clung to him,
unbalanced. His sweater felt soft under her fingers. “I like you,”
she whispered in the understatement of the year.
“I like you too,” he said, smoothing back her
hair. “I’m excited you’re coming to Paris. I hope, when we’re
there...”
He left the suggestion trailing and she
picked it up with an avid nod. “I would love to spend more time
with you. We can do whatever you like.”
He made a teasing, warning sound. “You should
probably figure out what I like before you offer me whatever I
like.”
“I only meant that I was open to
exploring…you know…some kind of relationship between us.” She
didn’t know if she’d said too much, or not enough. Her English was
pretty good, but she’d never engaged in these kinds of
negotiations.
To her relief, Jason smiled and kissed her
again. “There will definitely be ‘some kind of relationship’
between you and me. But for a while...in the beginning...” He
paused, his smile fading. “In the beginning, we’ll need to be
discreet. My behavior toward you would be considered unprofessional
by the people I work with. Inappropriate, really. It’s best if you
don’t tell anyone how we met.”
“I understand. The sex club, the BDSM.”
“Oh, you don’t have to hide that. At the
Cirque...” He paused. “Well, I’ll explain later. It’s not the BDSM
that’s inappropriate. It’s that I came here to scout you as an act,
so if we return as Master and slave, with you wearing my collar,
some eyebrows are gonna go up.”
Sara touched her neck. “I don’t like collars
anyway. They remind me of work.”
He traced over her fingers, trapping them in
his hand. “No collars then. Just you and me, and this connection we
share. When the time’s right, if everything works out, we can be
more public about our feelings.” He squeezed her hand and let it
go. “We’ll figure things out. For now, sit and eat something so we
can get to the airport with plenty of time to catch our
flight.”
While she was in the shower, Jason had laid
out fried bread, millet and yogurt, and milk tea. She was so hungry
it tasted like heaven, even cold and slightly congealed. Halfway
through, she slowed down and made herself savor it. She wouldn’t
have these familiar foods in Paris. Everything would be different,
and she’d probably feel homesick.
While she ate, Jason moved around the room,
collecting his clothes and toiletries and shutting down his
computer. She was so infatuated, it was a pleasure just to watch
him pack. “What is Paris like?” she asked.
He turned to her with a bemused expression.
“What isn’t Paris like? It’s a big city. You can find almost
anything and do almost anything there.”
She traced the rim of her cup. “What do they
drink at breakfast?”
“Coffee. Tea. Somewhere in Paris, I’m sure
you could find milk tea and Mongolian bread, and tarag .”
He said the word for yogurt with a stilted
accent. It touched her, that he tried to speak her language. She
blinked down at the last of her meal.
A moment later, he stopped packing and came
to sit with her. “It’s normal to feel scared. But I promise, you
won’t be alone. I’ll be there, and you’ll have a coach and a
physical therapist, a whole team of folks who’ll want you to be
successful. If Baat doesn’t come, they’ll find you a new partner, a
good match, so the two of you can start working on an act together.
There are always new shows in the works, and older shows that need
new material, like you. You’re something fresh that no one’s ever
seen. When someone’s talented, when they have vision and skill and
drive, Michel Lemaitre takes care of them. He’ll take you as far as
you can go.” He shook his head, letting out a soft laugh. “Trust
me, he’s going to love you.”
“Who? Mee-shell Le-May...?”
“Michel Lemaitre,” he said, writing the name
on a piece of hotel stationary. “Your soon-to-be boss. He lives for
performers like you, the ones
unbalanced. His sweater felt soft under her fingers. “I like you,”
she whispered in the understatement of the year.
“I like you too,” he said, smoothing back her
hair. “I’m excited you’re coming to Paris. I hope, when we’re
there...”
He left the suggestion trailing and she
picked it up with an avid nod. “I would love to spend more time
with you. We can do whatever you like.”
He made a teasing, warning sound. “You should
probably figure out what I like before you offer me whatever I
like.”
“I only meant that I was open to
exploring…you know…some kind of relationship between us.” She
didn’t know if she’d said too much, or not enough. Her English was
pretty good, but she’d never engaged in these kinds of
negotiations.
To her relief, Jason smiled and kissed her
again. “There will definitely be ‘some kind of relationship’
between you and me. But for a while...in the beginning...” He
paused, his smile fading. “In the beginning, we’ll need to be
discreet. My behavior toward you would be considered unprofessional
by the people I work with. Inappropriate, really. It’s best if you
don’t tell anyone how we met.”
“I understand. The sex club, the BDSM.”
“Oh, you don’t have to hide that. At the
Cirque...” He paused. “Well, I’ll explain later. It’s not the BDSM
that’s inappropriate. It’s that I came here to scout you as an act,
so if we return as Master and slave, with you wearing my collar,
some eyebrows are gonna go up.”
Sara touched her neck. “I don’t like collars
anyway. They remind me of work.”
He traced over her fingers, trapping them in
his hand. “No collars then. Just you and me, and this connection we
share. When the time’s right, if everything works out, we can be
more public about our feelings.” He squeezed her hand and let it
go. “We’ll figure things out. For now, sit and eat something so we
can get to the airport with plenty of time to catch our
flight.”
While she was in the shower, Jason had laid
out fried bread, millet and yogurt, and milk tea. She was so hungry
it tasted like heaven, even cold and slightly congealed. Halfway
through, she slowed down and made herself savor it. She wouldn’t
have these familiar foods in Paris. Everything would be different,
and she’d probably feel homesick.
While she ate, Jason moved around the room,
collecting his clothes and toiletries and shutting down his
computer. She was so infatuated, it was a pleasure just to watch
him pack. “What is Paris like?” she asked.
He turned to her with a bemused expression.
“What isn’t Paris like? It’s a big city. You can find almost
anything and do almost anything there.”
She traced the rim of her cup. “What do they
drink at breakfast?”
“Coffee. Tea. Somewhere in Paris, I’m sure
you could find milk tea and Mongolian bread, and tarag .”
He said the word for yogurt with a stilted
accent. It touched her, that he tried to speak her language. She
blinked down at the last of her meal.
A moment later, he stopped packing and came
to sit with her. “It’s normal to feel scared. But I promise, you
won’t be alone. I’ll be there, and you’ll have a coach and a
physical therapist, a whole team of folks who’ll want you to be
successful. If Baat doesn’t come, they’ll find you a new partner, a
good match, so the two of you can start working on an act together.
There are always new shows in the works, and older shows that need
new material, like you. You’re something fresh that no one’s ever
seen. When someone’s talented, when they have vision and skill and
drive, Michel Lemaitre takes care of them. He’ll take you as far as
you can go.” He shook his head, letting out a soft laugh. “Trust
me, he’s going to love you.”
“Who? Mee-shell Le-May...?”
“Michel Lemaitre,” he said, writing the name
on a piece of hotel stationary. “Your soon-to-be boss. He lives for
performers like you, the ones
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