Fauxmance (Showmance #2)(28)
“Elodie Grant,” Elodie replied with a practiced smile as she held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
“And you,” Krystyna said, coming forward to give her a kiss on either cheek. Branson did the same, and I was surprised at how Ellen took it all in stride, not once breaking the act.
“Well, please enjoy the party, and hopefully we’ll see you again before the end of the night,” Krystyna went on and the two turned to mingle with more guests.
I led Elodie away. “That went well.”
“He’s even better looking in real life,” she exclaimed. “And his wife, my God, she’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met in person.”
“She is quite something. I think she liked you, too.”
Elodie preened at this. “You do?”
“I do. Maybe they’ll invite us to one of their partner swaps.”
She blinked and almost spat out the mouthful of champagne she just swallowed. “Their what?”
“Branson and Krystyna have an open relationship. They host uber-exclusive swingers’ parties at their house in Hampstead.”
“Oh.” Colour rose in her cheeks, a glimpse of Ellen trickling in. She cleared her throat. “Have you, uh, ever gone to one?”
I shook my head. “I’ve never been invited, I’m afraid. I’m not in the circle of trust, though I get the feeling Krystyna is planning to vet me.”
She took a long gulp of champagne. “Vetting? They really take this stuff seriously.”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“I guess so. How does it all even work? Do they put their keys in a bowl or something?”
“Not quite. Like I said, I’ve never been, but I have been to other such parties. Normally people partner off as they so please.”
“That sounds…interesting.”
“It is. If you’re into that sort of thing.”
She eyed me now, all curiosity. “Are you into that sort of thing?”
“I was, for a while.”
She went quiet and I could see her thinking, turning it all over in her head. When she looked at me, I found myself frustrated at the green contacts covering her naturally brown eyes. No wonder I’d thought them so odd before. Now that I knew they were fake, it was hard to believe I’d ever been fooled by them. Even her wig, that was clearly expensive and expertly made, seamless to the untrained eye, seemed obviously false.
“The other day,” Elodie ventured, breaking me from my thoughts. “You said you believe gender is non-binary.”
“True.”
“Does that mean you’re bisexual?”
Hmm, how to answer such a tricky question. I took a deep breath. “I believe gender is non-binary because I’ve never felt like a typical male, or well, I’ve never possessed typical male attributes. When I was a little boy, lots of people mistook me for a girl. As I grew older, I couldn’t relate to boys in the same way I related to girls, but I wasn’t gay, so I fell into this odd, nondefinable category. I also don’t consider myself bisexual, but I admit I’ve been with men in the past when I was still discovering myself. It wasn’t unpleasant, and I certainly enjoyed it, but it’s not something I seek out. Those instances, well, they happened organically. Even though I consider myself straight, I’m a firm believer in allowing moments with other human beings to progress naturally. If sex happens, great, but if it doesn’t, that’s fine, too. Does that make sense?”
She stared at me in fascination. “Yes, actually, it does.”
I chuckled. “I guess you could call me experimental. I don’t typically have sexual feelings towards men, only women, but there have been occasions in my life when I’ve—”
“Experimented?” Elodie put in.
I smiled down at her. “Yes.”
She went thoughtful again. “I guess women do that sort of thing all the time.”
“Kiss girls?”
A soft laugh. “It’s just more of a taboo for men though, I suppose.”
“Well, I’ve never been one to let taboos stop me from doing what feels good.”
“I need to take a leaf out of your book,” she murmured.
I clinked my glass of orange juice to her glass of champagne. “And I’m more than happy to teach you.”
We shared a moment, locked in each other’s eyes before we were interrupted by a suave, slimy, and annoyingly familiar voice. I grimaced, wishing him away.
“Hello, Julian.”
“Warren, what a nice surprise to see you here,” I said, mustering a pleasant tone as I met the gaze of the six foot five blond Adonis in an Armani suit. Warren Gold and I had known each other for years, but we weren’t what you’d call friends. We shared a profession; however, our methods of operation were far different. Warren had a website, social media accounts, the whole shebang. He posted oiled up, topless pictures of himself sunbathing on exotic beaches to Instagram, which seemed to work a treat in attracting customers.
I operated on nothing more than word of mouth.
The dark-haired woman on his arm was not a stranger. She was an ex-client of mine named Marie. We’d amicably parted ways about a year ago. Clearly, she’d decided to move on to new pastures. I didn’t hold it against her, even if her taste in escorts left a lot to be desired.