me forever."

My heart would have dropped into my boots, had I worn any. I was suddenly awkward and disoriented. 

"Judy, I want you to come with me to London."

My cheeks grew hot. "Ryan, I can't. —  Not yet. I— can't we just take it step by step?"

His mouth twitched. "Sorry, I didn't want to hustle you or anything."

"No, no. You don't, but I have a life in Hamburg, I have family and friends, I have a job, I can't just walk away from it all, not after two weeks. I won't."

"Fair enough."

We had reached Myrtle's hull and already the deckhands prepared to lift the speedboat out of the water.

"Ryan." 

He did not look at me, he fumbled something at the wheel. "Yes?"

"Ryan. Listen, I want to be with you but you have to give me time to get used to it, I've been alone until now."

"So have I."

"Yes. I know. I'm sure we can figure it out."

"If you say so."

"Yes. I say so."

We got out of the boat and went inside to change for dinner.

Two glasses of wine mellowed my man enough for us to spend the night with several hilarious attempts at silent sex. 

Twelve

The next day, both Jacob Weinberg and Laetitia were flown off to Naples airport by helicopter from where they would take the respective private jets to New York and Berlin.

Gus and Ryan went for lunch without me which I strongly encouraged. I wanted to spend some quality girls' time with Myrtle and think about the future on my own without being influenced by a 6'3'' Adonis nibbling on my earlobes. I came to no conclusion. He would have to accept I wanted to take things slowly.

Good Lord, I thought, here I sat, thinking I wanted to take it slowly with Ryan Corvera-Fabergé, who until two weeks ago had still been known as my imaginary boyfriend! When on earth had it all happened? I had caught the man of my dreams, literally, like other people caught the flu. I had pretended so well, the universe had believed it had made an error and had delivered him to my doorstep post haste! And now, after an incredible chain of impossible events, he was everything but imaginary. He wanted to chain me down and lock me up like a unicorn! 

Help!

Ryan returned in the early afternoon and we set sail for Portofino. It was a trip of nearly twenty hours and I was looking forward to the time alone with him. Not because of the sex but because we could lie huddled together on deck and simply talk nonsense or sleep. Our rhythms went so well together.

I had been to Portofino during a university trip once and I was eager to see the small town again in its round little bay, with its coloured houses and the lovely Castello on top of a cliff from where one could look down into the yacht port to one side and towards the open sea to the other. I remembered how I had watched a group of people drinking champagne in a yacht's upper deck jacuzzi from up there and how I had thought it was the pinnacle of decadence and luxury. 

The yacht had not even been a third of Myrtle's size and we had spent half the last night in a jacuzzi, in absolute darkness, with only the stars above us. The other half in bed. After Shiro had called.

Oh, and in the sauna too. Try it, but do not turn it on too hot or they will not deliver.

We arrived at 11.30 in the morning.

Everything was still as it had been seven years before. The green hills, the stunning villas, the bars by the port, the countless boats, yes, up there on the left, the Castello with its chapel…

 I think it is Portofino's prime asset. It never changes.

"Paolo Di Tullio lives in the one up there." Ryan pointed to a pink villa on our right, about six-hundred feet up above us, close to the hilltop.

"How gorgeous!"

"His wife will be there, her name is Federica. She used to work for Italian TV."

"As a presenter?"

"No, as a showgirl."

"I understand."

If you have never watched Italian TV you cannot imagine what an Italian showgirl does. It is really quite fantastic, you watch a normal gameshow, say "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" or "Jeopardy" and suddenly, about ten girls in glitzy bikinis march into the picture. They perform an exotic dance, they blow kisses to the audience and the gameshow recommences. It is a real profession with special schools for training. They are also wife material for football players and race drivers, but also for entrepreneurs and politicians. Some of them even become politicians themselves.

"He owns a jeans label which you know very well from what I could see."

"You mean 'Salt' jeans."

"Yes. They make other clothes too."

"I know, I like their stuff. We have a big Salt store in Hamburg. So he's heading for flotation?"

"Yes. He's very nervous about it. Not sure whether the time has come or not. He's trying very hard to charm people like me into backing him up."

"Silent partners."

"Yes. — Would you like to drive? I haven't seen how you handle the Bug yet. But if you made it through Capri you can make it anywhere. I don't want to miss out on the wine today, it's bound to be excellent. Or should we ask Dan?"

"I'll drive, no problem. I don't feel like drinking anyway." I desperately hoped there would be no tight bends on our way through Portofino and up the hill.