“Why have you sent me a bill for four hundred pounds? I thought I was on a free trial,” she said, voice full of indignation.
“Use of our technology is free, yes, but there are charges for incidentals.” There was a clicking sound as Avery checked something on a computer. Why was she sitting at her computer on aSaturday afternoon? “Dinner, Chez Roque; Vinted purchase, one silk cocktail dress; protein shakes; phone bill; flower shop; Starbucks. You will be invoiced for all the purchases your Perfect Partner makes. This was made clear in the terms and conditions.” She paused. “You can change your settings to a ‘no purchase’ option, but we find that emasculates the BoiBots. There is also an option to approve each spending item on the app, if you go to settings.” Avery paused again. “For the majority of our clients, this isn’t a problem.”
Chloe swallowed. She felt so stupid. Rob had talked about his job so believably; she’d just assumed he really did make money doing computer programming. But since there was no such thing as a free lunch,clearlythere was no such thing as a free robot boyfriend who bought you dresses and coffees and flowers and books. She really should have read all those terms and conditions.
“At the end of the trial, if you sign up for our subscription service, there are ways you can recoup costs,” Avery went on, as though following Chloe’s thought pattern. “But we don’t offer that until you’re committed to the program long-term.”
“What do you mean ‘recoup costs’?” Chloe asked, her skin prickling.
“Rob is a valuable resource. When he’s not with you, he could be doing any number of paid tasks—writing copy for websites, manning call centers, even performing minor surgeries. There’s a lot of tedious red tape to get through, but we can help with all that.” Avery paused. “The downside is, if you put him to work, he won’t be as accessible to you, you might compromise on bandwidth. And our primary goal is to have someone a hundred percent dedicated to you and your needs.” Avery sounded like she was reading a script. “However, if cost is anissue for you, we can discuss ways to help you make this commitment long-term.”
Chloe felt sick to her stomach. This is why there weren’t any fairy tales about dating robots. It rather killed the romance if your story ended, “And then she set up a long-term payment plan so she could afford the bandwidth for her happy ending.”
“This is an investment in your future, Chloe,” Avery went on. “Our data shows that having a perfect partner increases a client’s earnings by an average of thirty-four percent, so really this pays for itself. Clients also notice an improvement to their health, their confidence. What price would you put on being happy, successful…loved?”
Chloe felt like there was a Rubik’s cube in her brain, each twist trying to align the colors of right and wrong. Morally, ethically, this felt off. But Avery had a point. Robhadhelped her stand up for herself with McKenzie, and he was making her stick to her latest health kick. He wasn’t just a romantic partner; he was a coach, a mentor, a therapist. And even though these new feelings for John were muddying the water, and the number of cons on her pros and cons list was growing, the thought of having to give him back made her feel uneasy. Like the feeling you got when you lost your phone, the quiet, gnawing sense of being without something you hadn’t realized you were depending on.
“We’ll talk about your financial options on Monday,” Avery said breezily. “In the meantime, if you’re worried about expenditures, just change the settings on the app.”
Chloe hung up, feeling the unease return like an incoming tide as she walked in circles around the Rad Cam. This felt like that time she got addicted to TikTok after her breakup with Peter. She knew it wasn’t healthy, but she couldn’t stop scrolling, distracting herself from reality, anything not to feel theemptiness. Was Rob TikTok? No, no, he wasn’t. Because Rob was a good influence; he was pushing her to be the person she wanted to be. But what about John, this spark she felt between them? She frowned. She didn’t know if that was real, it could be all in her head. After walking around the Rad Cam eight times and coming no closer to any clarity, she did the only thing she could think of: she called Wendy.
“Let me guess, you went back,” Wendy said, her voice gloating.
“I did,” Chloe said guiltily. “And I’m sorry for being angry with you before.”
“Don’t worry, hon. It’s a lot to get your head around. So, tell me, have you slept with him yet?” Wendy asked, her voice full of delight.
“No. I wanted to ask you something. How do you deal with Patrick not having a past, a life? Do you talk about it?”
“Not really. We mainly talk about me,” Wendy said with a tinkling laugh. “No, seriously, Patrick does have a life—a life with me. We have so many shared memories now, and they are all real. At the start, he’d tell me about his ‘family’ or his childhood, but I didn’t need that level of role-play to feel connected.” Wendy paused. “Think of the best relationship you’ve been in. You loved their company in the present, right? Their appeal wasn’t a past that you weren’t a part of. You just need to recalibrate your expectations, hon.”
“I got a bill,” Chloe said quietly, “for all the things he’s been buying me.”
“Oh, I would have warned you about that if I’d known you were going back, they sneak it into the Ts and Cs. Patrick bought me a Gucci bag on our second date; I’m still paying it off.” She cackled. “Honestly, it’s not a big deal. Now I’m set up, he worksfour hours a day for an online fraud detection company, so he’s contributing financially.” She paused. “Look, if it’s not for you, it’s not for you, but if it is, you can make it work. You’re in control, that’s the beauty of it.”
“What if you want children? Theoretically speaking,” Chloe asked. “How would that even work?”
Wendy didn’t miss a beat. “Easy. You find a donor, then you get your partner’s programming upgraded to the Perfect Father package. PP can arrange it all. It’s expensive, but probably no more than a full-time nanny. I know someone who’s done it. The Perfect Father does every night feed, reads all the literature, can rock a baby for hours without complaining. She’s the only mum I know who doesn’t look like crap,” Wendy laughed. Chloe tried to laugh too, but the sound caught in her throat as the Rubik’s cube twisted again. Was this dystopian horror or a perfect emancipation from the patriarchy? She didn’t know. What she did know was that she couldn’t laugh about it like Wendy could.
As she walked back into Lincoln, she decided she would talk to Rob about his expenses, tell him to stop spendinghermoney on buying her presents. But when she opened the door to their room, she found a scene she wasn’t expecting.
Classical music was playing. Rob had moved the desk to the middle of the room. On it was her favorite iced latte and a square package, perfectly wrapped in lilac tissue paper, tied with a dark purple bow.
“What’s all this?” she asked, looking from the desk back to Rob.
“Open it,” he said, rubbing his palms together, eyes bright with anticipation, eager for her to see whatever it was.
She walked across to the desk and picked up the parcel,carefully unwrapping the bow, then ripping open the tissue paper.
Inside was a leather-bound notebook, the kind that felt too beautiful to write in. The cover was a deep matte purple, smooth under the fingers, with just enough texture to catch the light. Along the spine, delicate gold foiling traced an elegant border, like the gilded edge of an old spell book. When she opened it, she found thick cream pages, lined in the subtlest gray. The edges of the paper were gilded too, catching in the sunlight that shone through the window. It smelled of bookshops and new leather.
“What’s this for?” she asked, unable to hide her delight.
“One more thing,” Rob said, taking a silver fountain pen from his pocket. Then he moved to pull out the chair for her. “I thought you could write something.”
She blinked up at him. “Write what?”
“Anything. It doesn’t matter. You keep saying you haven’t written anything in three years, so let’s write something now, then that won’t be true anymore.” He paused. “Do you like the notebook? They had pink and red too, but I thought purple for you. I can run and exchange it if—”
