The apartment Agatha rented just for them offered a convenient refuge from prying eyes while they spent time together. It was far enough from her husband’s home to avoid unnecessary suspicion, yet close enough that neither of them had to go to any particular trouble to reach it.
That evening, Simon sat in an armchair while Agatha moved about the bedchamber.
She wore only a thin chemise, the pale fabric clinging lovingly to her figure whenever she moved. Her gown lay discarded nearby; divesting her of it was the first thing Simon did after arriving.
He too was barely dressed, naked from the waist up.
Now, piece by piece, he watched her take off her jewellery before placing each item carefully on the dressing table. The tightly coiled tension in her body did not go unnoticed either. There was something restless in the way she moved, as though the frustrations of the day had followed her into the room.
"I take it that your day didn’t go the way you wanted," Simon said conversationally. An accurate assessment, judging by the way she had behaved so far.
"Awful." Agatha heaved a tired sigh as she worked at the fastening of her necklace. "Truly awful. You cannot even begin to imagine. But I don’t want to bore you with the details."
He smiled faintly, the expression genuine and inviting. "I’m here, aren’t I? Tell me anyway."
Agatha considered this for a moment.
"Fine. It was my husband’s sister and her demon-spawn." She relented, pausing what she was doing as she recounted the details. Then, just like that, she launched into a long-winded rant about her latest inconvenience. "They arrived a week ago, and I swear they have decided that my house is theirs. They have taken over everything. My husband’s sister has opinions about everything. The curtains, the meals prepared, even the house decor. Yesterday she suggested that I ought to replace the carpet because she thinks the pattern is too severe. The woman and her daughter possess no tact, no manners at all to speak of, and my husband just lets her do as she pleases."
Simon raised an eyebrow, lounging back in his chair. "Had you been anyone else, I would have spouted a few hollow platitudes, something as dull as ’how you ought to have the good sense to rise above such behaviour,’ or ’how you would do better to pay no heed to such conduct.’ But when have you ever known me to be the paragon of virtue?"
Agatha finally slipped the necklace from her throat and laid it beside the earrings.
"So what do you suggest I do?" she asked, intrigued by what he had to say.
Simon merely shrugged.
"They have a home, do they not? Your task is to make the remainder of their stay so unbearable that they will have no choice but to cut their visit short and return home. You can manage that, can’t you?"
Agatha nodded. "I can do that." Then, unable to help herself, she laughed, her earlier irritation visibly lessening.
From their time together, Simon learned that she did not always need advice. Sometimes she simply wanted someone to hear her complaints and validate her.
That was one of the things that made their arrangement different from the purely physical affair it might have been.
Agatha wanted attention.
She wanted affection.
She wanted someone who listened when she spoke. All things her husband never did for her.
Simon gave her those things easily. Just like her, he also craved a degree of companionship in his life. It was a normal thing to want. But what was not normal were his vices and his dependence on them, the way he had to be inebriated to feel human, and his frequent bouts of mindless rage.
So despite wanting to have someone close and craving that intimacy, he avoided all emotional attachments and rejected every thought of one day settling down.
How could he subject a wife and child to this hell? What type of life could he even offer them? One of nothing but pain and suffering. He couldn’t do it in good conscience. It was that very thing that set him apart from his father.
But maintaining affairs, like the one he had with Agatha Dubarry, was safe. There were zero chances of either of them ever falling in love.
She removed the last of her rings and placed them on the dressing table before turning toward him.
Slowly, Agatha sauntered to where he sat, her hips swaying sensually as she approached.
When she reached him, she placed both hands on his shoulders, her fingers travelling down his bare skin, tracing the line of his chest before continuing toward his abdomen.
Simon’s hand settled around her waist when she lowered herself onto his lap. In turn, she slipped an arm around his neck to steady herself.
Her fingers glided over the shortened hair at the nape of his neck.
She clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"I still don’t understand why you cut it. Your hair was so beautiful." Her gaze moved over him, briefly reminiscing about his past appearance.
His long hair was always one of the things the women who sought his company liked most. He knew what they saw when they looked at him: the handsome man with dark hair falling past his shoulders, the slightly dishevelled artist, the melancholy figure who seemed as though he belonged in some romantic painting rather than in the ordinary world.
They created this elaborate image and lore around him in their minds. They desired their creation. He was a way for them to indulge their fantasies.
They rarely wondered about the real man underneath.
Simon had never corrected them. The arrangement suited him perfectly. There was a strange comfort in being desired without truly being known, in allowing people to admire the version of him he chose to show them while keeping everything else safely out of reach.
Simon gave her a lazy smile. "I prefer it this way."
"But you also preferred it long," she argued.
His smile didn’t falter. "I’ve changed my mind."
She ran her fingers through the shorter strands, examining the new length with mild amusement. "You look good either way, so I shouldn’t be too upset. A blessing that you were gifted with the face of an angel."
"True, but I look better this way. It makes me look more masculine."
Agatha chuckled softly. "I see your vanity has decided to make an appearance."
"I have never heard you complain about it before," he said, his eyes flashing deviously.