The Billionaire Throuple

Samuel the Third [Earned Love]

Once in Los Angeles, we travel by limousine to our five-star accommodations. We're staying in a lovely cream-colored establishment with chandeliers hanging under its porte cochere.

I've reserved the Director's suite for the occasion. It is a spacious and extravagant choice themed in white and ashen gray, but that will not be our destination until later.

We are greeted by the concierge, who then sets us up in a private lounge with refreshments until our tour of the city. We're forced to travel via double-Decker tour bus, but Andreas and Nehemiah don't seem to mind.

Andreas takes pictures of everything, with everyone who's willing, for his Instagram. His favorite stops along the way are unsurprisingly, the Hollywood Walk of Fame and Paramount Studios. We finish the evening at a restaurant with two Michelin stars, the highest in LA.

Now, Andreas is as prepared as he'll ever be to face his childhood trauma. Similarly to how he has shown me there are more ways to be cared for, absent pain, it was my goal to help him form memories in California that could be associated with happier times.

I believe I've accomplished this feat, though the sadness in his eyes remains. No matter. Parts II & III of my rehabilitation tour are nigh. I can only hope they're grand enough to snuff out the despair that lingers within him. If not, I shall go back to the drawing board. Giving up on Andreas is simply one thing I'll not do. Ever. Nor shall Nehemiah. I expressively forbid it.

Our limousine pulls into a gated community of beachside villas that are owned by a certain timeshare company that a private investigator forwarded to me. He linked them to archived data from Craig's List during the time period of Andreas's visit five years ago.

His initial search returned multiple properties, but I'm not one for sleuthing, not when I can pay people who live in California to accomplish the task. I gave the PI as much identifying information I could recall from Andreas's account and an obscene amount of money to visit each place and narrow it down to one.

Now, here we are. It simply would not have sufficed to have spent our trip forcing my love, Andreas, to point out the house he wants nothing more than to forget. Tonight, he shall.

The limousine stops and the driver opens the door. I turn to Andreas and cup my hand over his. "We're here. Do you still trust me?"

He nods and leans in closer. He's trembling, but not crying. Thus, his mood is better than I could've hoped for. I nod to Nehemiah, who exits first. I start to climb out behind him, hand in hand with Andreas, but he resists.

"Is this the place then?" I ask.

Andreas's face is frozen as he peers over my shoulder at the front door of the beach house. I tug on his arm, not quite forcefully. I am aware this is a step he must take on his own. I tell him as much. He scoots closer to the door until I've stepped out and he's left on the edge of the seat. I step aside, so he can have full view.

He flinches, hard.

I say, "There's no one here who can hurt you. Nehemiah and I are with you, two people who know what this place means to you, who're here to help sever the hold it has over you."

He squeezes my hand tighter. His tears have returned, but he takes a step out of the limo. I don't rush him. I stand patiently, as does Nehemiah. Andreas is taking deep breaths again, likely to stave off another fainting spell.

His returned grief has made getting him to eat anything a chore, so it's no surprise that he's worse off. Still, it shall all be over tonight, at least the bulk of it.

Andreas stands and takes a few steps forward. I motion the driver to slowly shut the door. I don't want him to feel like he can't turn back, but I don't want the limo to look so inviting, should he look back. Nehemiah grabs hold of his other hand, but we follow his lead.