prepared myself for it a long time ago, removed any emotions harbored, and selfishly prioritized my sexual needs. Dominic fits into my life with convenience. I don’t have time for a partner, and work will always be my number one priority.
I experience love in various forms, but life without it is perfectly fine. There’s no one to demand my attention and no one to worry about beside myself.
It’s the way I set my life up, and nothing will change that.
And so, I mentally prepare myself for his final parting—his exit out of our tryst.
“Kate,” he begins with a despairing tone while looking down onto the pristine sheets. He crosses his arms with a pensive expression. “Things aren’t working with Allegra.”
KATE
The bombshell explodes in what should’ve been this idyllic moment.
We spent the last few hours satisfying our own selfish needs in the sanctity of this hotel room. No one knows where we are, what we’re doing, and that’s how it has been for the last three years.
Whenever Dominic visits Paris, the trips are always short. His sole purpose for traveling was always due to business, leaving very little time for our rendezvous.
Never did I question nor demand more of his time. Dominic is correct in presuming I need sex without the additional strings. It suits my lifestyle, and we made sure from the beginning that boundaries were set and clear.
No one asked for more, and no one got hurt.
Between work, and well, work, I don’t have time for a relationship nor commitment. My sexual needs are pretty much satisfied by him, and what goes on in his life isn’t of my concern, just as he has no interest in mine.
But now, reality hits our bubble, the threat to burst too dangerous even to consider.
Of course, things aren’t working with his wife. He married her under false pretenses. Allegra’s father is a very wealthy man, and marrying her made good business sense. He needed capital, so attached to that came strings. Yes, she’s beautiful, and between them they make an attractive couple, but looks can be deceiving.
Allegra travels the world with her girlfriends, staying in luxurious hotels while being pampered, spending copious amounts of money on brands and labels from sheer boredom. Their marriage is built on paper agreements, a recipe for disaster, in my opinion. An opinion I’ve always kept to myself.
Yet now he has the audacity to tell me it isn’t working? What the hell am I supposed to say? Of course, it’s not working. You’re fucking me on the side twice a year.
“I’m sorry.” Feeling vulnerable, I distance myself and pull the sheet over my exposed breasts. “Marriage is complicated.”
I regret my words immediately. What advice can I give on marriage? It isn’t something I desperately need like everyone else. More so, it looks like hard work. And why should being in a relationship with someone be hard work?
I think of excuses to leave the room. Maybe an important business call may suffice.
“I may have an opportunity to visit more often soon,” he continues, much to my detriment.
And the aftershock continues, rattling everything we have built between us. A mutual agreement to have sex when he visited, and that was it.
No, I miss you.
No sentiments whatsoever.
Around Dominic, I treat him like a business associate with respect but keep my personal feelings aside. The last time I opened my mouth, I got burned and barely recovered. The lesson learned to take the good and ignore the bad.
He shuffles, so he’s sitting completely upright, crossing his arms as if angered by my silence. “You’re not saying anything?”
“Dominic, what would you like me to say?”
“I’d like to know what you think about me spending more time in Paris?”
“I think you have a wife back in the States who would probably have a problem with that unless, of course, you end your marriage.”
These talks always ruin the moment and burst the so-called bubble I had blown around this forbidden relationship of ours. Beside me, I can see his body tense from the nature of the conversation, although he raised the topic, not me.
“You want me to end my marriage?” he questions, though his harsh tone makes it more of a statement.
I slide up, sitting against the headboard to gain control of my thoughts. “I don’t want anything, Dominic. We made a deal. What happens in Paris stays in Paris. I don’t ask questions about your life, and you don’t ask about mine. We both get what we want, and that’s it.”
“But what if