What the hell just happened?
Of all the possible requests I'd imagined—medical supplies, specific foods, books, clothing, personal items from her former life—that had never even entered the realm of possibility. And the way she'd said it, so matter-of-factly, as if she were requesting aspirin or bandages...
I sat there on the couch, staring at the spot where she'd been sitting, trying to reconcile the professional, controlled woman I thought I knew with someone who would make such an extraordinary request. Was she serious? Was this some kind of test? Had I misunderstood somehow?
But no, her words had been crystal clear, delivered with the same precision she brought to everything else. She knew about my relationships with the other women in the house and somewhat that I even had sex with them—that much was obvious. But why would she want to be involved? What could she possibly gain from such an arrangement?
