lasted long enough for me to think about getting on anything long-term.
"Condoms, then," he said. "What kind?"
I snorted. "What kind of condoms?"
"That's exactly the kind of details they're going to ask about," he said, patiently. "Simple to answer if you're being honest, but very difficult if you're lying."
"Fine. I don't care. Whatever you normally use."
He hesitated. "Maybe it would be better if we said we were planning on having children as soon as possible."
"You don't think that's laying it on a little too thick?"
He was chewing on the side of his thumbnail. "Better they should think we're disgustingly in love, and wildly irresponsible, than faking it."
"Fine."
He flipped back through the pages of his notepad. "I think that's everything we need to go over. We'll review it from time to time. We shouldn't be called up for an interview until I submit some of my paperwork, but it's best to be prepared."
"Sure," I said.
He stood, tucking the notepad into his pocket. "Would you prefer to wait until after we're married to move in?"
I gaped at him for a moment before I spoke. "Uh, yes. Please." I hadn't even considered that he might suggest otherwise, and the idea of sharing such close quarters with him gave me goose bumps. All right, so it was a big apartment. But it was still an apartment. An apartment where I'd shortly be living with him, for an entire year.
He looked slightly taken aback.
"I just need some more time," I said, quickly. "To get everything settled. You know. My lease - and everything."
He was frowning. "I'll pay it off," he said. "If that's a problem."
"I'm not ready," I said, a little more forcefully than I meant to. "If I have another problem that can be solved with money, trust me, you'll be the first to know."
Daniel stepped back. "Of course," he said, quietly. "I'm sorry."
I watched him as he disappeared up the staircase into his loft bedroom, leaving me alone on the sofa with my thoughts.
I felt vaguely sick to my stomach, sad and unsettled. I didn't like hurting his feelings, but he had to make more of an effort to understand how strange this whole situation was going to be for me. All that mattered to him was the end goal; with his eyes fixed on the prize, he seemed to be losing sight of the fact that he was asking me to give up my entire life.
The minutes ticked by, marked by the ultra-modern clock above the mantelpiece. Finally, I stood up and headed towards the staircase, because I didn't know what else to do.
The journey seemed to take forever, and I was acutely aware of the sound of every footfall. When I finally reached the top, I let my eyes drift over to the small sitting-area in the open part of the loft, two love seats facing each other with a little coffee table between. Finally I looked over to his bedroom door, which was hanging open.
He was sitting on the edge of a massive four-posted bed, so high off the floor that his feet dangled. He lifted his head when I walked in, and for the first time, I noticed the stress and exhaustion that was etched all over his face. Or maybe this was the first time he'd allowed me to see it.
I hoisted myself up on the mattress next to him.
"I'm sorry," I said. "But this is weird."
He nodded, sighing, as he dragged his fingers through his hair. Right now, he was a million miles away from the perfectly-groomed businessman I knew at work, the one whose hand I'd shaken to cement our strange agreement.
"I don't want to pressure you into anything that makes you uncomfortable," he said, finally. "You know that, don't you? Just because I'm paying you…what I'm trying to say is, you shouldn't feel obligated."
"Okay," I said, laughing a little. I couldn't help it.
"What?"
"You know that's impossible, right?" I met his eyes. He genuinely didn't seem to understand what I was driving at. "With the amount of money you're giving me, how can I possibly not feel obligated?"
He shook his head. "You've got to stop thinking in those terms.
"Condoms, then," he said. "What kind?"
I snorted. "What kind of condoms?"
"That's exactly the kind of details they're going to ask about," he said, patiently. "Simple to answer if you're being honest, but very difficult if you're lying."
"Fine. I don't care. Whatever you normally use."
He hesitated. "Maybe it would be better if we said we were planning on having children as soon as possible."
"You don't think that's laying it on a little too thick?"
He was chewing on the side of his thumbnail. "Better they should think we're disgustingly in love, and wildly irresponsible, than faking it."
"Fine."
He flipped back through the pages of his notepad. "I think that's everything we need to go over. We'll review it from time to time. We shouldn't be called up for an interview until I submit some of my paperwork, but it's best to be prepared."
"Sure," I said.
He stood, tucking the notepad into his pocket. "Would you prefer to wait until after we're married to move in?"
I gaped at him for a moment before I spoke. "Uh, yes. Please." I hadn't even considered that he might suggest otherwise, and the idea of sharing such close quarters with him gave me goose bumps. All right, so it was a big apartment. But it was still an apartment. An apartment where I'd shortly be living with him, for an entire year.
He looked slightly taken aback.
"I just need some more time," I said, quickly. "To get everything settled. You know. My lease - and everything."
He was frowning. "I'll pay it off," he said. "If that's a problem."
"I'm not ready," I said, a little more forcefully than I meant to. "If I have another problem that can be solved with money, trust me, you'll be the first to know."
Daniel stepped back. "Of course," he said, quietly. "I'm sorry."
I watched him as he disappeared up the staircase into his loft bedroom, leaving me alone on the sofa with my thoughts.
I felt vaguely sick to my stomach, sad and unsettled. I didn't like hurting his feelings, but he had to make more of an effort to understand how strange this whole situation was going to be for me. All that mattered to him was the end goal; with his eyes fixed on the prize, he seemed to be losing sight of the fact that he was asking me to give up my entire life.
The minutes ticked by, marked by the ultra-modern clock above the mantelpiece. Finally, I stood up and headed towards the staircase, because I didn't know what else to do.
The journey seemed to take forever, and I was acutely aware of the sound of every footfall. When I finally reached the top, I let my eyes drift over to the small sitting-area in the open part of the loft, two love seats facing each other with a little coffee table between. Finally I looked over to his bedroom door, which was hanging open.
He was sitting on the edge of a massive four-posted bed, so high off the floor that his feet dangled. He lifted his head when I walked in, and for the first time, I noticed the stress and exhaustion that was etched all over his face. Or maybe this was the first time he'd allowed me to see it.
I hoisted myself up on the mattress next to him.
"I'm sorry," I said. "But this is weird."
He nodded, sighing, as he dragged his fingers through his hair. Right now, he was a million miles away from the perfectly-groomed businessman I knew at work, the one whose hand I'd shaken to cement our strange agreement.
"I don't want to pressure you into anything that makes you uncomfortable," he said, finally. "You know that, don't you? Just because I'm paying you…what I'm trying to say is, you shouldn't feel obligated."
"Okay," I said, laughing a little. I couldn't help it.
"What?"
"You know that's impossible, right?" I met his eyes. He genuinely didn't seem to understand what I was driving at. "With the amount of money you're giving me, how can I possibly not feel obligated?"
He shook his head. "You've got to stop thinking in those terms.
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