by Vivien Vale
“The beach.”
I nod and push any silly thoughts about my looks, the future, and any other shit out of my head. This is supposed to be about getting to know each other before entering our bargain, and that’s what I should focus on—getting to know Daniel.
When we get to the beach, I can’t believe my eyes. Two deck chairs have been set up for us, and in between is a table with a silver bucket filled with ice and a bottle of champagne next to two long-stemmed glasses.
Floating in the water just ahead of us is a jet ski. I’ve only ever seen those things zoom by and never up close like this.
“Can we ride this thing? I ask, feeling like a little girl about to walk into a toy store to pick her favorite toy.
Daniel nods. “If you want to.”
Do I want to? Of course I want to!
I’m no adrenaline junkie, but I do like the idea of traveling across the turquoise-colored water at breakneck speed, the wind in my hair, and the saltwater invading my lungs and nostrils.
I was right not to put on makeup today.
I sit behind Daniel, even though he offered me the steering wheel. I enjoy resting my head on his broad shoulders and wrapping my arms around his abdomen.
This is crazy awesome. So this is what you get to do if you have money.
Usually, I have to debate whether I can afford to treat myself to a trip to the hairdresser or wait for a few days more to save money.
I would never be able to buy a jet ski, let alone be able to store it somewhere.
After we’ve ridden up and down the sea, Daniel takes me back to shore. Spontaneously, I jump off and swim the last few meters. I love the feel of the cool water on my skin. I dive under to get my hair wet, too.
When I walk out, my skin is prickling from the salt and cool air. I feel alive.
Daniel comes up beside me and holds my hand. I glance at him and briefly toy with running my hand down his back, but I stop myself. It’s a bit exposed here.
Even though we’ve already indulged in some pretty public stuff already, I tell myself wryly.
“Champagne, my love?”
I nod and take the glass. I sip and drink, soaking up what’s on offer. Daniel, primarily.
When it’s time for lunch, we walk back to the resort. Along the way, Daniel goes to great lengths to introduce to me some of his staff.
“Hey, George.” He waves to someone working the grounds. A great big straw hat covers the man’s face. When he looks up, he smiles and waves.
Daniel takes me by the hand and leads me over.
“George, meet Rose.”
The older man takes his hat off and wipes the sweat from his face with the back of his hands.
“Nice to meet you, madam.”
I blush and stammer a thank you. No one has ever called me madam before I came to Daniel’s resort.
The man smiles and turns to Daniel. “Nice day for the beach.”
They exchange a few more pleasantries before we walk on. A large lady pushing a heavy-looking trolley comes down the pathway.
“Ah, Linda!” Daniel calls out. “Come meet Rose.”
Again, I shake hands with one of his staff. I am even more embarrassed when Linda does a little curtsy.
When she’s gone, I turn to Daniel.
“You don’t have to introduce to me everyone, you know.” I feel a little out of my depth.
Daniel’s eyes have that special glint I already like about them.
“Of course I do. I’m sure you’ll be back, either as the mother of my child, or as a friend, at the very least.”
He pauses and tucks a loose strand of wet hair behind my ear. “Let’s hope it’s the former.”
His staff has already prepared the most delicious lunch imaginable.
Daniel pulls out my chair at a small table on the restaurant’s veranda overlooking the beach.
I could get used to a view like this, no doubt.
A tall, thin waiter comes to take our order.
“Could I have a lemon, lime and bitters, please?”
“Of course, madam,” he says with a slight bow. “And would you like a fresh lemon with that?”
I nod, feeling a lump form in the back of my throat. This entire experience is surreal, and I never want it to end.
After lunch, I lean back in my chair and find Daniel staring at me. His lips are curled up into a smile.
“I’m exhausted,” I confess.
He nods. “I know. Let’s go and get a massage.”
I stare at him. Where does he get the energy? “I don’t think I’m up for walking anywhere.”
“You don’t have to. I’ll get someone to come to our room.”
And sure enough, less than ten minutes later, I’m sitting on the deck chair on the balcony of our room, someone massaging my feet.
On the little table to my right is a steaming mug of coffee and a small plate of a selection of delicious chocolates.
I sigh.
“Something wrong?” Daniel says, looking concerned.
I shake my head. “No, not at all,” I reassure him quickly, wondering how to put what’s on my mind into words.
“It’s just...” I start, then hesitate before deciding to bite the bullet. If this is about getting to know each other, I have to learn to speak freely to him.
“I do enjoy all this.” I wave my arms around in an all-encompassing gesture. “But I’m a little overwhelmed. I’m used to simpler things. Do you think we can do something a bit simpler?”
Instead of exploding in an angry tirade, Daniel smiles and nods eagerly, like it’s the best suggestion he’s ever heard.
“Of course. Tomorrow. I promise, tomorrow we’ll do something normal.”
I smile, relieved and excited at the same time. I can’t wait to see what Daniel’s idea of normal is.
Daniel
Okay, so I need to wrap my head around this concept of doing something simple. I’ve gone out of my way to show this girl how the rich and famous lead their lives and she asks for this.
I scratch my head.
But, of course, I agreed to her request. I mean, what else could I do? I want to spoil this girl and make each and every one of her dreams come true.
Her wish should be my command.
It’s easy for me. I’ve got the backing. She wants to look at the beach? No problem. I whisk her away to one of my resorts and make sure she gets a view of the beach—her own private beach.
If she wants a ride on a helicopter, no worries. I can arrange anything money can buy.
Diamonds, sapphires, and emeralds are easy to purchase. Vacations to any destination can be arranged, as can any mode of transportation―from expensive sports cars to a horse-drawn carriage, if that’s what her heart desires.
Of course, a trip around the world or a visit to a five-star restaurant would all be a piece of cake.
And boy, have I dated some girls with demands. Actually, demands is probably the wrong word. More like expectations.
Let me be the first to tell you, women have fucking high expectations of men, particularly men with money.
About three girlfriends ago, I was asked if I could arrange a meet-and-greet with some famous singer I had never even heard of.
When Rose asked me earlier today for a favor, I was expecting a list of requests from meeting Hollywood superstars to buying her a diamond ring and a fucking Ferrari.
But Rose asked for nothing like that. She wants simple.
I can’t fucking believe I’m thinking this, but Rose is definitely the marrying kind. The kind who takes joy in the simple, everyday things in life. The kind who wants a baby.
A family.
And I’m even more shocked to admit that I’m on the same fucking page.
I watch her as she’s curled up into a little ball, fast asleep. Her chest is rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
She looks peaceful and happy. Maybe she’s dreaming about tomorrow already. If only I had a clue what a simple day really means.
; I don’t want to ask her. I don’t want her to think I’m a complete idiot who doesn’t know how to treat a woman on a date. We’re supposed to be getting to know each other.
I sigh.
I guess hiring a private yacht with a personal crew and chef to take us sailing wouldn’t be classified as simple. It’s just a guess, but I think I’m fucking dead right about that one.
What about hiring a private guide to take us on a luxury cruiser—no, I’m pretty sure Rose would not call that simple.
My head hurts from all the thinking I’m doing.
Rose mumbles something in her sleep. I can’t make out specific words, but I imagine she’s saying my name and showering me with compliments.
I’m surprised at myself. I find it interesting that I will go to great lengths to impress this girl. I mean, this is turning into hard fucking work.
And I’m completely game for it.
And I’m impressed Rose is asking me to tone things down. Human nature and my own experience dictate that people want more.
Once the carrot of luxury and what money can do for you is dangled in front of someone’s nose, their appetite is piqued, and they can’t get enough of what they once only dreamed of.
Clueless as to what ‘simple’ thing we can do tomorrow, I do the only thing anyone would do in my situation. I consult Dr. Google. Sure enough, after I type in simple things to do on a date, it takes less than two seconds for three hundred and fifteen billion results to appear.
I scroll through the results, scanning the headlines.
Fifty Fun Things to Do on a Budget
One Hundred and One Ideas to Do With Your Date if you Have no Money
Twenty-five Ways to Impress Your Date on a Shoestring Budget
I cringe at each and every one of those headlines. I don’t want to read about things to do with Rose on a budget. There’s no budget to stick to. My budget is, well, it’s whatever I fucking want it to be.
But her words buzz around my head like bees in a bottle looking for the way out.
After taking a deep breath, I open one of the promoted websites.
The picture of a couple strolling along the beach, hand-in-hand, catches my eye. They look like they’re walking into the sunset.
I scroll through the list of cheap things to do. The suggestions range from walking hand-in-hand to browsing a second-hand bookstore or visiting an art gallery.
I can’t see how any of those things will appeal to Rose. They’re too simple.
With a sigh, I click onto another site.
Surprise, surprise. It’s another suggestion for walking along the beach holding hands, going on a picnic. Visiting local bric-a-brac shops, making a fire outside and toasting marshmallows, and visiting a park to feed the ducks. Fucking seriously?
I frown. Were these people for real? Who writes this shit? I want to spoil Rose and impress her, not bore her to tears.
The longer I search on the world-wide-web, the more confused I get. One thing’s for sure—the most common piece of advice is that walking hand-in-hand on the beach thing―or anywhere for that matter, as long as it’s fucking hand-in-hand.
I’m not convinced, but I vow to give it a go tomorrow. I promised we’d do something simple, and I never renege on a promise.
The next morning, I’m prepared to put my research to the test. There’s something else I found out about Rose when I did some online research on her after we first met.
“Morning, my beautiful Rose,” I greet her, holding a breakfast tray.
Rose yawns, stretches, and blinks a few times. Her nose wrinkles a little as she sniffs the air.
“Mmmm,” she begins, “what do I smell?”
“I’m glad you asked.” I put the tray down to show her what I prepared. “Black coffee, toast, and sausage.”
I want to say, I hope this is simple enough for you, but I bite my tongue just in time.
Instead, I say, “I kind of did a little research on you and saw you like sausage.” I hesitate when I feel those large cinnamon eyes on me. “I…um…I assume you like this kind of sausage,” I point to the cooked sausage on the plate, “and not this one.” I point to my groin.
Rose bursts out laughing. It’s a belly laugh, the kind that has her doubled over, holding her abdomen.
Hearing her laugh makes me feel good, makes me feel like I’ve achieved something.
There are tears streaming down her face, and she wipes them away.
“Oh, Daniel.” She’s trying to catch her breath. “What can I say?” She grins, and it’s a wicked one, like a drink that I want to fucking drown in. “I like them both. But I like the sausage to eat, and yours…well, you know where I like yours.”
A glow sparks in me and quickly grows into a flame.
We eat breakfast in bed and laugh and joke about all sorts of things.
“So, what are we going to do today?” When she’s finished eating, she curls up, cradling her cup of coffee and staring at me expectantly.
For a few seconds, I’m so mesmerized by her that I forget what she asked.
“Um, yes. Today. I thought we’d do something simple before we head home in the late afternoon.” I can’t understand why I’m suddenly acting like a fucking teenage boy who has never talked to a girl before.
“Sounds good.” Rose leans forward and gives me a little kiss on the nose. “I’ll go and freshen up.”
It’s a slow start to the day, which suits me. I’m still a little uncomfortable with this simple day concept.
When Rose is finally ready to leave the room, we head outside. She looks at me expectantly.
I lace our fingers together, and I see her steal a glance at me.
With a deep breath, I take a step toward the beach.
“I thought we’d simply go for a walk today. Look at the water, collect some shells and,” I hesitate, “you never know, build a sand castle.”
With a confidence I don’t feel, I start to walk. To my surprise, she falls in step with me and grips my hand a little tighter.
As we stroll along the edge of the water, me holding Rose’s hand, I catch her looking at me in wonder from time to time, and it makes me feel like a million fucking dollars.
Looks like this simple thing isn’t so hard after all. And as we walk on the edge of the water, the waves lapping at our feet, I think it’s actually not a bad way to spend a date.
I feel very proud of myself, like I really achieved something today. I have this insatiable desire to prove to Rose that I can be anything she wants me to be.
I don’t understand it. I’ve never felt like this about any woman before, and I’m suddenly really fucking glad I went into that tea shop…
Rose
Some weeks go faster than others, and this week slots somewhere in the not-quite-fast-enough lane.
It’s a little bit difficult to concentrate on my work. My mind is on other things, and every time the phone buzzes to let me know there’s a text message, I feel the need to look at it right away.
I devour each and every one of Daniel’s little messages.
When I read his latest text, I’m giddy with excitement. I feel like a little girl about to eat her first candy.
It’s silly, really. Why should I be this thrilled he’s asking me on another date? I mean, we all know this isn’t going to be love, but a business arrangement. But I can’t help my feelings.
It’s nice to know he’s still interested after last weekend.
So…I was just thinking…are you free this weekend?
I chew my bottom lip and stare at my computer screen. It’s blank, reminding me I’ve done almost no work today.
Should I just reply with an Of course I’m free or does that make me look desperate? I don’t want to look as desperate as I feel.
I could write back something a bit more cryptic maybe, string him along a little. Although I don’t know how good it is to play this game of I’m busy, I need to check my schedule.
Jesus, life can be really hard so
metimes. Where’s the user manual?
I mean, when you go and buy any kind of appliance, it always come with a manual. And any furniture you purchase has instructions on how to put things together. Although some of those instructions are not exactly clear either.
Briefly, I ponder what the manual of life would look like.
How to Survive Being a Baby
No. I shake my head. You couldn’t start the manual to life at babyhood. I mean, babies can’t read. All a baby can do is eat and scream and sleep.
And I’m desperate to have one.
Maybe chapter one starts with how to survive turning eighteen. Yes, that would be a good starting point.
It could be given to you on your eighteenth birthday. Would it matter that you’d already committed a whole lot of mistakes by then?
The second chapter would be about dating etiquette. And if everyone read the book, they would know what to do.
Of course, I’m not really dating Daniel. It’s not like we met on an online dating service or at a club and wanted to get to know each other.
Quite the opposite. I don’t think he’s really looking for a relationship, and deep down, I’m not either.
But as we both are acutely aware, the biological clock is ticking—more for me than for Daniel. I mean, men can have babies at any old age.
I’m pretty sure I read about a guy who was something like eighty and had fathered triplets. Crazy, I know.
My eyes go back to the text.
What did you have in mind?
I re-read the message and then delete it. No, it’s too…I don’t know, too something.
Where will you take me to this time?
I squint. It reads a little better.
I sigh.
Should I Google my response? Would I find the answer?
Without further thought or hesitation, I decide to press send. I’ve agonized over this little text for long enough. And it’s not like I’m trying to come off any certain way because we’re going to be together in any real sense of the word, right?
This is just a getting-to-know-you experiment to make sure we want to take this baby bargain all the way.
Instantly, his reply comes back.
