Takeover Ch. 01

"You okay?" Fia whispers.

You nod. You're not used to drinking, you tell her, and they keep refilling your glass.

She laughs. "That's okay. People just want you to have a good time." She pats your hand. "I'll sneak a few drinks from your glass so you don't get too drunk."

The reception comes to an end. Fia somehow manages to drag you from your weeping sisters and parents and after thanking everyone present she leads you to her waiting car. It's the one you saw her driving before, but it's been decorated with white ribbons and wreathes.

She lets you in on the passenger side and then gets behind the wheel.

You remember that she doesn't have a chauffeur and mention the fact. The car growls with pent-up energy under her hands.

Fia chuckles. "I know it's strange for the bride to drive the getaway car, but I don't trust anyone else to drive me."

She places her hand on yours, then shifts gears and pulls the car out of the driveway. A cheer rises up as you drive away and you look back at your family waving to you. Loretta runs a short way down the driveway after your car, waving with both hands.

A tear starts at the corner of your eye and you discretely brush it away, remembering Janisa's words.

"Try not to cry."

------------

It's a long drive back into the city even with Fia driving well over the speed limit. Curves in the road mean little to her and she barely slows down to take them. As you drive down into the valley she takes one corner particularly sharply and you lunge for the grab-handle above the window with a yelp.

Fia slows down and glances across at you, her face apologetic. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I'm usually the only one in the car. I guess I just have a lead foot."

You tell her you don't mind, but you still hang on to the grab-handle. Fia laughs.

An awkward silence falls between the two of you. You stare out at the landscape spinning past, the oaks and ashes a grey-green blur punctuated by flashes of blue and silver. The bay and the city beyond it.

"I'm sorry we don't have time to go on a honeymoon," says Fia at last. "I'd love to, but I'm too busy at the moment. We're at a particularly sensitive juncture in our takeover of Lunghezza Motori." She glances at you. "It's a big motorbike company," she adds.

You tell her you understand she's busy. You try to think of something to talk about after that, but nothing comes to mind.

"I'm really sorry," says Fia at last. "Damn. I keep apologising to you, don't I? If anyone on the board could hear me they'd think I was getting soft." She sighs. "But I am, really. Sorry I mean." Silence. "You miss your family already, right?"

You want to tell her not to worry, that you don't miss your family, but it's a ridiculous thing to say and obviously a lie. So you nod.

"Your dad seemed pretty cut-up," says Fia. "He wasn't too happy about us getting married, was he? Your mom told me that he was around your age when they got married."

You didn't know that.

Fia reaches across and puts her hand on your knee and you jump. She pulls it away just as quickly.

"Wow. Am I really that scary?" she asks, hurt.

You were just surprised, you reply.

Fia sighs. "I guess we just need a little time to get to know each other." Then she adds, her voice tentative, "You're... you're not used to women touching you, are you?"

Not really, you say. You stare down at the hands crossed in your lap.

"It's okay," says Fia. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. I think it's cute, actually. Really cute." She looks across at you, grinning. "You'rereally cute. Did you know that?"

You stammer that you don't think you're cute at all.

"We should have gone on that honeymoon anyway," she says, wrestling the car around the next bend with particular violence. "It's not fair to you. None of this is."

Tears have started in her eyes. At first all you can do is stare, but then you lean over and press the side of your face against her bare upper arm. It's soft against your freshly shaven cheek. Sniffing, Fia squeezes the tears away and glances down at you, kissing the top of your head.

"I'm a lucky woman," she mutters.

You sit back again and she rubs at her eyes with a wrist. She flashes you a smile then returns to driving.

You flush with happiness. You were able to cheer her up. Your father's advice as you kissed him goodbye replays in your head.

"A husband's job is to keep his wife happy," he told you. "Like it says in the vows: 'to have and to hold'. Hold her whenever she needs to be held."

"I can't wait for you to see the apartment," says Fia, her voice much brighter now. "Ourapartment, I mean."

--------

The numbers on the display fly upwards as the lift carries you from the underground car-park to the penthouse. You had no idea a building could have so many floors.

There's a gentle chime and the lift doors open. Fia, who's been silent for the whole ride, turns and with a mischievous chuckle grabs hold of you and lifts you bodily off your feet. You yelp in surprise and throw your arms around her neck. Then, taking a careful step, she carries you into the apartment.

"I'm sorry I startled you," she says as you cling to her. "But I didn't want you tripping on the threshold or anything unlucky like that."

Your heart is still racing as she puts you back on your feet. You had no idea she was so strong.

You're standing in a miniature atrium with a number of small chairs and a table topped with a vase of strelitzias. Above them is a painting of Cupid embracing Venus. You immediately recognise it.

"A Bronzino!" you say.

Fia chuckles. "You know your artists well."

You blush, saying that art history was one of your favourite subjects. You hop up for a closer look, remarking on how good a copy it is.

"Oh no, it's an original," says Fia. Then she takes your hand and leads you from the little atrium and into the apartment proper.

As you walk into the main living area the mood-lighting switches itself on, changing darkness into twilight. The apartment is open plan and huge, the far walls made up of single panes of cola-black shaded glass. A white modular sofa that could comfortably seat two dozen people stands just off-centre while a minibar lies flush against the nearer wall, the clusters of bottles hanging behind it glistening in the half-light. In the far corner of the room is a baby grand piano. A staircase beside you leads up to a mezzanine floor where you can see shelves filled with books and interspersed among them doors leading off into other rooms.

You stand there, staring. Fia coaxes you further into the room then barks, "Windows!"

The caramel shading of the glass melts away, rendering the windows translucent and you drop Fia's hand as an incredible view is revealed.

You're looking out over the Bay of Amatista in the evening. On your left the sun is boiling away into a sea of gold and red, the tiny black specks of ships and yachts scattered like the burnt-out embers of a fire. On your right the city is glowing, gilded by the last of the day's sunlight. The landing lights on the top of the skyscrapers flicker red and green. The first stars of the night have already appeared and among them flashing suborbitals are lining up to land at the airport far across the bay.

Fia leads you to the sofa and sits you down.

"I'll get us a drink."

She comes back from clinking and pouring behind the minibar with two glasses.

"I know you don't drink much," she says. "So I made you a cosmopolitan. I hope you enjoy it."

You've never tasted one, but you know what it's made of vodka, Cointreau, lime and cranberry juice. The crimson liquid smells sweet and you nurse it as Fia sits down next to you.

She's drinking a martini. She swizzles the toothpick in the tarnished gold liquid and then jabs the olive rolling about in it. She pops it into her mouth and chews it as she explains everything you can see with the now-empty toothpick.

"The Mediterranean is so pretty in the evening don't you think? Growing up in Monti Bicchieri I used to always catch flashes of it glowing like a pool of gold whenever I came back home from school. I decided that one day I'd live somewhere I could see it wherever I turned my head." She points over to the right. "The city, of course. Do you see the triangular building? There's the green light of an orbital flying over it right... now. That's the Cantarella headquarters. It's where I spend most of my day." She sighs. "Most of mylife,I guess." She glances at you. "You're not thirsty?"

You shake your head. Youarethirsty, it's just the sight of everything has paralysed you. You take a sip at your drink and murmur. It's really good.

Fia seems pleased.

"I'm going to go and have a shower and get changed," she says after downing the rest of her martini in one go. As she stands up she looks at you with surprisingly timid eyes. "Perhaps you'd like to join me?"

You almost spill your drink. You stutter as you try and reply, but you have no idea what you're saying. Fia laughs and pats you on the head.

"It's okay," she says. "I'm just teasing you."

You walk around the apartment sipping your drink with only the far-off shushing of the shower as background. With Fia gone the apartment is suddenly eerily quiet and you remember what she said about the place being lonely. You decide to sit down at the baby grand and try the keys. The tone of each note is exquisitely sharp as if it's been recently tuned.

You open the music which is already sitting there and let your fingers run across the keys. The music hums out and you start to play Mozart'sTurkish March.You're so engrossed you don't notice the shower has stopped until Fia is standing behind you.

"Beautiful," she says.

Startled, you stop playing. She's wearing only a towel wrapped around her breasts and is drying her hair with another. The top of her chest and shoulders are shower-pink.

She blinks at you with her green eyes. With her hair wet and flat, she looks far younger, almost childish. Without her makeup you notice there are more freckles than before.

She said your playing was beautiful. Beautiful. You mouth the word without saying it. Fia. She's the one who's beautiful. She's so close to you that can feel her freshly showered skin bleeding warmth.

A strange smile appears on Fia's face, then, and you realise you've been staring.

"Finish your drink and take a shower, darling. I'm guessing you're as tired as I am after our big day. There's a towel waiting for you."

-------

The bathroom, like everywhere else in this apartment, is huge, the shower big enough to fit half a dozen people. Water comes sluicing down over you from a slot in the roof like a waterfall and with the touch of a button you can change the way it flows. Like a little kid, you spend a long time playing around with it and not wanting to leave.

No, that's not the only reason. You're still nervous about being alone with Fia. Fia, only a towel between you and her flushed nakedness. Her breasts and hips had seemed really big beneath her towel. You've seen naked women before, of course, but not one like her. There was a time that Loretta used to surprise you by walking around the house naked until your mother caught her and put a stop to it. But the gangly body of your then-teenaged sister was very different from the ripe voluptuousness of a mature woman.

But you can't hide in here forever. You finish washing yourself and wrap yourself in the towel. It's bigger than you are. You come outside, shivering.

You poke your head out into the living room. Fia is sitting on the sofa, a fresh martini in her hand. She's no longer in a towel but in a purple bathrobe. You ask her where your bag is.

"The concierge came up while you were showering," she says. "I took the liberty of laying out your pajamas for you. They're on the bed."

Ourbed.

She glances back at you and laughs. "Oh, that's right. You don't know where the bedroom is. It's the third door on the right straight up the stairs."

You sneak away and pad up stairs, feeling Fia's eyes on you the whole way.

The bedroom is huge. The window that dominates the entire opposite wall looks out across the dark expanse of the mountains. Fia's penthouse must take up the whole of the top floor.

The bed is emperor size. You strip out of your towel and slip quickly into your pajamas, the cotton soft against your sensitive freshly-showered skin.

You sit down on the corner of the bed and dry the rest of your hair. Your heart is racing with the tell-tale signs of excitement.

The books your parents gave you were very technical, but it was overhearing one of Loretta's conversations with a friend that taught you even more about what sex is all about. She was laughing with her friend about a boy she'd had sex with at a party the previous night. His performance had been less than satisfying and she'd kicked him out of the room, naked.

Would you be able to satisfy Fia? Like your father said, it's a husband's job to keep his wife happy. You shiver, running your hand over the embroidered duvet. You're Fia's husband now. A husband.

You're still sitting there, alone with your thoughts, when Fia appears in the doorway.

"I thought you got lost," she says. There's concern in her eyes despite the smile on her face. "Do you want to go to bed already? The rest of the grand tour can wait until tomorrow."

You nod.

"Just let me go brush my teeth," says Fia. "Best hop into bed. The air conditioning sometimes sets itself a little too high and I don't want you catching cold."

You do as she says. The bed clothes are cool against your body. You feel like a tiny island floating in the midst of an ocean lying there. Your eyes are glued to the door. Any moment it will open up and Fia will come in.

Your wedding night.

She'll want to do it, of course. You wonder how different doing it is from all the stuff you've read about. What if she doesn't like the way you do it, doesn't like your body?

You're lying there, fidgeting, when Fia returns. She turns down the lights. She's no longer wearing her bathrobe but a nightgown. It's made of blue silk and shimmers about her as she walks over to the bed and gets in.

Fia lies on her back and sighs in delight. You've scooshed across to your side of the bed and so there's a gap between the two of you.

"Comfy?" she asks.

You murmur in the affirmative.

You lie there, listening. Fia's nightgown whispers with every tiny movement she makes. Your heart is still racing. Is she going to make the first move or are you supposed to? You can feel her warmth, just out of arm's reach, her natural fragrance, stripped now of any perfume. It's a delicious scent and it does nothing to calm your rapidly beating heart.

You stare up at the dark ceiling. Is this what married life is going to be like? Part of you wishes you were back in your own bed, but another part curses your nervousness, wishing you could just reach out for her. You're her husband, and it's what women and their husbands do. You're not a kid anymore.

A whisper of material. Fia has turned on her side. You smell the freshness of her breath. Then her voice, warm and gentle.

"I'm getting lonely. Come here, darling."

You swallow and move closer. Fia wraps her arms around you and you're surrounded by fragrant softness. Your face presses up against her ample breasts as she kisses you on the top of the head.

"Try and relax," she says.

You bring your arms around her. She's so big compared to you. The smooth firmness of her back against your forearms contrasts against the luxuriant softness of the breasts flush against you cheek.

You shiver from a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

"Shh," says Fia, squeezing you closer. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything tonight, you know."

But it's your wedding night, you murmur. Aren't couples supposed to...

Fia chuckles. "I can wait. I want you to be comfortable with me before we do anything." She buries her face in your hair and mutters happily. "You're so warm. I didn't realise this bed was so cold before."

You can hear her heart beating. It's beating almost as rapidly as yours. Is she nervous, too?

No, not nervous.Excited.

You snuggle your face against her breasts. They're soft. Your own heartbeat slows. Being held in her arms, listening to her gentle, calming murmurs, you don't feel nervous anymore.

Fia runs her hands along your back and down to just above your butt and you gasp.

"Sorry," she whispers. "I've wanted to grab it all day. I guess I can touch your butt whenever I want now we're married, right?"

Her voice is playful and you nod. If she really wants to, you don't mind.

She gives your butt a squeeze and then leaves her hands there.

"You're so warm," she says. "And your hair smells good. You know, I think I could get used to this..."

She continues talking, but you hear less and less as sleep slips over you.

------------

You wake. You can hear someone's voice, raised. For a few heartbeats you scramble to reclaim your memories, wondering where you are.

Fia's bed. No,yourbed.

The voice is Fia's. She must be in the living room. She sounds angry.

You slip out of bed and push open the door. You can see movement down in the living room. It's Fia. She's wrapped in her bathrobe again and is walking back and forth, coming into sight and disappearing again whenever the mezzanine floor blocks her.

Her voice is raised, but she's trying to keep quiet at the same time, turning her words into a controlled, hoarse explosion.

"I need to know who I can trust, Elana. Someone on the board must have let something slip about our current vulnerability."

Another voice, a woman's. Her tone sounds conciliatory, but it's too soft to make anything else out.

"Do you think I'd be ringing you on my wedding night if I didn't suspect someone? We've so much capital wrapped up in the takeover now that it's the perfect opportunity for them to takeusout. Why do you think I've been dealing with that snake Quinn? I need to know who's got their daggers out for me so I can stabthemfirst."

More from the unseen Elana. This time Fia doesn't try to remain quiet, her anger exploding out of her.

"Look, Elana. I don't give a fuck if they call me paranoid. I want everyone at a meeting tomorrow morning, first thing. Anyone who's not there I'll assume they're not behind me and they can expect my foot up their ass. Goodnight."

You close the door, your heart racing. Her voice was so different, so harsh and cutting, and the look on her face...

She'd looked like a totally different person.

The barracuda.

Fia calls your name. She must have noticed the door shutting.

You scramble into bed and squeeze your eyes shut. The room lightens as Fia steps in. She slips out of her bathrobe and climbs into bed.

You lie there, pretending to sleep. Fia turn over and slips her arms around you.

"I know you're awake," she whispers, her lips moist against the back of your neck. "Your breath is shallow."

You make no reply. Your heart's still racing, and this time being cuddled from behind is making it worse.

"Are you scared of me?"

You murmur something in the negative and she sighs.

"Sorry I left you up here all alone. I guess you were starting to get cold." She cuddles closer to you. Her hands slip up over your stomach and your chest.

You lie there in silence for a while, then Fia says, "You know they call me the barracuda, right?"

You nod.

"You don't have to worry, you know. I'm only a barracuda to my rivals and my enemies. I don't eat my friends." She peppers the side of your neck with hard, wet kisses. "Although you're so sweet I think I could eat you all up."