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Baroness Monique Therese Yolanda DuMaison was accustomed to luxury. She dressed young and looked younger. Far younger than the forty something years she cared to admit to. In a midriff-baring yacht-suit, she was the toast of the maritime set.
Not that this opulent cruise ship counted as maritime, she mused. It was more like a twelve-star hotel. Even her butler had a butler. She had been onboard for almost a month now and though the opulent setting suited her, she would admit to being a little home-sick. Not for Carlow, her husband. But for her perfect little daughter, Fox.
Fox was everything the baroness had been in her youth and also more. But her mother did not hold her superlative beauty against her. The two of them were often mistaken for siblings. But the Baroness was only a swan to Fox’s peregrine falcon. Hers was a common brand of uncommon beauty. She was M&S. Fox was Fortnum and Mason. It was a blessing and a curse, but she adored her flawless progeny.
“Would you care for another glass of Cristal, Baroness?” asked an assiduous server. She looked him up and down, surveying the taut young limbs, the tumbling raven locks. He was darkly handsome and utterly disposable. Monique smiled her billion dollar smile and saw the young man shiver almost imperceptibly. With lust, obvs.
“Why yes” she eyed his name tag “Why don’t you fill me up… Alexei?”
Life was for living, after all. And Baroness Monique Therese Yolanda DuMaison did not believe in half-measures. She sipped her champagne as gracefully as a butterfly alighting on a wild rose at sunset in Biarritz. Fox, with her marvellous cheekbones and impossible dreams, could wait. The seas were rampant with azure possibilities and hot young abs.
The subtle heat that had pulsed between her and Alexei was…interesting. And Carlow hadn’t satisfied her in so, so, so long. Music was his life, she mused. But it was far from the only source of pleasure in the world. Being married to a Baroness had opened doors for her husband that normally remained closed to New Money. They had long since learned to refrain from awkward questions and tacky recriminations. Alexei was still standing beside her. Tray in hand, transfixed.
“That will be all.” The Baroness purred, like a jungle sphinx in heat, “For now.” If he were a clever man, he would find a way to encounter her again, in a secluded spot, away from the prying eyes of the other rich dudes. And when he did. Well…what was the saying? Ah, yes. Victori spolia.
To the victor go the spoils.