I try to be a better escort for Mr. Decker, I don't want to end up with a bad review that will affect future hires, but I can't help but wonder why a handsome, wealthy man like him would have to resort to an escort. Wouldn't it be easy for him to find a woman he really wants to be with? The thought of him being gay crosses my mind again, but I instantly rebut it because he doesn't seem to be. Something about the way he touched me told me he was enjoying it. I abandon that thought and focus on the rest of the guests seated at the table. Karl and Cameron are young and treating each other with great affection. He brings an appetizer to her mouth; she wipes the corner of her lips with her thumb. They kiss, they have done it several times, then whisper things in each other's ears and smile, looking into each other's eyes.

“How long have they been dating?” Cameron asks before taking a sip of his Martini.

I wait before I say anything. I know Decker must answer that any minute, before it becomes obvious that I don't know, before she opens her eyes wide and looks down.

Why don't you say anything?

I lean toward Decker to try to ask him a question, but the master of ceremonies bursts into the center of the room and announces the Baker, husband and wife. A soft ballad is played by the live band from the stage, and then they make their triumphant entrance. Everyone stands and applauds. I do the same. The bride is beautiful, she has ash-blonde hair pulled back in a high bun and wears a flowing white sleeveless dress. Her husband, who is wearing a black tuxedo, holds her around the waist, and they begin to move smoothly down the runway. They look at each other as if there is no one else in the space and smile broadly. I wonder if they really love each other, or if it's one of those paper weddings with an expiration date. Although wearing a ring on your finger is no guarantee of anything, love ends, or you realize it was never love and you're left heartbroken. The memory hits my chest so hard that I must take a deep breath to keep the tears from spilling down my cheeks. It's been three years already, how much more is it going to hurt?

“Is he all right?” Decker asks with his hand on my back and his breath in my ear.

Am I being too obvious, or has he been looking at me more than I've realized?

“Yes, just a little moved," I answer as best I can, but my wavering voice gives me away.

“Let's sit down," he orders without taking his hand away from me. I wish he would push it away. I'm not comfortable with the warmth radiating from his palm on my skin, but he keeps it there until we reach the table and take our places again. Furthermore, I'm grateful he didn't ask me why I was so moved by the newlyweds' dance because I don't want to talk about that subject, much less with him.

I inform my client that I will be going to the restroom, and I get on right away, I need a breather.

As I leave the bathroom, I'm surprised to find Dmitri guarding the hallway.

Decker is an exaggerator, what's going to happen to me in a bathroom, or does he think I'm going to elope with his jewels? Yes, that must be it.

As I return to the table, the man in question stands up, and as he has done all night, strokes my back. Before I can sit down, he tells me that the song that is playing is perfect for dancing, given my precarious dancing skills.

"It's a soft ballad that doesn't require great skill," he mentions with a certain arrogance that I have a hard time ignoring. However, I smile to maintain my role. He, as expected, walks beside me with his hand in the center of my back. The heat I shouldn't feel scorches my skin again. And as that happens, he looks into my eyes with a thousand questions shining in his pupils. I have a sixth sense when it comes to looks, and in his there is unease. Refusing to be captivated by his eyes, I lean my head on his chest as I hold my hands on his shoulders. Hers rest on my lower back and cup it as if they have always belonged there. In the immediate seconds, we move smoothly across the dance floor, but we are not the only ones, there are at least ten couples dancing to that instrumental music. Being so close to him, his scent penetrates my sense of smell and moves to my nerve endings in a blatant way.

This shouldn't be happening!

"I would like to ask you something personal," I feel his words vibrate in his chest as he utters them, making my heart flutter.

"Could I count on the same benefit?" I challenge him. Decker looks at me expressionless, in that cold, hard way that only he can achieve, and then shakes his head.

We finish the piece without another word and then he leads me to the bride and groom's table. Will Baker is blond, tall and has very light green eyes. He offers me his hand and a flashing smile, just like that, with all his teeth. He looks very happy. His wife Amelia greets us both with a brisk hug and says enthusiastically that she is happy with our presence, as if she has known me before. That was weird. I think it comes from the adrenaline of the wedding. They say the body releases the oxytocin hormone when we are very happy, and Amelia's must be at its peak.

The evening ends two hours later. It's time to get back to my normal life, no fancy dresses, jewelry or fake smiles. I'm desperate to get out of these heels and free myself from the dress! I walk out of the lounge, arm in arm with Decker, all the way to the lobby, but I notice nervously that our path is leading not to the exit but to an elevator.

“Where are we going?” i mumble so no one else hears.

“To my suite," he replies nonchalantly.

“That's not in the contract, Mr. Decker," I state flatly.

“I paid for one night, and it doesn't end until eleven fifty-nine," he mumbles.

"What do you expect to happen in that suite?", I ask nervously.

“What do you want to happen?”

“Me? If you're the one who wants to go upstairs," I counter. He laughs in my face as if I had told him a funny joke. How dare you? If I wasn't so angry, I'd notice how much I like the sound of his voice when he laughs.