Page 43 of The Heart You Kept

“Good thinking.”

The bell rings over the door, notifying us of our first customer. Jonty disappears out the front. “Bonjour,” I hear him greet them.

“Bonjour.”

I dial Pascal’s office number. “Bonjour, Pascal Deschanel’s office,” Aila his PA answers.

“Hi, Aila,” I reply.

“Good morning, Alora. He’s in a meeting, I’ll get him to call you as soon as he’s finished.”

“Merci. Have a nice day.”

“You too.”

Pascal and I met at a party two years ago and we started out as friends but one thing led to another and we’ve now been dating for twelve months. We’re on opposite ends of the spectrum, I’m easygoing, calm and grounded in small business and live my life surrounded by art and antiques. He’s structured and highly strung, on the board of directors for the National Council of Monaco and has two PAs who run his hectic life. While he’s making monumental decisions about the future of Monaco, my biggest decision is where can I search for my next vintage treasure and if I like a lamp enough to put into my store.

I open my emails and physically get to work but in the background my mind wanders aimlessly.

Prize, prize…. I need a prize.

PHILIPPE

The silver McLaren turns into the Monte Carlo Polo Club fields and we pull in after it.

He parks, grabs his things from the trunk before making his way over as his strappers unload his horses from the trailer.

We park the Bentley and take our time; polo is a relatively safe outing where guards usually outnumber the players.

We grab some coffee and make ourselves comfortable and an hour later the umpire throws the ball in the air and the game begins.

The loud echo of horses’ hoofs and people yelling. Adrenaline screaming through the air.

Beautiful women are in fold-up chairs along the sidelines. While cars of men line the parking lot to watch over their bosses, we’re all here for the same reason.

The Kingsmen, the Monte Carlo polo team, are some of the wealthiest men in the world. And we…we are the bodyguards that keep them safe, and although it’s the best job in the world, it’s not without its challenges.

“Yah,” he calls to his horse as he bumps full speed into another player, nearly knocking him from his horse.

“Fuck you, Prescott,” the man yells.

“Your wife already did that.” Edward smiles as he flicks the peak of his helmet. “Elizabeth loved every inch of it.” He grabs his crotch. “I can still hear her moans.”

The other man’s face falls. “You’re fucking dead,” he cries after him.

Prescott laughs as he sprints off, polo mallet in the air. The more he pisses them off, the more fun he and his team have.

Everything’s a game to them.

“Jesus Christ.” Andre drags his hand down his face. “How do you keep that prick alive?”

“It’s not easy.” I shake my head.

Those challenges I was talking about are greatly enhanced for us, you see, we’re the security team for Edward Prescott.

Undoubtedly one of the most hated men on earth.

The ladies love him, the men hate him, and he…well, he doesn’t give a fuck about anything or anyone.