“This is your bedroom through here.” Rebecca plays tour guide, leads him through and shows him his room. “And this is my bedroom. Come upstairs and I’ll show you Kate’s bedroom,” she offers.
I follow them as she shows him around the apartment. My eyes roam up and down Daniel: he’s wearing black trousers, a black knitted sweater, pointy shoes, and a bomber jacket in camo green. His clothes are expensive and trendy; he really does look the part of the personal stylist.
“When do you start work?” I ask as I try and make conversation.
“I have four clients next week, and I have to find about fifty more as soon as possible,” he says.
I smile.
“But seriously, I start with Harrods next week, I’m going to be one of their in-house shoppers.”
Oh, what a hellish job—shopping is my living nightmare. Unsure what to say and feeling awkward, I hunch my shoulders. “I’ve never met a personal shopper before.”
Daniel smiles. “There aren’t too many of us.”
I take a suitcase from him and glance down at it: Louis Vuitton. Jeez . . . I think the suitcase is worth more than my car. He disappears down the front steps to the street and I peer out after him: he has a black new-model Audi. Why the hell is he sharing an apartment with two other people if he has all this expensive stuff?
Surely he would want to live alone?
I know I would.
He grabs another two suitcases from his car and once again they are beautiful black leather; I eye them suspiciously as he walks back up the steps. I wish I had good taste like this. I wouldn’t know what to buy even if I did have the money.
Daniel wheels his suitcases into his bedroom and looks between us as he puts his hands on his hips. “Please tell me that you girls are taking me out tonight. There’s no better way to get to know each other than over a few drinks.”
Rebecca’s eyes nearly pop from her head in excitement. “That sounds awesome.” She glances over to me. “Doesn’t it, Kate?”
Not really.
A fake smile. “Sure does.”
“Shall we go?” he asks.
“Now?” I frown. “You don’t want to put anything away first?”
“No, I’m good, it will still be there tomorrow and I have nothing to do until next week so it will give me a mission.”
An hour later, we sit at the bar in a restaurant, wine firmly in hand.
“So?” Daniel looks between the two of us. “What’s the story with you two, are you single or dating?”
“Well.” Rebecca smiles. “I have a boyfriend, Brett. And Kathryn here is trying to get an honorary membership to the nunnery.”
I laugh. “That’s not true. I’m just very picky.”
Daniel gives me a cute wink. “Nothing wrong with that. I’m quite picky myself actually.”
“And what’s your story?” Rebecca asks.
“Well . . .” Daniel pauses as if choosing the right words. “I am . . .” He pauses again.
“Gay?” I ask.
Daniel laughs. “I like women too much to title myself completely gay.”
“So . . .” Rebecca screws up her face as she tries to make sense of that statement.
“You’re bisexual?”
Daniel twists his lips as if thinking. “I wouldn’t say I’m bisexual. My natural attraction is toward women. But lately . . .” His voice trails off.
“What?” I ask, fascinated.
“A few years back I was partying with a few guys that I didn’t know that well in Ibiza. One of them was gay.”
“How many were you away with?” I ask.
“There were four of us in total.”
“So, three of you were straight?”
Daniel nods. “Maybe it was the sun, maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the cocaine, I don’t know, but something happened and we got a little randy, spent the weekend in bed, and now I have a bit of a fetish for men on the side.”
Rebecca smiles dreamily over at Daniel, as if this is the best story that she’s ever heard. And I can almost hear the cogs in her brain clicking, assessing how liberated he must be.
I sip my drink, equally fascinated with his story. “How does it feel to be sexual with somebody that isn’t your natural inclination?”
“Good. Perhaps a little kinky.” Daniel shrugs. “I think that’s what it is for me, I feel like I’m doing something naughty, something that I shouldn’t be doing but at the same time feels so natural. And I don’t know how long I’ll keep doing it, maybe not forever, maybe not much more at all. But whenever I do it, I don’t regret it. It doesn’t feel wrong, if that’s what you mean.”
“How many . . .” Rebecca’s voice trails off as she stops herself.
“You can ask me anything,” Daniel prompts her.
“How many men have you been with?”
Daniel narrows his eyes as he thinks. “Hmm, not many, I would say more than ten but less than twenty.”