After we’ve left the store and are outside again Shamar puts his arm around me and gives me a soft and gentle kiss on my cheek.

“What was that for?” I ask him.

“For the pleasure of being able to watch you. I’d love to take you right here and now.”

“Shamar, the clothes and the shoes are just fabulous. I don’t know how to thank you. If I’d known they were that expensive I would probably have not even entered the store in the first place,” I answer, while we continue strolling along the shopping arcade.

“Well, then all I can say is that it was good you didn’t know what the prices were like. But each of those things is really worth what it cost, and I’m already looking forward to seeing you in them. But even more I’m looking forward to taking them off again and having sex with you.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” I answer while I stifle a laugh and smile to myself. We pass by the display windows of two other stores and head into a really exclusive-looking shoe store. Now I know where saleslady number 2 got the shoes for me so fast.

“Do you want to continue shopping or head over to Waterwall Park now, angel?”

“I think I’ve spent enough of your money and I also think it is time to head back outside for some fresh air. So how about Waterwall Park?”

We head over to the nearest elevator, which is glass. It brings us downstairs, and we head over to Shamar’s Cayenne, where he stows away all of my bags in the trunk.

The clouds have disappeared, and the sun is back out, bright and strong. Just the right weather for a nice walk in the park. It does not take long for us to get there and within a few minutes we’ve arrived.

It is a beautiful little park, the center of which is made up of the wall Shamar was referring to. It is a half circle, and that is why it is referred to as a horse-shoe, I think to myself. The depth of the wall is irregular, and is thicker in some places so that it almost appears to be made up of columns. The air is filled with tiny little droplets, almost like a kind of mist that covers my skin and clothes. It’s very cool when you sit close to the wall, surrounded by breathtaking scenery.

In the background, I see the shiny skyscrapers that reach into the sky. They frame the dark green and lush meadows of the park that feels like an island amidst all of the buildings. The park is beautifully landscaped and really well cared for. The paths we walk through are surrounded by a vast variety of flowers and from every point in the park you can see the water wall. We take a few pictures of each other with our cell phones, and I make a mental note to myself to remember to send a couple of them to Susan, to be able to show her what Shamar looks like and what Houston is like. After all, this is where I will be spending a lot of time in the future.

We even run into a guy selling ice cream cones, so we buy two and enjoy them while we continue our walk. There are huge chess figures in a corner of the park and we try to play a game together, but because I have not played chess very often Shamar checkmates me almost instantly and the game is over quickly.

I give him a huge kiss and realize that it is getting cool. Probably because the sun is starting to go down. It will be fall soon and I wonder what it is like here in the summer. Probably really, really hot.

“Are you hungry?” Shamar and I are sitting on a bench and watching the people mill around. I start to notice how hungry I am.

“Yes, now that you mention it, I am.”

“Then come.” He pulls me off of the bench, and we stroll out of the park. Two streets from here we see an Italian restaurant Shamar seems to know, and enter. The restaurant is filled with the mouthwatering smell of pizza and cheese. We head for a corner table from where we have a really good view of the restaurant, while no one else can see us. All the tables are covered with red and white checkered table cloths, and the candles have been lit.

The waiter approaches us with the menus while we take a seat, and takes the order for two glasses of red wine and a bottle of sparkling water. We take a look through the menu, but I already know that I’m going to have pizza. I study the different kinds they have to decide which one I feel like eating, which turns out to be pizza and salami with pepperonis, black olives and goat cheese. Shamar closes his menu, too, and the waiter has joined us again, jotting down our orders.

A short time later I’m eating my pizza and Shamar is eating lemon sole, his favorite fish, he informs me. I haven’t had pizza in what feels like ages and really enjoy the crisp dough and the salty cheese. Absolutely delicious. Seeing that I have discovered that this place serves Zabaglione, I decide to have dessert to celebrate the occasion. If there is something in the world I cannot pass up, it’s Zabaglione. And it really is excellent. I’m a specialist when it comes to Zabaglione. I spoon it and savor every bite, while Shamar watches me as he drinks his espresso. We finally are finished with our meal, and Shamar pays, giving the waiter a generous tip. I like that. I like men who tip generously. I think it is a good sign, even though I don’t need any more signs to prove to me just how generous Shamar is. He’s given me enough signs of that. Still, I’m happy for the waiter, who escorts us to the door.

We stroll back to the car holding hands, and when we get there, I realize just how cool it has gotten. I’m beginning to feel it. The traffic has died down now and the streets are empty, so our drive to Shamar’s house takes less time than this morning. We are quiet and peaceful during the drive, which may have to do with the fact that we are tired, but also because we’re becoming relaxed with each other. I lean my head back against the headrest and he puts his hand on my knee.

I fall asleep as we drive home and don’t even wake up until we have reached the house and wait for the gate to open. The lamps to the right and left of the drive have now been lit, and they glow in the evening dusk. Shamar drives the Cayenne around to the back of the house and parks it in the garage. He gets the bags out of the trunk, and we walk back to the front of the house, the entrance of which is brightly lit, while the rest of the house is dark. “Aren’t Matthew and Annie home?” I ask, surprised.

“No, they are generally not here on weekends. They wanted to go to Waco, because that is where Annie’s sister lives.

“Then they won’t be back until Monday?”

“No, I think they’re probably back by now.”

He puts his hand in his pocket and takes out a key and enters a code in the panel in the wall to the side of the door knob, which opens with a soft little click. A few lights are on, which I assume is due to the lighting system that turns the lights on automatically when it is dark.

After Shamar has closed the door we slowly walk up the stairs to our bedroom. I’m so tired and after using the bathroom to freshen up get right into bed and lie down. A short time later Shamar joins me. He crawls into bed and snuggles up to me from behind, and I fall asleep immediately.

---

It is the sun that wakes me up the following morning. I’m stretched out across Shamar, who is naked and on his back. I start caressing his cheek, not so much out of desire but more because I simply feel like touching him. When I reach his belly button his hand grabs mine and stops me.

“Good morning, darling,” I mumble.

“Good morning, angel,” he mumbles back. “Active already so early this morning?”

I kiss his chest.

The thought of finally being able to have sex with him without being separated by a condom is enticing. It appears that is what he is thinking, too. Our caresses and kisses get more intense and passionate. He rolls onto me and supports himself with his arms while his body presses me into the mattress. His penis is on the upper part of my thighs and with every movement he makes he stimulates my clit while his hands caress my breasts. I wrap my hands around him and grab him by the behind which makes him moan. He throws his head back and then falls to my breasts and sucks the nipples, which sends throbbing currents right to the inner core of my female being. “You’re already wet,” he moans while he penetrates me slowly. What a difference. He’s hot, and I can feel him completely. He expands me and fills me up.

What a wonderful feeling with his skin against mine. I start moving back and forth under him, unable to keep still.

“Wait darling, slow down,” he says and starts to move in me, circulating his pelvis and pushing up against me, which turns me on and causes my muscles to contract around him. But he retreats again and kneels down in front of me and places my legs over his shoulders and penetrates me again, caressing my clit with his finger, increasing his speed, which almost makes me explode. I scream, and he only gives me a second to rest, because then he turns me around and takes me from behind, taking me hard and moving my hips in a rhythm that contrasts his own. This time his penis touches a part inside me that gives me yet another orgasm, but a different kind, one that is limited to the vagina. I can’t stop moaning, and he pulls me towards himself again. He leans back and takes me on his lap. It’s like yesterday, like a saddle. I don’t even have to move. My inside is on fire.

Shamar hasn’t had an orgasm yet. He kisses me and turns me back to our initial position. I’m on my back, and I cannot move. My legs are up on his shoulders, and I cannot understand that they don’t just slip off, seeing they feel like rubber.

“Everything alright, angel?”

Shamar looks at me full of passion, and I nod and close my eyes. Then he takes me again, even faster and even harder, and finally he orgasms, and falls down beside me on the mattress. It takes quite a while for both of us to move again.

“I thought you’d never get tired,” I mumble into his chest.

He laughs so hard his chest shakes. “Do you mind?”

“No,” I answer. “But I do need to get into better shape for it. That’s all.”

“You’re doing just fine, angel.” He kisses my hair. We unwind our limbs and Shamar heads for the bathroom, while I take a shower elsewhere and put on clean clothes so that we can have breakfast together.

There are croissants waiting for us at the breakfast table, which I dunk into my coffee before eating them. The phone rings while we are having breakfast.

A short time later Matthew joins us and leans down to Shamar to tell him something.

“Mr. Shalazar, your father is on the phone and would like to speak to you.”

Shamar nods.

“I should have known. Please transfer the call to my office, Matthew, and I will take it there.”

He pushes his chair back and apologizes to me, then hurries off in the direction of his office.

I wonder what he could have known. It takes Shamar almost half an hour to return again, and when he comes out of his office he is pale and his mouth looks drawn.

“What’s wrong, Shamar?”

I run up to him and hug him. It makes me worried to see him like that.

“Has something happened to your parents? Is there something I can do for you?”

I feel like helping him, whatever it is, whatever has made him this upset. But I don’t know what to do. He caresses my back and has a distraught look on his face.

“Luna, I have to go to Dallas to settle a family matter.

His voice sounds rough. What shook him up like that? Maybe something really did happen to his parents, and he doesn’t want to tell me?

“What happened, Shamar?” I repeat the question.

He shakes his head.

“I can’t talk about it right now, Luna. Please.”

He looks at me, and I realize that something must be deeply wrong. His eyes have a peculiar look, so worried he almost seems tortured. I wish he would say something as I feel absolutely powerless.

“There is something I absolutely need to take care of,” he mutters, while his gaze makes me almost feel like I’m the one at fault. “And I cannot postpone the matter. I have to go there now. Please be patient and don’t worry.”

“Well, it is a little too late to say that. The way you look it appears as if the problem is really serious and of course that makes me worried.”

“I will leave this morning and I’ll be back either late this evening or tomorrow morning. Then we can talk.” His voice still sounds muted.

The idea that I must spend the night alone without him in a situation like this makes me feel depressed. He takes a deep breath, messes up his hair with his hands and heads up to our bedroom. I remain in the dining room and look out of the window without even seeing anything outside. A few minutes later I hear him coming down the stairs. He’s dressed and ready to leave. He even has a small suitcase.

“Will you call me?” I ask him. I want him to stay in touch, because I can feel that whatever it is that is bothering him is something monumental, something that makes me almost feel it.

He looks at me gravely and nods.

“Yes, I’ll call when I arrive in Dallas, that will be in about two hours.”

“How will you get to Dallas that fast?” Even if he takes the company jet, I think to myself, it would take longer to drum up a crew and get all the landing permissions.

“I have a helicopter over at West Houston Airport. I will use that to fly to Dallas.”

“Yourself?”

“Yes, sure. Why not.”

“Then you’re going to have to be doubly careful. You are all distracted.”

I sound like an old biddy. But at least it makes Shamar smile. He walks over and kisses me goodbye. And although his kiss is tender, it feels desperate.

“I love you, darling.” The giddy boyishness of this morning has vanished.

“I love you, too, Shamar.” I’m so worried my voice cracks.

If I only knew what was wrong with his dad. I would love to be able to help Shamar. He looks at me one last time before he disappears through the door. I remain standing at the window to see his Porsche drive by. He waves and I wave back, nervously, before disappearing inside again.

Annie is clearing the table. She glances up at me and gives me an empathetic smile.

“Annie, would you happen to know if something might be wrong with Shamar’s dad?” I ask, hoping that maybe she’ll tell me something. She has known Shamar’s family for years so that to me it seems quite probable that she can tell me something.

Annie shakes her head.

“No, unfortunately, I have no idea. Maybe my husband knows something. He was the one to take the call. He is upstairs busy with something, but he’ll be down in a minute or two.”

She goes back to the kitchen with our dishes, but I feel like remaining where Shamar and I last sat. Where we were happy. Maybe just sitting there at that dining room table will make me feel better. Matthew enters and I ask him if he has any idea of what could have happened.

He shakes his head, carefully, and says, “Ms. Buchholz I really don’t know. But maybe it has something to do with that article in the Houston Chronicle today.”

So there was an article in the paper? Of course, the charity event. The photographers must have taken hundreds of pictures.

“Do you still have the paper, Matthew?” I say a prayer and hope that I will be able to take a look at the paper to see if I can find anything.

Matthew nods.

“I will bring it up to you in a moment, Miss Buchholz.”

I walk up to our bedroom and lie down on our bed, where the sheets are all tangled and have the fragrance of sex. A few minutes later there is a knock on the door and Matthew walks in and hands me the paper. I put a few pillows behind my back and start turning the pages, slowly. Towards the back, I finally find something. It is a picture of Shamar and myself on our way to the charity event. We are standing in front of the building, and Shamar has his arm around me while I’m smiling up at him. The part of the picture that shows his hand on my hip has been enlarged, and the caption reads,

“Texas’s most eligible bachelor soon to be married?

Shamar Shalazar, the most eligible bachelor in Texas, attended a charity event last night with a blond bombshell. If bystanders are to be trusted, we can assume that the relationship is serious. An insider told us that the two love doves were inseparable all evening long and looked like they were in love.”

---

I have never been in a newspaper and the picture I was looking at showed us to be a very happy couple indeed, very much in love. I was overcome by all sorts of emotions and sensations.

On the one hand, it was clear that we would find our way into the yellow press, judging from all the pictures that were taken last night. That part does not worry me at all. But on the other hand I don’t know what I have gotten myself into here. Do I have to watch out when I’m out on my own that someone could recognize me and take a picture of me?

I put the paper aside and on impulse reach for my laptop. I open google to do a search by entering Shamar Shalazar. And immediately I get all sorts of pages and articles. I narrow my search down to Shamar and girl-friend and check pictures.

I’m stunned by what I see. I see Shamar with dozens and dozens of different women. And all of them have dark hair. I didn’t think that I was the first woman he ever went out with, also judging from his love making skills, but I certainly did not expect that he had had dealings with so many women. Every picture shows a blissfully happy couple – leaving a theater, leaving a restaurant, or an event, etc, etc. The list looks pretty long.

---

Slowly I realize that it might be a fact that I’m just one of many. I feel confused, and I suddenly start to get all sorts of ideas and thoughts. All of a sudden something that feels a lot like jealousy rears its ugly head, and jealousy is something I have not had any dealings with so far. Automatically I start envisaging Shamar with other women. How he kisses them, how he touches them, and the thought that they shared the same things I did with him. Now that is a thought that chills me to the bone. It is a thought that is so bad it actually hurts.

And all of a sudden I remember something Shirley Jenkins said. She had referred to “always dark-haired women,” and so I’m not the first woman Shirley Jenkins helped buy clothes.

I have to find an end for these thoughts. And I have to distract myself to get a clear head again. In the past exercise was always the best remedy for that. I shut down the computer with a few clicks and slip into my sports clothes and head over to the room downstairs. On my way there I run into Annie, who looks at me with a quizzical look on her face but does not say anything. She probably has her own thoughts on the matter.

I take a bottle of water from the refrigerator and continue heading downstairs. The treadmill is going to be my first stop, followed by the rowing machine. I work on both machines until I’m dripping with sweat and absolutely exhausted until I decide that I have calmed down sufficiently. I tell myself that I cannot seriously expect Shamar to have lived the life of a hermit before we met. He is rich, he is handsome and even women who don’t know him swoon when they see him. The experience he has gathered in bed drove me to unforeseeable climaxes, so he must have learned whatever he learned somewhere. In other words, I have had predecessors.

I simply had not wanted to face those thoughts before. I pretended to myself that I was not interested, but maybe it was denial. But, on the other hand, the denial felt perfectly okay. Why should I worry now? Now is now. Then is then. Perhaps the article had something to do with his father calling him. But he has to tell me about that himself and explain it to me. I cannot just dream up something to explain it to myself.

---

---

That is not a telephone call, as I had expected, but at least he has gotten in touch. We love each other. Isn’t that the most important thing in the world? What bad could happen if we love each other? That thought is like a balm for my soul that dissipates the anguish and calms my turbulent thoughts. I calm down considerably and go back upstairs to take a shower and put on more comfortable clothes to relax with my book, my cell phone and my laptop outside on the terrace. If I’m going to waste time until Shamar returns again, it might as well be fun. So I start reading, until at some point Annie comes out to the terrace to ask me if I’d like to have a bite to eat. However, I’m not hungry. All the excitement has made me lose my appetite.

Just when I’m about to start with the last chapter Annie appears. She looks strained. I ask her if there is anything I can do to help her.

“Miss Buchholz, there is a visitor for you.” She sounds nervous.

“A visitor?” How’s that? I don’t even know anyone here, and no one I’ve met so far would just appear here on the doorstep. “Who is it Annie? I’m not expecting anyone.”

Annie looks really embarrassed.

“It’s Miss Sabah Quidesh, Miss Buchholz.”

“I don’t know a Sabah Quidesh, Annie. Who could that be?” I ask her.

“Miss Buchholz, I really can’t explain that to you. I think Miss Quidesh has to do that herself.” Annie looks embarrassed. I put aside my book and get up from the chaise lounge and follow her out to the living room. A woman with long dark hair is standing next to the window. When I enter the room, she turns around and approaches me. Annie retreats immediately so that I’m alone with a stranger.

“Hello, my name is Sabah Quidesh. Please excuse me for coming to see you without announcing myself beforehand.”

She extends her hand to me for me to shake it, and I do so.

“Hello, Miss Quidesh, my name is Luna-Marie Buchholz. What can I do for you?” She smiles at me, but her smile fails to reach her eyes. I take a good look at her. She is dressed expensively and elegantly, has long dark curly hair, and her eyes are black, too. I cannot distinguish the irises from the pupils. Her lips are full and sensuous. She’s probably about my age, and she is absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Like Scheherazade. A princess. Her perfume is intense, Patchouli by L’Artisan. A fragrance that is as expensive as it is distinctive. The perfume is so over powering it almost makes me puke. She moves around in Shamar’s living room as if she knew the room well, and the way Annie reacted I can tell that she knows Sabah well.

“Just call me Sabah,” she says and smiles at me again.

“Sabah, you can call me Luna. Why don’t we take a seat? Can I offer you something to drink?”

The feeling I’m beginning to have is that of a rabbit that is being thrown to a snake to be eaten.

“Yes, please, I would like that very much, Luna,” she says and sits down on the sofa with an elegant movement. “I will have some ice tea. Annie knows how I like my ice tea.”

I can’t help but arch my eyebrows. What on earth is going on here? As neither Annie nor Matthew are anywhere to be seen, I excuse myself and walk over to the kitchen to ask Annie to bring Sabah some ice tea. When I enter the kitchen, I see that Annie and Matthew are whispering with each other. They both look up when I walk in.

“Annie, Matthew, what is going on here?” I need some information. Fast.

Matthew answers my question: “Miss Quidesh and Mister Shalazar are acquaintances. I cannot tell you anymore. Only Mr. Shalazar can do that.”

So at best I’m being confronted by an ex of Shamar’s. I need that like a hole in the head.

“Annie could you please make some ice tea for Miss Quidesh? She said you know how she likes to drink it. I’ll take one, too. Then I’ll know what she means. Thank you.” I don’t have any more time because I don’t want to leave Sabah alone in the living room for that amount of time. But Sabah looks completely at ease, sitting there on the couch. As if she’d come by to have a little chat with me.

“So you are from Denmark or Sweden? Your accent is so strange.” That must be her idea of easing into a conversation, I think to myself. With an insult.

“I’m from Germany. From Munich. And where are you from, Sabah?” I took an instant dislike to her the moment I first set eyes on her. Her friendliness is fake, and she is much too self-confident to only be an acquaintance of Shamar’s. The back of my neck starts to tickle as if there were invisible currents passing back and forth between us, warning me of an impending danger.

“I was born in Dubai but I came to the United States when I was a child and have spent my whole life here. My family is friends with Shamar’s family.” She is completely relaxed and at ease when Matthew steps into the living room and serves us our drinks. Then he retreats again. Sabah and I both take a sip, and I feel that she is about to drop the bomb.

“Luna, you probably are asking yourself who I am and why I have come here and what I want from you.”

She pauses for effect, making sure that she has my full attention.

I nod. The tension is becoming almost unbearable for me. What does this woman want from me?

“Well, I’ll make this brief. I’m Shamar’s fiancée. We are getting married next month.”