I lean back in my chair. Instead of the Geneva skyline that glitters outside the window—I have blackout curtains. But I don’t need to see it anymore. It’s all committed to my memory. I’ve watched this city change for over a hundred and fifty years. I’ve watched everything change.
And I’ve stayed the same.
ME: Honestly?
POPPY: Please.
ME: I was bored.
POPPY: Bored.
ME: Not bored exactly. Empty. I’ve been doing the same things for a very long time. Building companies. Managing assets. Attending functions where everyone wants something from me. It starts to feel like I’m watching my life from outside. Going through motions. Truth is that I stopped caring about all of it decades ago.
I pause. Delete the word “decades.” Replace it with “years.”
ME: Your request was different. You weren’t pretending. You said exactly what you needed—help getting through something hard with your dignity intact. No euphemisms. No games. Just honesty.
ME: I found that compelling.
POPPY: Compelling enough to fly to the Bahamas with a stranger?
ME: Compelling enough to want to know more.
Another pause. When her response comes, it’s softer somehow. I can hear the change in her voice even through text.
POPPY: That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me. And we haven’t even had our second date yet.
ME: Saturday. When I get back.
POPPY: When do you get back?
I look at the documents on the table. The meetings scheduled for the next five days. The century-old relationships I’m supposed to be maintaining.
ME: Soon.
POPPY: That’s vague.
ME: Friday night. I’ll pick you up Saturday at seven.
POPPY: For our practice date.
ME: For our date.
POPPY: Julian. You can’t just drop the word “practice” and expect me not to notice.
ME: I noticed that you noticed. I’m choosing to ignore it.
POPPY: That’s very mysterious of you.
ME: I’ve been told I’m good at mysterious.
POPPY: By who?
A memory surfaces: Vienna, 1847. A woman telling me I was “insufferably enigmatic” before kissing me in a moonlit garden. I push it down.
ME: Various people. Over the years.
POPPY: That’s even more mysterious. You’re doing it on purpose now.
