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“I don’t want to play this game,” I respond. “Just tell me.”
“You ignored me last night and the night before. I wanted to talk about what happened.”
“Then why didn’t you come to me?”
“Because you had the door locked, even when you went to sleep. Do you think I would sneak into your room and rape you like some lowlife?”
I shiver, thinking of the nightmare I had when we were in Paris. I don’t trust my voice, so I shake my head.
“I’m fond of you,” Foster replies, this time not as harshly.
“Fond?”
“I like you. Is that better?”
“It doesn’t sound better. It makes it sound like you want to fuck me.”
“That’s just it; I don’t want to fuck you. I want to make love to you. You’re stuck in my head, your scent is always in my nose, and I see your beautiful face in my dreams!”
“Make sense,” I huff.
“It’s taken me some time to come to terms with my feelings, but I think I love you.”
I inhale sharply and cough. “Excuse me?”
“I love you.”
“I…”
“Say something!” he thunders, scaring me.
I shrink in my chair. “I’m sorry. I like you very much.” It isn’t a lie. I do like Foster when he isn’t office Foster.
“You only like me?” he asks incredulously.
“Honestly, I don’t know what you want me to say. Our relationship is weird.”
“Weird how?”
“Are you serious? I need to explain how strange this circumstance is?”
“Suppose we were married for real?”
“Real?”
“Yes, like you stayed my wife rather than us divorcing in a few months.”
“Do you know what you’re saying?”
“I know exactly what I’m saying. All I would need you to do is sign a postnuptial.”
I frown, “Absolutely not. If you love me, then you wouldn’t ask me to sign such a thing.”
“I need to protect my assets,” he says as though it’s normal. “Suppose it doesn’t work out?”
“You’re already planning our second divorce, and I haven’t agreed to stay married to you.”
Foster runs his hands through his hair several times, leaving it in tousled. “I didn’t mean to make it sound that way. I simply don’t want to be blindsided.”
