Chapter 10
CHAPTER 10
Jasmine
A n hour later, Eric and I had a New York supreme pizza, and two orders of wings spread out on the California king-sized bed in front of the suite’s bedroom television. We randomly chose a channel, mostly so that there would be something going on in the background while we ate.
As we dug in, I focused on trying to get Eric to relax even more. Eased something of a smile and then laughter out of him when the movie on the television showed something funny, or one of us made an off-hand snarky comment about it. Coaxed him to recline back against the pillows instead of sitting so straight-backed and proper like he always did. Encouraged him to slouch like he was a college frat boy and not a man with an art empire at his fingertips.
Fingertips that were, currently, greasy and a little barbeque-y and messy.
“You know, when I come here to New York, we usually eat at The Fontaine,” he explained, sucking sauce off his thumb. “The stuffed pasta there is something to die for, but I think I might have to make this a part of the usual rotation.”
I tried not to think of the possibility that in the future, I might not be a part of that rotation. “You’ve never eaten at this place before?” I asked, curious as I nibbled on a piece of chicken.
“No. Actually, I haven’t had pizza in…” He paused, his head tilted, eyes squint just so. His lips moved, silent and wordless, before he clicked his tongue. “At least fifteen years?”
I looked at him incredulously. “Fifteen years ?” I asked in mock horror. I couldn’t image going a month, let alone fifteen years without pizza or wings.
He nodded. “Late night, and I think at that point I was deep in acquisitions and working on pitches for buying and selling certain individual pieces of art for artists that I was connected with. I needed something to give me…I don’t know. A kick of serotonin and my mind immediately went to pizza. Granted, it was nothing like this. Some place named Dominos, if I remember correctly. Oh, but my taste buds were happy and so was my brain.” He laughed, the sound making me smile. “Then again, my body wasn’t so happy afterward, but that’s what happens when you hit your thirties.”
He said as much, following the statement by happily biting at the end of the newest slice that he had in his hand.
“Have you had time at all—ever—just for yourself?” I asked tentatively.
He seemed like a man that never stopped—and had never stopped—in years. Maybe ever. I could imagine a younger version of himself that was only young in appearance but worked and toiled away like the same man he was today. He had a respect and interest for work that I didn’t think came late in his life. He was far too invested and far too reverent of what he did for it to be a recent phenomenon of a man who was choosing to get himself in order in his later years.
As if echoing my thoughts, Eric shook his head. “No, not really. I’ve gone on vacations but those usually have some sort of work-related component to them, too. A dinner. A deal being signed. An event to attend. It’s always just come naturally to me, so I don’t think I’ve ever really paused. It feels almost like a waste to do so, you know?”
“Is that why you don’t have a wife? Kids?” I risked asking him, even knowing how personal the question was.
“Yes,” he said, surprising me by not skirting the answer. “Granted, I’ve tried traditional dating before, but women come into those situations with very specific ideals in mind. I can explain to someone that I work, what my work is, and that I take it seriously. The initial few times that I’m late for a casual date, there’s acceptance. But after a while, those women want more than I can give. They demanded more of my time, were always unhappy with the hours I worked, and it usually led to a lot of arguments and frustration, more so than enjoyable time spent together. Now, I’m older, more set in my ways, and it’s just easier being on my own than trying to conform to someone else’s expectations.”
He shrugged and met my gaze as he wiped his fingers on a napkin. “I find women in your line of work are far more honest and willing to receive honesty, in that regard. We always know what we’re getting into when we come together like this. There are no surprises—well,” He ducked his head apologetically. “Usually no surprises. On a good day, we interact in the parameters that we set with each other, and both parties understand what’s expected.”
It all sounded so detached and impersonal, which it was. As an escort, I knew this, lived by that mantra so far, and yet those words from Eric were difficult to hear for reasons I didn’t want to examine too closely.
“A rigid outlook, for a man who takes so much stock with art,” I commented, trying to sound light and teasing. “Art, which requires a degree of fluidity…” I let the words dangle between us.
Eric tilted his head, regarding me a moment before his expression softened a little. “I think for me, it’s the fact that those I’ve been partnered with haven’t seen it that way, or are fluid enough, as you say, to accept me as I am. More often than not it was a constant battle of trying to change and avoid being changed, rather than the effortless melding that I had always hoped I’d experience—as my parents had.”
At the mention of his parents, Eric sobered just a little. His brows furrowed, and he stared down at the spread of food that was half-eaten between the two of us that we both seemed to be done devouring.
“Ah, it’s getting late,” he said, and I recognized the subject change for what it was. “I’ll clean up and we’ll call it a night?”
I nodded, but smiled and said, “We can call it a night, but I’m going to help you clean up.”
It didn’t take much time to do so. Cardboard boxes in the garbage, the left-over pizza and our wings designated to the last remaining pizza box altogether and put into the room’s fridge. The atmosphere was much different from other times we’d been together once nighttime settled in, along with the expectation of sex.
I think we both felt that distinction. We lingered around the bed, seemingly uncertain about how to proceed. There was nothing sexual in the air after our tumultuous day and all the emotions surrounding it, and that was new territory for the both of us.
“Shall we, then?” Eric said, indicating the bed.
There was something endearing in the way that he said it, in how he pulled back the sheets and let me slip under the covers first. He followed, leaving a small space between the two of us as we lay facing each other.
With the lights off, moonlight was the only thing illuminating the room. The silvery light cast over Eric’s face, brightening his eyes like some sort of ethereal creature in the night. This would be the first time we’d sleep together without having sex, yet there was something so much more intimate about this shared moment between us.
Taking a risk, I scooted closer to him, eventually settling with my head on Eric’s chest and my body nestled comfortable and close to his warmth and familiar scent. A soft, nearly imperceptible sound came from his throat, and I held my breath, bracing myself for him to ask that I move, or tell me to turn over, or any number of things that were likely to come out of his mouth because this…this was not what we were used to with each other, and I was pushing the boundaries of a line that we had already pushed and pulled quite a bit today.
So, when he moved, his arm coming to wrap around me and keep me pressed to him with his chin rested atop my head? I stayed there, closed my eyes, and let the steady beat of his heart lull me to sleep.
The morning came too quickly. I wanted to remain cocooned beneath the blankets, Eric’s chest my pillow, and his soft sleeping breaths the thing that kept my own body suspended beneath the sweet, sweet veil of subconsciousness. But today was an important day. I needed to be there for Eric, and no amount of this… new thing , this type of non-sexual intimacy that required something different than I’d ever given a client before Eric, could change that fact.
I allowed myself to stay pressed to Eric’s side just long enough to begin feeling him stir, too. He stretched, back arching as he kept his arms around me, like he was unwilling to let me go. Maybe he was just deep in his comfort. I didn’t dare let myself think that it was something else.
“It’s morning,” I murmured when I was sure that he was actually waking. “Shall we get up?”
“Mm. Let me stay here a little while longer,” he said in a husky voice. “I don’t want to get up just yet.”
He nuzzled his face into my hair, sleepily, with a soft sigh. I flushed, and in the space between us could feel how that warmth filled it in. I knew that he was probably just putting off the inevitable of what was to happen today, but it didn’t mean that I couldn’t enjoy this closeness to him, either—even though all this newness posed a threat to my heart.
I chalked it up to the fact that this new territory was something I was still trying to navigate competently.
Eventually, though, we had to get up. In the sleepy, early morning hours, we cleaned up, dressed, and headed down to the hotel’s in-house dining room for breakfast. It was a quiet affair, little said until we actually received our food and began to eat.
“So, anything important that I should know before we see your parents today?” I asked, wondering how much of a charade I would need to put on. Playing a part tended to be the most used skill set of my job, and while I had played the part before of girlfriend, lover, date, I had never played the part of wife .
Eric took a drink of his coffee before answering.
“They won’t expect any specific stories,” he said as he continued to eat his breakfast while he talked. “Usually, they recall things that I’ve told them, or things from the past, but I prefer to keep it simple so they don’t get confused. We don’t have children, work is going well, we’ll come visit for Christmas.” He exhaled a soft sigh, tapping his fingers absently against the tabletop. “Mostly, they speak as though it’s about ten years ago. They’ll focus on me, my mother will likely dote on you and speak to you about wifely duties and the struggles you must have at being committed to a man who is utterly devoted to his work, while also praising you because you’re still with me and, of course you’re beautiful and you must be intelligent to have caught my eye and kept my attention for so long. Just like the women of her time.”
His description made me smile. “She sounds like a wonderful woman.”
“She is,” he said, and I could hear that soft, fond spot he had for his parent. “My mother will speak of anything that has to do with art, fashion, music, philosophy. My father is more reserved. For both of them conversation may be a little fragmented. If you follow my lead, it is unlikely that they will become confused. That is something that I try to avoid.”
I absently pushed around the eggs on my plate with my fork. “Why is that?”
A small frown furrowed between his brows. “When they get confused, they start to try piecing the fragments together, and they become more aware that something isn’t right. When that happens, they go into a furious panicked mode that is very hard to come down from. I’ve witnessed it many times before, but I would prefer that you not be subject to it. They can’t control themselves. It’s something that not everyone understands, or respects.”
“I see.” I gave him an understanding nod. “Follow your lead it is, then.”
A visible look of relief passed over his features before he resumed eating his breakfast. “Let’s finish up. I have a car picking us up at ten.”