Mondays' eyes grew wide at the sight of the palace hidden within the city. They crossed the garden and entered a verrière restaurant.

"Monsieur, your table is ready."

Mondays' boots sunk in the thick red velvet carpet. She let her eyes roam around the rooms' decor that gave a view of the garden and its beautiful greek statues.

"What is this place?" Monday asked as the waiter pulled a chair out for her. "Merci," she said, and she sat down.

The waiter nodded.

"It's a hotel," Kenneth replied while trying to retain the corner smile that fought to display itself.

"Wow, the place is a work of art."

The man could not mask how content he was to see Monday's enthralled reaction this time.

"You haven't seen anything yet," Kenneth said.

The waiter explained the three-course menu before opening a bottle of champagne for them.

Monday could not pretend to be unimpressed. Her mind already began to envision a chapter. She imagined a date, no, an encounter. The type that had no tomorrow but marked its protagonists.

Kenneth observed Monday a minute before saying, "what are you thinking of?"

"Huh?"

"You're elsewhere. What are you writing?"

Caught red-handed, Monday looked down at her plate, "eh, I was thinking I could write a," if her skin were lighter, the woman's blush would have been scarlet red, she touched her earlobe, "it seems a great place for lovers."

Kenneth linked his hands under his chin, "tell me Monday. What's the most erotic chapter you've ever written?"

The woman cocked a brow at the question Kenneth threw out like an anchor, "excuse me, do you really want to know?"

"Yes, I wonder how you muster your sex scenes."

Monday lifted her glass and took a huge gulp, "I love slow burns. My characters never have sex before thirty chapters, at least."

"Unlike us," his flirty smiling eyes stared straight into Mondays' who redirected her gaze to the waiter bringing their entrees.

The two remained silent while he served.

"Merci."

"Thank you."

The waiter left.

"You were saying?" Kenneth said as he deployed his napkin with one shake.

"Yes, unlike us. My couples have sex later and remain together."

Kenneth noticed how her eyes slightly widened when she concluded. He didn't need to ask to know Monday was of those for whom sex came in the last stages.

He personally didn't care when the act occurred. Sex didn't guarantee anything except the promise of pleasure. What mattered was how he perceived his partner and whether he wished for more episodes with the same female lead.

"So tell me, what locations do you use?" Kenneth pursued.

"I research romantic spots. The book with the hottest scenes had the couple staying at the Royal Mansour in Marrakech, and they went to the Scala. In another book, they had their honeymoon in the Fiji Islands and spent their first night there. Another couple went on a business trip in Geneva and stayed at the Beau Rivage."

"Wait, you had a couple have sex once married in your books?"

"I told you, Kenneth, everything depends on them."

The man nodded, drank his champagne, and said, "have you ever been to those places?"

"ㅡEh," Monday lowered her gaze, "no, didn't have the means to do so when I wrote them, and I still don't have the finance for some places."

And Monday could bet her right arm Maison Souget was also one of those expensive spots. She made a mental note to do a little research on the place.

"What do you make them do?" Kenneth asked after taking his first bite.

"Excuse me."

The man reformulated, "what sexual acts and positions do you have them do?"

Monday coughed.

Kenneths' stare didn't wither as he asked her if she was okay.

The woman knew the man cared more about her answer than if she choked on her salade.

"Foreplay, a lot. The scenes usually last five hundred words. The longest I ever wrote was a thousand five hundred word sex scene. The first time characters sleep together is always a discovery of each other's body and pleasure realms. Acts like oral sex come later. The first time it's plain basic. To be honest, I only include the scenes if it's coherent. I always ask myself what it brings to the story or reader. Some books don't need such scenes. Also, sexually explicit content doesn't mean smut for me."

The woman could speak about his frankness.

Mondays' answers were just as honest as his,ㅡa turn-on for Kenneth, who placed the quality on the top of his interpersonal relationship list.

The woman couldn't believe what the man had asked. Like many, Kenneth knew romance writers usually wrote their fantasies. He had no plan to read Mondays' books and didn't see himself asking Lisbeth. The best and most efficient way to satisfy his voracious curiosity was to ask who it concerned.

Mondays' live reaction was worth it. Kenneth had a clear road map of the sex trip he would take her on.

While Kenneth planned the take, Monday died of embarrassment. It was one thing knowing people read chapters somewhere in private and another to have someone blatantly ask how she wrote her sex scenes.

"What inhibitions do your female characters have?" The man continued as if it weren't enough.

Monday stared straight into his eyes, "they're usually linked to their bodies. They aren't perfect: body hairs, weight, stretch marks, scars, depigmentation, hyperpigmentation, deformation, freckles, handicap, etc. Most jammers regard the image my female characters have of themselves. The men have fewer psychical issues or know how to hide their insecurities better. Besides, they tend to think they're Dons anyway. This often leads to a situation where the female MC won't make love in the light or daytime sometimes to avoid the other from seeing what she considers or believes as defaults the partner will also reject."

"I see," Kenneth said and began to eat.

Kenneth couldn't retort she was wrong. Some men were on the lookout for certain things. He was no exception; his ideal woman had no scars, perfect feet, hands, teeth. Psychical perfection was his only caprice, though imperfect himself.

The man ate in silence, and slowly, slower than Monday, Kenneth observed how she ate. How she picked her fork, she was left-handed.

Her hands were hands; there was nothing refined or repulsive about them. Her nails were exceptionally short, a little too tiny for Kenneth. At least she didn't wear the claws he saw on many women. He detested fake nails and wondered who made them fashionable. The man realized he could watch her eat all day when she placed a portion in her mouth and munched. Mondays' lipstick remained perfect even when she slightly licked her lips. Those lips thought the man. The man could not choose what he liked best between her voice and lips.

"Are my hands that interesting?"

Kenneth forgot Monday was a writer. She also learned from watching others. She already knew what shape the man formed with his mouth to ask a question, flirt, or provoke. Kenneth rubbed his forefinger on his lips when he reflected and leaned forward when he spoke to her. His pupils hardly budged until he had a response, then they moved as the man pondered.

They finished their appetizer, and the waiter bought the main dish. As expected, the plate was a work of art and the food a tiny lego block, how Monday regretted her generous okra soup.

The meal was delicious despite the small portion. And the dessert with pure rose petals and dark chocolate blew Mondays' mind away.

They took a walk in the garden to digest.

"How have you been, Kenneth?"

"Same old, talks, and more talks."

"Don't you get tired of speaking that much?" Monday asked.

"No, it's my mission."

"Wow, the guru has spoken," Monday said and advanced.

Kenneth followed and grasped her arm, "Hey, aren't you exhausted of making fun of me all the time."

"I don't make fun of you. I just don't understand the hype around you."

"I could say the same about you."

Monday sighed, "then tell me what we're doing here?"

They stood under the moonlight. Kenneths' gaze sparkled while hers shone.

He grabbed her hand, "come with me."

They returned inside; Monday barely had the time to register the baroque style lobby as the man pulled her to the elevator.

"Where are you taking me?" the woman asked when the door opened.

"To my suite."

Monday cocked a brow, "what for?"

"To write a new erotic chapter," the man replied.

"No experience I've lived measures up to the chapters I've written."

Kenneth stepped in the lift a pulled her in by the hand, "we'll see about that."

The doors closed, the man turned to face her.

"I really don't like you," Monday muttered.

"I know, it's a shame, though, because I sort of like you."