Free Manacled in Monaco by Jianne Carlo

manna.
    “Ever thought of having kids?” Rolan mused.
    “Hell, no. Not for me. I like my freedom too much. How old were you when…?”
    Terry didn’t have to finish the question; Rolan knew the way he thought.
    “Two days after I turned nineteen. Sarita and I had gone to school together for years, but I never noticed her until we were sentenced to detention in the same room. After four Saturdays cooped up with her in that tiny room, all I could think about was getting her naked. And then she waitressed the prom. I’ll never forget that little black skirt and the white apron. It drove me wild. I’d been sexually active for years and I always used a condom, at least until that night.”
    “What’re you going to do?”
    “I asked her to marry me.”
    They strolled along the deck to the bow, propped feet on the railing, and gazed at the Royal Palace nestled into the greenery of the far cliff face. Nautical crafts of all shapes and sizes crowded the bay, coating the Mediterranean like a shipyard carpet, only this rug rocked and swayed as the sea lapped at the coastline. Afternoon sun dappled the far horizon and the azure waters glinted silver.
    “That’s a bit drastic, isn’t it?” Terry tilted his jaw up and blew a series of perfect smoke rings.
    “The timing seems right. I figure on retiring at the end of this season. It’s time for me to settle down anyway and he is my son.” His tone rang in a sudden lull of the ubiquitous Monte Carlo traffic, strident, possessive, certain, cementing his determination.
    “And Sarita? Where does she fit in?”
    She’s mine, all mine , but he didn’t say the words aloud.
    “She’ll be my wife. It’ll work out. She can entertain, that’s obvious. She’s a little shy, but she’ll shape up.”
    “And other women?”
    “It’ll be a while before I even notice another woman, and I definitely don’t want a repeat of my parents’ marriage, or divorce.” He shuddered.
    “You intend to be faithful?”
    “I intend to try to be,” Rolan replied.
    “Boyo, that’s a foreign concept as far I’m concerned. Jaysus, the notion makes me nauseous,” Terry said, and his shoulders shifted. “Think about it. Waking up next to the same woman for the rest of your days. Uh-uh, not a possibility. Not for me.”
    “My parents’ divorce was splattered all over Orangeville’s newspaper. Dad left Mom for an eighteen-year-old two days after his fiftieth birthday. To make it worse, she was a classmate of mine. Mom got Dad back by screwing the gardener. I will not put Tony in a position like that. For three years, I was the butt of every nasty rumor, every sick joke. If keeping my cock in my pants means my son will never have to go through that, well, I’ll take it one day at a time.”
    “Better you than me, boyo.”
    “I’m going to go into town, Terry. I have a few things to arrange.” He stubbed the cigar out in an ashtray conveniently located on the mosaic counter. “Catch up with you later.”
    Rolan took the steps down to the kitchen two at a time. He found Sarita cleaning up and couldn’t resist hauling her into his arms, nuzzling the sweet base of her neck.
    She went still, rigid. “Stop, Rolan. What if Tony comes in?”
    “The boy isn’t stupid, Sarita, as evidenced by his comment this morning. He knew exactly what we were doing. Besides, he has to get used to us.”
    “There isn’t any ‘us.’ I haven’t committed to anything,” she said, her voice clipped.
    “I have to run some errands in town. I’ll take Tony with me. Has he seen Monte Carlo at all?”
    She squirmed out of his arms, but he resisted her withdrawal, tightening his arms around her waist. “What’s wrong?”
    “You’re like a bulldozer, Rolan. And it’s irritating me. It took me ten years to get to this spot, independent, relatively financially secure, I don’t want you taking over. I don’t like it.”
    “I missed ten years of Tony’s life. So screw me if I want to make it up big