That night, and the night after, Paul gave her almost nothing: no warm hellos, no eager questions, no tidbits regarding his life at the office. When Brittany mentioned, off-handed, that one of his associates had swung by the apartment to “seek information regarding their marriage,” he’d paused, given her a half-alarmed look, and then returned to his magazine. “I’m sure it’s fine. Just for paperwork,” he’d said.

It was making Brittany feel caught in a gilded cage, gazing out at New York City from a tower and unable to join it—to seek real emotion, to feel loved. Despite the growing feelings she had for Paul, she sensed he wouldn’t allow himself to give himself, in total. Especially not after what had happened with his ex-wife. Every new woman had the capacity to be a “new” Elena. At least, that was true in his eyes.

One afternoon, not long after they’d slept in one another’s arms, Brittany heard commotion from the top of the building. A heavy whirring noise met her ears, causing her to burst from her seat and rush to the terrace. An immense helicopter was landing from above, finding its footing against the tile, its great blades flashing through the blue sky. Brittany crept out onto it, incredulous, and then watched as Paul hopped from the back, flashing her a smile. She felt her stomach clench with desire for him. For things to be the way they’d been, if only for a night.

“Get some things together,” Paul said as he approached her, placing his hand on the small of her back. “We’re going to the Hamptons.”

“Why?” Brittany asked, her voice getting lost in the whirr of the machine.

“Because I need to talk to you,” Paul said then. “And I can’t do it here, with all the chaos of my life getting in the way.”

Grabbing a few things back in her room, Brittany felt her heart hammering with promise, with lust. He wanted to talk to her. Finally. After waiting for days for him to even look at her, he’d cultivated a plot to whirl them from the city center, toward a clean slate.

It was a dream.

Up in the air, Paul reached toward her and clung to her hand—pointing at the world outside their window. His voice came through the microphone on his headset. “Have you ever seen New York this way?” he asked. “It’s remarkable, looking at so many tiny lives, running their courses beneath us.”

Brittany smiled, trying to focus on her breathing. Anxiety and surprise had filled her, making her nearly incapable of finding the right words.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” she murmured into the headset, giving him a look of longing.

“I want to talk to you about what I said,” Paul answered, shifting toward her and drawing his hands around her shoulders. “About us being only roommates. That’s bullshit, isn’t it? Ever since my first wife, I’ve been so frightened about growing closer to someone. Opening up myself seemed impossible. But when I saw you at the coffee shop; when I first began to speak with you, I sensed you were different. I sensed you could be someone important to me. And I’m asking you if—if you’d like that, too.”

“To be properly married?” Brittany asked, her heart swelling.

“To give it a damn good shot,” Paul affirmed.

Brittany nodded, ecstatic. She brought her head forward and kissed him, bumping their headsets and causing Paul to cry out with laughter. They yanked their headsets from their skulls and continued to kiss, lost in the chaos of one another’s emotions, finally fulfilling the yearning that Brittany had felt since she’d moved in with him.

His house at the Hamptons was luxurious, with an Olympic-sized swimming pool, a hot tub, a large, wood-burning fireplace, a ballroom and a bar for parties, along with a more intimate part of the house, which he liked to stick to. The moment they entered the back door, the couple dropped their things and fell into one another’s arms, making love first in the living room, across the chaise lounge, and then moving toward the pool, where they skinny-dipped, laughing wildly. At the water’s edge, Paul drew himself between Brittany’s knees, allowing his tongue to linger across the soft wetness of her pussy. He found the knob at the top of her clit, sucked on it briefly, causing her to cry out. She brushed her fingers through his dark hair, then cast her spine back, allowing pleasure to pulse through her.

In the final hours of the day, they made love in his giant bed, deep in the softness of the comforter, their bodies linked, with Brittany’s thin legs wrapped tightly around his muscled abdomen. As he thrust himself deeper into her, gliding against her G-spot, she gasped, then cried out, suddenly thrust into a world of orgasm, of pleasure she couldn’t comprehend. Linking her eyes with his, she felt him orgasm within her, as well—making them gasp in each other’s arms until they fell into a deep slumber, one of release and happiness.

They spent the rest of the weekend together, making love and dining at the country club, finding solace in conversation, in giggling, in discovering new things about the other. On their final day, Paul surprised Brittany by flying Lea out to meet them, and the three of them spent an entire afternoon on the beach: building sand castles, sunning, with Brittany and Lea taking an hour or two to doodle in their sketchpads. Their portrait of Paul was particularly hilarious—with Lea making him look a bit more like a caterpillar than a human.

Brittany wished the weekend could last forever. But alas, real life beckoned, and they had to return. She only hoped their love would continue to grow, flourish, even within the bounds of the chaos at home.