Luther loads the plane for Floriana, Luther, Gianfranco, Aiden, and me. We’ll be flying directly to Paris in a chartered jet.

Gianfranco sounds excited as he tells me about where we’ll be spending some time. “I know you have already done the major attractions—the tower, the museum. Me, I will take you to where the artists live and where there are lovers galore.” His hand guides me to my seat in the plane.

“I cannot wait.”

Only two weeks ago, I was finishing my work at the station, thinking I’d be flying to America with Aiden, and now, we’re flying to Paris with a butler, my nanny, and Gianfranco. I feel he’s going to be my personal attaché while we travel.

“You know I’m not used to having people show me around,” I remind him.

“I know. Remember, this is becoming an adventure of many new things.” He kisses me as the airplane door closes.

When we land in Paris, we waste no time going to Gianfranco’s flat. On the drive in, I see that we are near many cafes, bakeries, and shops. His building is like many of the older places I remember seeing while walking through town, at least from the outside. The building is four or five stories high, and the top level is decorated with a different color and architecture. The inside is quite nice and quite comfortable. His flat is more traditionally decorated, has four bedrooms with a bath off each one, a fireplace in the main room, and a kitchen with an astounding view. Not to mention the two balconies. But we’re all tired, and after getting settled, we go to sleep.

The next day, Gianfranco and I roam the city while Floriana takes care of Aiden.

“This is where many famous artists lived. Picasso, Van Gogh…” He points out their flats. “I used to come here all of the time for inspiration. It is where my ideas for Fixation came from.”

The neighborhood is like a beatnik neighborhood in other cities, only much older than most. His knowledge is real, it doesn’t come from textbooks. He’s lived it—just how I like it.

“Over here, there were mines for minerals”—he points—“and here too.” He tells me many stories of how long ago, the land we are standing on was used by artist outcasts who just wanted to get away from the bourgeoisie and drink tax-free wine. “Now, many of these same people who detest artist outcasts have their work hanging in their homes.” He scoffs. “However, if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be making a living as I do.”

I kiss him. “This is true.”

At night, Gianfranco and I dine out in one of the many fantastic restaurants, or we eat at home. Sometimes, Gianfranco takes us all out.

“It is like we are one big traveling family,” he says. “Therefore, we must eat together and often.”

Some days, Gianfranco takes Aiden and me to his favorite parks and gardens, always telling me of “the stories of the unwritten.” And each day, I become more and more interested in what I would say is not “mainstream” Paris.

One day, Gianfranco surprises me and asks to take Aiden by himself. “I would just like to go and play with the little man. Little man to man.”

I agree, and I take Floriana to some of the nice shops so we can have a ladies’ day.

On other days, I take Aiden, and sometimes Floriana, to the touristy areas to do touristy things. We go up the Eiffel Tower, get drawings done of our faces, pay too much for crepes, and of course go to the Louvre. I love all of the adventure, the French food, culture, and wine.

“I could stay through the summer,” I tell Gianfranco one night over dinner.

“We’ll be here at least as long as it takes me to find a gallery. But then I would like to take you on to the summer home in Salento.”

“Salento?”

“Yes, it is beautiful this time of year. I have a farm there, and I need to tend to it for several days. It will be a good place to relax and unwind from the busy city we are in.”

I think for a minute, then give him a crisp nod. “That sounds wonderful.”

His fingers run through my hair. I allow my head to fall on his shoulder while we sit and watch the sun dip beneath the city.

“I like you very much, Liza Patrick,” he says.

“I like you too, Gianfranco.”

His hand rubs my shoulder. Together, we sit until only the city’s lights illuminate the sky.

* * *

On the final day in France, we take a trip out of town and visit Versailles.

“What a magnificent palace,” Floriana says as we drive home from our tour.

“It was the hunting lodge of Louis the XIII, but not in this splendor. Then Louis XIV, the Sun King, turned it into much of what we see today. It was also said to be a place where the king could stay a distance from the main capital,” Gianfranco says.

“And why would he want such a thing?” Luther asks.

“To keep distance between himself and his potentially very angry peasants,” I say.

We laugh before returning to his apartment one last time.

After everyone has gone to bed, Gianfranco takes out some rope. “Would you like to play tonight?”

I curl my body and poke out my hip. “I would love to play.” I’m still surprised to hear those words from my mouth.

Gianfranco undoes his shirt. The sight of his frame never fails to make me ripe. He walks closer to me, and my heart skips a beat. He slides off my camisole and tickles my nipples with the frayed end of the rope.

“Mmm…” I bite my bottom lip. “That feels so good.”

Suddenly the sensations stop.

“How will you tie me?” I ask.

Gianfranco presses a finger across his lips, telling me to stay silent.

He begins preparing a knot. “Like this.” He takes one of my hands and ties it to one of the top posts of the bed, then does the same with the other. He binds my feet to the lower bedposts.

I shift on the sheets, testing to see how much movement I’m allowed. “You’ve bound me well.”

He winks. “I like when your arms are high and you struggle to push my head from you when you come.”

“Is that so?”

His face moves into my pussy. “It is.” He begins.

Each time, I find myself enjoying his stimulation as much as the first. After I come for the seventh time, he frees me, and I crawl into him, my body feels more and more satisfied. My limbs hang over his frame, limp. An earthquake could rumble us and I’d still feel safe in his arms.