The next few days were idyllic.
For the first time in my life, I was truly enjoying sex. I was embracing my own sexuality. I was dressing with an eye to both please Alexander and torment him. We’d gone out one night to a small restaurant in the neighborhood and I’d excused myself at one point, gone to the washroom, removed my panties and come back to my seat. I’d laid them on the table in front of him with complete abandon. “If you want to skip dessert, Sir?” I’d whispered, not bothering to hide the need in my eyes.
He’d spanked me for that in the playroom, his eyes laughing at me. I’d giggled and begged for more.
During the day, I wandered all over Paris, shadowed by the ever-present guards. Alexander hadn’t made any attempt to conceal their presence from me. He’d told me openly that the bodyguards were for my protection and I was welcome to meet them if I’d wanted. I’d declined, reasoning that Jenny Fullerton would be uneasy with guards. She would prefer to forget they existed.
While I played tourist, Alexander was busy at work, but whatever he had been working on, he seemed to be done with it by the weekend. He emerged from his study Friday afternoon, shut the door behind him and announced that he was at my disposal for the upcoming week. “Want to get away?” he asked me with a quirk of his mouth. “Shall we head to Arles and then explore the south of France?”
“Isn’t Arles the city where Van Gogh was committed?” I asked him. An old nugget of information from a very long time ago. I’d loved museums before I’d been taken. I had poured over biographies of artists, trying to figure out what drove them to their art.
“It does have more to recommend it than that,” he retorted dryly. “But the place I’m thinking of showing you is a small village outside Arles. I own a farmhouse there.”
“Must be nice,” I quipped. He said he liked me brave and unafraid? That came with a side-helping of smart-assery. “You know, owning a house in every city.”
He grinned. “It’s very good to be me indeed.” His eyes ran over me appreciatively. “I’ve a beautiful woman in my house and I get to have my evil way with her whenever I want.”
“Four times a week according to the contract,” I intoned solemnly. Which was such bullshit. I’d wanted to sleep with him last night. I’d been the one to ask him if I could spend the night in his bed.
He’d smiled a strange little smile and muttered, “Of course, cherie.”
I’d have liked to pretend that it was the thought of making myself indispensable to him that drew me to his side, but if I’d ever had a moment of pure selfishness, it was this. Similar to Paris two years ago, in his arms, I slept well. I wasn’t haunted by nightmares. I felt cared for and cherished.
The day Sylvia was supposed to come to Paris drew closer. I didn’t let myself think about it. I thought it was strange that Alexander was treating me like a lover when he purportedly had a girlfriend, one that he’d kissed with obvious heat at Madame Lorraine’s. But I couldn’t pretend to understand the motivations of someone who was so rich that bidding a million dollars for three months of a woman’s company was a commonplace act.
I was ignoring the truth in favour of the fantasy. I was relishing the freeing sensation of letting go of my fear in the playroom. What resulted was playful and fiery and passionate. It was sex like I’d never experienced it.
I’d never been in love; I didn’t know what it felt like, but I suspected that it was this. I smiled when I thought of him. I looked at him with stars in my eyes and I started to forget who he was. And I was falling, falling so hard and so deep.
***
Alexander:
We could have flown to Arles. I went away to the farmhouse many times during the year and I usually flew, since it was a seven hour drive from Paris. But with Jenny, I wanted to savour the journey. “Shall we take the train?”
“That seems very normal, Alexander. Is the jet in the shop?”
“I do fly most of the time,” I admitted. She had me think about my wealth in a way that I hadn’t done for many years. “But the train’s fun too.”
“First class, I’m assuming?” Again, her voice was dry.
“Would you prefer otherwise, cherie?”
She giggled, her voice a merry peal of sound. “No, I’m just messing with you,” she admitted cheerfully. “You actually blush when I make fun of your money.”
I felt the heat rise in my cheeks and I had to laugh in response. No one teased me. I had several good friends from boarding school, but we didn’t see each other frequently enough. My employees and I treated each other with professional courtesy. Jean-Luc, with his dry humour and slight mockery was as close as it had gotten in many years.