Paradise - Part Two (The Erotic Adventures of Sophia Durant) by O.L. Casper

 
     
     
     
    Chapter 5
     
    Sophia Durant’s Diary (continued)
     
    Anna’s eyes were directed behind me, all smiles. I turned to see Stafford regarding me coldly. I felt immediately embarrassed and looked away. But the shame I felt wasn’t lessened any, for now I was looking directly at Anna and she could read everything in my expression. I looked down at the MacBook and sipped my espresso. Suddenly there was laughter behind me. Still feeling apprehensive but a bit calmer, I heard Stafford say, “Sophia, what are you so shy for?”
    “Me shy, Mark?”
    “I saw that blush. What were you two talking about? Anna, I know you’ll tell me.”
    He spoke very amiably, like he was the happiest man on earth.
    “Oh, we were gossiping,” Anna remarked coyly.
    “Oh—about what?”
    “You know, the different nannies. And you.”
    Anna smiled at him.
    “Yeah, right,” he said, either not believing or pretending not to, I couldn’t be sure which.
    Stafford helped himself to a cup of espresso and stood at the machine, turning around and leaning on the counter. I expected him to sit down with us, but he kept his distance instead.
    “What have you told her about me, Anna? Come on.”
    He smiled, but didn’t look at either of us.
    “Just this and that. The usual.”
    “All good, I hope.”
    “Of course.”
    “Sophia?”
    “Yes?” I said, reading Le Monde , and pretending not to pay too much attention to anything else in the room.
    “I hope everything is okay.”
    “Naturally. It’s nice of you to be concerned.”
    “I’m leaving,” Anna said abruptly and stood up.
    “Anna, stay.”
    “I would, but I have work to do, sir. With all due respect.”
    She bowed, smiled at me for a fleeting moment and left.
    “I wonder what scared her off.”
    I expected him to sit across from me, but he didn’t.
    “I don’t know,” I said, without taking my eyes off the webpage.
    “Nice to see you again, Sophia.”
    “And you.”
    There was something on the front page about former President Sarkozy’s house being raided by police.
    “Interesting article?”
    He was getting frustrated, but it was barely showing.
    “Indeed. A former President of France is under investigation for corruption.”
    “Nicolas Sarkozy?”
    “You read about it?”
    “No. But Jacques Chirac was already convicted on corruption charges so Sarkozy is the only one left.”
    “Impressive.”
    I was actually impressed with his knowledge of French politics, even as rudimentary as it might be.
    “Did you think me a mere ignoramus with a penis?”
    I was impressed even more at this open way of speaking. Was there a bug travelling around the villa that caused this sort of outburst? I am by no means the restrained type, but I was still careful of what I said when I didn’t know who might be listening. Of course Stafford could afford not to care—to an extent.
    I looked at him.
    “You’ve been gone a few days.”
    “Miss me?”
    I wanted to say I did, but I merely started to speak and cut myself off.
    “I don’t mean to embarrass you. Are you embarrassed?”
    “Not in the least. I only mentioned the fact that you’ve been gone to change the subject, find something that wouldn’t prompt such crude responses.”
    “You must forgive me. Some business has gone rather well in the last few days and I’m afraid I’ve been feeling a bit pompous. Forgive me. I’ll be looking into acquiring new real estate on the island when Isabella returns.”
    It sounded odd, hearing him refer to her with me. It didn’t grate on my nerves or anything like that. The name just sounded like a distant chime in the wind, muted by double-pane glass and walls, the way he said it. Isabella . It sounded arid, hollow, and remote.
    “What are you doing for lunch?” he asked.
    “I’m busy.”
    “I can get you out of it,” he whispered.
    “No. It would be wrong.”
    I clicked onto the homepage of the French daily.
    “Can we do anything—you know, as friends? Get to know