The Billionaire's Wife(24)
“Oh yes, of course. Lovely to see you again my dear, you do look well. I have been so worried about you since we didn’t see you here last year. Gideon said you hadn’t been feeling well. I told Howard you were probably just ditching it. God knows I would if I got the chance! Walking around a room full of stuffy old people or sitting at home with a box of chocolates and a nice brandy…I know which I’d rather have.” She flashes me a smile and a wink and I can’t help but laugh.
“I am very well thank you and it’s lovely to see you again.”
The gentleman, dressed in a generic tux and his silvering hair brushed neatly to the side extends his hand, takes mine and kisses it.
“It’s been a while since we last saw you; I take it you’re enjoying life on our side of the fence?” As he says this he gives his wife a wink and she rolls her eyes exaggeratedly.
“Oh Howard you’re incorrigible! Just because one has wealth does not mean that one is all that different from those who are less well off.” She speaks as though she has a large piece of hard candy in her mouth and she’s trying to prevent it from slipping down her throat and choking her to death. I wonder if Gideon choked his wife to death…
“You tell yourself that dear. I’d like to see you say that when you get served macaroni and cheese instead of that foie gras you love so much.” Her cheeks redden and she turns away from him, focusing her attentions on me.
“The joys of being married to an elitist!” she tuts as she shakes her head and her husband pretends not to notice as he dives in to political talk with Gideon. I feel so out of place and more than a little cornered, playing the part of the billionaire’s wife. “That’s a lovely dress my dear,” her fingers brush the bodice fabric of my waist, “once upon a time I had a figure as lovely as yours.” I watch her briefly reminisce and she lets her hand fall away from my dress. “Of course,” she says “that was before I met Howard and became a rich man’s wife; I’d never in my wildest dreams have been able to afford a dress so beautiful then!” I smile kindly and fight the urge to tell her that Gideon had been the one who purchased my dress and that I, in fact, had nothing but megastore brand clothes, department store jeans and discount rack shoes.
“I feel so very fortunate to have met Gideon,” I realize for a moment that I should have said ‘married’ rather than met but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Ahh, young love.” She winks and laughs a throaty laugh, “just wait until you get to our age, then you’ll be hoping you kick off before he does so you don’t have to rattle around such a big house by yourself!”
“Well fortunately Gideon, that is he and I, have a Penthouse a few blocks from here so there’s not too much rattling to be done.”
“Oh really? Which building are you in? Howard and I contemplated buying in to that new Darcy project to downsize but I just can’t decide if downsizing is a good move for us.” Shit, I rack my brain trying to come up with the name of the building where Gideon lives and I can’t for the life of me remember what it is.
“It’s quite convenient really, right next to Gideon’s office and it’s so nice living in the middle of everything, we really don’t need a driver most of the time and I quite enjoy meandering around town while he’s in the office.” I shock myself with this little speech. I could get quite good at playing the billionaire’s wife.
“I’m not sure it’s for me though, I’m no spring chicken anymore! Heck, I’d still need the driver to take me a few buildings down!” I laugh with her and quickly try to think of something, anything to say to get me out of there.
“I’m ever so sorry but would you mind excusing me?” I lower my voice as I lean in.
“No, not at all!” With her dismissal I excuse myself to the bathroom just hoping for a moment’s respite from the exhausting job of being a billionaire’s wife. I don’t imagine that it would take too much work to play a billionaire with actual experience of being a billionaire. But being a billionaire without experience of anything even remotely approaching being a billionaire is a lot more work than one might think.
I lean against the cold wall in the bathroom stall and take in a moment of silence before the door opens and a couple of middle aged women walk in talking about the ‘handsome Mr. Lambert.’ I listen to them talking about how in their younger day they could have been Mrs. Lambert. They stand at the sink and I can hear them smacking their lips as they reapply their lipstick and reassure each other that they look just as good as ever. Just before they leave I flush the toilet, more for appearance’s sake since I didn’t actually use it, and step out in to the main bathroom only to be greeted by their horrified faces.