‘Sofia,’ he answers, holding out a hand, his expression guarded, his voice flat in the extreme.
‘Oh dear, I think perhaps I have put the cat amongst the pigeons,’ Francoise titters, his tone becoming one of mild reprimand. ‘You didn’t tell me you were no longer friends, my darling.’ I’m not sure if the admonishment is for his wife or Kai. It so doesn’t make sense that he can be married to Sofia, because, well, he’s as camp as a row of pink tents.
‘I told you we had a tiff, Franny.’ Sofia pouts. ‘Remember, I said he must reap what he sows.’ Her eyes flick angrily over my dress.
‘Sofia, thewhereour Kais sows his seeds is no business but his own.’ He further chuckles at his play on words. ‘Come along now. Let us leave them to their own blossoming.’Seriously, what’s with the horticultural references, especially as no one seems to be addressing the ho?‘Forgive me, my friends,’ Francois adds, fingers at the crook of her arm. ‘Please enjoy your evening.’
He leads his slut of a wife and her venomous looks away.
As Kai’s arm winds my waist, my body is stiff. Without looking at him, I have one whispered word.
‘Really?’
‘I didn’t know she would be here. Françoise said she was in Europe this week.’
‘And a husband? Seriously?’
‘He’s genuinely nice. And bisexual, though he seems to have a preference for men.’
My head turns. Nothing else, just my head, though my stomach plummets south. ‘OurKais?’
He gives a bark of a laugh, then, with one eyebrow raised says, ‘Doesn’t. Prefer men, I mean. I may have somewhat esoteric tastes... but, no. Not that way inclined.’
‘What are we doing here, Kai? That guy is her husband and you’ve been screwing his wife. How—where does the civility come from?’
‘Did he look surprised to you? Theirs is an open marriage. He knows and doesn’t—didn’tmind.’
‘But when you said you’d been kicked out of bed, caught, by a husband before—’
‘Long ago and not in this instance. Francois would probably just have climbed in behind me, given half the chance.’ The corner of his mouth twists briefly. ‘No one can presume to understand what goes on inside any marriage, especially theirs,habibti. Not you. Not I.’
Far out. More strange examples of marriage, far beyond the realms of my experience and understanding. Hala’s arranged marriage, Kai’s parents’ strange union and now this; a marriage of convenience, of perversity? Whatever, not a marriage in the way it’s intended to be: two people, bound together by love and respect.
‘If I’d known she was here, we wouldn’t be. As to why we’re here, this show is something you won’t see in Dubai, ever. I thought it’d be fun.’ His shoulders lift and fall in a gesture of futility before his hand reaches to cup my cheek. ‘Françoise had the whole thing flown in from Europe for one night—cast, fittings, everything.’ He glances behind him to the bondage-acrobat redhead before turning back with a shrug. ‘He’s a little extravagant. I thought it would be fun. We can leave. It’s up to you.’ Leave because Sofia’s here, give her the satisfaction? Scurry away? No freakin’ chance. ‘Dubai is a small place, I’m afraid.’
His words echo the thoughts that must be playing across my face. If I want to be with him, I’m going to need to be prepared to run into women he’s shagged, unfortunately.
‘No, let’s stay,’ I say with as much conviction as I can. ‘Let’s see what the evening brings.’ Though I feel a bisexual billionaire and his some-time-slut-of-Kai-wife is plenty strange enough.
So, I mentally prepare myself for some sort of cabaret, and an evening in the company of Kai, and those of the city’s beautiful folks he may have fucked. Unsettled doesn’t even cover it as I allow Kai to lead me beyond the velvet ropes cordoning off the stairs. We make our way up the rather grand central staircase and with each step I remind myself Kai is here with me.
At what appears to be mezzanine level, we pass a David Guetta lookalike working up a sweat over a set of decks.A lookalike, surely, though the music is pretty awesome.It’s smaller upstairs, more intimate, heavy on gilt accented mirrors and very rococo. And quieter away from the music. Closed doorways lead off to other rooms as we’re seated at a table in front of a small stage. The waitress, wearing not much more than a few feathers and some strategically draped ropes, takes Kai’s order for some kind of vintage champagne, the bottle of Dom Perignon arriving as the lights dim further, giving the stage a vague, hazy sort of edge.
‘It’s a bit Moulin Rouge, isn’t it?’ I whisper as a spotlight swings across the stage.
‘Have you been?’ Kai asks, surprised.
I shake my head. ‘I meant the movie. Or even the song, you know?’
A half smile sits on his mouth. I instantly wonder what it would take to make it blossom fully as he answers cryptically. ‘I think even the show in Paris would be tame in comparison, if Françoise’s previous endeavours are anything to go by. A theatre of the senses, he said.’ And just like that, his smile doubles, sort of sinfully.
‘This isn’t a sex show is it?’ My head flicks to the closed doors around the room. ‘People aren’t going to start chucking keys in bowls or slinking off in three’s, are they?’
‘You’re incredibly entertaining, but a little bit mad,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘No, not a sex show. Or an elaborate ruse to hide a swinger’s gathering.’
‘I should imagine not, not in Dubai at any rate.’ All of a sudden, I sound like my mum. I feel like I should maybe have a cardi to wrap around my prim frame, one with a pocket for my embroidered hanky. ‘Stuff like that wouldn’t happen in a country like this.’
‘No?’
