well. But we were all together just now and…” He exhaled. “And nothing has changed.”
I sighed. “Welcome to Life Sucks 101, in which life doesn’t work like movies.”
Or Zelda would get well and never be afflicted again.
He cut into the blinis—buckwheat pancakes—he had ordered. Then his gaze turned to me. “My offer still stands, you know. If you say yes now, I’ll date our agreement retroactively to the day after Christmas, so you get almost a month for free.”
I stole a piece of blini from his plate. “Not that I don’t think you’re a generous man, but almost one-sixth of half a mil is a lot of generosity. What’s the reason for the backdating?”
“My parents are going to the Amalfi Coast to mark their anniversary, which falls on the weekend after your symposium in Munich. If the dates don’t conflict with anything else on your itinerary, will you come with me to Italy?”
This was why I hadn’t wanted to agree to the wedding reception: It gave him another opening to reel me into his scheme. I stirred my soup. “Probably not. I have plans to explore the Bavarian countryside that weekend. ”
“I haven’t gone down on you, have I?” he murmured. “Let it be said I’m willing to devote considerable hours to that particular pleasure.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to betray how turned on I was. “If only your parents knew you were willing to prostitute yourself for them.”
He snorted.
Neither of us said anything for a while. He steadily polished off his blinis. I finished my soup. The waiter came and replenished our tea.
When Bennett was done with his food, he wrapped his hands around a large tea mug and examined a picture on the wall, his profile to me. There was something to the set of his jaw, a resignation that was at once stoic and desolate.
He’d taken my silence as my final answer, a firm no.
I was not going to be mixed up in his schemes. I was not going to disrupt the quiet rhythm of my even-keeled life. I was not going to open myself up to false pleasures that came with an expiration date.
And yet…
Could I really abandon him? It was obvious that, left to his own devices, he would continue to play the part of the blithe, uncaring son. He knew this. That was why he had wanted my help in the first place.
Without a firm kick in the pants once in a while, he would flounder. His plans would go nowhere. And all the changes he’d made, uprooting his entire life, would be futile.
“I’ll take that half mil for charity,” I said before I could stop myself. “I’ll come with you.”
HE DIDN ’ T SAY ANYTHING, ONLY looked at me as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.
Neither could I, exactly.
That silence lasted until we were in a cab, going uptown along Central Park West. We discussed logistics. On which day could I leave Munich? When was he setting out? And how long were we to remain in Italy?
Throughout it all, I was conscious of his gaze on me. His initial incredulity had worn off. Now his demeanor made me think of a mountain climber who had reached the Everest base camp, someone who knew that the easy part was over and the real trial was about to begin.
“I forgot to tell you,” he said as we e-mailed each other our itineraries. “I’m paying a visit to Mrs. Asquith on the way back. Would you like to come with me?”
“I would. But I bought my tickets a long time ago, and my return flight doesn’t pass through England.”
“I can take care of that for you, if you want, along with your ticket from Munich to Naples.”
“In that case, yes, thank you.”
When the cab stopped before my house, he asked the driver to wait and walked me to the door. “I owe you, Professor.”
“You’re going to be out half a mil, at least. I’d say you don’t owe me anything else.”
“I did promise to go down on you, frequently and attentively.”
Was it still January? Heat buffeted me from every direction. “That’s not why I said
I sighed. “Welcome to Life Sucks 101, in which life doesn’t work like movies.”
Or Zelda would get well and never be afflicted again.
He cut into the blinis—buckwheat pancakes—he had ordered. Then his gaze turned to me. “My offer still stands, you know. If you say yes now, I’ll date our agreement retroactively to the day after Christmas, so you get almost a month for free.”
I stole a piece of blini from his plate. “Not that I don’t think you’re a generous man, but almost one-sixth of half a mil is a lot of generosity. What’s the reason for the backdating?”
“My parents are going to the Amalfi Coast to mark their anniversary, which falls on the weekend after your symposium in Munich. If the dates don’t conflict with anything else on your itinerary, will you come with me to Italy?”
This was why I hadn’t wanted to agree to the wedding reception: It gave him another opening to reel me into his scheme. I stirred my soup. “Probably not. I have plans to explore the Bavarian countryside that weekend. ”
“I haven’t gone down on you, have I?” he murmured. “Let it be said I’m willing to devote considerable hours to that particular pleasure.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, trying not to betray how turned on I was. “If only your parents knew you were willing to prostitute yourself for them.”
He snorted.
Neither of us said anything for a while. He steadily polished off his blinis. I finished my soup. The waiter came and replenished our tea.
When Bennett was done with his food, he wrapped his hands around a large tea mug and examined a picture on the wall, his profile to me. There was something to the set of his jaw, a resignation that was at once stoic and desolate.
He’d taken my silence as my final answer, a firm no.
I was not going to be mixed up in his schemes. I was not going to disrupt the quiet rhythm of my even-keeled life. I was not going to open myself up to false pleasures that came with an expiration date.
And yet…
Could I really abandon him? It was obvious that, left to his own devices, he would continue to play the part of the blithe, uncaring son. He knew this. That was why he had wanted my help in the first place.
Without a firm kick in the pants once in a while, he would flounder. His plans would go nowhere. And all the changes he’d made, uprooting his entire life, would be futile.
“I’ll take that half mil for charity,” I said before I could stop myself. “I’ll come with you.”
HE DIDN ’ T SAY ANYTHING, ONLY looked at me as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard.
Neither could I, exactly.
That silence lasted until we were in a cab, going uptown along Central Park West. We discussed logistics. On which day could I leave Munich? When was he setting out? And how long were we to remain in Italy?
Throughout it all, I was conscious of his gaze on me. His initial incredulity had worn off. Now his demeanor made me think of a mountain climber who had reached the Everest base camp, someone who knew that the easy part was over and the real trial was about to begin.
“I forgot to tell you,” he said as we e-mailed each other our itineraries. “I’m paying a visit to Mrs. Asquith on the way back. Would you like to come with me?”
“I would. But I bought my tickets a long time ago, and my return flight doesn’t pass through England.”
“I can take care of that for you, if you want, along with your ticket from Munich to Naples.”
“In that case, yes, thank you.”
When the cab stopped before my house, he asked the driver to wait and walked me to the door. “I owe you, Professor.”
“You’re going to be out half a mil, at least. I’d say you don’t owe me anything else.”
“I did promise to go down on you, frequently and attentively.”
Was it still January? Heat buffeted me from every direction. “That’s not why I said
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