When we returned to the apartment, I saw new luggage lined up in the hall. I was giddy with it – the smell of soft leather, the starred patches of light still in my vision from the photographer’s flashbulb. “Leave everything here except what you want to wear to dinner,” Hermann told me. We left the apartment and Hermann pointed to a motorcycle parked in front of the building. He placed a helmet on my head, ran his fingers along my jaw and strapped it under my chin, then reached for his own. I pulled up my dress to ride to the restaurant, felt the heat of the machine between my legs and the warmth of his back as I pressed against him. Everything was vibration and warmth, not only our bodies but also the place we met the world, air and skin humming on contact.
At dinner, Hermann leaned to m
