This Crazy Rich Boy

"Tonight?" Claire says, incredulous. "You can't possibly be serious!"

"That's why I said get ready."

"Get ready how?"

Gabriel Tan shrugs. "Maybe get a grand pampering session at the spa?"

"This place has a spa?"

"Of course," Gabriel beams. "This was formerly a hotel, remember?"

Claire stares at him. "But what does getting pampering have anything to do with being ready to meet your mom? I'm sure there's nothing that a woman like me can do in this lifetime to impress her."

You have no idea how impressive you actually are, Gabriel thinks. But he says, "I'm not sure either, but trying to relax won't hurt, right?"

Claire mulls it over. She has never gone to a spa, never got a massage in her life. She has never been conscious of her beauty—"what you see is what you get" has been her lifelong motto. No need to improve her skin or undergo beauty or cosmetic treatments, like so many women of her age do. She's happy with what she has, and she's sure any man who would really love her won't force her to "improve" her looks. Not that it needs improving at all.

But Gabriel is her boss and what he says must be followed, she reasons. After all, it's all free—how many others can have a free day pass at a spa?

"All right," she says finally.

"Perfect!" Gabriel says.

Claire's brow knits in confusion. "Why are you so excited about me going to the spa?"

Gabriel smiles. "You don't expect me to let you get pampered while I'm all frayed nerves, here, do you? Of course, I'm going with you."

"What?"

"You're my 'fiancee', remember? We need to keep up pretenses."

No one would bother exploring this hotel so where's the need to keep up with the pretense, Claire thinks, but she keeps it to himself. "What time is it now?"

Gabriel looks at his Rolex watch. "I guess it's time we get going."

It's that "we" again, and somehow, secretly, it sends Claire's heart aflutter. "Sure, but I reek of liquor. I think I should have a quick shower first."

Gabriel gazes at her with that half-smile. Claire could only vaguely guess what this man is thinking. But she's serious—she's still a vɨrġɨn, and she plans on staying that way until the right man comes. But somehow, in her heart of hearts, Claire fears that if Gabriel says right now that he wants them to shower together, she might not have the strength to resist.

"Well, I'm sorry about all that," he says, pointing at her stained dress. "I was clumsy. Don't worry, I'll have Cassandra bring some of her best stuff. But right now, you're right, you really need to get a shower." He grins.

Claire waits. And waits. And when Gabriel still doesn't move, she says, "Well, aren't you leaving?"

"Why?"

"Because I'm taking a shower and you're still here."

"What, are you showering right in the middle of this bedroom? Why do I need to leave?"

"Hello?"

"Well, what I mean is, I'll wait for you to finish up so we can go together to the spa downstairs."

"You'll go like that? You won't clean up first?"

Gabriel giggles. "Are you suggesting we take a shower together?"

Jesus Henry Christ, this man. "Of course, not! I was just wondering why I'm supposed to clean up and you're not."

"I can clean up at the spa, you know." He's still smiling. "And besides, I'll have the butler bring up some breakfast. I'm famished."

"Okay," she says, standing up. She doesn't bother hiding her unbuttoned dress, but she doesn't care now. "Alright, be my guest."

"Thank you, Madam," Gabriel says, snickering, and makes a curtsy so the "Princess" can squeeze her way out of the tight space beside the bed.

Once in the bathroom, Claire immediately takes all her clothes off and leaves everything on the floor. She's tired and confused with all these feelings and it's not even noon yet. She turns the marble knob and discovers heaven: the water is just the perfect warmth. She lets the water run upon her, the water pressure gently ċȧrėssing her body. As she luxuriates in the shower, she thinks about the man outside the bathroom: Gabriel. What must he be thinking now? Does he think to himself: "Oh, right at this very moment, Claire is nȧkėd and there's only this wall between us." Claire smiles to herself—men are always like that. She's had her fair share of such men, but none has ever gotten past first base. The truth is, she's curious—how it must feel when you're doing it with the one you really love? What she knows about mȧkɨnġ ŀȯvė is limited to what she's seen in the movies or read in borderline raunchy literature—she doesn't know how it must feel when a man runs her lips all over your body, or when he ċȧrėsses you softly. She closes her eyes as she imagines it, unbidden—and before she realizes it, she's touching herself.

She jerks in shock—what is she doing? She holds up her hand and looks at the peculiar wetness. She sighs—for all she knows, she's not the one who drank the whisky. Why this odd behavior, this strange train of thoughts? Why does she feel this…longing?

It must be the strange context in which she'd woken up. Seeing a man sleeping beside her was a first in her life—and it was her boss, at that.

She turns the knob, choosing the cold water. She lets the chilly water shake her out of the fog of this confusing dėsɨrė. She lets the water run for a few more minutes, and stops only when she starts shivering from the cold.

She steps out of the shower, her hand grasping for the towel—and doesn't find it there.

She has no towel. She's dripping wet. She hesitates about asking Gabriel for a towel. "Damn it," she mutters, and opens the door just a bit. "Gabriel?" she half-yells. "Gabriel, can you get me a towel, please?"

No answer.

"Gabriel? Mr. Tan? Is anyone out there?"

Still no answer. Maybe Gabriel has left without telling her.

"Gabriel?" She peeks out of the bathroom door. She looks around. The suite is quiet. Yes, maybe he has already left. She got the suite finally all to herself.

Claire gingerly steps out, her wet feet leaving damp marks on the carpet. She's not sure where to find the towels, but the bedroom would be a good bet. Knowing that she's all alone in the room has banished her inhibitions, as she freely moved around nȧkėd.

She throws the wardrobe door wide open, but it's empty. She stops for a moment, trying to decide whether to call up Dale or Lucille the maid or continue searching the room. Then she recalls her first day in the suite, how she'd spent the afternoon in the Jacuzzi, gazing at the city below…Maybe there are towels in the glass cabinet beside the jetted tub? Worth a try. But she hasn't yet moved when she hears a voice behind her.

"Oh, my God, you're nȧkėd."

She turns around and sees Gabriel standing at the doorway, his mouth hanging open.