The morning after the match, Belle had returned to Vi's apartment looking calm, cool, and collected, with nary a word or reaction as to her whereabouts last night. She had enjoyed an overnight stay with my favorite player, Enriqué, at whatever nice Parisian hotel he had had the pleasure of fucking her bareback in.
It was so unsettling sitting across from Vi and Belle at the breakfast table. Everything seemed business-as-usual, despite the elephant in the room—that Belle potentially knew I had spied on her at Rodrigo's house.
As the day unfolded, Adam and Vi continued playing gracious hosts, taking us out to sightsee around Paris. I wish I could've enjoyed the Eiffel Tower and Louvre more, but I was on edge with every microsecond spent in Belle's presence, wondering if she'd find ways to interrogate me about my sunglasses being outside that sports room. My anxiety had me crafting all sorts of alibis in my head, ready to fire off if needed.
To my relief, Belle hadn't resurfaced the topic with me in the least. No coded hints, no clever subterfuge on her part. It had me wondering if, perhaps, she hadn't known I'd spied on her at all.
Were my worries all just in my head?
***
At the end of our Paris stay, Vi and Adam saw us off at some private airport, where we exchanged warm farewells and a promise to meet again soon. Belle and I made our way onto the tarmac, where some crew members had come to receive our luggage. It soon became obvious to me we were being directed toward a private jet...
"Detour Ken!" Belle said. "Not going home quite yet. We're traveling south to meet up with your uncle."
"Oh nice!" I replied, remembering Uncle Artie had traveled to Italy for business.
Belle stepped onto a staircase that led into the sleek-looking plane. I followed her into the cabin and took note of the interior, the off-white upholstery, the breathable layout. So unlike the cramped commercial planes I'd only ever flown on.
"Sol, oh my god!" Belle said. "What are you doing here?"
I observed Belle's agent, whom I'd remembered meeting in Vegas outside Roost nightclub, stand up from his seat to hug her.
"Belle, love! Had a feeling my flight-mate would be someone special."
"You remember Ken." Belle turned around to re-introduce me.
"For sure! Artie's nephew." Sol cheerily stepped forward to shake my hand.
"Nice to see you again," I said. "Are you flying with us to meet my uncle too?"
"Not quite." He chuckled. "But it'll be a welcome overlap. I'm headed to Italy to meet up with a client."
"AKA another model not named me." Belle playfully embraced her agent from behind, her chin dug into his shoulder. "Trying to make me jealous, huh Sol?"
"Gotta keep my number one client humble somehow," he quipped.
With Belle's arms wrapped around him, Sol then leaned forward, lifting her off her feet, causing her to yelp. He brought his hands under her thighs, carrying her on his back. "Belle, love, let's talk shop in the back. I got a call about a movie role for you. Since when did Rodrigo turn Scorsese?"
As Sol gave Belle a piggyback ride, I couldn't help but admire the way her ass looked in her stretchy pink pants, legs flared out, testing the fabric.
Belle spoke to me over her shoulder. "Don't be shy with the service. It's all paid for." She then reached back to slap Sol's butt like he was a racehorse, getting him to giddy up. He playfully returned the spank, grabbing a handful of her pink polyester.
I watched the pair settle in the lounge area in the back, facing each other. Interestingly, they now had professional looks on their faces, like they'd just entered a serious business meeting.
I guess I had the front of the cabin all to myself now. I plopped onto a plush white recliner, noting the letter V embroidered into its headrest.
"Evening, sir. Champagne?" An attendant in a dark gray uniform greeted me, presenting three bubbly flutes on a platter.
I happily took one then pointed my thumb at my headrest. "Excuse me, do you know what the V stands for?"
The attendant tilted her head with a look of disbelief, questioning whether or not I was joking. "The V, sir, it's for Viktor."
***
The champagne had made me severely drowsy. I ended up taking a little nap in the comfiest airplane seat ever. When I awoke, I almost forgot I was still in the air. As I reacquainted myself with my surroundings, I turned in my seat to scan down the length of the cabin.
At the very back of the plane, I caught the restroom door gently swinging open. Out walked Belle, followed by Solomon, the agent in the middle of zipping up his pants.
Belle abruptly pointed for him to go back inside the restroom. In return, he gave her a look of annoyance, flipping his hands frontward and back, as if showing her they were clean.
Belle simply shook her head and nudged him back inside. I could make out Solomon at the faucet, washing his hands thoroughly with soap. When he finished, he exited once more and mockingly showed his hands to Belle.
She rolled her eyes in jest, then started making her way in my direction. I swiftly turned back around in my seat, started feigning sleep as her footsteps grew louder. The sound of squeaky leather let me know that she had returned to her seat across from me.
I then pretended to wake from my slumber, flexing my wingspan outward for effect.
"Had a nice nap?" Belle asked me.
I fake yawned. "Are we almost there?"
"Soon." Belle subtly adjusted the hem of her yoga pants, while preoccupied with her phone.
Just when I thought I'd spotted a wet stain between her legs, she'd crossed them too fast for me to confirm.
"Whoa!" she shouted.
"What happened?" I picked my head up.
"Enzo!" She tossed me her phone. "He got arrested for drug possession."
For a second, I thought she was showing me her Vanishhh thread with the singer. But when I looked at her device, it was only a news article.
Apparently, Enzo had gotten pulled over for speeding, which somehow turned into the cops making a happenstance discovery, spotting a small bag of cocaine in the singer's shirt pocket. I recalled that my friend Devin had blackmailed Enzo into giving up duffel bags worth. How ironic was it then, that the singer ended up getting busted for a much smaller amount.
"Think he's going to do serious jail time?" I asked, handing Belle her phone back.
"Unlikely," she replied, seeming unbothered.
The sound of loud snorting got my attention. I turned around to catch Sol in the back, doing a line of cocaine by himself, before returning to work on his laptop.
"Have you ever done coke, Ken?" Belle asked, noting my focus.
"Uhhh," I hesitated, a bit taken aback by the somewhat invasive question. "I've mostly stuck to weed... Um, how about you?"
"I don't know a model who hasn't. Don't judge me, please." She cutely smiled.
"What's it feel like?"
"I dunno. Good, I guess? It's like a boost to your brain."
"Interesting."
"Are you curious to try it?" she asked.
"Now?"
"Oh, definitely not. It's late, silly. We should get a good night's rest. I meant in general."
"Um, I mean, I'll try anything once," I said candidly. "I
have
always wondered what it feels like to be on it."
"So you don't have an addictive personality then?"
"Not when it comes to drugs," I replied, of course keeping my own Belle-centric addictions to myself.
"Gotcha. Well listen, this might sound backwards, but... If you were to ever try coke just to try it, I'd rather it be in a safe space with me looking after you. God knows what psychos do nowadays, lacing all sorts of dangerous drugs together."
I nodded my head in understanding, appreciating her caretaking sentiment more than anything.
***
It was some late, ungodly hour when our private jet finally landed. There were two cars waiting for us on the edge of the tarmac: one for Sol, one for Belle and I.
After we said bye to her agent, Belle and I jumped into a black car, where we were now being chauffeured by some soft-spoken, middle-aged Italian man who introduced himself as Alessandro.
At some point, our driver picked up a call on his earpiece, speaking in his native tongue. I was tempted to use the Blingo translation app to understand him, but there was a sense of apprehension in his tone. It felt rude for me to eavesdrop.
After his call, Alessandro relayed to us in English that his wife just informed him of a major emergency. Their daughter had gotten into a bad car accident and was rushed to the hospital. Distress in his voice, he admitted that we were still far from my uncle's destination, and that he was feeling conflicted about what he should do.
Belle, bless her soul, told him that we should be the least of his worries. Told him he could drop us off at a hotel, so that he could go straight to the hospital afterward. The poor guy felt so bad, he offered to cover any of our overnight lodging costs, which Belle shot down immediately.
Instead, Belle googled the nearest hotel with availability, then booked something on the fly. When Alessandro finally dropped us off, he unloaded our luggage and expressed his eternal gratitude alongside a stream of apologies, before hurriedly setting off on the road.
When Belle and I entered the dinky hotel's lobby, I turned to ask her, "Should we call Uncle Artie? Maybe he can get us."
"He and I have already been texting. I told him not to worry. You and I will get some sleep and meet up with him tomorrow, fully charged."
Belle and I trudged over to our room after she had checked us in. It didn't even occur to me until we were outside the door that I wouldn't have my own suite. When we stepped inside, the sleeping situation proved precarious. The modest room only had one bed...
"Did they give us the wrong one?" I asked.
Belle sighed, then handed me her phone. I saw the booking confirmation for myself—it listed two single beds...
"We should complain, Belle. This isn't right."
