Chapter 13
Ricard
The golf ball soared through the air in a perfect arc, a tiny white speck against the vast Texas sky before disappearing beyond a rise in the fairway. I followed its trajectory with satisfaction, my body still holding the follow-through position of my swing.
“Magnifique!” I murmured to myself, pleased with the clean contact and distance.
“Damn fine shot, Your Grace,” Senator Harrington drawled from behind me, his Southern accent thick with appreciation. “You been holdin' out on us.”
I turned, unable to suppress a smile at the compliment. “My father insisted I learn,” I explained, stepping aside for the next player. “Said it was essential for diplomacy. 'More business is conducted on the golf course than in any boardroom,' he used to tell me.”
Julius, resplendent in a salmon-colored polo that complemented his bronze skin perfectly, chuckled as he took his place at the tee. “Your father is a wise man,” he said, adjusting his stance. “Though I suspect diplomacy wasn't the only thing on his mind when he had you practice your swing.”
The golf ball launched from Julius's club, streaking through the air beyond where mine had landed.
The European nobleman's natural athletic grace shone through his every movement, a man with bloodlines tracing back through centuries of aristocracy, yet who maintained a physical discipline that privilege hadn't diminished.
Dharma adjusted his designer glasses, the only concession to his tech background in an otherwise perfectly curated country club appearance.
Despite his self-deprecating humor, he moved with the confidence of a man whose net worth exceeded the GDP of several small nations.
His company was pioneering algorithms that might revolutionize cryptography, a fact that made him both valuable to know and potentially dangerous to cross.
“Now, Dharma,” Senator Harrington drawled, his Southern accent thickening performatively, “don't you start with that humble routine.
I've seen the putting green you had installed on your office roof in Jakarta.” The senator's folksy manner belied the sharp political mind beneath.
A man who had survived six terms in Washington by appearing more simple than he was.
His committee positions on defense and intelligence made him a pivotal figure in American security policy.
We all laughed, the camaraderie between us easy and unforced.
It was strange, I reflected, how quickly bonds could form in a place like Dove Canyon Ranch.
In diplomatic settings, I would have approached these men with carefully prepared briefs, strategic talking points, and the constant awareness of potential pitfalls.
Here, as we climbed into our golf carts to pursue our balls, I genuinely enjoyed their company.
Julius paired with Dharma in one cart, leaving me with the Senator. As we pulled away, Harrington leaned over. “Between us, Your Grace, I've been wanting to discuss the Avaline naval base expansion. Unofficial, of course. Just two golfers chatting.”
Perhaps not so free from diplomacy after all. I smiled politely, shifting into the familiar stance of careful neutrality. But even this felt different from similar conversations back home—less formal, more human.
“I must say,” Senator Harrington commented as we walked toward the next green, “this place exceeds all expectations. And I've had some high expectations in my time.”
“Vincent does nothing by halves,” Julius agreed as he walked beside me. “I've been coming here for years, and the quality only improves. The staff, the amenities, the discretion—all impeccable.”
“And the companions,” Dharma added with a wolfish grin. “Let's not forget the companions.”
A knowing chuckle rippled through our group. “Indeed,” I managed, keeping my tone light. “The companions are... exceptional.”
Julius cast a sidelong glance my way. “This is the duke's first visit to The Ranch,” he informed the others, “and he's been so enamored of one particular companion that he's extended his stay by a week.”
Senator Harrington whistled low and nudged me with his elbow.
“Now that's what I call a royal endorsement. He must be quite the experience to warrant changing your schedule.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially.
“But just one? Don't forget to sample the whole buffet, Your Grace. They're all tasty in their own way.”
My cheeks flushed at their comments. “I assure you, I don't feel slighted in any way. These past few days have been worth every ducet.”
“What the Senator is trying to say,” Julius interrupted, “is that while your taste is impeccable, you might be missing out on the full Dove Canyon experience. There's a whole world of pleasure available here beyond any single companion, no matter how captivating.”
I selected a club from my bag and approached my ball, trying to focus on the shot rather than the conflicting emotions Julius's words had stirred.
While I'd successfully extended my stay and secured another appointment with Theo for tomorrow afternoon, part of me still wrestled with doubt.
The twenty-four hours between our encounters suddenly seemed interminable.
As I struck the ball, something in Julius's words resonated with me.
Not just the promise of novel pleasure, but the subtle reminder that my growing attachment to Theo might need tempering.
He was a companion, after all. Professional.
Here to provide a service, not to become entangled with a client, no matter how willing.
Perhaps some new experiences were what I needed to maintain perspective.
The rest of our game passed pleasantly, filled with good-natured competition and easy conversation.
By the time we finished the eighteenth hole, I had not only enjoyed a stimulating afternoon but had made valuable connections that could benefit Avaline's technological and diplomatic interests.
This, I reflected, was the true value of places like The Ranch, not just the physical pleasures they offered, but the opportunities for meaningful interaction away from the constraints of formal diplomatic channels.
After a lengthy shower to rinse off the golf course residue, I opted for comfortable attire—linen pants paired with a light button-down shirt.
I selected a Bordeaux from the villa's impressive cellar, poured myself a substantial glass, and carried it to the patio along with the resort-provided tablet.
Until now, I had only used the device to schedule my time with Theo.
I scrolled through the weekly events calendar, surprised by the variety.
The Ranch offered nightly burlesque performances, underwater massage sessions, BDSM workshops, costumed fantasy roleplay experiences, tantric yoga classes, couples' rope bondage instruction, and even a “Sensual Cuisine” night where body-safe ingredients became part of the intimate experience.
There were also more conventional offerings: horseback riding, meditation retreats, and wine tastings, though each with The Ranch's distinctive sensual twist.
As I continued browsing, one particular entry caught my attention: “The Bathhouse—Dark Room Experience.” The description was deliberately vague, mentioning only “anonymous encounters” and “primal pleasure,” but something about it intrigued me.
Perhaps it was the promise of anonymity, a rare commodity for someone in my position—or simply the allure of the forbidden.
I took a long sip of wine, considering. Throughout my life, my sexual experiences had been carefully controlled, discrete affairs with men who understood the need for absolute secrecy.
Even here at The Ranch, my encounters with Theo, while intense and satisfying, had been private, contained within the walls of my villa.
The thought of anonymous bodies in the dark, of surrendering to the unknown, both terrified and excited me. It represented everything I had been denied in my carefully managed existence—spontaneity, anonymity, risk without calculation.
And if I was honest with myself, there was another reason the Dark Room appealed to me.
Since meeting Theo, I'd found myself preoccupied with thoughts of him.
Not just sexual fantasies, but domestic daydreams that had no place in reality.
I imagined showing him Avaline, introducing him to my favorite cafés in Valmont, watching his face as he experienced the majesty of the Alps for the first time.
Such thoughts were dangerous, setting us both up for disappointment. An anonymous encounter, pure physical release without emotional entanglement, was exactly what I required to reset my expectations.
Yes, the darkness would provide perspective that the light had obscured. I would recalibrate my emotions, remember my purpose, and approach my remaining time with Theo with appropriate detachment.
The bathhouse was located in a separate building near the edge of the property, somewhat removed from the main complex.
As I approached, I was struck by its understated exterior: a simple structure of stone and wood that gave little indication of what lay within.
Only a small, discreet sign marked it as my destination.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The anteroom looked like a somewhat dilapidated locker room—a stark contrast to the luxury evident elsewhere at Dove Canyon.
Dim fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a pallid glow over metal lockers and wooden benches.
The effect was deliberately unsexy, I realized, perhaps to heighten the anticipation of what lay beyond.
The attendant looked up from his phone as I entered. “First time?” he asked, his tone friendly. He was a slender man around my age with close-cropped dark hair, warm brown eyes, and forearms covered in intricate geometric tattoos. A small name tag identified him as “Alex.”
I nodded, trying to project more confidence than I felt.