For you.

I’m sitting in my cell. Naked. Only wearing the leather collar, which gained extra significance after yesterday. The sun shining down through the skylight woke me early in the morning. I was still tired but couldn’t stay in bed. Too restless, too confused. What happened yesterday rages like a storm in my head and lingers in my body.

I found your assignment on the table. After a few attempts that end in torn paper, I realise I can never accomplish it without describing the path that led me here.

Berlin, 1 July 1882

“So you are the man who facilitates my husband’s infidelity,” she said. Her accusation caught my attention first. I hadn’t noticed the young woman manoeuvring herself next to me. An achievement, given her stylish wide dress and the soft ringing jewels in vogue this season. We were both guests at one of the many galas held during the summer. Too hot for the prescribed dress code and with a host showing off his fortune, too lavish. Too tame to captivate me.

A varied selection of the metropolitan elite was present. Jealous of the social standing nobility provided, most members of the bourgeoisie attempted to best the aristocratic representatives in style and propriety. An effort in which they spectacularly failed, according to the aristocrats present, being envious of the citizens’ wealth. The chamber orchestra played a beautiful rendition of Bach’s Goldberg variations, but it didn’t disturb the guests as they could hear themselves talk over the music.

After completing my social obligations concerning Friedrich Krupp and his brand-new wife, I fled to the relative calm the roof terrace provided. I looked out over the nightly city, a sea of gaslight, scattered over dark silhouettes of buildings under dense clouds. The sound of a rumbling thunderstorm in the distance mingled with rattling carriages. Everyone still awake longed for salvation by rain. It would keep the stench at bay for a few days.

I have a love-hate relationship with Berlin. A fortified city in a swamp grown beyond control, to accommodate all the people needed to rule the German empire. Add all those aspiring to make their fortunes and the result was utter chaos. Despite its filth and smell, Berlin was the place to be. A city teeming with danger and opportunities, one of which just blamed me for corrupting her marriage.

That path starts with our first meeting at the party of the Krupp family in Berlin. Not an occasion I normally would attend. Too rough, too exuberant and not refined enough, as one expects from a bourgeois family that gained their wealth with the arms trade. A setting where you are in your element. You congratulate the host and make the hostess smile with a compliment.

You are smaller than I expected, less impressive and younger, too. A handsome man with dark hair and bright blue, dreamy eyes. Or you could be, if your clothing didn’t draw all the attention. A shiny golden suit with all kinds of fashionable frills, extravagant, tending towards clownish. It fits your reputation as an airhead and a slacker. It also matches well with the costumes of many other guests. Although the dress I chose meant to get your attention, it is modest compared to what other women dare to wear.

For now, I don’t mind. I prefer to remain in the background, learning as much as I can by observing you. At least, that’s what I tell myself, but in reality, I’m stalling and out of my depth. In my mind, I already practised a hundred times how our conversation fares, but it falls on me to start that conversation. When you venture to the roof terrace, it’s now or never. So I jump into the deep end and follow you upstairs.

The young woman spoke without looking at me, timing her accusation with care. We stood at a distance, but no one could hear us beyond the chatter of other guests, and the orchestra just began a new piece in the banquet hall downstairs. Her ability to make these assessments and move amongst the crowd unnoticed marked her as a member of a noble family. A member granted comely blessings, I discovered with a quick glance. Her direct question about her husband’s unfaithfulness deserved an appropriate answer.

“It could be, but strikes me as unlikely, given your appearance,” I said.

She answered with a fleeting glimpse and wrung her hands; the compliment left her cold. I turned to face her, pretending to study the other partygoers behind her.

 “Who is your husband?”

 “My husband is Count Von Fürstenberg. You know him, I suppose?” Her words were more polite than she intended, judging by the ice in her voice. I knew Von Fürstenberg well. He was a high-ranking diplomat in charge of Italian relations, and indeed a well-paying regular in the dungeons of my estate. I had little use for his wife causing a public scene about his infidelity at my expense, no matter how charming she appeared. To others present, we seemed to mind our own business and enjoy the scenery. I decided to make our introduction official and stepped close, wearing a warm smile.

 “Then you are countess Milena Von Fürstenberg,” I said, and offered my hand. She accepted, and I sealed our greeting with an appropriate kiss on her hand.

“Damian Von Anhalt Bernburg, my pleasure. I heard about you.”

“I’m sure you did. No doubt my husband mentioned me while he enjoyed himself in your brothel.” Her remark dripped with angry sarcasm, but her friendly smile claimed the opposite. It suited the hypocrisy of a party in honour of the newlywed couple, where the groom preferred manly love. I let go of her hand and ignored her sarcasm with a smile.

“You are referring to my estate in Bad Pyrmont?” I asked. She just mirrored my smile with a knowing one, but remained silent. I turned to the spectacle other guests provided, showing off extravagant gowns adorned with oriental designs. The latest fashion refused to emphasise the unique splendour of its victims, relentlessly designed to obey current beauty ideals. Ideals that suited the lady next to me, but befitting her opinions on my estate, she had chosen a more subdued attire.

“It’s more than a brothel,” I said. “Not every client uses all available facilities.” It was true, but not very common.

 “You don’t deny that you are hosting ladies of pleasure there?” she said. Her remark posed as a question, but was an accusation.

“Everyone uses imagination to live out their desires. I’m fortunate to have an estate at my disposal where such daydreams become a reality. Wouldn’t it be selfish if I didn’t share it with others?” I put my hand on her shoulder and turned towards her. “With you, for example?” I asked. One could always hope.

 She glanced at my hand as if it was a spider. “No, thank you, not interested,” she said, still smiling. She didn’t mind spiders enough to make a scene. What was she after? Curious, I forced her next move by concluding our conversation with a curt bow.

 “Then I wish you a richer fantasy than our host,” I said, but before I could turn away, her hand found my arm while she searched my eyes.

 “My dear Duke, I want for nothing in my daydreams.” No more cold politeness or feigned smiles. She was direct and genuine. It suited her much better. “In the real world, my husband probably cheats on me. You know the truth, but you’re not going to tell me, are you?” It was a rhetorical question, and she knew it, averting her eyes when I kept her gaze. With a sigh, I took her hand in mine.

 “Dear Countess, even if I had all the details concerning your husband’s desires at my disposal, I won’t elaborate on them. Guests visiting my estate count on my discretion.” She gave me a stern look, but I refused to avoid it. “You already knew I wouldn’t,” I said. “Otherwise, you’d have addressed me differently. With your direct question, you hoped to gain the truth. It takes more to provoke me, alas. Provoking someone is a game I enjoy too much myself.”

 “Then I suggest you see me as a guest.” For the first time, she sounded amiable, with a playful glint in her eyes. “You invited me, didn’t you? You know my desire. State your price. “

 “You can’t afford it.”

 “So you can be bought.”

 “Everyone can be bought. As long as the one who buys pays the price.”

She didn’t deny it and met my stakes. “What is your price in this case?” she asked. With the hint of a blush she averted her eyes. Was she flirting with me? Or just embarrassed with the situation? With enough inuendo to cover both, I made sure she’d await my answer.

“I cannot say because I don’t know whether I can meet your desires. Give me a chance to see into the matter, and you’ll hear from me.” I kissed her hand again and appraised her. “It will cost you, Countess, more than you think. And I’m not talking about money. “

She remained silent for a moment, but her mocking grin spoke volumes. “Then I hope to hear from you soon, Duke,” she said. With her satisfied smirk, she made a reverence, and left as graceful as she had arrived. She achieved what she wanted—my curiosity.

Count Von Fürstenberg and I met when one of my investments, the Gothart railway project, ran into political obstacles. After our business meetings, he proved to be very adept at the more extravagant pleasures life offers. Despite this, I was not under the impression Milena had reason to worry about her marriage. As far as I knew, he dedicated himself to his wife and their household, except for personal issues he didn’t want to burden her with. According to him, she was not very adventurous in bed: the reason he sought his entertainment at my estate.

When I finally met Milena in person, I didn’t share the count’s impression. She had passion in spades, daring me like that at the party. A dangerous passion because it was fuelled by resentment.

I could not afford an all too upsetting scandal concerning the Von Fürstenbergs. For my biggest investment to succeed, the count was instrumental the coming month. I had no use for Milena undercutting his diplomatic skills by blowing up in her husband’s face about his infidelity. As long as she awaited my answer, she wouldn’t. Perhaps, with a bit of effort, I could even turn a frustrated man and his unhappy wife into two happy clients. A better situation for everyone involved.

Our conversation doesn’t go the way I imagined. You just admit what I’m accusing you of, and I’m left empty-handed. You intimidate me with your openness, as if I am pushing against a door and tumble inside flailing, because you open the door, while other entries behind you remain closed. I accuse you, yet you remain friendly while warning me. The price to open those other doors is too high for me. It sounds like a threat, but also as a challenge. One thing is clear to me. Those who regard you as charming simpleton have never spoken to you in person.

Wannsee, 8 July

A week after our first meeting, I called on Milena uninvited. The Von Fürstenbergs have a large country retreat near the capital, where she hosted a benefit gala for the poor. Milena donated several of her paintings to be auctioned for the good cause.

You could describe my clothing choice as flamboyant if you wanted to be polite. I thought it ridiculous, especially if you considered the gala’s purpose. Friedrich Von Bentheim and his wife introduced me, as Milena welcomed us into the hall of the mansion.

“Friedrich, Eloise, how nice of you to come.” She greeted the couple with a warm smile and nodded at me. “You brought the duke. What an unexpected pleasure.” It had the courteous intonation you use addressing a waiter about a fly in the soup. The fly in question tried to be polite.

“Countess, the pleasure is mutual, but of course, not unexpected from my side.”

“If I had known that the fate of the poor could count on your interest, I would, of course, invite you myself.” Her kind words didn’t match her mocking attitude.

“Love your neighbour as yourself is a philosophy I support.” I gestured at the other guests. “If the gathered crowd concurs, poverty is a problem of the past.”

Friedrich was so gallant to intervene. “The duke is a great lover of fine arts. As soon as I heard about your auction, I felt obliged to introduce him.”

I smirked. That I settled Friedrich’s gambling debts played a more significant role. With an equally friendly smile, she forgave Friedrich my presence.

“It’s all right, dear friend. Anyone who wishes to contribute as generously as the duke apparently intends, is most welcome. That he is a lover, I already knew. Do come in further.”

We entered the salon, joining the other invitees. Members of the noble elite and upstanding citizens who hadn’t left the city for their summer residence. It was lavish but with style and purpose, something the previous party lacked. The staff, armed with trays full of sparkling crystal glasses and appetising petit fours, served the guests standing about in small groups.

As usual during these occasions, there was much chatter with no one listening. Only the latest gossip could count on a willing ear. According to the heated chat that erupted after I passed, I was often the topic. There were vague acquaintances, but nobody seized the opportunity to start a conversation. I didn’t mind, for it supplied me with ample time to study the fine art that should have been tonight’s major attraction.

The artworks were hung on the room’s wood panelled walls. Most works showed Milena’s skill as gifted illustrator. Some of her exotic vista’s appeared familiar, and Milena had captured scenes showing ordinary life with verve.

It suited what I learnt about her in the past week. She grew up in the straitjacket of nobility, groomed for a marriage where posterity and reputation trumped passion. But to someone who had an eye for it, several paintings revealed budding passion. Something dark crept into her most recent works. Unbridled by the rules of propriety, she could be a great artist.

“Duke, allow me to introduce you to my husband.” Milena and her spouse came to stand with me while I studied one of her paintings. “I think you already know each other?” With a skilfully faked smile, she played the murdered innocence. 

Being introduced to me by his wife didn’t rattle the count. Always the diplomat, he shook my hand with warm enthusiasm. “My dear duke, what a pleasant surprise to see you here. If I had known my wife’s work interested you, I would have invited you myself.”

I dared to doubt that, but didn’t mind the lie. “I pardon you, dear count. During summer, I usually stay at my estate in Pyrmont,” and turned to Milena, “but some business obligations forced me to stay in Berlin longer than expected.”

She did not respond to this personal jab and, being clueless, he added insult to injury. “Let me offer you to use our country house for your stay. You have been so hospitable to receive me at your estate often enough.” He turned to Milena, explaining what she already knew. “The castle in Pyrmont is spectacular. More than once, it hosted diplomatic negotiations that ended in satisfactory results for all parties involved.”

“In that case, it’s only natural to spend the rest of your stay here if you would appreciate it,” Milena said. She remained the perfect hostess. Only a twitch of her mouth betrayed she considered their coal cellar the most suitable place for my stay.

“Much obliged, but it won’t be necessary. I expect to sort my affairs soon, and the hotel where I stay is quite comfortable. But I appreciate your generosity,” I said to both of them, and faced the count, feigning an affront. “What I do fault you for is that you haven’t ever introduced me to your wife. She is eloquent, charming and talented. Let’s not forget being hospitable. Is my reputation so terrible that you didn’t dare to introduce us? “

That had the effect Milena intended. The count stiffened for a moment, torn between breaking a sweat and a coughing fit. He managed to recover before either, took her hand in his, and retorted. “No, my dear duke, your charms may be notorious, but I trust my wife. How else could I perform my diplomatic duties away from home?”

I read the gaze of discomfort she forced in a smile differently than her husband did.

He beamed at Milena, then his face turned sombre despite his loving gaze. “Unfortunately, those diplomatic duties will soon require me to leave Milena again and accompany Lombardia’s trade delegation from Hamburg to Milan.” The count turned to me. “I wondered if your estate is available for the first leg of that journey, given that you one of those responsible for my mission,” and said to Milena, “the duke is a co-investor in the Gotthard rail tunnel, which will link Italy and Switzerland. He is also developing properties along the line to make the venture a succes.”

Milena’s face was petrified. I doubted she heard his explanation. I just stayed as neutral as I could. If those properties wouldn’t succeed, it would ruin me. “Of course, you are always very welcome.”  Let your secretary contact Alice to arrange the details of your visit. I will make sure that you and your companions lack nothing. Apart from the company of your charming wife, of course.”

Milena gave me a look of keen understanding. Time to flee before the conversation turned into a ruckus I hadn’t planned. “If you will excuse me? I like to choose a painting for my bid. I wouldn’t want my presence disturbing what little time you have together.” With a slight bow, I left the happy couple to their own devices. To me, the less time they spend together, the better. Their marriage sat on a powder keg, and Milena seemed ready to light the fuse. I had to get them apart, best before the count left for his trade negotiations.

I took a glass from a tray and walked to the painting I preferred. Milena joined me again, as discreet as she did at the previous party. This time, I expected nothing less. She got to the point right away.

“I assume you are here because you have determined your price?”

My attention remained with the painting. “Regarding your desire to be one of my guests, I rather answer you tomorrow.” I gestured at the canvas. “Or do you mean my bid for this work?”

“You know very well what I mean,” she said and sighed. “But you are right. It’s not the time nor the place to discuss these matters.” She nodded at the painting. “Do you like it?”

“I think they are all well made,” I said and faced her. “You wield more craftsmanship compared to many well-paid artists I know.”

“Evasive as ever, like with my questions about my husband.” She pressed her lips into a thin line of resentment.

I had enough of our cold jousting and tried to break the ice. “Damian for you, if you allow me to call you Milena. I will reveal my price tomorrow,” I said, “when you bring me the work that I am going to bid on.”

“Alright, Milena for you,” she said, “if you are planning to buy something, I assume you appreciate it.”

I nodded. “Yes, I like this one. It’s one of your latest works, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. How do you know?” She relaxed when I changed the subject to her artistry. No more masks or hidden intentions. It was nice when she didn’t consider me the enemy. I gestured at her other paintings up for auction.

“Your earlier works are like windows, if you didn’t know any better. Like photographs in colour.”

“And that’s not right?”

“It shows excellent craftsmanship and a preference for realism,” I said. “But what makes your later works so much better is your talent to let characters speak. Even though they depict scenes from daily life. You know what they think. You can see it in their eyes, their attitude. And they tell me what the artist feels.”

“Oh?” She crossed her arms and turned to her work. “And what did I feel when I made this painting?” 

I examined the work, aided by a well-placed lamp. A couple in a close embrace on the platform of a station. The last kiss before departure. The man went on a journey, servants loaded his trunks on the train. Two children, a little lost, stood in the waiting room’s portal. Steam and mist filled the edges, which gave the entire scene a dreamy atmosphere.

“Lot 18, lovers say goodbye,” I said, reading the card next to the canvas out loud. I turned to face her. “I wonder where those lovers are.”

“Really? It seemed pretty obvious to me,” she said, but her voice skipped a beat and she didn’t meet my eyes. She understood what I meant.

I gestured at the couple caught in paint with an open hand. “She embraces her husband, full of love, the hint of tears in her eyes. He wraps his arms around her, comforting her. But his grief is false. It is remorse. He doesn’t want to stay with her as the title suggests, he wants to leave her. He doesn’t see the passion that she has to offer. In his thoughts, he is already with the other woman. I think you painted it after you got suspicions about your husband’s infidelity.”

She blushed and looked around to see if anyone could overhear us. “Yes. But how... how do you know?” she said, struggling with her words. “I mean, you know more about my situation than others, but I only saw it weeks after I finished it.” Now I had her genuine interest, an interest that went beyond answering questions about her husband. This was about herself.

“Because I’m here to consider your work,” I said. “Not to throw money at art for charity. The woman wears her wedding ring visible, proud of the love she feels for her husband. But the man’s wedding ring is barely discernible, as if he hides it in his hand. She holds him tight, unwilling to part with him while his hug is weak. He’s ready to leave. With her lips, she beckons a deep kiss. Being seen by the staff and her children doesn’t bother her. He offers nothing more than the comfort you give a friend you aren’t too intimate with.” I pointed to one figure in the background. “And this servant has found another job, I suppose?”

Her nervous fingers played with her wedding ring, but she did not give up yet. “Why?”

“He smiles, looking at the couple, but not because a scene of true love moves him. He wears the false smile of one who knows the truth and isn’t afraid to abuse that knowledge. Either your husband has since promoted him because he knew too much. Or you fired him because he allowed himself liberties that weren’t appropriate. Either way, I would also talk to him if you want to know more. Without a doubt, his price will be lower than mine.”

She glanced at her other tableaus, probably afraid of what they would reveal.

I took a glass of sparkling wine from a passing tray and gave it to her. “Here, don’t worry. As said, your guests are here to boast about their respectability with charity. They aren’t here for your paintings. “

“And you?”

“If I donate to charity, I’ll do so with this painting. But I’m here for you.” I was curious how she would react to my inappropriate and obvious flirt. Her slight blush was no surprise, but her eyes narrowed while she appraised me from head to toe.

“To keep my husband’s place in bed warm? You are a little early. He will not leave for a week.” She leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “Do you really think I’m waiting for someone with such low reputation as you try to maintain?” She rejected me with her eyes and words. But her pose and inflexion argued the opposite. The contrast was intriguing. When I held her gaze, she averted her eyes to the floor. A sign of her submissive nature? Or just the result of her inner turmoil? Hard to judge in these surroundings where everybody tried to be at their best behaviour.

I emptied my glass and put it on a passing tray. It was not clear to me what game Milena played, so I kept at mine. The modest young woman her husband had described ran deeper roots than he suspected.

“You don’t strike me as a woman waiting for someone else taking the initiative. You decide which path to take. I just like to let you know you can walk my way.” I offered my arm. A signal, but not only for her. Von Bentheim hit the gong, which announced the start of the auction. Time for the ruckus I had planned.

Milena scowled at me. The sound of the gong surprised her, and with her, the other guests. The auction started earlier than expected. But she accepted my offer, and, arm in arm, we entered the room where the bidding took place. I bought the canvas of my choice for a ridiculous sum and agreed with Milena to complete the purchase the next day. It was time for my proposal.

A week later, you appear at my auction in an even more extravagant outfit. But by now, I know you. It’s just a disguise, masking your true nature, just like your public behaviour. Most people know you as a stuck-up prole and a jester. A dimwit who doesn’t know how to manage his fortune, always providing the latest juicy gossip. It is a smokescreen. But not to me. Whatever you keep hidden, if there are no bystanders, you show me who you are: much more dangerous than you want others to believe.

No matter how hard I try to hide my motives, you ruthlessly dissect them through your genuine interest in my paintings. I consider myself fortunate that you don’t start interpreting the landscapes, scenes inspired by ‘The Lustful Turk’, a scandalous book. But maybe you just gave me some reprieve.

However, you flirt without shame, and you buy your painting of choice for a small fortune, so all eyes are on us. Showing me how it feels to stand in your shoes, the focus of attention and gossip. I blush like nobody’s business. At the same time, I am proud. You enjoy teasing me this way, sure, but you also buy the painting because you genuinely care for my work. You are the only one who knows what it means to me. That realisation makes me blush even more, if possible. I may have my plans with you, but it will not be easy: you are more dangerous than I thought. You move me.

Berlin, 9 July

The following afternoon, I received her in the privacy of my hotel suite to converse without an audience. I doubted that she counted on the private nature of our meeting, but it didn’t stop her. Our agreement was of greater importance to her than the damage caused by any gossip. The dress she choose for our third meeting also made this clear. Modest but sensual enough to emphasise her external qualities. More appropriate as an evening toilet, just like the perfume chosen for this occasion. It all contradicted with her timid greeting, holding the painting between us like a shield. I held out my hand to receive it.

“I have to thank you for the gift, duke.” She handed me the packaged work. “It was more than generous.” During the auction, she sat next to me with flushed cheeks, which had been my intention, of course. When we parted that evening, the glint in her eyes and her half hidden smile told me she’d enjoyed my little stunt, although it embarrassed her. Despite all the rumours, she had come in person to bring the painting. She wanted to know my price.

“Damian for you, Milena for me, remember?” I tried to make her feel at ease with my hand resting on her shoulder. “You can leave the title for what it is. Apart from tax benefits, I attach little value to it.”

She nodded in silence, as if she didn’t know how to proceed. It had been buzzing with rumours about us after the auction. I paid for the painting with a bank security and left after scheduling our meeting.

“You enjoyed being the topic of every conversation you didn’t join?” I said, as I removed the canvas from its packaging.

She frowned. “I assume you offered that sum because you appreciate the work and to help the poor. I am neither responsible for your intentions nor for what others think of them. We’ll put the money to good use.”

I examined the painting before I carefully placed it in a trunk, along with two other works I told Von Bentheim to acquire. In Prayer, a woman kneeling before a crucifix and The Gift, a man standing behind his wife, fitting her with a valuable necklace. The last painting was appropriate considering my proposal. She looked at my other purchases with raised eyebrows.

“They are beautiful pieces, Milena,” I said, answering her unspoken question. “And an excellent investment. I may not have the best of reputations, but people respect my taste in the arts. The interest in your work increased considerably after last night. These pieces will be worth more if your future work gets the appreciation it deserves.” I closed the suitcase, gestured to a chair, and took the opposite seat. “Sit down.”

She hesitated for a moment, but accepted my invitation. “I don’t know if I should be grateful for your appreciation of my work, because you used my charity gala to earn money. But it’s not why I’m here. “

“No, but before I answer the question for which you are here, how important is your husband’s sexual fidelity to you? It’s not unusual for partners in an arranged marriage to seek such diversion elsewhere. It doesn’t have to exclude a happy ever after either. “

“You already know the answer to that question.” She pointed to the trunk with paintings. “You bought it yesterday. It is important to me. It’s about trust. I don’t care we entered an arranged marriage. My husband and I gave our vows to each other, and that creates obligations, for him, for me, but especially towards our children. He gambles with our family’s reputation if he is involved in adultery. If I can discover his deception, others can. Apart from the risk of becoming infected with the French disease. “

So she wasn’t striving for a major scandal, which reassured me. I needed her husband to be unperturbed in his dealings with the Italians. But why the seductive toilet? “It all sounds like a business deal where one associate thinks the other deceived him,” I said.

She sighed, and her gaze drifted to the floor. “All right. If you are shameless, why should I be ashamed?” She took a deep breath and looked at me. “Yes, our marriage is an arranged marriage, but we loved each other. I loved him, at least. Until now, I have fulfilled all my marital obligations. To the delight of us both. He isn’t the first man I have known. He didn’t need to be, because my mother explained how to prevent an unwanted pregnancy. I chose to be with him. We enjoy each other in all things. So why does he see other women? Don’t I offer him all he could ever want?”

I had to agree with her. The fierce look in her eyes, her proud attitude, her clear voice, the passion in her words. It was enchanting. I smiled, but she misunderstood. Her face turned red with shame, but shame swiftly turned to anger.

She stood and spoke with ice in her voice. “I was mistaken. It makes no sense to discuss this with you. You lack a moral compass in these matters.”

“Countess, please,” I said and rose to meet her. Our encounter should not end in misunderstanding, and I offered my hand. “You are reading me wrong. Your passion touches me and is the only reason for my smile.” She hesitated, I didn’t. “Allow me the chance to offer you a proposition.”

She allowed me with a curt nod. “It was Milena for you, remember? But don’t keep beating around the bush.” She placed her hand in mine and consented to be seated again.

“To answer whether your husband cheats on you isn’t what you need me for. You are smart enough to find out about his infidelity without my testimony, and it’ll only turn into a scandal if you allow it. You want to know why he cheats on you.” She veered up, but her protest ended in a sigh and she stared at the floor, blushing. I guessed right and went on.

“You could ask your husband, but you no longer trust him. So I am the only one who can help you; I know all the details, and I’m not involved. At least that’s how you see it.” It wasn’t the whole truth, but it would do for her. “You underestimate my interests in this matter. Your husband is one of my guests. I may have a poor reputation, but I’m not known as someone who sells personal secrets to the highest bidder, not even to other guests. Such a rumour means the end of the House of Seven Sins.”

She looked up with a frown. That moniker apparently hadn’t surfaced in all the gossip she heard. “It’s how the regular guests know my estate.”

“In short, you can’t help me.” She slumped with a deflated sigh.

I took her hand, my fore finger touching her wrist. She stiffened for a moment, but allowed it. A good sign. “In short, what I expect from you is proportional to the risks I take. You struggle with many questions. How far will you go for answers?”

She glanced from our hands to me, forced a corner of her mouth into a smile and challenged me with bated breath. “Further than you think.” Her loaded words lingered in the silence that followed. The tremor in her tense hand, her eyes wide with surprise over her own words, and a warm, tightening knot in my abdomen was clear enough for me.

“Good. This is my price.” Until now, I had always been engaging. Not anymore. I had to be stern and concise. “One — you stay in my company for a month. Two — during that month, you wear a collar as a symbol of our agreement.” I pointed to my necklace, a thin black leather strap decorated with white gold ornaments. “Three — during that month, you fulfil every assignment I give.”

She looked at me in shock, her eyes wide open, lips pressed together, breathing through her nose. This went beyond what she expected. But she didn’t withdraw her trembling hand.

I forced myself back into the role of a friendly host. “In turn, I promise to satisfy your desires as far as I’m able to, to give you the reasons why your husband cheats on you, and to set you free again when the month’s over.”

That my proposal stunned her was no surprise. Nor that she would have many questions, but I wouldn’t answer them yet. I wanted her to mull over my offer in all its ambiguity. Time to end the conversation. I helped her to her feet and guided her to the exit of my suite.

She followed with me, still unsteady, and wanted to say something, but before she could, I brought a finger to her lips, locking her gaze. “You decide once you get to know me better. Using your own judgement and not that of others. I will allow you to do so. You will soon receive a message from a notary that a distant great-uncle has died. A tragic accident, but nobody will regret his passing because he only exists on paper. Your presence is required to handle the inheritance. This will offer you an alibi to visit my estate incognito. I hope to receive you there soon.”

I lead her to the hallway, and said goodbye with a kiss on her hand. But she didn’t just give in. “Why do you want this from me? What are the benefits for you?”

“The company of someone I have come to admire. And if all goes well, much more.” Even though it wasn’t the whole truth, it was genuine. I turned and closed the door behind me with a satisfied smile. I avoided the crisis and set the trap.

At our third meeting, you put me through the wringer. That’s how I experience it, at any rate. Without ever disrespecting me or submitting me to improper behaviour. I came to seduce you, but I am the one tempted. Why is that so? The price you ask for your help is insane. No sane person would agree with your proposal.

And in the days that follow, I get to hear from friends, acquaintances and strangers what a terrible monster you are, someone with whom I shouldn’t get involved. All well-intended advice based on rumours, caused by your purchase and my visit to your hotel suite. My husband rejects the gossip with a smile. He is sure it’s the kind of mischief that delights you. His faith in me is undiminished as his sweet, reliable, and sensible wife.

But I must have lost my mind because when I receive documents concerning my ‘deceased great-uncle’, I have already made my choice. I’m accepting your challenge.