My Escort

Married for Money

I could do this all day long. Just today— I'll forget everything and everyone and

embrace this day before I go back to my harsh reality.

I make a mental declaration

as Red's mouth takes mine into sweet bliss. We kiss each other as though tomorrow will never come. "Red," I murmur

"Hmm," he hums while grazing his lips with mine, teasing me. I giggle once again.

What a kid! "I'm hungry," I say, and his eyebrows knit together in a small, disappointed frown.

"What were you expecting?" I bite my bottom lip, grinning at him. "I'm gonna s***k you, Mia." He laughs lightly; we both do, before he sighs softly.

Staring at me taciturn for a short while, he finally adds, "I can only make you

breakfast if you get up from my lap." Woah. I flush deeply.

Feeling suddenly coy, I pull out him briskly with a sharp

moan. Red bursts into a carefree laughter, making me scowl at him.

"Not cool, Red," I mutter. He laughs more. "I'm going to shower!" I run my just-

fucked body upstairs, laughing along.

Oh my God! Why do I enjoy this moment so much? I feel like a teenager in love.

Did I even feel this way when I started dating Patrick back in Paris? I can't help but

revisit my past. No, I think it was different. With Patrick I instantly shifted from a clueless teen

into a sexually gratified woman without any moment of cheesiness and playfulness.

He wanted a real lady and trained me to become one. But I feel more like myself right now. I can be childish— because I am childish—

without being restrained by anyone that I should behave like a proper adult.

Nah- ah, I can be Mia around Red and I love it. "Just one day, Mia. Just this day we're not going to be Mrs. Kingston," I mutter to

my reflection in the bathroom mirror, a small smile on my face.

But after today, what shall become of me? I sigh heavily.

After a warm, relaxing shower— upon throwing my emotional baggage aside-- I

don't bother changing into any other clothes.

I simply put on a pair of white cotton

underwear and slip back into Red's T-shirt which feels very comfortable.

Breakfast is well dressed on the table: a tropical juice, scrambled eggs, bacon and

sandwiches. I grin my greedy grin as I wander into the kitchen where Red is

already pouring some coffee into our cups.

He flashes me a big smile when he sees

me. "Hi, you," I utter, nearing him. He hauls me with his one arm so I stay to his side.

"You smell good," he says after

placing the kettle down. I'm glad it's not the perfume Patrick bought me. In fact it's a very cheap one I

bought in Brazil when I attended the Rio Fashion Week with my girlfriends.

"Thank you," I breathe into his neck, laying my head on his shoulder while

devouring all the food for breakfast.

"Sit," Red instructs and I do as I'm told without thinking twice. I'm feeling giddy

when he pulls a chair out for me. "You're eating everything," he adds while sitting

down, too.

"What? Everything? Are you on a mission to turn me into a whale?" I tease, for I

can say all random nonsense as long as I get to see his beautiful smile that can light

up the whole Astoria.

As expected, Red laughs heartily. "No, Mia, I'll definitely find a way to put the

food you eat into use. And trust me, it doesn't have to be on a treadmill or squatting

machine," he says, his tone salacious.

Fuck! I flush that perverted shade of Red, biting my lip. "I want to see where all this food will be useful to after I eat it all."

I take my

coffee ready for a sip. "Two sugars?" I ask him.

"Yeah," he answers. Man, he knows my stuf . "So, what are your plans for this day, Madam?" He's definitely being sarcastic right now. Madam? I huff.

"Nothing. I don't want to go anywhere but here. I want to stay indoors and do

absolutely nothing," I reply, watching him serving a bit of everything he's made

into my plate.

"I see," he mutters, and as always he doesn't contradict. "But if you want to go out and do something you're free to go," I tell him, fully

aware that he may need some alone time as well.

He may be my bodyguard . . . Er, a lover now? What the f**k! No I don't want that

name because it sounds as shady as f**k. I don't even know what we are and I don't

care. I love being with him and that’s it.

"No, I've got nothing to do here," Red replies as we start eating. "And I can't live

you alone even if we're not in Portland." He sips his coffee.

"Oh?" I take a bite of my sandwich, which is heavenly sweet with soft butter and

jelly. "Good, let's stay right here." I smile at him, excited for a numerous reasons.

"Hmm." Red bobs his head in a simple acquiesce. Man, the breakfast is delicious. As I drink my juice my eyes are stealthy fixed on

Red. He seems a bit thoughtful, a small wrinkle on his face.

It's that Bodyguard

look, mixed with some . . . afflict?

"Something wrong?" I manage to catch his attention. "You," he says. "What?" I frown.

He smirks. "I mean, you're making me think of you more than necessary. Mia, I

know this is a bit off limit and I've got no right to ask you, but . . ." He pauses, scrutinizing my reaction.

"What is? Ask me," I urge, my voice purely curious. Red's lips quirk up into a tight line, and I'm wary. What does he want to know?

"How did you meet Mr. Kingston?" he finally asks, and it's as if his body has

suddenly relaxed after letting it out. I smile softly, for it's just a mundane question.

"In Paris. It was during a party

and . . . and some guy was harassing me the whole evening until Patrick showed up

and threw him away with just two or three words that I couldn't hear," I reply while

tilting the juice in my glass,swirling it nonchalantly.

Those were great times, I guess. The Patrick I knew back then was a man

emanating nothing but reliance. I saw a father, I saw a boyfriend, too, and slowly I

fell into him like a foolish being in love.

When he extended his hand toward me while removing his elegant floppy hat, I got

lost for a moment. And then he uttered, "Young lady, are you okay?" His voice

paralyzed the young girl in me, and so did his smile.

"I see," Red replies coolly and bites half of his sandwich. He looks tense, his jaw

tight. "So you fell in love with him and married him afterwards?" he adds icily, and

I no longer appreciate the tone of his voice. Is it jealousy or something else? He sounds contemptuous, but I wonder at whom

exactly.

Is it me or Patrick? I scowl at him.

"We married six months later," I answer anyway, my gaze firmly fixed on his face. He wrenches a single eyebrow, his expression indescribable.

"And yes, just like

everyone else, you're free to think that I married him for money!" I snap.