She arrives five minutes early. I’ve been waiting for an hour. I hear her before I see her—that signature clip of stilettos on paving stones. Small, hurried, excited steps.I turn to watch her. Jacket, pencil skirt, white blouse, slim folio case, and serious sandals. Her gaze flits across the street, and I relish these seconds where I can just observe her. When she finally sets eyes on me, her business face melts into a broad smile. Her steps quicken, and she flings herself at me, arms wide open.“You managed to get away?” We grip each other, perhaps tighter than is appropriate for a public setting, and break away quickly… too quickly… that fizzy anticipation causing unnecessary nerves.“Naturellement,” she replies, in a playful French accent. “Would I let you down? Pas moi.”She never lets me down. Ever. She gets precious few opportunities to slip away from her husband, so when one presents itself, she always sends a message well in advance to give me time to make my own plans to be
Last Updated : 2025-11-05 Read more