ask, I'm sure he won't mind."
Marco waved her off. “Don't be jealous, Jane Francis,” he said. “I still love you, too. He's just a good, responsible guy who loves his job. And I work hard. I deserve to be pampered once in a while. You never bought me straws."
"Well, excuse me, your highness,” she said. “I'll start cutting the crust off your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches if you wish.” Then she curtsied.
"Don't be droll,” Marco said. “I have a headache."
Jane Francis shook her head and turned. She knew how far she could go with Marco, and as an employee she didn't want to overstep her bounds. On her way out of the room she said, “If you need me, I'll be in my bedroom planning ways to make your life better than it already is, your highness."
The extra free time Jane Francis had wouldn't have been a bad thing, except she kept noticing little things. Peculiar things that bothered her. The more she grew to know Yves the less she understood him. Yves had a few quirks Jane didn't mention to anyone. One night while Yves thought everyone was sleeping, Jane Francis saw him sneak into the kitchen and devour an entire roasted chicken. He scooped it into his mouth with his fingers, forcing large chunks of chicken down his throat. He hardly chewed. His eyes were wild and he took deep breaths through his nose. It looked as though he hadn't eaten a decent meal in months. Then he ate a bar of cream cheese, a half dozen bagels, a container of leftover macaroni and cheese, and half of a large chocolate cake.
He didn't know Jane was watching him devour this food. She was standing in the dark hall near the kitchen doorway. When he was finished, he wiped his hands and his face with paper towels and turned off the lights. Jane stepped into her own room so he wouldn't see her. When it was safe, she followed his footsteps to the powder room in the front hall. While she stood outside with her palm pressed to her throat, he was inside the powder room leaning over the toilet throwing up everything he'd just pilfered from the refrigerator.
Jane Francis kept this to herself, along with other things she'd seen and heard. She figured it was none of her business and she wasn't a gossip. But then something happened one night at the TV studio and Jane had to say something to Marco. They'd just taped another reality show. They were in the dressing room and Marco was removing an expensive outfit he'd just worn on the show. It was from Frazier's new collection.
"You were wonderful, Marco,” Yves said. “I almost cried when I saw you show those models how to walk down a runway in this outfit."
Jane furrowed her eyebrows and listened. The outfit was one of those outrageous couture deals no one would have worn in public. The jacket was soft amber suede, with extra wide lapels, and flared out at the hips. The black slacks were skintight, see-through nylon/spandex that resembled pantyhose. The boots were three-inch stacked heels that looked more like women's shoes than men's shoes. Jane Francis knew this was the type of dramatic outfit male models wore during fashion week to impress the critics and journalists. It was all about effect, and as uncomfortable as any outfit could get. The see-through pants were so tight they rode up the crack of Marco's tight little ass.
"You didn't get the right size thong, Jane Francis,” Marco said, removing the jacket. “It's so tight it's cutting off circulation to my balls."
"It's the same size I always get,” Jane Francis said. She was lying. She'd given him a thong too sizes too small because she was annoyed at him for letting Yves take over his life and so many of her responsibilities.
"Well, I should let you try it on for size,” Marco said, adjusting the waistband of the thong.
"If I tried to pull that little thing up around my fat ass it would split in three different places,” Jane Francis said.
This made Marco laugh. He was removing the high heeled boots and he almost fell over the
Marco waved her off. “Don't be jealous, Jane Francis,” he said. “I still love you, too. He's just a good, responsible guy who loves his job. And I work hard. I deserve to be pampered once in a while. You never bought me straws."
"Well, excuse me, your highness,” she said. “I'll start cutting the crust off your peanut butter and jelly sandwiches if you wish.” Then she curtsied.
"Don't be droll,” Marco said. “I have a headache."
Jane Francis shook her head and turned. She knew how far she could go with Marco, and as an employee she didn't want to overstep her bounds. On her way out of the room she said, “If you need me, I'll be in my bedroom planning ways to make your life better than it already is, your highness."
The extra free time Jane Francis had wouldn't have been a bad thing, except she kept noticing little things. Peculiar things that bothered her. The more she grew to know Yves the less she understood him. Yves had a few quirks Jane didn't mention to anyone. One night while Yves thought everyone was sleeping, Jane Francis saw him sneak into the kitchen and devour an entire roasted chicken. He scooped it into his mouth with his fingers, forcing large chunks of chicken down his throat. He hardly chewed. His eyes were wild and he took deep breaths through his nose. It looked as though he hadn't eaten a decent meal in months. Then he ate a bar of cream cheese, a half dozen bagels, a container of leftover macaroni and cheese, and half of a large chocolate cake.
He didn't know Jane was watching him devour this food. She was standing in the dark hall near the kitchen doorway. When he was finished, he wiped his hands and his face with paper towels and turned off the lights. Jane stepped into her own room so he wouldn't see her. When it was safe, she followed his footsteps to the powder room in the front hall. While she stood outside with her palm pressed to her throat, he was inside the powder room leaning over the toilet throwing up everything he'd just pilfered from the refrigerator.
Jane Francis kept this to herself, along with other things she'd seen and heard. She figured it was none of her business and she wasn't a gossip. But then something happened one night at the TV studio and Jane had to say something to Marco. They'd just taped another reality show. They were in the dressing room and Marco was removing an expensive outfit he'd just worn on the show. It was from Frazier's new collection.
"You were wonderful, Marco,” Yves said. “I almost cried when I saw you show those models how to walk down a runway in this outfit."
Jane furrowed her eyebrows and listened. The outfit was one of those outrageous couture deals no one would have worn in public. The jacket was soft amber suede, with extra wide lapels, and flared out at the hips. The black slacks were skintight, see-through nylon/spandex that resembled pantyhose. The boots were three-inch stacked heels that looked more like women's shoes than men's shoes. Jane Francis knew this was the type of dramatic outfit male models wore during fashion week to impress the critics and journalists. It was all about effect, and as uncomfortable as any outfit could get. The see-through pants were so tight they rode up the crack of Marco's tight little ass.
"You didn't get the right size thong, Jane Francis,” Marco said, removing the jacket. “It's so tight it's cutting off circulation to my balls."
"It's the same size I always get,” Jane Francis said. She was lying. She'd given him a thong too sizes too small because she was annoyed at him for letting Yves take over his life and so many of her responsibilities.
"Well, I should let you try it on for size,” Marco said, adjusting the waistband of the thong.
"If I tried to pull that little thing up around my fat ass it would split in three different places,” Jane Francis said.
This made Marco laugh. He was removing the high heeled boots and he almost fell over the
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