‘I called him my love!” Sawyer Mulberry did not give her friends any time to even say hello before lunging in with that line.
‘Down girl. I’ve not had my coffee, and it is way too early.’ Shaz moans on her end.
‘Shaz its almost nine some of us are on our second cup.’ Drea says.
‘Oof that rough hun?’ Alana chirps with her ever-sunny dispositioned South Carolina accent.
Sawyer smiles knowing her girls, her absolute babes, who would do anything for her. They wanted to hire a hitman to take Marcel out; no joke or word of a lie Shaz contacted the men who work in her father’s construction company, who knew people who could do this sort of thing. ‘Can we focus on what I said please I have a meeting in thirty minutes.’
‘You called Jameson your love okay.’ Baxter’s tone is bored almost.
‘What do you mean “okay”? this is serious Bax.’
‘He’s your fiancé babe, yes, we know it’s not all kosher, but he is your fiancé no less and you might as well go with the flow. It’s not the earth-shattering thing you think it is hon.’ Drea says.
‘So, what should I do?’
‘Be normal Sawyer.’ If Alana could, she would reach through the phone and clip Sawyer around the ears like her Meemaw used to do when her and her sister were “tearing it up” about the place. ‘Be freaking normal because this is normal behaviour between a man and the woman he is going to marry.’
‘I shouldn’t bring it up?’
‘Did he?’
‘No, I don’t even think he heard it.’
‘He did.’ All four women say.
‘Shit.’
‘Stop. Please my love, stop the freak out right now.’ Baxter’s tone brooks no argument. In addition to being one of Sawyer’s best friends she is also married to her older brother who was her secondary school sweetheart. ‘It’s not bad, it’s not bad at all okay. Just walk it off.’
Sawyer counts to ten in her head and snaps to. ‘Thank you. Now I’m going to be late for my meeting and I haven’t even had any coffee.’
‘Sucker.’ Drea laughs manically.
The four friends call each other minus Sawyer, the second she gets off the phone.
‘OMG! It’s happening!’ Baxter squeals
‘I told you he loved her, and she loves him. I just knew it!’ Drea is tickled with glee.
‘How long before the big three?’ Shaz asks.
‘Give it a week or six months because you know these two knuckle heads are going to be tap dancing around that until we have to pull it out of them.’ Alana says.
‘Too right. But omg! Isn’t this the cutest.’ Shaz says.
‘It really is.’ Baxter coos almost, ‘I just want us to wrap this up before that fool knows what is happening. I would hate to put in a call with my dad’s men.’
‘You’re sure Ola doesn’t know the real, real.’
‘Nope.’ Baxter answers the question, referring to her husband’s knowledge, or lack thereof, of what his happening with his sister. ‘If he does, he has a funny way of hiding it. I had to talk him down from going over to Paris to fuck Marcel up.’
‘How did you do that?’ Alana asks, knowing how super protective Sawyer’s brothers are of her.
‘How do you think?’ Baxter answers.
‘The sacrifices you make for your friends and family, you poor baby.’
‘If I end up pregnant with number four, I am calling him or her Sawyer as a reminder of these trying times.’
‘Oh, you poor hardworking wife of a billionaire who is constantly doted on.’ Drea teases and they all burst out laughing.
‘I hate you guys.’
‘We love you too.’
…
Even before she looks at the phone, having heard the ping, Sawyer knows just who it is and upon first glance she knows the number. Marcel her fiancé or is he her ex-fiancé now? Who else would it be? What is it with men and their timing to fuck up a good moment? Especially the ones who do not know how to take a hint. And just like that, the good mood from talking to her actual fiancé and her friends dissipates. It’s complicated.
You have to give me an answer soon dearest.
Don’t forget what I know.
Another threat. She has contemplated blocking his number only, she must keep him reachable, so she knows his next steps. Marcel would tell her because he cannot help himself. How she came to fall for someone like him will never cease to amaze her. Was she drunk in the three years they dated? She must have been because that is the only way to explain how she’d been so blinded to his many red flags, she was dazzled by his love bombing and look where it landed her? On her way to the altar to get married to another man she met in Paris.
Paris in the fall.
‘Drink up ladies!’ Alana, one of her four best friends, arms them with yet another round of shots. They’d all agreed Sawyer needed to get out of London considering the shit show of her relationship with Marcel the dick. They’d never really liked him anyway, despite them being together for three years, they merely tolerated him. They liked the family fine, but Marcel had a dickish whiff about him that raised their hackles, but their friend was in love, so they stood by ready to pounce the second he stepped of out line with her. And boy did he do it with some French heffer he’d been doing it and doing it and doing it with all around the country for five years. Five freaking years! Two years before they met, and he hid it from them all.
Marcel was charming, a little too, said all the right words and made all the right moves and he seemed to make their friend happy. Their union was perfect.
Sawyer is the baby of the Mulberry family; father and mother are two of the highest profile lawyers in the United Kingdom; Dame Rosalie Mulberry and Sir Henry Mulberry. Well known only in the upper echelons of society, and Marcel is the son of Estelle and Patrice Duchamp, the French luxury leather atelier. They looked perfect together; some even called them couple goals which always made Sawyer cringe. Marcel was a bit of a rebel who marched to the beat of his own drum and rode roughshod over everyone to get his way, except with Sawyer whom he had endless patience for and seemed, by all accounts, to be in love with. It also helped that their relationship was something of a bicoastal, bi-continental one; he lived in Paris and she in London and they would see each other every weekend with some weekday jaunts thrown in the mix. After two and a half years of dating he proposed in the most elaborate and cliched of ways; atop the Eiffel Tower which he had shut down for the night simply to propose. He even hired a famous photographer to capture the moment from a helicopter; that picture was splashed on every front page in France and beyond. A silhouette of a man on one knee, slipping the ring in the woman’s finger, the kiss! The world swooned. At the time her friends and everyone else thought it was the most romantic thing ever, of course it was! and the ring was a stunner, a seven carat Cartier stunner mounted on white platinum band. The press went on and on and on about it when the engagement was announced in Paris Match and several French high society publications and a news blast on social media from the official Duchamp account. Sawyer would rather their relationship stayed quiet but Marcel Duchamp was akin to France’s petit prince. He is the swoonier, hipper, more handsome and roguish answer to Andrea Casiraghi, the once upon a heartthrob Prince of Monaco, if comparisons are to be made. Being in a relationship with him made Sawyer public enemy number one to the legion of women whose hearts were constantly broken with every photograph of them, and the Duchamp name is a pretty big deal in high fashion circles, along side the family history with a lineage tracing all the way back to the Senegalese royal family in the Wolof empire, before great grandfather moved France and started the luxury leather goods company; it was the stuff of fairytales and they lapped it up. Following the proposal, the friends lowered their guard; he was good to their girl, made her happy, their family adored her and always went out of their way to shower her with much love and affection. His mother especially was enamoured by Sawyer.
And then one morning as she sat to breakfast, contemplating wedding plans and weekend plans with Marcel, she got a message on her phone. A video. Marcel and another woman, a woman she’d never met, whom by all accounts was not known to the family either. He was fucking her. Sawyer’s heart splattered to pieces and her soul damn near left her body. She refused to believe it was him, she thought it was some AI deepfake at first but then she had it authenticated, and it turned out her fiancé of a few short weeks and boyfriend of two and half years was cheating on her, had been cheating on her the whole time they were together. She sent the video to him and told him never to contact her again. He couldn’t get to London quick enough to plead his case but Sawyer wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t answer the door to his incessant banging and had to call the police to get him to go away. His text messages to her were even more frantic.
Yes, he was seeing her, she was a long term lay.
They had an understanding, and they had a shelf life.
He did not know he was being recorded.
He broke it off with her that night so that was a last bang.
He broke it off with her because he was going to marry Sawyer and wanted a fresh start.
These things are no big deal.
She was the mistress. It happens.
Why is she being unreasonable.
On and on he went with his excuses because she would not answer his calls, listen to his voicemails or respond to his messages. He expected her to still walk down the aisle and get married to him because he was now committed to their relationship!
Never one to hide anything from her best friends she confided in them, and their guards went back up. They put plans in motion to hire someone to fuck him up on sight but that was until Sawyer intervened, not because of her feelings for him but simply because it’d be a shame for them to end up in jail on his behalf. Six months to the wedding and they still have not announced the breakup; Marcel is holding her to ransom with what he has on her. Even if she has something just as damning, her family always comes first to Sawyer, they did not deserve to be a part of the circus he was threatening to unleash if she did not toe the line to his demands; marry him or else. But over her dead body will she marry him.
Sawyer is holding firm, bidding him to do his worst.
‘No more shots Alana, I beg you.’ Sawyer held her head in her hands sure it was falling off. This was such a bad idea, to come to Paris, it wasn’t their finest moment, but Drea insisted they take the fight to Marcel on his turf, only, the dipshit was not in town, he’d gone off to Hong Kong. They decided to make a thing of it to for the weekend, checked into their suites at Hotel George V, got dolled up and headed to the Moulin Rouge for a late show.
‘More champagne then?’ Baxter said just as a waiter appeared before them with two bottles of Dom Perignon 2008. Sawyer’s favourite.
‘Who ordered that?’ Shaz asked.
The friends looked at each other and shrugged.
‘Pardon Moi, on n’a pas commande ça.’
He smiled kindly and motioned to the gentleman at the table to the right of theirs as the senders of the fine champagne. One of them, the most handsome of the very handsome group, raised a glass with brown liquid to them.
‘Oooh he is fine!’ Drea proclaimed.
Sawyer nods in thanks; sure she was tipsy, but her friend was right, he is absolutely beautiful. Rich brown skin, hair in a tight fade, thick lashes, strong nose, lips that looked that they could wreck a girl senseless and a smile fit for the gods. He looked like the love child of Omari Hardwick and Boris Kodjoe with a dashing of Morris Chestnut. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Whatever it was, Sawyer was going to go with it.
Ever impulsive, Alana made her way to their table, took an empty seat and started a conversation with them as if she’d known them all her life. Soon enough, the others made the unanimous decision to join their friend, if only to save her from herself since they’d had quite a bit to drink, and they were all except for Sawyer, married with children; a scandal in the Moulin Rouge involving an aristocrat’s daughter is right up the tabloid’s alley. The waiters were kind enough to swap their tables, and that was how they ended up spending the night in the company of strangers who quickly became friends.
The others were so engrossed in the reverie of the night that they didn’t notice when Sawyer and the handsome stranger who raised the glass to them, whom she was sat next to, disappeared for the rest of the night…
‘Where’ve you been?’ Drea stands akimbo to address Sawyer who was attempting to sneak into their suite at noon, in hopes of not being seen or heard.
‘Why are you up?’ Shit. She was busted.
‘Because its noon sweetheart. Rather late for you to be coming in. Fresh faced, no makeup, well rested. A hickey? People still give those?’
‘Shut up.’
‘Guys she’s back.’ Drea announced, and just like that, the others appear in the living room to witness the walk of shame.
‘You had sex with him!?’ Baxter damn near screeched, taking on the role her husband would have.
‘You think Marseilles heard you?’ Sawyer retorted.
‘Okay.’ Shaz stepped in, ‘let’s take it down a notch, breakfast is on the balcony let’s go eat and hear the tales of our friend’s escapades.’
‘You better not say anything to your husband.’ Drea warns Baxter.
‘I would never do that.’
‘Mm Hm.’ Alana shuffles them all out to the balcony.
‘So, she slept with him what’s the big deal? Why did we bring her to Paris?’ Alana passes Sawyer the cup of coffee she poured, their friend definitely needs it. Who does a walk of shame at noon!? The cut off was seven am but noon… she might as well have moved in with him.
‘Did you sleep with him?’ Drea asked.
‘No! what kinds of idiot do you think I am?’
They exchanged looks and as one burst out laughing and high-fiving each other.
‘Where did you guys get to at Moulin Rouge?’ Baxter asked.
Sawyer did not immediately answer her friend’s question, trying not to look shifty behind her cup of coffee.
‘You had sex with him at the Moulin Rouge!?’ Alana screeches.
‘You know, you might as well take out a billboard from here to Aix and let the country know there’s a whore in their midst.’
‘Did you?’ Shaz presses.
‘Fine. Yes we had sex at the Moulin Rouge call the police. Gah!’ Sawyer buried her face in her hands, the memories of last night not letting up.
‘Again, can we take it down a notch. Why did we bring her to Paris?’
‘Not to bang some random stranger in the bathroom of a French icon.’ Drea points out.
‘Cold Blind Me-’
‘What the fuck!’ All eyes turn to Alana, waspishly.
‘What! I’m trying to master the lingo.’
‘Honey, please stop it, for the love of the lingo, stop.’ Shaz chastises.
‘Was it that bad?’
‘Yes.’ The other four answer.
‘Stick to your southern roots babe.’ Sawyer puts a protective arm around their friend, shielding her from the ire of the others. ‘Leave the cockney rhymes to the geezers.’
Alana makes a face. In a bid to sound more English like her best mates, from time to time she’ll pick up a slang and try it on her unsuspecting besties and each time she butchers it like she has done this one. ‘Fine. Oh my stars you are a wild cat.’ The southern accent is firmly back in place.
‘There we go.’ Baxter says blowing her friend a kiss from across the table. ‘We love you just the way you are. Now back to this one.’
All eyes now return to the subject matter at hand, Sawyer.
‘For your information,’ Sawyer resumes her story, ‘it was in the supply cupboard at the back of the venue.’
‘Not an upgrade babe.’ Shaz said before rounding on Baxter, ‘why are you being such a prude? She’s going through something that motherfucker fucked her over and if this is how she gets him out of her system, then bang away.’ She returned her gaze to Sawyer, ‘please tell me you used protection?’
‘I guess you took it to his hotel because the walls of the supply closet were too uncomfortable for you?’ Alana teased.
‘The wall was plenty fine, we just determined we wanted to spend more time with each other.’ Sawyer replies ‘and to answer your questions, yes we used protection, What kind of slut do you think I am?’
‘The one who bangs a stranger in the supply closet of an iconic French monument.’ Alana said making the others giggle hysterically.
‘Was he good?’ Baxter inquired. She wouldn’t dare say a word of this to her husband. Ola would kidnap Sawyer and lock her up for the rest of her life.
‘The fact that she only made it back at noon and is walking with a slight bow leg isn’t indication enough?’ Shaz raised a brow at Drea.
‘Are you okay?’ Alana reached for Sawyer’s hand, their girl is not this person, Marcel has done a number on her. Sawyer is the responsible one in their tight group, they all have their roles, she was the playful one, Drea was the mother bear, Baxter was the serious one and Shaz is the one who would throw hands first and ask questions later. Sawyer is the one with the solutions to any problems, the one who can answer any question, Marcel has knocked her trust in people and her confidence in herself, and she hates to see her go through this. Maybe the night with this stranger is what she needs to get back to herself once again… Paris will do that to people.
‘I don’t know and that is what pisses me off. Coming to Paris was a-’
‘Fantastic idea, you got laid by a beautiful stranger whom you’ll never see again. Check one off the list because we know you have one.’ Baxter teased.
Of course she did.
Two days after Paris, Marcel hit Sawyer with a whammy that changed everything.