by Kenya Wright
“It’s medieval.” I shrugged. “They should have some ax throwing or something.”
“Then, he should love this fair.” He shrugged. “I’d say no to cotton candy for Jean-Pierre, but a definite yes on funnel cakes.”
“Noted.”
“He’ll like the surprise.”
“Good. I’ll just go to the kitchen and see if I can make us something.”
“No.” Louis typed something into his phone. “The chef will be by to get your plans for the meal. Jean-Pierre only wants your hands on him or the instrument.”
“O-kay.”
“Do you want to bring something else on this date?”
“Um. What else could I bring?”
“You have many resources at your disposal, Mrs. Eden. We could have a helicopter take you.”
“Oh wow. I’ll just stick with the limo for now. Thanks so much.”
Louis nodded, sat back down, and turned on his game.
“Okay. I’ll be ready in two hours.” I backed away and left, feeling like I should’ve curtsied or something.
What the hell am I going to tell the chef to make? I’ll have to google romantic picnic items. Maybe we can do a medieval theme.
It took a while to research, but I came up with a fun menu. The chef arrived minutes later. I gave him my ideas and his eyes brightened with excitement. His response made me hopeful about the date. Whenever the person cooking was upbeat, the food would at least be awesome.
As the day continued, I found that Louis engineered the surprise with pure perfection. I spotted staff packing boxes and picnic baskets. Others carried them out of the penthouse.
The chef had me do a quick tasting of the menu. Garlic bread with tomato bisque. Roasted chicken stuffed inside of a pastry made into a castle. Sweet buttered corn and herb-basted potatoes. The chef had gone above and beyond. Everything had been to my liking.
I walked back from the kitchen and passed several of Jean-Pierre’s security. Louis pointed to a large blueprint on the wall. I checked the image and recognized it as the fair’s layout.
Oh wow. They’re really taking this seriously.
At the time of the date, the limo and I waited in front of the building.
Jean-Pierre arrived in a town car with Rafael by his side. When he left the car, he came over to me in shock. “What’s going on?”
“I planned a surprise for our lunch today.”
He remained quiet as his gaze drank me in.
Fuck. Maybe, I should’ve called Shalimar about this. Hope you don’t mind, Jean-Pierre. I’m not sure, if this is a girlfriend experience thing or not. Maybe you just want me to give you a blow job. . .but girlfriends do other things too. . .
He curved that delicious mouth into a smile. “I love surprises.”
“Awesome.” I let out a long breath.
“A surprise?” Rafael noticed the chef and her staff rushing along to another van. “I want to come. Where are we going?”
“Oh.” I shrugged. “I guess you would like it too. Louis and a bunch of others will be coming along.”
“Very funny, Rafael.” Jean-Pierre frowned. “Why don’t you handle our current situation.”
“I can handle this and come later.” Rafael chuckled and walked off. “You’re so selfish with her time, Jean-Pierre.”
He ignored him and took in my clothes, following the way my dark blue jeans hung to my hips and the way my simple white shirt clung to my breasts.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
“I am.”
I rubbed my hands together and opened the limo door for him.
Jean-Pierre shook his head. “No. You can plan the lunch, but you can’t open the door.”
Feeling wicked, I shrugged at him. “I’ve just opened the door. You have to get inside or it’s rude.”
He stalked my way, picked me up, and carried me inside of the limo.
Laughing, I whispered, “This works too.”
The door shut behind us.
We left.
An excitement clung to Jean-Pierre as the limo traveled through the streets. Like a kid, he gazed out the window and yelled out possible guesses. I doubted he’d been surprised much. Jean-Pierre seemed like a man that knew what was going on at every moment of the day.
“Are we going bowling?” he asked.
“No.”
“Movies?”
“No.”
He tapped his finger against the door and looked at where the limo had turned. A large mall stood to the right. “Are we going shopping?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s not a good surprise for a date.”
“You’ll be shocked at how many women love shopping dates.”
“Good point.” I laughed again.
“A play?”
“No.”
“Ice skating?”
“No.”
“Good. I can’t skate.”
“Finally, something I can beat you at.”
“You can beat me at music.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.” He watched as the limo drove onto the highway. “The beach?”
“Stop guessing.”
He turned around. In a flash he wrapped me within his arms. “I will not stop guessing.”
“I thought you liked surprises?” I kissed him.
A groan left his lips.
My whole body melted.
He leaned away with a naughty grin. “Art gallery?”
“You’re hopeless.” I returned to tasting his mouth.
Moments like these, it was hard to pretend and even more difficult to remember that I was working a job.
Don’t think about that.
We arrived at the fairgrounds. Louis had informed me that we would enter through the back, since so many men would be guarding us.
The fair’s owners had approved his wishes.
We left the car.
“Hmmm.” Jean-Pierre must’ve searched for a sign as he scanned the space.
All around people wore fashions from the medieval period. Amazing garments adorned big men. Knight surcoats and aristocratic doublets. Peasant tunics and Scottish kilts. Some men had on monk robes. Most donned cloaks.
Jean-Pierre chuckled and turned to the right.
Oh God. Does he even know where we’re at?
Lovely pieces decorated the women as they strolled onto the property grounds. Gowns expanded by hoop skirts. Peasant tops stuffed in corsets. A couple wizards and sorcerers stood out from the crowd in elaborate robes and pointed hats.
I guided Jean-Pierre forward.
Two twin jugglers slung and twisted long daggers in the air.
A magician stood on top of a dusty crate. A silver and black cloak covered his body. Purple smoke rose around him.
Near the gate, five men held a chained-bear as he danced from side to side. Children watched and munched on big cops of corn.
“Welcome!” A greasy-smudged man said as he stood outside of the gate. A fat rat sat on his shoulder. Ragged medieval clothes dangled around him as if he was a beggar of that time. A long bone earring dangled from his ear. He raised his hands into the air. “Watch the noble fighters from all across the world!”
Jean-Pierre stopped us and parted his lips.
No words came out.
Fuck. I don’t know if that is amused shock or complete dismay.
The man at the gate continued, “Watch them display their valor during the Crown and Court tournaments!”
Jean-Pierre’s mouth formed into a wild smile.
A loud, deep laugh fled his lips.
Smiling, I touched my chest. “So…?”
His face brightened as he looked from his left to his right and then back to me. “I still don’t know what this is, but I fucking love it!”
“Yes!” I punched in the air. “Glad I didn’t screw this up.”
“You could never disappoint me, Eden, but damn if you haven’t now raised the bar. You’ve placed me into a different world. What the he
ll is this place? And how long can we stay here?”
Blushing, I gestured around us. “So, it’s a Medieval Fair. We can stay here as long as you like. If you’re hungry I have the chef prepping over by the—”
“No. Let’s check this all out.” He grabbed my hand and took control, hurrying us through the gate. “How long have they been doing this?”
“It’s a yearly thing.”
“Then, we’ll go every year.”
Say what now?
I hurried with him, not really sure how to respond to that statement. Besides the fair was like a living body, breathing and moving arounds us. It was hard to catch my breath. Just like Jean-Pierre, I felt like a child with a pocket of candy and nothing but time.
Louis followed and gave us several feet of space.
For the rest of the day, all I could do was hang on for the ride.
It was like Jean-Pierre had drank three large cups of coffee within one minute. He explored with a youthful energy.
In the Artisan’s Village we pretended to be blacksmiths and potters. Louis widened his eyes as Jean-Pierre sat at the pottery wheel, shaping a tiny pot for me. Minutes later, Jean-Pierre heard distant tunes from another direction, grabbed me, and raced us off there. We discovered a live-band and danced like bards to medieval tunes.
Although the chef had put together an amazing meal, Jean-Pierre voted for the vendors, sampling every damn one. Huge turkey legs and jester dogs. Venison pie and cold caramel tarts.
I bought a funnel cake and gave some to Jean-Pierre. He ended up buying two more. Behind him, Louis gave me a wink.
Merchants’ Row offered crafts and treasures. Jean-Pierre shopped there like a wild man, buying all his men large silver swords and hat with feathers. Louis refused to wear his hat but loved wagging his hooked sword in the air as we moved along.
Further down Merchants’ Row, a pirate swore that our matching silver necklaces would keep us together forever.
“Your souls will always stay connected.” The pirate patted my shoulder and took Jean-Pierre’s credit card. “That’ll be a hundred dollars by the way.”
I smirked. “Is there a refund if our souls separate?”
The pirate grimaced. “My lady, there were no refunds in Medieval times.”
Jean-Pierre and I laughed.
When we arrived at the games section, all the boys went wild. Jean-Pierre did archery and axe-throwing ten times. Louis jumped in. Giorgio challenged. Out of nowhere Rafael appeared. Several people crowded around and watched them battle it out for the best axe-throwing champion.
Next, we spent a good hour at Drench-a-Wench and Soak-a-Bloke. Rafael enjoyed hitting the target and watching the poor employees fall into water. Jean-Pierre spent his time, helping me throw my ball by slipping his body against mine and whispering naughty things into my ear.
Rafael clapped. “We need this on our estate.”
“The water tank?” Jean-Pierre asked.
“No, the whole fair.”
Jean-Pierre shook his head and captured my hand. “Enjoy, Rafael. We’ll see you later.”
Rafael eyed him. “Where are you two going? Louis is still throwing axes. I like someone with you.”
Maybe it was the beer, but I blurted out, “I’ve got him.”
Rafael turned to me. “You better. There’s consequences, if you don’t.”
“Oh?”
“Ignore him.” Jean-Pierre guided us away. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Definitely.”
Jean-Pierre gazed at the fair like a mad man. “Good, because I don’t want to leave yet.”
I laughed.
He squeezed my hand. “What’s so funny?”
“You’re like a kid.”
“I feel like one.”
We hit the fair rides. None were machine powered due to keeping with the period of time. They offered human-powered swings and a horse-motored Ferris wheel. I wasn’t a fan of the animals working so hard, so I passed.
We finished the evening at another set of gaming stalls. There, Jean-Pierre spent twenty minutes winning me a massive bear dressed as a knight.
Hours later, Jean-Pierre and I headed back to his penthouse, full of food and fun, making out the whole time in the limo.
It was such a bittersweet moment.
The date.
The kiss.
The joy that I’d felt with him.
It was all so bittersweet.
Because in the end. . .our experience resembled the spilling sand of an hourglass, falling.
Leaving.
Going away.
In the limo, he held me in his arms, and I rested my head against his chest.
26 more days. . .
I did my best to not think about it anymore.
Friday, we repeated our rainy Wednesday, laying in bed under the covers. We lounged, entangled in each other’s caresses.
I wish this was more than. . .what we are. . .
I dreamt of us on Friday night. I woke up and promised myself that I would never allow myself to do it again.
He’s paying for no emotions. No attachments. No commitments. Remember.
Saturday, I played Eros for him all day, and then we fucked all night.
Sunday morning over breakfast, we discovered our shared love for gangster films. A movie interest that I’d gotten from Aunt Celina.
Jean-Pierre rented out a movie theater that afternoon. A private chef and staff served us champagne, sweetbreads cooked with mascarpone cheese, and smoked salmon stuffed with oysters. We watched a black-and-white French film named Rififi. It was an old heist classic from the 1950s. On the screen, gangsters planned a raid to grab diamonds.
Jean-Pierre handed me my third serving of champagne. “You said you loved Mission Impossible and Inception. Without Rififi, none of those would’ve existed.”
Leaning back into his embrace, I took a sip and loved the bubbly taste. “So, Rififi is the father of those types of heists?”
“Yes.” He stretched his arm around my shoulder. “From the robbery to the dialogue. For its time, Rififi was genre bending.”
On the screen, the hero gunned down someone trying to stop them.
I grinned. “I love the brutality. It’s very dark.”
He quirked his eyebrows. “You like dark brutality?”
“On film.”
“In music too?” he asked.
“Hmmm. I never thought about it. There are scary pieces in classical music.”
“Danse Macabre comes to my mind.”
“Yes.” I took a nibble of the salmon. “Danse Macabre by Camille Saint-Saëns? The title carried out the promise. And the song presents a magical story. Death, the violinist, makes the dead rise from their graves and dance a sinister tune.”
“It was one of my favorites as a kid.”
“I was creeped out by it when I was a kid.”
“Which is probably why I liked it,” Jean-Pierre admitted. “I love a little creepy.”
I laughed. “The Jaws© song scared me too.”
“I used to play that song on my violin and scare Rafael with it.”
They grew up together?
I blinked, wanting to ask more, but knowing my position in this moment was short-lived.
You’re the paid girlfriend. Remember.
The film played in front of us, and we slowly ignored it as we carried on with our conversation.
“What about Dream of a Witches’ Sabbath?” he asked.
“By Hector Berlioz.” I set my champagne down. “The best part of playing that song is when you have to use the back of the bow to create the bubbling cauldron sounds.”
“And don’t forget the sound of the funeral bell.”
“Apparently, witches make a lot of noise.”
Jean-Pierre turned to me. “I’m enjoying my time with you.”
“Me too.” I smiled. “And it’s going by so quickly. It’s already been a week.”
“Hmmm.” He returned to the screen. “I
didn’t realize that.”
“Yeah.” I wanted to say more, but he hadn’t paid for a babbling woman to discuss how much she wished for more time or how she wanted more from him.
Either way, he remained pretty quiet after that.
I lounged in his arms and finished the film, enjoying every moment.
The warmth of his muscular arm.
The film in front of us.
The romance all around us.
The way my heart boomed every time his thumb slipped up my wrist and slid down again.
When we arrived home that night, we didn’t make love. I was nervous that I’d pissed him off somehow. That night was different than all the rest.
For some reason, he placed candles around the room and lit them. In the background, Debussy’s Clare De Lune filled the air with a subtle piano melody.
We lay together.
My heart melted from him. Everything about him. His caresses. The heat of him. The sound of his breathing against my flesh. The satin of his skin. The silk of his hair. The hardness of his cock and muscular chest. The softness of his silence.
This whole experience was becoming so easy, yet heartbreakingly hard at the same time.
Chapter 24
No Threesomes Allowed
Eden
On the Monday of the second week, I didn’t see Jean-Pierre all day.
He’d spoiled me so much that the moments without him began to drag and bore me to death. I didn’t pick up Eros or browse the many books in the penthouse’s library. There were tons of messages on my phone from Shalimar, Leo, Dad, and even Aunt Celina. I didn’t listen to them or call anyone.
When is he coming back?
Completely restless, I wandered the penthouse’s hallways. All the men had disappeared, except for Louis who remained in the living room watching another soccer game.
This was a feeling I wasn’t used to experiencing. While I loved the pleasure of a man, I couldn’t name a guy that I’d missed after he’d gone. It made me question all the prior relationships I’d had before Jean-Pierre.
No. This isn’t a relationship. Chill out.
Clearing my head, I traveled through different parts of the penthouse. I had no destination in mind, nor was I even paying attention to where I was going.
Why am I so mopey? I should just play something or go for a walk outside.
I stretched out my hands and slid my fingertips along the walls as I walked.
