Page 61 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

“I like the apartment.”

As soon as the words escape his mouth, he darts out his tongue, tasting her skin before delivering a final kiss. He feels her shiver, and this is all the sign he needs to know his unspoken apology has been accepted.

Without another word, he takes his leave.

When Jessica wakeson Sunday morning, it’s the cold sheets beside her she notices first. Glancing out the windows, she notes how bright the sun is, cluing her into the fact that she’s slept through dawn. On a deep inhale, she lifts her head, turning her face the opposite direction. With her cheek resting on her pillow, she looks into the apartment and listens for movement. She hears and sees no sign of Khalohn, causing a slight frown of confusion to tug at her brow.

It’s been more than a week since Khalohn returned home from his business trip and they began their clandestine affair in unit 601. While he doesn’t call on her every night, it’s safe to say they’ve fallen into a routine of sorts. They’ve met five times since that first night. As promised, he gives her at least an hour’s notice—but it’s usually more. If he arranges for them to meet on a weeknight, he’ll stay until around midnight before he heads home. Wherever that is. She convinces herself she doesn’t mind. It’s the nature of their relationship. Anyway, he tends to leave her sated and exhausted, and she has no trouble slipping into slumber shortly after he locks the door behind him. Still, she can’t deny she prefers their weekend rendezvous.

She likes falling asleep with his warmth at her back, his heavy arm draped around her and their legs tangled beneath the sheets. Even more, she likes to wake to the smell of coffee, or the sound of him in the shower. It’s all a fantasy, a truth she repeats to herself often, but she allows herself to enjoy it just the same.

So long as she’s in Tribeca, her life is more. So long as she’s in Tribeca, she can be the woman who lives in a beautiful loft; a woman who’s sleeping with a handsome, wealthy, generous lover. Moreover, she can afford to sneak away two times a week for dance class at Miah’s.

In the world of unit 601, she doesn’t have to be the daughter who sleeps on a pull-out couch; she doesn’t have to be worried about a job or how she’s going to pay the bills. Because of Khalohn, because of thefantasy, she can spend her days sitting with her mom at the hospital, concerned only with when she’ll finally get to return home.

Though now, in the quiet apartment, the sheets cold where Khalohn fell asleep, she realizes this is the first Sunday morning she’s woken in unit 601. Even though Khalohn has never left without saying goodbye, she begins to question what could make Sunday different. Given the nature of their relationship, they don’t spend a whole lot of time talking. When they do, it’s usually about food. He’s always thoughtful enough to take note of what she likes. When they need sustenance, it’s merely another round of satisfaction.

Jessica hides her smile in her pillow when she thinks back to Friday night, when Khalohn had apple pie delivered at eleven o’clock. They each had a slice, and then he fucked her on the dining room table. It was marvelous. Nonetheless, the memory doesn’t completely quell the disappointment of sleeping through his departure.

She pushes herself up into a seated position, holding the top sheet against her naked chest as she searches the floor for a piece of clothing. When she spots the button-up shirt Khalohn was wearing the night before, she turns her face to look across the bedroom platform to the open closet. It isn’t a huge space, but his interior designer made sure it was outfitted with cubbies and drawers where Jessica stashes her lingerie and the couple outfits she keeps around, just in case. Khalohn, too, has brought three garment bags that hang there, in the event he needs something fresh to wear in the morning. She thinks back to the previous day, when Khalohn donned a fresh pair of slacks and a dress shirt before hanging his discarded clothes in the empty garment bag. When he left, he took it with him. There are two garment bags remaining—only one of them is empty, and the clothes he wore the night before are still strewn across the floor.

Hopeful wherever he is he’ll be back, Jessica slips out of bed and reaches for his shirt. She pulls it over her shoulders, fastening a few buttons, all the while appreciating the scent of him, which still clings to the fabric. She then snatches up her previously discarded panties and shimmies them up her legs. On her way to the bathroom, she rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves, leaving her forearms exposed. After she handles her business, she washes her hands, tugs her hair back into a high ponytail, and then brushes her teeth. It’s just after she’s washed her face when she hears the front door open and close. She catches her own eyes in the mirror, and she doesn’t even bother to hide her smile.

As Khalohn enters the apartment, he heads straight for the kitchen. At the sound of the bathroom door sliding open, he glances over at Bryn. Something about the sight of her in his shirt makes him stop. It’s not that he’s never seen it before. It’s the level at which he likes seeing it—likes seeing her bare, toned legs stretching out from beneath the hem; likes knowing what’s beneath the fabric is his to touch and taste. In the space they occupy, there’s a familiarity he hasn’t had in a long time—a comfort that gives her the boldness to don his shirt as casually as if it belonged to her.

“Hi,” she greets him softly, a small smile brightening her clean face.

“Morning.”

Slowly crossing the room, she says, “I thought—I thought you left.”

Dislodging the two piping hot coffees he picked up at the corner market from the cardboard carrier, he remembers how she slept through him waking, showering, and getting dressed. He doesn’t admit to her he’s pleasantly surprised to have found her awake upon his return.

He tips his chin down at the coffees and lifts a white paper sack as he informs her, “Bagels.”

Her smile grows, and he doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of admiring it before he takes the paper from underneath his arm and tosses it by a stool at the end of the island. He unpacks his whole wheat bagel, already filled with cream cheese, grabs his coffee, and takes a seat. He sips his beverage, vaguely aware of Bryn moving about the kitchen as he opens theSunday New York Timesin search of the crossword puzzle. Folding the paper back, he extracts the pen he borrowed from the doorman out of his shirt pocket, takes a bite of his bagel, and reads the first clue.

Khalohn is accustomed to working on his puzzle at home. Alone. When he woke up nearly an hour ago, he acknowledged he was exactly where he wanted to be. As he listens to Bryn doctoring her coffee, extracting her bagel, and pulling out a stool on the opposite side of the counter from him, he’s still certain he’s precisely where he wants to be.

His loft—Bryn’sloft—it’s vastly different than his penthouse on the Upper East Side. There’s no television. No computer. No empty rooms filled with furniture that goes unused for months at a time. What he and Bryn have is just sex—just a business arrangement to which they’ve both consented; but it doesn’t make void the intimacy of sharing a space with someone. The routine that links their lives together—however minor—is more than he’s had with a woman in years.Bryn’s bodyis more familiar than any woman’s body he’s had since he called another his wife. He likes it. He’s paying for it, so he sees no reason not to indulge in it.

He’s halfway through his bagel, Bryn a couple bites into hers, when she murmurs, “Is this your Sunday morning ritual? Coffee, bagel, and the crossword puzzle?”

Khalohn lifts his eyes to find hers, noting the curiosity he spies in her gaze. “The puzzle, yes.”

“So, the coffee and bagel…?”

Her sentence trails off, her question implied. “Breakfast,” he replies, minimizing the fact that he’s never stayed for breakfast before.

Jessica nods, but he doesn’t see it as he shifts his focus back onto the paper. She takes another bite of bagel, chewing it slowly as she admires him. She’s never even so much as attempted to tackleTheTime’sSunday crossword. As she watches him fill in his third answer, she decides the man across from her must be outrageously smart. It makes sense, given his success; but there are businessmen and then there arebusinessmen.She recognizes he’s the latter. As illogical as it might seem, watching him in that single moment, she’s sure he’s not manipulative or shady. He’s wise and intelligent. Even more, he’s the kind of man who leaves early on Saturday morning, but takes his time on Sunday—takes his time working on a puzzle.

She draws a long sip from her coffee, a small voice in the back of her head suggesting she stay quiet and leave him be. She ignores it, her nerves alerting her what she really wants is totalkto him. To know him—the man across from her, sitting in the light of the morning sun—even if just a little bit.

“You work a lot, right?” she asks hesitantly. He peeks up at her, but he doesn’t reply. His silence doesn’t deter her, his blue eyes soft and his gaze seemingly open. “I mean, it’s just a guess, but you’re almost always in a suit, and you keep a pretty strict schedule. We never meet before nine, you don’t stay out all night during the week, and even Saturdays you leave pretty early.”

Khalohn merely nods his head, and Jessica licks her lips, contemplating her next question. It’s one she’s found herself wondering over and over as time slips by. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend? Or a wife? I—” She cuts herself off, reconsidering all she’s said and her awareness of his schedule. Suddenly, something she never considered flares to life in her mind—because there are businessmen, and then there arebusinessmen.Her eyebrows knit together in concern, she swallows and then inquires, “You don’t, right? You don’t have a wife?”

Amused by the cute expression tugging at the features of her face, Khalohn breathes a quiet chuckle, smirking at her as he shakes his head. “No.”

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