Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60726 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 304(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Claire.
I wanted to know about her as much as I wanted to forget her name.
Gideon sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face. “What if you’re right? What if I won’t be satisfied?”
A breath gusted out of me. I couldn’t help but feel relieved that he was at least asking himself that question.
“That box I’ve lived in hasn’t been expanded in years,” he admitted. “I’ve grown comfortable, but at the same time…” He exhaled and sent a look skyward. “What was once necessary structure has started to feel like a prison.”
Then he knew he had some thinking to do. Some decisions to make.
“There’s one thing I gotta ask,” I told him. “How does your fiancée agree to all this? You don’t strike me as someone who’s in an open relationship.”
He waved me off absently, lost in thought. “We’re not marrying for love. That helps.”
“Uh…” I kinda needed him here in the moment to elaborate. “What are you marrying for?”
For having been so private—like a fucking vault—he seemed to have no issues spilling everything now. “We look good together on paper, and she has political aspirations.” He paused. “My family is also becoming extinct, and she’s promised me children.”
Welp. That was that, then.
I averted my stare to another booth and cursed myself internally. I cursed that stupid, hopeless romantic in me.
To be honest, I never would’ve guessed Gideon’s dream in life was to have kids.
“So, there are no brothers and sisters popping out heirs in your family,” I concluded.
“Not even my parents did that. They tried for years, but I was their only child, and they had me late in life.” He flicked me a quick glance. “They’re dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
He shook his head minutely and gathered his napkin and the paper sleeves from his fries. “I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t mean for things to get heavy—or this personal. Now I’m uncomfortable.”
I could tell, and there was no time to halt him before he rose from his seat and carried the tray over to the trash bins.
He was slamming his walls back into place, and I couldn’t allow it. We didn’t have to continue with the heavy; I bet he was overwhelmed too, but I didn’t want him closing himself off.
On our way out of the restaurant, I asked him if there was a risk Claire or any of his neighbors could see him here.
He frowned in confusion. “Claire and I don’t live together yet—she has her own place across the park—and I don’t believe Mrs. Nelson is out walking her dog at this hour. Why?”
Well, then. I grinned and pulled him to me once we were outside, and I reached up to kiss him. “I wanted to steal a kiss, that’s all.”
He tested a small smile and kissed me chastely.
“Walk with me,” I murmured. “Let’s leave the heavy talk behind for a beat, and we’ll just walk. We can call the driver whenever we want.”
Even in the darkness of the street, the warmth seeping into his eyes was unmistakable.
“I’d like that,” he responded quietly. “May I ask you more questions?”
“Of course.” I was bold enough to grab his hand and link our fingers together, but he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m an open book.”
He glanced down at our hands as we reached the corner of Park Avenue, and he twisted his mouth upward slightly.
I was hooked on watching him process things.
“I’m curious about your job,” he said. “You said you gave up being a sex worker two years ago?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you have different personas?”
I quirked a brow.
“I’m wondering if you were always yourself with customers,” he clarified. “Or if you pretended to be someone else.”
Hmm. I studied him from the corner of my eye and wondered if he was asking for a specific reason. Like, if I was myself with him. If he was getting the real deal.
“Sometimes I added a layer, I guess you can say,” I answered pensively. It felt important that I explained this properly to him, ’cause I didn’t want him to misunderstand. “I’ve had clients who prefer boyish twinks, for instance—and clients who want to engage in conversation about their passions in life. So yeah, there’s been some pretending involved. I mean, this one guy loved Russian literature, and I had to pretend to be interested in listenin’ to him talk about it.” I paused. “Then I quit. I walked away because it became lonely. I was a quick and temporary fix to most of these men. I was the scratch to their itch.” I tightened my hold on Gideon’s hand when he tensed up next to me. “In the two years I worked for Tina, I became good at reading people. Put me in a room with twenty men, and I’ll point out the loneliest fucker in two minutes.”
That was the pain in my former field. It was flooded with loneliness. Men who hid who they were and tried to tell themselves that a quick fuck with a whore would be enough for them.