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“Now, people are going to see my nipple through my dress.” Her complaint is cute.
“We better make them match then.” Reaching over with my hand I pinch the other, making sure to soothe it as well.
“Happy?” Looking down at her, I let cruelty bleed into the word.
Impossibly she melts into me. Softened by the soft luxury and the play, she’s pretty and pliant.
Her hand drifts up scraping my nipples softly before she pinches me in return. The sting goes straight to my dick.
“Little bitch,” I growl against her mouth dipping my tongue in, loving that my kitten is learning she has claws.
“You started it.” Her pout is all petulant cuteness as we pull up into the private entrance of Le Pre Catalan.
No sooner than we come to a stop is the driver helping her out and we’re being ushered into the dining salon.
The room is at capacity and I’m not surprised at Taylor’s shocked expression.
I wait until we are seated and given menus before I address the obvious question in her gaze. “I feel it’s well pastime that we go out more.”
“Going out is a movie at the cineplex. You brought me to Paris.” She shakes her head like I’m being over the top.
“Thus going out among our set,” I deadpan, turning my attention to the wine list.
“Lafitte de Rothschild,” I tell the sommelier who nods approvingly then bows to us before taking the wine list.
“Still, I’m having the most fantastic time.” She smiles prettily her thanks as the first course is being served. The way she always acknowledges people no matter their job humbles me. She taught me to see people I was raised to take for granted.
People from our set never acknowledge those that work for us. We simply take their service as our right. In the beginning, I thought it gauche until I realized that she actually meant it. Something shifted in me then. To say she makes me better is too trite a term, no. I’m not even sure I want to be that person. Will people ever be anything more than bags of flesh better left for dead to me? Hardly. But how I treat them matters to her, and she matters to me. Maybe the only one who does outside of my siblings. So, in that respect, my perspective has been grudgingly shifted. I haven’t decided if I should hate her for that or not. She’ll definitely be punished deliciously for any smiles I give.
“Hai, I did too,” I return to her. “The play reminds me of your work, in fact, just as most of the critics say.”
“Really? Have you read all of them?” She smiles tremulously, as if she fears what I will say. I can sense her tension rising at the possibility of a critique.
“No.” Slowly shaking my head, I watch the disappointment filter across her face. “I’ve seen them all.” Taking a sip of the wine, I let it wash over my tongue, savoring her shocked look more than the bouquet of the ten-thousand-dollar vintage.
“What — how?” She leans forward, her gaze searching my face for the lie.
“I have always found a way,” I tell her, shaking out the napkin and lying it across my lap. “When your first play was picked up on Broadway. It was during the final run that I finally got the chance to see it.” I leave out what we both know. While she’d been running in smaller theaters trying to get noticed Iwas being treated for my mental illness. Complete lockdown in an institution leaves little time for an excursion to another continent for theater performances.
“It became easier once I secured a place in New York.” I let the words sink in.
“I didn’t know,” she tells me, worry spilling across her face.
“I didn’t want you to know.” I wave her concerns away, knowing why she worries. She acted like she was a free agent dating and the like. Thankfully for her sake nothing ever came from her admirers.
“Did you like pretending you were single?” Giving her a little wink, I nod for the main course.
“It was for appearances,” she says, her eyes not meeting mine. She casts around for the words. “There were so many rumors about how I got financing and why it was anonymous. It got nasty. Marc Lukas, the critic, I don’t know if you remember him. He died in a really bad car accident. Well, he panned Heart Less, calling it trite and too sentimental. He heavily alluded to me not having talent, and me being funded by some indulgent sugar daddy.”
Nodding, I take another sip, savoring my words. “Indeed. I remember quite clearly.” Her head bobs and she spears her savory duck. Watching her lovely lips cover the tines and the way her white teeth pull the flesh from the fork, I wait, not wanting her to choke. At least not without my hands on her throat. Swallowing the food, she follows with the wine.
“I made sure he suffered before his car exploded.” The duck has a delicious tang.“Even sweeter after that little confession,” Hesnickers, sliding back into the darkness.
Eyes widening as my words settle over her, Taylor looks around making sure we’re not being overheard. “You did what?”
I shake my head. “I’m sure I don’t know what you are referring to.” Quirking my brow, I let her know to drop it. One never repeats such a thing. The other person simply misheard.
She visibly swallows.
