Are you my Adonis?

Send me your best

I climbed into the back of my Bentley Mulsanne. I raised the footrest and sighed as I finally kicked off those damn ugly turquoise pumps that have been squeezing my feet all day. Who would’ve thought they were so popular that I had to order a half size down to have them for today?

“Home, Ms. Fowler?” Hank, my chauffeur, asked from the driver’s seat in the front.

“Yes, Hank,” I said in a tired voice. “Thanks for staying up so late.”

“No problem. You paid me extra for this weekend,” he said with a professional smile. He pulled the car away from the reception hall.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I need some quiet to decompress,” I said with my eyes closed.

“You’re the boss.” With that, he pulled away from the hall and into the streets leading to my house.

I pulled up the privacy divider and sank into my seat. I take a deep breath and let the tears I’ve been holding fall. I’m surprised my contacts didn’t fall out from the flood. I only wore those darn things because Sally needed me to fit the aesthetic for the pictures. She said my frames would look out of place with the color scheme. So I jabbed my eyeballs with pieces of plastic and endured the constant dry eye all night. Still, I kept from making noise since I learned to do that over a decade ago.

I pushed a button on my side console to connect my phone to the car’s entertainment system in front of me. I loaded up the last video I shot for Bill’s content page. Bill was a painting conservator, and five years ago we started shooting videos for his page. It was a hobby he and I both started together in the early days of social media. I would shoot, edit, and upload the videos. He would star and narrate. He grew a large subscriber base with his easy smile and pleasant voice. His content was dubbed Art ASMR by his following. His quiet passion for the paintings he restored translated through the speakers and captivated his fans. It also helped that he had that charming boy-next-door look with his sparkling green eyes and honey blonde hair. So much so that he had sponsors climbing over themselves to collaborate with him; through those collaborations, he was able to give Sally the wedding and honeymoon of her dreams.

Sally was very thrilled, of course. She, being an i********: influencer herself, understood how Bill’s popularity translated into having everything for the wedding. Everything in that wedding binder she and I had made since she was 16 came to fruition. Everything from the cake to the venue to the rare orchids was gram-worthy. I even paid a ridiculous amount for her dream dress as a wedding gift. And to top it all off, I used my connections to get our favorite band, the Moody Bullets, to play a few songs at the reception. I’m sure that clips of her live-streamed wedding and reception will be trending for the months to come.

Joanne Carter was right. I did try too hard. Maybe I did it because I wanted to ease my guilt for being in love with Bill. Maybe I did it because seeing him so happy was everything to me. Maybe it was because I wanted Sally to live her dreams, too. I knew for sure I did it because Sally is the sister I never had, and I would move mountains for her. Either way, the day went perfectly, and now I’m alone crying my eyes out.

I watched the screen and paused it on Billy’s face looking up at the camera with that megawatt smile he has. His green eyes sparkled with glee as he removed the old varnish and saw the bright colors underneath all that yellowed, aged resin. I reached out and touched the screen, pretending to touch his cheek. Heavy tears fall, knowing that the only other time he smiles like that is when he looks into Sally’s eyes.

I grabbed the bottle of the 1998 Château De Monte Bordeaux on the seat next to me and uncorked it. I took a swig directly from the bottle, ignoring the glasses in the hidden compartment. This was his favorite wine and mine too. I remembered how excitedly he shared it with us during our first parents-free trip to France the three of us took together. I remember how Sally made a face and talked about how bitter it was. She was always a rosé kind of girl. She couldn’t appreciate the notes of cherry and lavender under the smoky cedar taste.

The wine warms my belly and my chest as I take another pull. My mind replays memories of our childhood, the awkward teenage years, and finally into our adulthood. My love for Bill had always been there as long as I could remember. He was my sunshine. He would comfort me when I cried, celebrate my wins, and protect me from danger. There was a time during my thirteenth year of life that I thought he felt that way too. I caught him throwing longing glances and blushing smiles across the library table. There even was a moment I thought he was going to kiss me during a rare one-on-one hang out. But suddenly he became distant until the day he told me he was crushing on Sally.

I had given up all fantasies of being with Bill when Sally came to me the next day and told me about her crush on him. I knew if I pursued Bill, then our friendship would be destroyed. So I buried my feelings. It took a frustrating amount of nudging and prodding to get those two together. Sally being the shy one of the group and Bill being the typical clueless nerd, I felt like I’d have to lock them in a room for a week to get them to confess. I would ditch our get-togethers to leave them as much alone time as possible. I remember how I screamed and jumped up and down with Sally when she told me Bill finally said he liked her. I was truly happy for Sally, but a corner of my heart died that day.

I took another pull from the bottle and decided. I needed to stop feeling. I needed to stop loving. And above all, I needed to stop crying. I rummaged through my tiny purse until I found that card. I dialed that number with shaky hands.

“Adonis Romance Services. How can we fulfill your fantasies?” a pleasant and seductive male voice answered.

“Hi, I’m Amelia Fowler, and I received this card from Joanne Carter,” I said softly. “Can you send me your best? I need to forget my heartache tonight.”

Eros, the smooth male voice on the other side of the line, asked a few questions that made me blush and made me think hard about my preferences. He quoted me a $5,000 booking fee and a $ 1,000-per-hour, or $ 10,000-per-night, fee. In my semi-drunken state, I agreed to the night booking. I directed Eros to send my Adonis to the private suite at Presidium hotel, a side venture I own. I told Eros to tell the front desk to send him up into my suite.

After I hung up, I called the Presidium and instructed the front desk that I have a guest staying overnight with me and to allow him entry into my suite before I get there. I rolled down the divider and took a breath.

“Hank, I hate to do this to you, but I need to get to the Presidium,” I said.

“Are you sure, Ms. Fowler? It’s 2 am and your house is only 10 minutes away. It’ll take at least 45 minutes to get to the Presidium.” He replied with slight exhaustion in his voice.

“Sorry, but I’m sure. I’ll give you a bonus and a room at the Presidium to stay the night.”

“Okay, Ms. Fowler,” he replied as he turned the car around.

I laid back in my seat and turned off the monitor. Millions of thoughts ran through my head, wondering if this was a good idea. If it’s too late to turn back. If I’ll regret this in the morning.