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The bathroom was warm, the heated towel rack on, everything clean and spotless. Again, in the back of my head, I marveled at his planning. Did he think of everything? Or was he just meticulous in whatever he did? He bent over and began running the bath. He put in some foaming bath oil, that same Jo Malone jasmine and mint scent, and turned towards me. He gave me one of those looks again. “Are you shy? You probably need a moment. I don’t mind, but maybe you do.” And he walked out, closing the door behind him. I was confused for a minute, and then I realized what he meant. Oh. Oh right. He didn’t mind. But I might. Did I?

Not really, I thought. But. That did mean intimacy. Closeness on another level. Almost like a couple. What did we have? And how could you be that close, that uninhibited in one way, and yet reticent in another? Human flesh, so complicated. Or was it the thinking?

I wondered if I should wait for him, but the bath looked so good, warm scented soft bubbles against the black and white tile. I climbed in, feeling slightly guilty. The water was soothing and I was just sinking in, when the bath water hit my bruised and beaten skin. I gasped. It stung like hell, and I lowered myself in, slowly, clenching my teeth. I wasn’t sure whether I was sorry he’d missed this spectacle, presenting him with more evidence of his power, or glad I’d shown my wounds to no one but myself. Either way, it was too late now, and the scent was calming. I felt like I’d been running for miles. All my muscles had been used, hard, and were now untwisting in the warmth.

Then the door opened, and he stood there on the threshold, completely naked. There were red marks from where the leather had rubbed against his torso and legs, and his chest was faintly glistening with sweat. His cock was still impressive, even in its normal state, slightly reddened against his heavy balls. He was animal and beautiful, and I felt like I was looking at a work of art. His beauty was so modern, but there was a whisper of something ancient in his proportions, strangely statuesque for someone so pulsing and alive. I returned my eyes to his face, to see him grinning at me. “You like?”

I smiled back. There was no need to speak about it. I was sure it was obvious how I felt.

“Did it hurt getting in?” He looked a little concerned, as he began climbing in the bath carefully opposite me.

“Yeah, it did a bit. Did you hear me?”

He laughed. “Ok, that was you. I thought I heard something.” He lay back and groaned, ducking his head under the water. He popped back up, dripping.

Wet was such a good look on him. He glistened, like a seal, his eyes at once darker and more sparkling in contrast to his almost black wet hair. He seemed to have an entire range of matching bottles and he chose one, and began washing himself, with a sort of sensual efficiency. I watched, forgetting about my own aches and soreness.

He rinsed his hair under the water again, and rubbed the water from his eyes. “Do you want me to wash your hair?”

“I’d love it.”

“Here, turn around.” I turned gently on my sore backside, and scooted up the tub until I was nestled between his legs. His hands were gentle, and his fingertips began firmly pushing at the tense spots in my skull. I closed my eyes and moaned softly, it felt so fantastic.

“You like?”

“It’s wonderful. It feels amazing.”

“Funny how much easier it is to talk about someone giving a massage than an orgasm, isn’t it?” And he continued adjusting the pressure points in my head, as I tensed up again. “It’s only an observation, no need to be alarmed.” He snorted.

He rinsed my hair with the shower attachment, and squeezed it out. “Come on little girl, I’m exhausted. It must be three in the morning. Let’s try and sleep.” He pulled the bath sheet off the rack, and wrapped me in it, rubbing his hands up and down my body. There it was again; that strange feeling of being looked after.

When he thought I was dry, he unwrapped the thick towel and dried himself off, carefully, like he was handling something precious. It was fascinating to see how he cared for his body. It didn’t take long, but there was an attention in his movements, the same attention he had paid to me.

“Interesting.” It came out of my mouth before I could stop it.

He looked up at me. He had been drying his feet. “What is?”

“Just you. Your attention to detail. The way you look after yourself.”

He looked thoughtful. “You get no extra points being careless. If you can’t take time over simple things, you miss the larger ones as well.” He finished, and folded the towel back over the rack, and flipped the lever to drain the bath.

• • •

“Come on darling. Come to bed.” And he held my hand as we walked back down the little stairs, over to the bed. He flung open the covers, and tucked me in, then went around the other side of the bed and climbed in. Oh, so that was his side, and this was mine. Ok. Then I realized what I’d thought. My side.

I was pushing away my domestic thoughts, when he leaned over and kissed me, sweetly and softly on the mouth. “It’s not what I expected,” he whispered against my lips. And he leaned back on the pillows and held his arm out. I nestled in, against his chest, and sighed. He kissed my head.

I needed to ask.

“Are you happy?”

I felt him smiling in the dark.

“Yes.”

I sat down and poured myself some tea. The voices were getting louder suddenly. I was taking a sip of the warm green tea when I heard Tristan’s voice quite distinctly. He sounded coldly furious.

“No, I won’t drop it. It’s really none of your business, is it?”

There was a protesting mumble.

“Yes, you’ve been great at protecting me. Thank you. Now—leave it alone.” I knew that tone of voice, the drawl that meant he was calming himself down. Yes, like the other night, when he did that. That slow down must mean he was holding back. I wondered what the argument was about, but I had my suspicions. There was another growling mumble. Then there was silence. Then Tristan’s voice again.

“We’ll see who is right after London. And you might want to rethink what you’re doing. I’ll see you at JFK tonight.”

I drew in my breath sharply. So this was about London. And he was leaving tonight. Sooner than expected. What would he see afterwards? I felt slightly sick. The real world intruding back, threatening my beautiful little bubble. I heard the front door open and close, and the sound of the elevator, distantly muffled through the walls. A moment later, Tristan was opening the kitchen door. He looked at me, startled. His mouth was a thin line of displeasure, and I quailed inside, even though I didn’t think he was angry with me.

“You’re up.” There was still a hint of fury in his voice. He stood there, tense.

“Yes, been sitting here for about 10 minutes.”

“So you heard everything.” He stared at me.

Direct, I thought. I needed to deal with this right away before it became more than it should.

“I didn’t actually. I heard you getting angry, and something about London. About what, I don’t know.” I was annoyed that I needed to justify myself, but I didn’t want any misunderstandings. And I wanted to know what this was about. “ ‘You’ll see after London.’ That’s it. That’s what came through the wall. I don’t listen at doors, you know. I just wanted to drink some tea, and get out of bed, see where you were.”

He turned his head, and stared out the window for a moment. Then he looked back at me. There it was again, that look, as though he were about to decide against something in favor of another.

I rushed to speak again, instead of just watching. “Tristan, look, I’m sorry. I don’t know what this is about, but it’s your business. Ok?”

He nodded, and sat down opposite from me, and poured himself a cup of tea, which he drank from, before he began speaking again.

“Lily, this does have to do with you. Partially. And we need to talk. About London. About what’s going to happen.”

My stomach turned over. Oh god, this was it. Being discreet. At best. I crossed my arms over my chest and waited for his pronouncement. I tried to feel business like. The only difficulty, aside from his pained expression, was the feeling of the silken fabric of the robe over my bruised backside and swollen breasts. I shook my head. Show nothing. “Ok, let’s talk. What is going to happen? And who was that?”

He poured some more tea. A pro. He wouldn’t be rushed on this. He took a sip, and jumped up again. “Do you want something to eat? A bagel? Cereal?”

My stomach was one big knot. I couldn’t even pretend. “No, thanks, I’m good.” I hesitated. I didn’t want to push it, but something was wrong. Like ripping open the envelope with the bad news, I wanted it right away. “Tristan, just tell me. I’m a big girl.”

He began to smile, just slightly. “Are you?” He laughed. “Yeah, I guess so.” He coughed, and shrugged his shoulders. The waves of anger that had been pouring off him before seemed lessened now.

I braced myself. This couldn’t be good.

“Look, Lily, that was my manager.”

I nodded.

“I’m not going to insult your intelligence. You know how he is. He’s particularly prickly about the girls, seeing as we’ve had some near misses…expensive near misses.”

The girls. I closed my eyes for a moment. And now me. What kind of idiot was I?

“He’s attached to me. And the money. Of course.” He gave a hollow laugh. “Always the money.”

I managed to breathe again. “So? What does this mean for London?”

He looked back at me. “London. Yeah. Well, he didn’t want you there in the first place, although he gave in. Your piece has been the best, will be the best. He can’t ignore that.”

“So, London?” I tried to think of the slippery ladder of success.

His voice was all business now. “You’ll still do the piece, of course. That’s set up. The show is next week. You’re going out in a couple of days, now, I’m going out tonight.” He stopped. “We won’t see each other, except for a brief interview after the show. Of course, you’re invited and very welcome to the party afterwards. But…”

I finished his line for him. “But we don’t know each other.”

“But we don’t know each other.” He nodded, his lips pulled together in a thin grimace. He looked angry. But at what?

I tried to ignore the aching pain that was beginning to take hold of my entire body. This game was hard. I cursed my sensitive self, and not for the first time, wished I could just be a super bitch about everything. Fuck. It.

“Yeah, well, of course.” Was that me? Yes. I seemed to be angry. Where was this coming from? It was almost like there was a complete psychic break, and I was marveling at myself, whoever that was, speaking. “Of course,” I repeated. “You said we needed to be discreet. That you didn’t do the boyfriend/girlfriend thing. I remember.”

He looked at me.

“It’s your launch. There’s going to be people you need to see, be seen with.” I took a breath. There was a sort of burning in my chest. “It’s not my first time at the rodeo, however much you’re amusing yourself with the idea.” I looked away from him.

“Listen, Lily, it’s the timing, it’s just…”

I interrupted him. “Tristan, don’t apologize. I knew what this was. I’m enjoying it, so are you? Great.” I took a deep breath. “Look, you’re a nice guy. I’m sure. You’ve got my number, I have yours, the magazine will set up everything. Of course I’ll come to the after party. Can I bring a plus 1? There’s a lot of people I haven’t seen for a while in London, it’s a great chance to, um, hook up with them.”

Tristan sucked in his cheeks. And looked away. When he turned back to face me, his eyes were studying me. There were two lines on his forehead formed by him furrowing his brow. “Of course. Bring a couple. Bring who you like.” His voice was flat and low, without energy.

I stood up. “I’ve got to go, ok? I need to sort out some things before I leave.”

He nodded. “I’ll let you get your clothes.” And he stood, and walked off, slowly, towards the living room.

I ran back in the bedroom, and threw out what was left of my panties and while fastening my bra at whirlwind speed. I threw the dress around myself, and tied the belt. I ran my fingers through my hair, not really looking at myself. There was nothing there I wanted to see. And I walked back out of the bedroom, not looking back.

Tristan was in the living room, waiting.

I walked past him, avoiding looking at him. Just another trick, I kept thinking. Just another trick. I’m a whore, and he is just another…episode. My shoes were by the chair. The manager must have seen them. Of course he knew I was there. I slipped my feet into the cool leather, welcoming the extra height. I needed the power.

I could feel him watching me.

I turned towards him. He was silent. “My jacket?”

“Oh, right.” He loped up the three stairs to the closet, and pulled my leather jacket out, and held it up for me. I followed him and let him help me with it. He ran his hand down over my shoulder, down my arm, to my hand, and grasped my fingers. “Lily, listen…”

I looked at him. The burning feeling was getting worse. Just another trick. I pulled my hand away and put my finger on his lips. God, they were so soft. No.

“Tristan, don’t. It’s ok. Really.” And I kissed him, on the cheek, feeling his stubble under my lips. I breathed in, and closed my eyes. Just for a minute.

We stood there, not moving, not speaking.

I stepped away from him, and pressed the button for the lift. He was looking at me. I tried to look at my shoes, but I could feel his gaze. And I turned my face up to his. His eyes were dark, but not like before, and the shadows under them were pronounced. He looked tired, and beautiful. A little like the very first time I had seen him up close.