He gave it to me over dinner, sliding the flat box across the table as we sipped our wine. Many of my clients had very specific fantasies they wanted me to act out with them, and I was happy to explore whatever. But Lionel’s desire wasn’t sexual. He wanted me to be his wife, in real life, so when we were together, without ever explicitly saying that’s how it would be, I pretended I was. “You look so beautiful tonight,” he said. “I have something for you.” I was already feeling the rush from the sleek lines and hushed glamour of the expensive restaurant and the intoxicating properties of the wine and his praise. My pulse quickened when I opened the box and rested my eyes on a beautiful diamond necklace. He’d already given me a sexy Hervé Léger dress and an iPad, even though I’d told him I already had one, but expensive jewelry was the most potent symbol of all I wanted my new life to be. “Thank you,” I said. “I love it.” “And I love you,” he said. And then he stepped out of the fantasy, as he sometimes did, forcing me to pay attention in order to keep up with what he wanted from me.
