"So, were they like soft pecks or—"

"Oh my god, shut up," Gabriele mumbles, keeping his eyes trained on the last few meters before we can park in front of the castle. That's right, a castle. This golf terrain is situated around Château Onirique. Whatever that might mean.

With a glance on the clock—it just hit 11—he opens his car door and gets out. Because I learned earlier, I wait for him to open mine and am rewarded with a grateful smile. "My lady."

"So this is were rich guys spend all their money?" I ask, getting my stuff out of the trunk of his ridiculously expensive—but I'll admit, kind of nice—car.

"Well—yeah. But it's also a good place to build connections. Everyone that's a bit smart comes here, you know. If I'm not here, someone else is stealing my clients," he explains, grabbing my jacket before I can and carrying it for me. What a gentleman.

As we walk along the carefully weeded path towards the entrance of this castle, his right arm finds its way around my waist. And even with my arched eyebrows directed at him, he doesn't acknowledge it. Alright, if he's allowed to be in that blissful ignorance today, then so am I.

"So, what are we here to do today, then? Protecting clients?" I ask, breaking the comfortable silence. Yet, if I don't, I fear my nerves might be visible by the way my pulse is quickening under my skin, or, you know, throwing up over the beautiful mosaic floor of this ridiculously large lobby.

He smiles at the breathlessness in my voice, but keeps his gaze straight-forwarded as we wait for the elder couple in front of us to finish their brunch reservations with the assistant behind the counter. "Not today, no. Though my presence should be doing that, too. Today, we're here to keep up business relations with my COO and CFO."

At my blink stare, he grins wider in amusement. But before he can answer my unspoken question, the cheerful assistent turns towards us. "Mister Laurus, pleasure to see you, as usual. I assume this young miss is joining you today?"

She turns to me with a friendly smile, her hands grabbing a sort of bracelet—the one they use at festivals to show you're allowed in. "Are you member of the golf club or just accompanying mister Laurus?"

Oh God, she's not about to convince me to take a membership, is she? What if it's required to step on this property? This must cost thousands of dollars, yearly. I can't afford—

"She's not a member," Gabriele answers for me, making me realize I was staring at the girl, wide-eyed. At his answer, she nods, leaning forward to attach the bracelet to my wrist. Gabriele doesn't get one.

"This is just so the security doesn't throw you out or anything. May I know your name? We'll write it down so we'll know when you return. After three visits, you're required to either take a membership or leave." Her explanation makes me draw a relieved breath. I won't ever get to three times, since Gabriele will realize later I suck so bad at sports he won't ever want to return with me since I embarrassed him so badly.

She turns back to Mister Laurus. "Mister Blackwell and mister Elsher are in the outside bar. As we know them, they're probably downing champagne already."

A reassuring squeeze is given me in my hip, caused by Gabriele. He chuckles, thanks the woman, by name, and then gently pulls me through a marble archway. "Who was that?"

His eyebrows knit together confusedly and, admittedly, cutely. "Who was who? Hailey? I thought it was pretty obvious she worked here."

"No—" I start, then sigh and realize how stupid this sounds. In an attempt to not come off as crazy, jealous or weird, I relax my shoulders and mutter, "Never mind."

"No, tell me," he insists, leaving my waist only to grab my arms near my elbows and turns me to face him. Right in the middle of the hallway between the golf court and the lobby, where I hear voices entering. We've got mere seconds, tops, until people see us this way. Not that anything inappropriate is happening, but it's... probably unusual in such a neat place.

"It's... You knew her by name. I was wondering if you knew her from something else than this place." As I'm saying it, I hear just how dumb it sounds. When Gabriele allows his grip on my arms to loosen, I immediately clasp my hands around my burning cheeks and face towards tot he door leading outside, only so I don't have to see his definite mirth.

Except, when he answers after what feels like hours but could only have been minutes, it is with a serious note and not a laughing tone, "Darling, I promise you have nothing to worry about. I indeed know Hailey from another place, but that's because she was an intern in my office a few years ago. After school, I recommended her here, and voilà."

Shit. I'm a fool.

"I could've known that," I mutter, still not recovered enough to look him in the eye. He snorts, guiding me through the huge terrace doors, right onto the patio. Laughter echoes loudly, coming from our left, and when we round the corner, two men in linen shorts are sitting at the bar, indeed downing wat looks like champagne.

"She is, also, Theodore's niece," he adds, lips against my temple, pressing a kiss before taking a little distance. My brows furrow now, barely noticeable; at the space between us. Why would he—

"There he is!" The man on the left, with blonde hair and a deep green shirt exclaims. It seems the champagne has gotten to him already. Enthusiastically, he stands up (too fast, judging from his gentle sway) and makes his way over to us. The other one, previously seated ont he right, follows slower, a rather displeased look on his face.

Well, until he sees I notice his bad mood, then it's gone in a matter of seconds. With a now blank face, the brunette offers his hand for a shaking. His navy shirt looks crinkled, and suddenly, considering their appearances, these millionaires don't seem as intimidating anymore, not compared to to image I'd had in my head before.

"Theodore," Gabriele laughs, escaping from the tipsy man's embrace and turning to the grump. Grumpy looks up and immediately scowls again, raising my cautiousness around him again. What's up with him?

"Don't worry," Tipsy comments on my expression, also offering his hand my way. It takes me a second to grab it, considering he can't hold it still, but we manage. "He might look moody now, but he loves golfing. And us. He'll cheer up."

Gabriele has noticed Grumpy's—Theodore's—glare and laughs again. "What's got your panties in a twist, Theo? Problems in paradise?"

"Don't." Theodore sneers, then his scowl turns a little gentler, a little more playful. "I could be in bed with the wife right now."

"Ah," both Gabriele and Tipsy remark, as though this is a regular thing. Gabriele looks at me, and, behind Theodore's shoulders, makes a circling motion beside his head. 'Girl crazy' he mouths, finally earning a smile from me.

Of course, Theodore sees my change of expression and, without looking back, elbows Gabriele in the stomach. It doesn't look like it was gentle and, considering Gabriele's wheeze, it probably wasn't. 

I turn to Tipsy, who has gotten rid of his glass by now. "Sorry, I didn't catch your name?"

With a jaw dropped open and hands dramatically clasped over his heart, he turns to Gabriele. "I wasn't mentioned? Ever? Not even once?"

My company gives him a look. "Yeah, 'cause I'll talk about you while trying to win a girl over. Nice thinking, Bear."

While Tipsy—Bear—sticks out his tongue, childlike, I turn confused. "Your name is Bear?"

To my utter confusion, he shakes his head. "No. It's Beau. I don't know where Bear comes from, but it's fits me well, don't you think?"

Followed by the typical flexing of a bicep, of course.

Both Theodore and Gabriele snort in disagreement. "You know damn well where it comes from."

With a sigh, Beau gives in. "Alright. First college course, okay? I'm, obviously, nervous. These two sit on each side of me, and we start to talk. I write my name, but, logically, I'm not the best writer when I'm nervous and pressed between—"

"He misspelled his own name," Theodore cuts in, dryly. In a very surprising turn of events, Beau's cheeks flush—unrelated to his alcohol intake.

"Look, could we just move on—" "And not only that," Gabriele adds in, leaning closer to me, "when I read out loud, already questioning it, Bear?, he just looked me straight in the eyes and nodded, as if he was offended by my question."

Beau opens his mouth again, obviously to either argue or beg to stop, Theodore cuts in, "It took him two months to build the courage to tell us his name was, in fact, not Bear."

Allowing sympathy for the poor man, bullied by his friends, I interject the relentless comments from both Gabriele and Theodore. "So you're college friends then?"

Beau, clearly relieved with the subject change, immediately nods. "Yep. Did a whole lot of clubs with these two. Some studying as well, on the side."

My lips twitch up at that, on the side, while Gabriele and Theodore sigh. Wow, I see the duo in the trio. What a shame for Beau.

But then, "Tell her what kind of clubs," and I'm willing to listen if it defends their heavy displeasure.

Beau purses his lips, now less enthusiastic to tell me about their college days. With raised eyebrows, I turn to the other two, where one of them is sporting an ashamed blush (Theo) and the other is rolling his eyes (Gab). "Well?"

"Okay," Beau finally relents, after a prolonged, tensed silence. "Back then, I was quite confused about myself, alright? Remember that, it's important. So, I prepared this whole presentation, with PowerPoint as well, thank you for the credit, about why we should follow through on my idea, and, well, since they're quite good friends, they did—"

"We shouldn't have," Gabriele mutters, Theodore shaking his head in agreement. Beau narrows his eyes at them before turning his attention back to me. He pauses when he sees my eyes going wide in realization.

"You took them to a guy club?!"

"Multiple, actually," he admits, having the audacity to look flustered. Arms folded in front of him and red cheeks, he actually look embarrassed.

Nearly outraged, I turn to the other two, who look as though they're expecting me to go along with this whole act. "You made him feel guilty for taking you along on his self-exploration? What kind of friends are you? He's—"

"No, no, Isabella," Beau interrupts, catching my attention again. Faintly, I wonder how he knows my name—I haven't introduced myself, at all—but listen nonetheless. "It's not the fact they had to go the a—multiple, sorry—gay clubs, it's what happened after."

A silence dawns, in which they stare at each other, all refusing to tell me the story. Finally, I take pity on them and wave it away. "Anyway, let's play this game. How does it work again?"

Suspicious of the sudden subject change, but not entirely ungrateful, Theodore and Beau make quick work of explaining the game to me again. No matter haw many times I've heard it, I still don't quite understand it. Not that I'd really ask, but what could be so fun about hitting a ball with a stick so it rolls a few inches further? Surely it has to be more that that.

Gabriele, who had momentarily disappeared, returns on a golf cart, with three bags full of sticks. He looks at ease behind the steering wheel, sunglasses on top of his nose, and waves me over. His friends get the hint and get on the reversed seats in the back. Pleased with his, Gabriele puts his hand on my thigh and starts driving.

Keeping his voice to a whisper, "You're really going to let it go like that?" I shiver at the feeling of his whisper in my ear, but nod. "As long as you didn't bully him into feeling guilty for including you in finding himself, I'm fine with not knowing what happened."

The corner of his mouth twitches up. "In other words, you'll make me explain it in the car on the way back."

"Correct."