She was docile again. When they had fallen into a slumber and came back up from it, he gently pulled out and lifted her up with his arms. He carried her to the couch. He got blankets out of a drawer beneath the couch and covered them. She nestled her nose onto his chest so that she could feel his chest hair and smell him. The sweetest dreams came over her almost instantly.

She woke up when an exasperated voice said, "I'm sorry!", and was quickly followed by the door shutting closed. The room had already filled with sunlight. She could see the fingers of the sun coming through the curtains. By the looks of it, it was late morning of a glorious day. When she blinked her eyes clear enough to see his face, she recognized that he must have been staring at her face for a while already. He had that mesmerized look on his face like he completely adored her.

"Fuck off!" she told him out of discomfort about it and broke out laughing to break the tension.

His body felt so snuggly and warm. Even with all his sweat and no shower, he had a beautiful scent about him. She wondered if that was simply the scent of a healthy human being. His body was very healthy - all that training, the clear skin, and the posture. Her pussy was sore. She probably smelled down there a lot from all the pussy juices and cum. Like once the blanket was lifted, a billowing cloud of sex smell would lift into the room.

"We could fly this afternoon to Paris," he said with a tone like he was suggesting to get low-fat instead of no-fat milk. "I have a beautiful art studio there. It could be yours. There is a little side studio. That's enough for me. You said that you liked painting."

She had to laugh at her puny, delusional idea to paint and this very grandiose offer. However, he was able to get the end of the pant leg to pull the rest of the pants to the couch and retrieve his phone. He showed her a photo of a beautiful atelier with a very tall ceiling and lots of natural light floating into it. It was sparsely decorated, like he had just gotten it and only put an easel inside.

"Is that Jacque Bernard?" she asked him, astonished. There was a man with a fur coat and a French beret hat so far pulled to the side that it almost fell off. The man seemed to try to avoid being in the frame out of modesty but failed at the task.

"Oh, yeah! He's a friend of mine. He came over to have a wine for the inauguration," he said.

"You know I'm a huge fan of his! I'm the first to like his posts on insta," she confessed profusely.

They talked about how they could spend the week. All the plans seemed surreal. However, he had no job that he had to show up for. He had apartments and friends in all these European cities. He'd tell her about a little alley that went up cobblestone steps behind his apartment there with the best view of the old harbor. He told her about that little kittie in Sicily that lived on the same street like his. She would always come running. She seemed to live in some kind of idyllic world of yesteryear in a little alley while being fed the heads of anchovies by grandmas who cooked up the rest of the fish into pasta sauce.

Life seemed so easy. They were sitting on the couch with the blanket wrapped around their naked bodies when a maid pushed a cart with their breakfast into the room. The maid seemed embarrassed. The skin on her face was flushed red. However, the facial expressions were completely controlled. With a lot of precision of a trained hospitality professional, she opened up the butter jar, mixed the milk into the coffee, and offered every other little preparation that their brunch might need. Not having had to pick from a menu, the kitchen had simply assembled a petit buffet so that they could pick what they fancied at the moment by looking at it. The maid stood at attention without saying a word until Paul released her by saying, "You may leave now." Just hearing those words, their tone, and the demure behavior of the maid gave Pruna tingles. This was an entirely different world. She was excited to stand at the doorway of entering it.

They got quiet while eating. Their mouths were occupied. And the night had exhausted both of them. The thoughts started seeping into her mind. The mornings with her husband were much simpler. In fact, her husband was also often dismissive of her by being completely engrossed in his newspaper. Yet there was something that brought her inner imagery to return to those breakfasts with her husband over and over. At first, she couldn't tell what it was. Then she recognized it as a kind of familiarity that felt good. After a long way, she finally realized that it wasn't simply familiarity. There was an emotional tug. She felt whole near her husband. She felt like she belonged. She had never seen it that way. However, her husband in a way lacked everything that Paul had. However, he had one thing that made all the difference. She loved her husband. It was like waking up with Jake was what mattered. Being near him was what mattered. Her nervous system recognized him. When that all crystallized, she realized that relationships are not about it being easy or always fun. What matters is the person who makes going through all the hardship and pain worth it. And she realized that Paul had all the toys but not her love.

She carefully wiped the croissant crumbs and apricot jam of her lips, taking extra time to give her a chance to process her decision.

Paul recognized her body tightening. "So, you've decided," he said. "I want you to know that I respect your decision. And no matter what, you are an amazing and unique woman. I'll place the memory of our night and what could have been into a special pocket in my heart."

"Thank you," she said, realizing that he had made it easier by signaling that she wasn't going to break his heart or send him into an exploding tirade.

"I will tear up the check, but not because I'm leaving my husband. I'll tear it up because last night mattered to me as well. And I wouldn't lessen it by taking money for it," she explained.

He looked into her face. The way how he looked solemnly back, she knew that he knew. She wouldn't meet her quota. Her non-profit wouldn't fire her outright. They'd transition her back to an unpaid volunteer with the same responsibility. She wouldn't make ends meet. She'd have to resign to find a paying job. Her career was over. She had paid a steep price for that night. Yet, his restraint in engaging with that showed that he had deep respect for her. She didn't need his sympathy or to be belittled. She was just as powerful as he was. She made big decisions and dealt with consequences with grace.

All that went through her head when she looked at the sullen Jake in front of her. She wanted to explain but all that came over her lips was, "By cheating, I learned that I love you." That sounded so terrible. She bit her lips to keep the pain of embarrassment in. He sank a little deeper inside of himself. That tiny gesture cut her more than words could have. She could feel how deeply she was hurting him. She wanted to say that she'd take it all back, but she knew fully clear with her mind that it wasn't true. She had fully leaned out leaving Jake. She couldn't minimize what she had done without undermining the foundation of their relationship.

For days, Jake wouldn't talk, wouldn't look her in the eye, or even interact with her. She had pleaded with him, confessed to him, and plied him with his favorite treats. Nothing went through. She was in exile. The days were hard. The nights next to his body without feeling his warmth were cold. Somehow, the peak memory of her life, the night with Paul kept glowing inside of her and propelled her with a will to live and to remember that the hardest of times will pass. It was strange that the cheating night flickered in her like a light of hope to make her keep going with trying to reconcile with Jake.

Friday evening, when she came home, he sat at the kitchen table like he had been waiting for her. He looked her straight in the eyes when she opened the door. She rushed to the table to sit down and talk. He paused. Her mind cataloged all the possible ways he could start the conversation and how she could respond. She was so excited and happy that he was fully looking at her, seizing her up, and seemingly preparing him to speak. His phone vibrated. He turned it over and looked.

"Let's go for a drive," he said.

That wasn't what she had expected. However, after all the struggle to get his attention, she was so eager to take any direction that he was finally willing to take. She slipped her heels back on. He picked up his backpack. He didn't hold her hand as they used to when they walked out the door. There was a kind of heaviness in the air, but she felt giddy and light-footed regardless. Hope that everything would work out ran through her veins like a herd of deer at full speed.

He opened the backdoor to a black Uber SUV for her. They got in. An Indian guy was driving. He sensed the vibe, refrained from talking, and turned off the music. They drove for a while through Brooklyn towards the grungy parts with graffiti and warehouses.

He reached into his jacket pocket to pull out a small, clear vial with a black cap. He held it in front of her face.

"All will be forgiven if you drink this," he said.

The driver looked nervously back through the rear-view mirror. He could sense something being off. The liquid was clearly a potion of some sort. Was he going to kill her? He was in the zone of being mad, like he had lost his marbles. She considered the possibility. She weighed how far he was pushed psychologically against how far one had to be to kill a person. She knew for sure that it wasn't a hoax; he was dead serious. Whatever that potion was, it was something drastic. Finally, she decided that if she truly loved her husband, she had to trust him with her life. She had to risk the danger of taking a deadly poison to show him that she fully trusted him.

He grabbed the bottle, screwed off the cap, and swallowed it whole. She swallowed hard. For her own sake, she swallowed all the spit from her mouth again to make sure that she had gotten every little bit. For his sake, she opened her mouth wide so that he could inspect that he had swallowed it. Whatever it was, the dice had been cast.

He said nothing. He went back to looking out of the window as the urban industrial landscape passed. She wanted to ask him if they were square. However, she sensed that simply drinking it wasn't the whole deal. The whole deal was whatever effect that it had. Perhaps it was a truth serum that made her admit to everything. And he'd know that she couldn't hide anything.

They arrived in front of a warehouse near the waterfront. The car stopped. When she tried to get out, she realized that her whole body was tingling with warmth. It was almost as if her whole body had fallen asleep. Her movements were a bit off. His arm wrapped around the back of her shoulders to support her. She was happy to surrender to his guidance. She couldn't quite get her thoughts together. However, he was going to take her where he was going to take her. His face looked like he had a plan. Her vain attempts at trying to get him to engage was over. She could follow him.

She noticed the printout of an eye inside of a pyramid was taped to the warehouse door. They entered a big factory staircase. There was another printout like that on the second floor. They walked across a big, empty, abandoned factory space. The dust was standing in the air in the light. She was a bit mesmerized by it. The setting of the place affected her strangely. She was a lot more present with her senses because somehow her brain couldn't race thoughts fast anymore. She had been worrying so much the last days. The worry wheel had stopped. She was simply leaning on him as they walked through the dim space and followed the mystical printouts.

A black man in a red velvet suit jacket and codpiece only exposed his muscular abs and bare legs. He had a lit-up armband like he was an official. He scanned a QR code from Jake's phone and gave her a concerned look for how she was leaning on Jake.

Pushing a curtain to the side, they entered what looked like a changing room for a theatre. There were tables to put bags and clothes rags to put clothes. There was a woman in a latex nun outfit with extra-high platform heels. The heels were like pencils sharpened to a point. It was very clear that this was a fetish place setting up a makeshift event in a warehouse.

Jake put his backpack down on a table and unzipped it. He put a black, soft bundle in her hands and handed her a pair of black heels with spaghetti straps. "Put this on," he said. She looked around, worried. A man entered behind them. He faced a table and pulled his belt out in one quick zip to send it flying like a snake in the air. He pants went down quick, and he was in his underwear. People seemed to change in the open. A woman came through the curtain on the other end. She was dressed in nothing but rope wrapped around her body in an intricate shibari pattern. She was huffing on an e-cigarette like she was in her happiest place.

"If this is what it takes, I'll do it," she told herself.

She stripped her work pants down. She still hesitated before her panties came off. However, by this point, there were two naked women chatting happily next to her while they applied makeup. She had never been to such a place. She hadn't thought her husband knew of places like this. Perhaps, he was going to reveal a secret of his own. Was he perhaps even gay? Did he have a gay lover that he was going to introduce her to?