MUSE'S love of New York City was nothing compared to Adrien's love of the women in it. 

    The math―the terrible, awful math―added up. Of course it added up. Two or three nights a week, a different woman each night, and Adrien was twenty-eight years old. The math made sense. 

    Muse set down the list of names. They'd chosen to sit in the Moth Cafe, tucked into the corner. By no means was the day slow, but Phoebe and Agnes kept taking turns bringing them batches of macaroons. The flavours were anything from matcha to brown rice. "You're our designated taste-testers," Phoebe had said. 

    Muse thought it was just an excuse to eavesdrop on their conversation. 

    "This . . . it really is half the female population of New York. Is there any gay woman you haven't fucked?"

    Adrien, so close to Muse on the couch their legs were brushing, heat radiating between them, looked at Muse. And kept looking. 

    Heat simmered under Muse's skin. She felt herself blushing, hard. 

    Because, if there was only one woman in the city Adrien hadn't fucked yet, it was her own fiancee.

    And Muse wasn't entirely opposed.

    Even if she'd said they should keep it purely professional. Images of Adrien's mouth, raw and red in the church bathroom, rose to mind. Muse shoved away the memory of Adrien's hands, riding up the hem of her silk dress. The whimpering noises.

    A cough interrupted the staring. Muse nearly jumped out of her skin. It was Phoebe―back with a platter of gold macaroons.  "They're pineapple. Oh, are you done with your tea?"

    Muse nodded, eyes still on Adrien. She barely noticed as Phoebe lifted the cup and squinted into it with one eye. 

    "Ah. Makes sense. Your Gemini Moon isn't aligning with the other―"

    "Phoebe!"

    Agnes, from across the room, had honed in on Phoebe's tea leaf reading. 

    Phoebe winced and lowered the cup. "Sorry, dear." To Adrien and Muse, she said, "She's a skeptic, you know. Doesn't like me reading customers' futures without asking."

    Muse smiled. Secretly, she couldn't help thinking it was sort of a romantic pairing. Phoebe, loving tarot cards and palm readings and tea leaves and all things spiritual, while Agnes remained firmly grounded on earth. She couldn't help remembering the fortune teller who'd read her future weeks ago, telling her she'd end up in a marriage without love. Suddenly she didn't feel so skeptical of Phoebe's tea leaf reading.

    "Well, I don't mind. What do my tea leaves say?"

    Phoebe peered once more into the cup. "Two things," she said, spinning it in her hand so she could see all angles. "One: a big change in your future. Nothing will ever be the same again."

    "Good or bad?" Adrien asked, glancing sideways at Muse.

    Phoebe paused, humming a little. "Could be either."

    Did that mean the marriage? The arrangement? The whole contract? No―it couldn't be. Because the marriage would be over after a few months, once Julien died, and surely Muse's life would go back to normal.

***

THE list, though. Adrien's list. There had to be hundreds of names, but Muse couldn't bring herself to count them. Adrien was something out of the L Word―Shane incarnate, sleeping with one woman and then moving on to the next. 

       Ella Shaw. Via Bradford. Serena Chalamet. The names went on, and on, and on. Hours later, folding her clothes, Muse was still thinking of it. She hadn't thought Adrien was a virgin by any means. She wasn't close to a virgin herself. But it amazed her―the sheer magnetic attraction of Adrien, the sex appeal that radiated off her. 

      That, thought Muse, is going to be my fake wife in less than a month. 

     Muse wasn't shy. She knew how attractive she, herself, was. Her entire family was Egyptian, and she'd inherited their warm brown skin and halo of golden-brown curls. There was no point in pretending she didn't know what she looked like. She'd learned to own her attractiveness. It was one of the things that had gotten her this far, living all alone in New York City and surviving off restaurant tips―no point in denying the pretty privilege. 

       Besides, it was a whole different world out there when you liked women. Because women, as Muse had learned, really appreciated other women. Everything about them, from curves to confidence. Adrien was not an exception. 

      Muse reached the last pair of socks and glanced down.

      She'd packed almost her entire life's belongings. Everything in her apartment, reduced to a couple suitcases and boxes. 

      The eviction notice was due soon. And since Adrien and Muse had decided to live together―for purely professional purposes―Muse was getting ready to move. To Adrien's real apartment this time. She never wanted to see that damn slut hut again. 

       I was hurt, Muse had admitted.

      The words had been ringing in her head for days.

      She couldn't believe she'd admitted that. She couldn't believe it was true. 

      But, if she cared about Adrien, it was only because they'd been spending a lot of time together. They were friends―they had to be, after all. A fake marriage couldn't be cold and boring. That would convince no one.

      Friendship is what's going to make it work, Muse thought, as she finished packing the last of her socks. Friendship. 

      Never mind that they'd come so close to fucking. In the church bathroom, of all places.

     That was a minor lapse in judgment. 

      It wouldn't happen again. 

      Now, all her suitcases ready, Muse called for her cat. She wasn't leaving Pegasus behind, that was for certain.

      Pegasus, in all her white fluffy glory, jumped off the fridge and onto the jutting handle of Muse's suitcase.

      "I'm sorry we're leaving."

      Pegasus purred. 

      "I know, I know," Muse said. "But it's for a girl. No, not in that way. It's just for money. That's all. I don't really like her. I think."

      Pegasus purred again.

      "Don't give me that look. I don't really like her, I swear. I mean, I like her. Just no, not in that way."

     So this was what Muse was reduced to: talking to her cat. She wondered how convincing she sounded.

     A short, sharp knock echoed at the door.

     Muse knew who it was before she even opened it; she would recognize that cold efficiency anywhere. 

     Adrien stood outside her apartment, dark hair sleek under the hallway's warm golden glow. Her posture was so confident and self-assured. She was dressed in black, lean body silhouetted, all soft curves and muscle. How much can she bicep curl?  Muse wondered, as Adrien smiled, one dimple piercing her cheek. She was . . . so . . .

     "Muse?" 

     "Hm?"

     "Lost you for a second. You zoned out."

      "Oh." The heat warmed Muse's cheeks. "Um. Yeah. Just thinking about moving." Not about anything else. Like the way Adrien had tasted like peppermint, and how her moans had sounded, and what she would sound like in bed, with Muse pinning her down and . . .

     "Muse." Adrien snapped her fingers. "Lost you again."

     Muse forced a weak smile and shook her head. It had to be nerves. "Sorry. I'm tired. I should take a nap."

     "Have you eaten dinner yet?" Adrien asked. 

     "No, but―"

     "I'll make you something. What do you have?"

     "Just boxed mac and cheese and skim milk. Really, don't worry about it." Muse wasn't hungry for food.

    "No, don't worry. It'll only take a second. Sit down. Once you've had dinner, I'll call the movers and we can go."

    The tone, so commanding, left no room for argument. Muse's stubbornness normally would have protested, but she felt drained―she'd packed up everything she'd ever owned, and in less than an hour, she would be saying goodbye to the place she had called home for years. One last seat on her couch to eat mac and cheese, and watch the sun disappear beneath the skyline, couldn't be so bad. 

    "Hey, Pegasus," Adrien cooed. Pegasus jumped down from the fridge and―traitorously―began nuzzling Adrien's arm as she prepared dinner.

    "I think my cat might like you better than me."

    "I don't blame him."

    "Oh, yeah?"

     The apartment was so small that Adrien, in the kitchen, was only a couple meters away. She turned now to look at Muse and met her indignant stare with a smirk. "Yeah."

    Muse swallowed. She was hyperaware of Adrien's mouth, softly lit by the purple twilight. And the way her eyes, normally black, glinted blue-violet. She couldn't help thinking, But what if we did fuck? Maybe just once . . . 

    A timer went off. Shaking Muse out of the reverie.

    Adrien, like she knew exactly what Muse's train of thought had been, smiled wickedly. 

    "Mac and cheese is ready, sweetheart."

    She had never looked more beautiful than in this moment, cramped in Muse's kitchen, the light fading fast, cat wound around her shoulders. She looked so comfortable. At home. It felt like catching a new glimpse of a version of her―all soft and sweet and domestic. At some point, Adrien would have a real wife. And this would belong to that woman, not Muse, and . . . and the thought filled Muse with uncontrollable jealousy.

    She'd have to deal with that. But not now.

    No, now, Muse accepted Adrien's mac and cheese and said, "Why, thank you, my love."

***

It's giving me the same energy as "In another life, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you."

From the moon and back,
Sarai