Bijou
"So I'm just supposed to be ok with some bitch laying upstairs? While I'm here?"
His personal chef was startled at the tantrum. Whisking up a new in house course of roasted banana yogurt with bananas, cacao crunch, and turmeric. His girl was fresh on the vegan cleanse and vowed that as a partner he needed to support her endeavors. That was a fable for another day.
"Keep your grace." Bijou contained himself. He loathed the fact that his woman could be so insecure, "She's been a colleague for over a decade. That's a little more than just some bitch."
Bijou just knew a lifelong pain in the ass was consciously oblivious to the ruckus taking place down stairs in his place of residence. Seaux wasn't going to ruin this one for him. He hadn't felt this way about someone in a long time.
"So I'm just supposed to be ok with another bitch-"
"Tora."
Her head snapped towards him, "Colleague. Let me bring an old fuck buddy home from college and babysit when they're over reacting and see how you feel."
"Eat your food."
"In the next damn bedroom!"
"Eat." He couldn't talk to Tora when she got like this. Her flesh had warmed to a reddened hue along both ears she was so flustered. But Tora was submissive and knew her place. A little less than a pushover and didn't challenge Bijou at every turn. Born in privilege, her mother and father raised Tora to be kept. Her father was an established financial firm owner that operated investment banks managing more than $10 billion in total revenue, asset management firms with at least $2 billion, as well as a private owned equity firm with a minimum of $100 million in capital commitments.
Saying Tora came from money was an insult. She was privileged in wealth. Hence the fit she was having in front of him, crying in frustration, "And you can't even deny it. You're disrespecting me!"
Many would claim the relationship as an arrangement. Introduced at their parents annual gala last year, Tora and Bijou were forced to mingle the entire night. Tora's family fortune provided security for Bijou's father. Her father never succumbed or gave into the Bijou family business dealings. He'd been the only rival the man couldn't concur or be in partnership with. Bijou's father felt that if he couldn't get commission or profit from Tora's father in business, at least his son and grandchildren would have immediate access. A plan that Bijou was vaguely unfamiliar with.
"You're going off assumptions, carrying on and shit. She's a friend. Not some fucking jump off. You know that. You feel disrespected right now because you want to."
"Because I want to?"
Bijou walked off and tuned Tora out as he stalked to get her bags. He'd prepared for this early and already had the car down stairs. The bag was packed before the woman had the chance to stretch good morning. "She needs some space," he told himself. "Then she'll be calm enough where we can talk."
This spat was the first of many. Tora had been so complicit when other friends crossed the line way too many times. She was fuming at the seams because this situation involved Seaux. A weird insecurity that he'd never come to understand.
"Fuuucckk," Bijou was frustrated as he watched the bellman place Tora's things in the car. He couldn't keep dealing with this for the rest of life. Tora and Seaux were going to have to figure it out so he could get some fucking peace.
Seaux
Seaux thought she died and went to heaven.
Ivory sateen linens with embossed hem stitching imported from Italy caressed her limbs like cashmere and clung against fresh skin. Memories faded in a form of euphoria by way of Seaux's tactile senses. Almost as if her body knew whatever room she'd ended up in the modern brownstone (made from her love of fashion, serenity, and comfort) would coddle any harsh truths outside the door step.
In her mind, she was home.
Safe.
And sound.
Hot steam damn near singed her face.
"You better wake your ass up," Bijou was washing her face with a wash cloth. Getting ready to toss Seaux towards the guest bathroom. She struggled against him half way pouting that he tried to smuggle her into the sheets.
"I should," he retorted. "You have to stop reacting like nobody else goes through anything. I won't always be here to pick up the pieces Seaux."
The codependency was unhealthy. If she could have a best man at her wedding, Bijou would be the only appointed. Seaux felt the reaction was mild compared to her current competing head space. His words sent blows to a dwindling ego. Not able to quip back, there wasn't any point in wasting the energy. Disappointment was hitting all over again with nausea draining every syllable.
The heated water ran steady as Bijou scolded Seaux of irresponsibility. Told her she signed up to be a professional baby sitter. That's what the title of publicist meant. He explained her salary was to handle and clean up other people's shit, so what did she expect.
A perfect world? No.
Consistency and stability? That was it.
That was all...
