Cross My Heart Ch. 02

Readers, this is Part 2 of the story - Cross My Heart. Hope you have read the 1st Part before diving into this one.

enjoy

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Sunday, July 14, 2019

I blamed my lecherous behavior the previous evening at Pierre's on the wanton sexual display of affection by Dorina with Angiola. After a lot of review of the evening's developments, I could not nail down how and when things spiraled the way they did. What was even more intriguing was how Pierre and Elena let it happen. I was almost sure I would never be able to face them both. The only saving grace, if any, was that Pierre was part of the entire sexcapade, so I was not technically cheating with his wife. But how was I supposed to tell that to Dorina? Dorina had met Elena after our marriage but had grown fond of Elena over time. Dorina and Elena often talked and met independently as well, without Pierre and me.

I shuffled the ideas out of my mind with tremendous guilt and tried to redirect my energies elsewhere. The only problem was the office was closed, it being Sunday.

I went jogging for an hour. After clearing my head, I ate a late brunch. Later that afternoon, I went to the Patek Phillipe Museum, a personal sanctuary of mine. Any time I needed to de-stress, this is where I would head. It helped that I was also a patron of the museum thanks to my multi-generational connection with the watch industry.

On this particular day, I was not really stressed but had some spare time on hand. Having expended the sexual energy the previous evening and a good jog earlier that morning, I felt refreshed and invigorated.

On some Sundays, the Patek Phillipe Museum organized a watch assembly exhibit to showcase to its guests the fine art of watchmaking used by generations of Swiss. Usually, they had a set number of craftsmen who would play that role, and once in a while volunteers - who were genuine watchmakers - would present their skills by actually assembling a genuine timepiece in front of the guests. These would usually be a priced event.

On that Sunday afternoon, I walked in with my kit in a case and a trolley. After I had met with the museum's curator and caught up on the latest, over espresso, he directed me to the workshop. The workshop itself was a large glass cabin in the center of the museum, the soundproof glass of which enabled the watchmaker the silence he needed to work and, at the same time exhibit his skills.

I spent the next three - extremely satisfying - hours assembling a watch that, by my own standards, was an actual masterpiece. I looked up only after I had finished the job and realized I had an audience of thirty looking in from all directions. I raised the watch and got applause which I could not hear through the soundproof glass, but their clapping hands and smiles told me that they enjoyed what they saw - 'not nearly as much as I did' I thought.

The museum staff and curator personally thanked me before I left, donating the watch to the museum, as was the tradition.

I checked my phone to find at least three messages in the voicemail. Two were from Pierre and one from Elena. Besides those, I had a text from Dorina. I clicked on that first. Instead of a text, Dorina sent me an exquisite photograph of Marrakesh, just as I had asked her to. I could see the city's landscape between the sun setting at a distance and the spa where she must have been sitting because I could see her bare legs, and partially Angiola's. Anyone would want to be there; it was lovely. I felt glad Dorina was there enjoying herself.

Reluctantly, I clicked on Pierre's messages first, 'Hi, Frederic, call me.' And then the second, 'Look, Frederic, it's okay.... Just call me.' I should have felt relieved, yet the messages did not put me at ease.

I thought for a long while and kept looking at the phone before clicking the 'listen' button on Elena's message. It took me more than a couple of minutes before I touched the 'listen' button as lightly as I could.

Elena's voice was just as melodious as I remembered it to be 'Fred, I know all of us overstepped. I would like you to know Pierre is fine with it; I am fine with it. Let's put it behind us and move on. I know Dorina's not in town...please come and join us for dinner tonight...let's talk it out.' The only remarkable thing about the message that I instantly connected with was how she addressed me...'Fred'. She had only done it long back when we were in college. Ever since her marriage, she had always called me 'Frederic'. I listened to the message again to reconfirm - in the replay, I noticed her tone had a pleading vein to it.

I fought hard not to return their calls or reply to their messages.

Monday, July 15, 2019

I called Dorina in the morning around eight, and her number was unreachable. As she had suggested earlier, the spa resort was going to be a retreat in peace and quiet. I guess, also without wifi.

I sent her a text to check when they were returning, 'Dorina, let me know your return timing so I can come to pick you up from the airport. Miss you.'

I spent the whole day in the office and buried myself in work. Charlie's message reminded me of the upheaval going on in my life at the investors' front. I pressed 'listen' to check Charlie's message.

His voicemail message said, 'Frederic, good afternoon. There are some developments with Mr. Pernaud. Call me when you get this.'

I was aware, from earlier that day, Mr. Pernaud had agreed to join the board of directors. I had already received an email in this regard. I wondered what it was going to be and called back Charlie.

"Hey, How are you," Charlie asked.

"I am fine. I got your message," cutting the small talk off, I asked.

"Mr. Pernaud has agreed to join the board - for now." He emphasized the last part.

"Unn huh," I knew that.

"Long story short...he is asking for a buyout just like Mr. Meier's," Charlie added.

That was not entirely unexpected. We were anticipating something of the sort. "So, now?" I asked pensively.

"Relax. We will deal with it. We have it under control." Charlie replied as if trying to cool me down. For some reason, I wasn't bothered much. I had started to bank on Angiola and her team already.

"Okay," I added, not sure what more to ask.

"It would take me a couple of days to negotiate with him before putting him in front of Angiola. That might take a few days," Charlie gave me new information.

I processed that information and asked him, "So Angiola is going to stay back in Morocco until then?" afraid to ask about Dorina directly.

Charlie was almost glad I asked that "Most likely," he replied instantly.

I could not have done much, even if I wanted to. I said, "Okay." Before disconnecting, Charlie assured me that he would keep me updated on the progress if he made any with Mr. Pernaud.

I went back home to ordered-dinner.

Tuesday - Wednesday, July 16-17, 2019

Except that Dorina was not around, I was getting back the rhythm of work. I tried to immerse myself in work.

Before going for a jog, I called Dorina. Her number was unreachable. Around four in the evening, I tried to call her again, with the same result. I left the office to come home early.

The same routine - ordered dinner.

The next afternoon, I got a call from Charlie, and he offered to meet to update me. I asked him, "If we could talk over the phone itself." He was happy to apprise me of the developments at Mr. Pernaud's front. "The deal was likely to happen next week. I was hoping to close it this week, but he is getting a bit more ambitious for our comfort."

What it meant was that Pernaud was asking for much more money than Meier had settled for.

"So, what now?" I asked.

"I have to intimate Angiola, which I will today. The rest of it is her call." Charlie clarified.

Though he did not admit it, it seemed Charlie, too, found it difficult to access Angiola.

With the new information in hand, I now was sure Angiola and Dorina aren't going to be back until next week.

Thursday, July 18, 2019

I called Dorina again in the morning before going out for a jog and got the same result - her number was unreachable. I sent her a text.

I tried to keep the same routine. Work was picking up pace, thankfully.

In the afternoon, I had visitors from England who represented our distribution in the United Kingdom. The news was good, after persevering for a long while the England market was improving for Joop. It was already one of our biggest markets for Jura and Cross, our flagship brands.

Later that evening, I realized Dorina had sent me a message. Clicking it, I realized it was another photo. Both Angiola and Dorina lay face down on two spa tables set up next to each other. Their heads turned towards each other. Their backs were bare until the small towels covered their bums. Further down their legs were bare. Their blemish-less backs glistened in massage oil. I could barely see their faces but had no difficulty recognizing my wife.

I remembered the first time I met Dorina. She was a professional tennis player who had missed her prime for some reason. She was brilliant but somehow got stuck in a rut. Her sponsorship was expiring with Slazenger, and she was hoping for another season to give it a serious try. The business of professional tennis is ruthless - even at the young age of twenty-six, you are too old for the game. That was when I met Dorina.

Tennis sponsorships were not exactly our thing. Rolex was into tennis sponsorships and sportsperson endorsements. We were a heritage brand with more associations with Flying and Aeronautics. Around the time Dorina's agent approached us, Joop was getting launched. The timing of her agent's approach couldn't have been better.

After having gotten shot down a couple of times, the agent continued to pursue us for Cross and Jura. He insisted we should meet the player. To get him off our back, I agreed. The decision to endorse her was final before she even sat in front of me.

When the collaterals were ready, we gifted Dorina a customized kit. She was to wear the t-shirt, jacket, and skirt with Joop branding for the press conference where we were to announce our association with her. Unfortunately, the backroom of our press-conference venue did not have a changing room. The kit was given to her barely minutes before we were to go in front of the press. In all that rush that was going on, Dorina had to end up wearing the kit in the back room itself.

That, too, turned out to be a fiasco, after taking her t-shirt off assuming she'd have to change just the t-shirt we had brought, she was handed the Joop branded sports bra as well. She smiled at the situation and sportily turned around, taking off the sports bra she was wearing and pulling on the one with Joop branding. That was the first time I got the opportunity to admire that back, bare without a thread on it. Shamelessly, I had looked at her back, which I realized when she turned back to face me and saw me staring. I remember having complimented her on her fitness instead of apologizing for my rudeness. She smiled.

The same unclothed back, eight years later, lay on the left in the photo I had just received. Still without an ounce of excess fat, still in a perfectly curved, lean, muscular back of a sportsperson.

Angiola's back, which lay less than two feet away from her, was no less attractive than Dorina's. Angiola, behind her shoulder, had a heart tattoo, a fingernail size red-colored heart with a cross inside - a Swiss cross.

Their boobs lay mashed under them, and the left sides of their breasts were visible from the angle from which the photo was taken. Their bums, under their individual towels, were plump mounds of attraction. The bare glistening thighs were to die for.

My dick twitched a little. I took a deep sigh before putting the phone down.

Five minutes later, I got a call from Pierre. I let it go to Voicemail. I was not ready. I noticed he did not leave me a message.

A couple of minutes later, I got a call from Elena. I let that go to voicemail as well. She did leave me a message. I listened to the message, "Frederic, either you are coming to our home tomorrow, or we are coming to yours. You decide."

'That's what friends are for, never giving up on you,' I thought.

I ordered take-out and ate it at home.

Friday, July 19, 2019

I called Dorina again in the morning before going for a jog. I found her phone not reachable and decided to send a text.

In the afternoon, I spoke with Charlie, who confirmed, "The meeting with Mr. Pernaud is scheduled for Monday afternoon at our office. Angiola should also be back by that time."

"Thank you for keeping me updated," I replied.

I texted Pierre that I would reach his home around seven for dinner. I was not ready for a deeply uncomfortable conversation, but it had to be done. I could not avoid them forever. I had known Pierre for twenty-five years and I could not remember a week when we hadn't spoken or exchanged a text or a message. If there may have been a few instances, they were inconsequential, as they were unintentional. Avoiding him with deadly silence was giving me a migraine, and to a fellow like Pierre, it would have been even more havoc. I knew him like no one else does. He cannot take the pressure - at all.

Just as I was leaving the office, Dorina messaged me another photo in reply to my message earlier in the morning.

The picture was saucier than any I had seen. It was a picture of a close-up of her right breast. The nipple had a heart-shaped piece of jewelry. On both sides of the ornament, jutting out next to the nipple were wings. The skin on her breast was baby pink and smooth just as I remembered it to be. Her nipple was protruding through the clamp-on piece of ornament.

This was so not Dorina's style. Being a sportsperson, she was very much against body piercings or tattoos. Although it was not a piercing, the thought that Dorina wanted to try something kinky was in itself sexy.

It was very sexy. Her nipple looked even more beautiful, and this thing accentuated Dorina's breast even more. I truly loved it. I hoped to see it soon, first hand.

Instead of going home, I veered towards Pierre and Elena's. My thoughts were circling around Dorina, though. I was trying to rationalize her actions, and her recent behavior, especially the sexual tryst with Angiola. It all had a sexier tinge to it but I could not nail the underlying sway.

I stood at Pierre's door and thought twice before ringing the bell. When I did, Pierre opened the door. I was early, and that was a good sign all around. He gave me a big smile as if welcoming someone close he hadn't met in a year.

Pierre hugged me at the door itself, patted my back, and then tugged me inside.

I could not see Elena. She must have been busy with some house chores, I guess.

"Pierre, I...." I started to apologize and make a genuine effort of taking the blame for the evening.

"Cool it, Frederic. It's done. And it cannot be undone, can it?" Pierre explained. "Elena is fine with it, so am I, so why are you so upset? Let's just forget that it happened and move on."

'That's one way to look at it,' I thought.

Just then, Elena entered with a box in her hand. I was right, she was busy with some house chores.

I have always loved the way Elena looked, but I had never seen her like this. She was wearing very tight spaghetti and short cotton hotpants. They were obviously not expecting me until another hour, and I regretted barging in on them earlier than expected. On another occasion, I wouldn't have given it a second thought, but with the new dynamic, I questioned my decision.

Elena was a little bit surprised to see me, and she was genuinely pleased to see me. She gave me a huge smile, kept the box on the table in a hurry, and leaped forward to greet me. She moved the few steps between us, and her breasts jiggled deliciously in front of her.

I took a step forward as well and met her. She opened her arms as usual and let me air kiss her cheeks. Her hands behind my shoulder made me comfortable.

"Great to see you, Frederic." She excitedly welcomed me, "I am sooo glad you have come." She stressed the 'so' to let me know her pleasure.

"Thank you," I said. Before I could add anything else, Elena raised her hand to my face, signaling there was nothing that she wanted to hear.

Pierre and I sat in the drawing room, pretty much the same chairs as last time, and started to talk. The awkwardness was thankfully gone within the first five or ten minutes as I realized we were not going to talk about the other night. We had downed our first beer by then.

Elena replenished some hors d'oeuvre for us and went back into the kitchen to handle the dinner. Her absence seemed conspicuous, but I did not complain.

Pierre wanted to know about Dorina and asked, "It's a long vacation. I hope you guys haven't fought or anything." He already had an outline I had given him, he wanted to know if I had reacted in an unseemly manner between then and now.

"No, no, nothing like that. She seems to enjoy Angiola's company, and Morocco seems like a good option." I blabbered, half confident of saying that out loud.

Satisfied, Pierre spoke to me about business, "How's business? Can I be of any help in any manner?" He knew I had been worried and had a lot on my mind off-late.

I politely declined, "No. But thanks, Pierre. It means a lot."

Pierre came from money. His family had been rich, for ages, just like mine. Yet, he lived a much simpler life than most. He was also a Senior Director at the ITO in the United Nations office in Geneva. Pierre has always been there to offer help, but I always declined. On principle, I never let money come into our friendship.

I again gave a sketchy outline of what was happening, implying as if it was all orchestrated by me and I was in charge.

Eventually, we switched to weather and then sports.

Elena had always been a food enthusiast. She could cook for hours and never be tired of it. It was a pity there were just the two of them. This was another reason they loved to host. Since I was the closest to them, it was often me.

By the time Elena finished and joined us with a bottle of wine, we had finished the starters and two beers each. She served the wine to both of us and a glass to herself.

The awkwardness returned when Elena sat next to Pierre but she managed to steer the conversation into interesting territories, and that helped a lot.

An hour and a half later, between the three of us, we were down two bottles of wine and another tray of hors d'oeuvre. Our inhibitions were much lower than earlier in the evening.

I excused myself to use the washroom. Before I could leave the room, Pierre commented to Elena, "Babe, I think he is going to cool himself down."

Elena swatted his arm for the inappropriate remark.

"Whaaat? I am just saying. Have you looked at yourself, Babe?" He reminded Elena that she looked sexier that evening.

By the time I came back and sat on the chair, Elena and Pierre were making out heavily on the sofa.

I wanted to clear my throat to let them know I was back. They were paying no heed. Pierre was pawing Elena's boob through the tight top.

I intentionally made some sounds on the table to announce my presence. It made little impact on them. Elena was deep in Pierre's mouth and his hand was busy squeezing her tit.

I was amazed at finding myself in the situation.

Belatedly, they broke away, certainly not on my account.

Pierre laughed for a moment, seeing my predicament. He swatted in the air to signal to me to forget it. I did not respond because I did not want to come out as a prude after what happened the last time I was there.