Aaron laughs. “Don’t play that card, woman. You know I was the one who tried it on.”
I glance at him and pretend to fake a sigh. “Fine.”
Mrs. Modeling Director’s Wife’s eyes twinkle.
“It was the summer before my senior year of high school and my parents had taken me to Paris for two months. My father had business to do with an old friend, so they decided to turn it into a vacation. The last time I was there, I was just a child, so it was if I were seeing the city through fresh eyes.
“We’d been there for around ten days when I finally made it to the Eiffel Tower alone. I’d been there with my mom several times, but she was always in a rush to go somewhere else. It was my chance to really enjoy it.” My lips quirk, and Aaron slides his hand into mine. “I was standing in front of the tower, completely awed by its size and beauty, when someone came up behind me. ‘Beautiful, don’t you think?’ he asked. I was holding a coffee and jumped so hard I nearly spilled it over both of us.”
Giselle, the girlfriend of the head of advertising, sighs and leans forward. “Do you remember how that felt?”
I raise my eyes to hers, my heart pounding at the memory. “Do you remember how it felt when you saw your first love for the first time?”
Aaron’s fingers tighten around mine.
“I do. How did it feel?”
“Like the world had stopped,” I answer quietly. Silence lingers for a moment, and I speak again. “Of course I agreed with him. The tower is beautiful. He handed me his sweater so I could wipe the coffee from my hands and laughed at me.” I turn my face to Aaron’s, my lips curving to one side. “‘Oh, you’re talking about the tower,’ he said. ‘I was talking about you.’ I blushed and he practically dragged me to a nearby café to replace the coffee he insisted he’d made me spill, and the rest is history.”
The three women all smile widely, their eyes full of that mushy, romantic stuff only Aaron has ever made me understand. The stuff that makes your heart go boom-boom and your lungs go clench-clench.
“It’s true,” Aaron agrees as the entrées are placed in front of us. “In fact, I think if she’d refused to get coffee with me, I would have slung her over my shoulder and poured a cup down her throat.”
“You’re so romantic, baby, I can barely stand it.”
He laughs and brushes his mouth across my knuckles. “I’m trying to tone it down, sweetheart. Can you tell?”
“Not at all.” I roll my eyes to the amusement of the rest of the table. I pull my hand from his but he tightens his grip. “Aaron? I need to eat.”
“So eat one-handed.” He holds up his own fork.
I stare at the fish on my plate. “I don’t think I can.”
“I told you I couldn’t let you go again. Now, after hearing you tell that moment, our moment, as if you’re living it all over again? Nothing could tear me away from you.”
I swallow and take my fork with my other hand, hoping to god no one else will say a word to me through this dinner. If they do, I might just burst into the tears that have been hiding since I saw him again.
I get my wish. The rest of the dinner is full of business talk, and true to his word, Aaron never lets my hand go. He rubs his thumb over the back of it, brings it to his lips, and presses it to his cheek repeatedly.
“Dayton?” Giselle looks to me.
“Yes?”
“I’m going for some air. Would you like to join me?”
No. But the look in her eye, a knowing look, tells me that I should whether I damn well want to or not. I grasp my wine glass and kiss Aaron’s cheek.
“I’ll be back soon.”
“Take your time.” He pats my butt.
Giselle leads me onto a balcony that stretches the length of the hall. We’re the only people here, everyone else still engaged in conversations around their respective tables.
“I think it’s a universal belief, you know.”
“I’m sorry?”
She lights a cigarette and leans against the ornate gates keeping us safe. Her dark eyes hit me with an understanding and knowledge only a few people have.
People like me.
“That call girls don’t fall in love.”
Her words vibrate through my body.
“How do you…” I flatten my hand against my stomach.
The smile that curves her lips isn’t the malicious smirk I expect. It’s gentle and kind. “How could they? How could they f**k any number of men a day and still go home to their boyfriends or husbands and have a normal relationship? Where would the trust, the belief, the honesty of love be?”
It dawns on me, washing over me in a warm flood. “You were one. Before.”
She nods. “Before Mick. I was the call girl you are. Highly desired, highly paid, highly respected. I gave my agent the biggest cut and took the most home. Falling in love was something reserved for the novels I lost myself in at the end of every day.”
I approach the railing and lean next to her. “I think we all do that.”
“We all need some hazy dreams in our blunt reality.”
My head jerks in a nod. “I agree.”
The question burns in my throat, and I want to ask with every part of me. So I do.
“You gave it up?”
She takes a long drag. “Yep. Six months ago. Mick hired me last year to be his date for his sister’s wedding and his company for the night.” Smoke leaves her mouth in a white, billowing cloud. “And he kept hiring me, randomly it seemed, until I was with him more nights than not. He was taking me to dinner, to shows, everywhere. After three months of it, I asked him what the hell he was playing at. And he told me he was falling in love with me.”
“And you were falling in love back.”
“I couldn’t not. I left him that night thinking about my options. He’d made it clear he couldn’t have a serious relationship with me as long as I was doing my job. I had to ask myself if I valued my job or love more.”
“And you picked love.”
“I picked love.” She grinds the cigarette into an ashtray on the wall and drops it in before turning to me. “Dayton, call girls do fall in love. We f**k hundreds of men without an ounce of emotion, but that doesn’t mean we’re not capable of it. We’re still human, and we still have hopes and dreams.”
I snort. “How many call girls do you know who have fallen in love?”