"Third, we're going to limit the time we spend together. You know that you're the most amazing, mind-blowing lover I could ever hope to have. But sex isn't everything. I can't be in your bed every night and have a real life away from you. And I need a real life away from you if I am to continue to enjoy you. You can't be my life if there's no chance we'll ever have a life."
He waited a moment before he spoke. "So, what's the limit? On the time we can spend together?"
I hadn't really gotten that far in my thinking.
"Really, Raina," he pressed, "Twice a week, three times a week? If I don't see you one week can I get four days in a row?" He spat the questions out with some bitterness. It clearly wasn’t what he wanted. Well too fucking bad. It isn't really what I want, either.
"A few times a week. Don't get petty about it. I'm not going to keep a calendar and check off days."
"Does lunch count or are we just talking actual dates ?"
"Tristan, please."
He was pissed that he couldn't have everything his way. But I could see him soften. I wasn't being unreasonable, after all. How could he expect me to turn my very existence over to a man who adamantly rejected a future?
"Very well, then. But one last thing."
"Shoot."
"You have to keep the stuff I've already bought for you."
"Okay."
"And I think I ought to be able to give you gifts. What's the use of having money if I can't spend some on you?" I had to laugh at the little boy way he almost whined that out.
"What's wrong with flowers . . . or chocolate?"
"Hmmpff," he pouted.
"Most men would be thankful that I'm not a gold-digger."
"I'm not most men."
"That much I know." I pulled him down beside me on the couch and kissed him with affection and desire. "It won't be so bad, you'll see. Let's just enjoy each other."
He pulled me tightly against his chest and breathed against my hair. "Let's not waste any time. Let's start enjoying right now."
So began the edgy dance that would carry us along for many weeks.
Ten
My life at Clemson's Bookmark, on both floors, was more than I could have expected. Manhattan was a different world than Brooklyn. I had grown up in New York City, but Manhattan made me feel like a country hick. I had many occasions to be thankful for the wardrobe Tristan had supplied me for our trip to Chicago. It made feel less a rube when I walked down the busy streets full of finely dressed professionals hustling about their daily lives. Of course there were bums and eccentrics garbed in all sorts of outlandish outfits, but I wanted to fit in with the purposeful men and women who dressed like they were going somewhere.
When Jenn finally made it into the city to see my apartment on her winter break she couldn't believe my luck. Mom had helped me brighten it up with some colorful prints and the worn, but still nice rag rug from my bedroom was just the trick to liven up the living room. I had fresh flowers in every room. True to form, Tristan had held me to my word on accepting flowers and sent me fresh bouquets several times a week.
"So you're still with Tristan." It wasn't a question. It was more of a challenge.
"I wouldn't say 'with'. We're still seeing each other." I tried to sound casual as if going out with a gorgeous billionaire I was crazy about was just another every day part of my life.
"C'mon. You're talking to me here, Rains. Truth time."
"That is the truth. We made a deal. He won't commit farther than next Monday and I won't let have my life one day at a time. Let's say I'm on a diet--a Tristan King diet."
"So how often do you see him and what do you do?"
"Twice a week, sometimes three times. A lunch now and then when he can get away from his desk. There's a big push at the end of the year in the world of high finance."
"And?"
"And . . . we eat at one fantastic restaurant after another. He's got a box at Lincoln Center and season tickets to everything whether he uses them or not. I had two days off in a row and we flew to Bermuda for a 48 hour getaway. See all these flowers? I could open my own funeral home. Check the refrigerator. Bet you won't recognize some of the chocolates in there. I hardly have room for actual food."
"And?"
"And . . . each evening we spend together ends in atom splitting, planet shifting, nuclear meltdown worthy sex."
"Sleep over?"
"Sometimes, if I don't have to work. Mostly I come home, though. It's a little easier on me. He lives at the Dakota, you know. It's only a dozen blocks."
"How convenient."
"Yes and I see where you're going with that. I thought maybe there was some clever engineering going on with the job, too. At the beginning when Mr. Clemson talked about his grandson being behind the whole computerized book catalog, I thought maybe Tristan had pulled some stunt. But last week I actually met Boyd Clemson. He's genuine, and a nice guy, too."
"Looks like you've come to an arrangement that works. Good for you."
"It works . . . to a point. Tristan still takes up most of my conscious thought, though. The more I'm with him, the more I want to be with him. But I've got to keep control of it or I'll lose myself like I almost did before. I can't let him make me crazy, Jenn."
"What about other people? Is this thing with Tristan exclusive?"
"We've never discussed it. Bizarre, huh? But I think that exclusive would definitely fall under the category of some sort of forbidden expectation of commitment."
"Maybe you should see someone else. Get a perspective on normal."
"Jenn, other guys aren't even alive to me anymore."
"That's not healthy or fair to you. You think that limiting yourself to seeing Tristan a few times a week somehow gives you control but that's an illusion. He runs you just as if he had you 24/7."
"I can't imagine wanting anyone but Tristan to touch me."
"Who said anything about touching? But if you don't at least expose yourself to other men, you could be on this merry-go-round with Tristan King forever. Or at least until he get tired of you and trades you in on a more cooperative model."
That thought ran cold through my blood. The thought of Tristan doing to some other woman the things he did to me was almost unbearable. And that bit of self-discovery brought me up short. Jenn was right, the devil's bargain I had made was an illusion.
"Jenn," I said wretchedly, "I don't know what to do. I'd rather cut off my right tit than never to see him again. But you're right. I think the only thing I've accomplished anything by limiting the time I spend with him is to make me more miserable."