Love Of Lust

Chapter Seven

Becky's POV

The next morning, after I groggily dragged myself out of bed, Riad made me breakfast again.

This time, he didn't need to ask me how I took my eggs. I ate mechanically and responded to him with one-syllable answers when he asked me how I was feeling, did I sleep well, did I have a good time last night? I could tell he wanted to ask much more prying questions, but he kept his mouth shut.

For a while. Just as I was about to finish my second cup of coffee, he said:

"That was quite a performance you put on last night."

His eyes were searching my face. He knew it wasn't an act - he wanted me to admit it.

He wanted to comfort me, just as if we were really a couple. Didn't he understand that was going to make it worse?

We couldn't play at being in love in private. It was bad enough doing it in public, with everyone watching. At least then I could distract myself with the dubious thrill of deceiving people.

"Thank you," I said flatly, slamming my cup down on the counter so hard I was sure it would crack.

It didn't, but Riad jumped a little.

"I'm going to get dressed. Can you have John ready for me? I have to go home and take care of some things."

"Absolutely. Of course."

I could feel him watching me as I walked down the hallway and disappeared into my room. This was probably a bad time for me to sequester myself in my apartment and not speak to him or see him - it would look strange. But I had to appreciate that he wasn't pushing me. Maybe he did understand. Sort of. A little bit.

My apartment felt cold and strange when I got there. Oddly un-lived-in. I certainly hadn't ever gone on any sort of vacation or getaway since I'd moved in here, so it was an odd atmosphere.

Until Riad came along, I hadn't even spent the night at someone's place. I'd never felt comfortable doing it - it wasn't the intimacy of it so much as simply trying to sleep in a bed with another person.

Of course the guys I usually picked had maybe a twin-sized bed if I was lucky, and getting a decent night's rest while tangled up with a sweaty, snoring, thrashing human being in close quarters was simply impossible.

I didn't know how long-term couples did it. I needed my own space, a big, cool expanse of bed upon which I was free to sprawl as I pleased. I never felt lonely when I slept.

Far from it. Daytime was different, of course. Sometimes it was too quiet, a little too still, even for me. But that was the trade-off for independence.It was going to be a rough adjustment to being a kept woman for a year.

Riad didn't call me all weekend. My phone did ring once, but it was the mechanic, letting me know that my car was done and they'd send a courtesy shuttle to pick me up whenever I was ready.

It was funny; I didn't know they were open on Sundays. The place was oddly deserted when the shuttle driver pulled in, and even when I craned my neck around the parking lot, my car was nowhere in sight. The owner of the place came out to meet me.

"Here you are, Miss," he said, handing me an unfamiliar key. I stared at it.

"This isn't mine," I said, even as the realization of what was happening grew in the back of my mind.

"With Mr. Thorne's compliments," the owner muttered, pointing to a car parked nearby. He looked as uncomfortable as I felt.

It was my car, technically, if my car were about ten years newer, and sleek black with silver trim.