“Of course Norbert told me, but it never made a difference to me. I also knew you were just starting out, a virgin, so to speak.”
“Hardly that.”
“No, but a virgin when it came to the Brittany escort service.”
“Did you do what she wanted, become part of a test she had designed?”
“Yes and no. At first, Norbert brought me there for just that, but as I got to know you, I hated the idea of doing anything, saying anything, that in any way was a form of betrayal. Besides,” he said, “I did fall in love with you. I’ll always be in love with you.”
“And how’s your marriage?” I asked sharply.
He nodded. “I don’t blame you for taking that tone. My marriage is a success as far as my father and our economic empire are concerned. It’s easy to see, however, that it’s a marriage of convenience. Most of the time, we go our separate ways. Lately, we don’t even share coffee in the morning.”
“Children?”
“None yet. It’s a little troubling to both families. My father actually thinks I’m controlling my sperm or something. How does he put it? I’m ‘psychologically depressing the little buggers.’?”
I laughed. “Maybe you are.”
He sipped his drink and looked around the apartment. “Very nice place.”
“It serves its purpose,” I said.
“And what is that?”
“To be a successful Brittany escort, what else?”
“Are you happy?” he asked.
“Comfortable,” I replied.
“Is it enough?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Is what you have enough?”
He looked down at his drink.
“Is it still true that ego and greed are at work for you?” I followed.
He took a deep breath and looked at me. “I’m not as much like my father as I thought I was. Feared I was,” he added.
When we looked at each other now, neither of us turned away. He smiled. We drew closer, and when we kissed, it wasn’t like any kiss I would give any client.
We didn’t go anywhere that night. It was too hard not to reach out sensually, not to kiss, not to touch, and if we went anywhere, we’d be restrained. For a few hours, it was as if no time had passed, as if I had closed my eyes while I was at Mrs. Brittany’s Côte d’Azur villa and then opened them to see him beside me just the way he had been, his handsome face in sweet repose and a feeling of wonderful satisfaction covering my body like a soft silk blanket.
When we parted in the morning, he promised to see me as many times as he could. I told him not to make promises.
“Make appointments instead.”
“Yes,” he said. “You’re right.”
“Besides, I’d rather that each time be a surprise, something unexpected, rather than something longed for. The ache becomes too painful.”
“I understand. You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you?”
“It’s part of the job description,” I replied.
He laughed, but I really believed after a while that I could go on and on like this, employing Mrs. Brittany’s beauty techniques, keeping up with my physical training and nutrition, slipping in and out of the latest fashions, updating myself with my cultural education. I even dreamed of someday becoming Mrs. Brittany, inheriting control of the company and having my own Wilcox girls. Was that pure ambition or pure stupidity?