He arrived late last night and couldn’t believe that Alexandre’s chauffeur was there to meet him at the airport. He told me that he was moving in (joke). Or was it? I suspected Anthony could get used to this lifestyle. Not to mention his boy-crush on Alexandre. I got dressed and found breakfast waiting in the kitchen. Coffee, cereals, homemade yogurt, and jellies, fresh fruit, and a spread of croissants and pastries sat temptingly on the table. I began to set things on a tray to send up to the roof terrace. Sun was streaming through the windows and the sky was crystal blue. The perfect Fall weather. Cool, sunny and crisp but warm enough to still eat outside. Patricia, one of the staff, encountered me rummaging about the kitchen and a look of dismay shadowed her face. She was wearing a neat, black and white uniform—her choice—she said she felt more professional that way. “Ms. Pearl, please, what are you doing? You’ll make me lose my job if you insist on serving yourself.” “I doubt that, Patricia.
