For him, it was the solution to a longstanding problem: with this exotic, sophisticated beauty at his side, he had finally become what people expected of him (or so it appeared). Now that she stood with him, dressed in the clothing and draped in the jewelry that his money had paid for, no one asked questions.

            A part of her had dared to wonder, when they had first decided to extend the agreement and sleep together, if the relationship would change. If giving his virginity to her would mean something. If he would even come to love her, perhaps.

            He had, and did, not.

            In bed, to him, things were no different than in public: mutual benefit. He helped her, she helped him, and that was the end of it. It was just another service that he provided to her in exchange for her providing it to him. And actually, it was quite nice that way. At least, she thought, he had brought with him his usual efficient excellence, and quickness to learn. He did not ignore her when they were together. Quite the opposite. But still…it was cold. He did not begrudge his body the urges that sometimes took him, not anymore, but he went about satiating them with the same simple, unthinking manner that he used when making his morning coffee.

            They did not speak; they did not look into each other’s eyes. They did not pretend. She felt no particular pleasure from his presence, nor he from hers. Pleasure came as a byproduct of action, simple as that, and when he touched her, there was no emotion there. Only cold, driven purpose. She extended the same to him. Neither would say that they liked it that way, but they preferred it. And every time she found herself upset in knowing that he did not love her, had told her as much without so much as a batting of his ice-rimmed eyes, Isis Ishtar stepped back and reminded herself:

            She didn’t love him, either.