Weekend at Paradise Inn
Chapter One: First Contact
It wasn't his idea. In fact, the idea had never, ever crossed Francis's mind. He was smoking behind the restaurant with his fellow waiter.
"It's a tragedy, mon ami, I cannot possibly show up a wedding without a date." Francis said.
Gilbert snorted, rolling his eyes.
"Why don't you hire an escort." Gilbert said.
It was probably a joke.
Francis shrugged.
"I wouldn't know where to find one." Francis said, flicking ash to the floor.
Gilbert blinked at him.
"I know." Gilbert said. "I didn't think it would be your thing."
"Desperate times, Gilbert." Francis said, then he frowned. "How do you know an escort, Gilbert? I'll tell your little brother on you."
"Ludwig knows him too." Gilbert said. "I went to school with him."
"You went to school with an escort?"
"He wasn't an escort then." Gilbert said. He checked his watch. "We should get back. I'll give you his number when we're done."
Francis put out his cigarette and followed Gilbert back into the restaurant.
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A week later, Francis turned into a cafe, relived to be rid of the London drizzle.
The cafe was one of Francis's favourites.
The staff were good-looking and kind, and the coffee was more drinkable than most he'd had in England. There were a few couples, a group of teenage girls, a lone man sat in a corner, reading a book. He had to be Arthur Kirkland, Gilbert's school friend gone gigolo. He was undeniably attractive, with short, effortless and slightly messy golden blond hair and large dark eyebrows that framed striking green eyes.
"Arthur?" Francis said, approaching him. The man looked up and closed his book.
"You must be Francis." Arthur said. He gestured to the seat opposite him. "Sit down."
Francis sat down. A waitress came over to him, placing a cup and saucer in front of Arthur.
"Thank you." He said.
"Can I get you anything?" the waitress asked Francis, smiling.
"An espresso, please." Francis said, smiling back at her. The pretty waitress nodded,
"I'll be right back." She said, brightly.
Arthur rolled his eyes, and took out another book, a notebook, bound in brown leather that had acted as his diary for years.
"So." Arthur said, when she walked away. He took a sip of his tea. "What did you need from me?"
"A long weekend." Francis said.
Arthur raised one eyebrow and clicked his pen. "That's very expensive."
"Do you think I can't afford it?"
"You're dressed well," Arthur said. "But you wanted to meet here. Usually my richer clients like to make an expensive first impression. Plus you work with Gilbert, which makes you a waiter."
The waitress came over, putting the drink in front of Francis.
"Can I get you anything else?" She said.
"No thank you." Arthur said quickly, not breaking eye contact with Francis. He hadn't broken it since he'd sat down, Francis realised. It was disconcerting.
The waitress trudged away.
"How much exactly is it?" Francis said, trying to match the intense stare.
"For dates I charge three-hundred an hour. Full days are a thousand. Extras...well, that depends on what you want." Arthur said.
"Extras?"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Kissing is free. So is holding hands, hugging and the such. Sex is -"
"I don't want to pay you for sex." Francis said, quickly.
"No, just the pleasure of my company." Arthur said. "What weekend? And what's the occasion?"
"First weekend of June. My cousin, Matthew, is getting married." Francis said. "In Cornwall. The room is already paid for, Thursday until Monday."
Arthur wordless made notes.
Francis watched him.
"Usually I'm hired by women." Arthur said, not looking up.
"What kind of women?" Francis said.
"The rich and lonely kind." Arthur smiled.
"Desperate?"
"All my clients are desperate." Arthur said, his green eyes flickering over Francis, and then back down to his book.
"Do you always insult them, mon cher?"
"I'd prefer it if you kept the pet names for when other people are around." Arthur says.
"Anyway. Here is my contract. My card is inside. If you have any questions, call me, between two and four in the afternoon."
Francis took the folder out of Arthur's hands.
He stood up, picking up his book and note book and pocketing his pen. He pulled on his jacket.
"Let me know as soon as possible, Francis."
Francis nodded, standing and putting out a hand.
"I will."
Arthur took it, and leaned over, kissing Francis on the cheek.
"I'll look forward to it."
Arthur left, and Francis sat back down to drink his rapidly cooling espresso.
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Francis put the contract to the side, sighing and sipping on his glass of wine. It's been a long night shift, and now he would have to wait twelve hours to call Arthur. He wasn't sure about going through with it. It was expensive, almost all of his savings, savings which would be better spent paying off student loans, but he was desperate. Francis was not good at lasting relationships. He was good at flirting, he was good at dates, and an expert at falling in love. But after a few weeks the romance that had sizzled fizzled and died, and he was left heartbroken.
He'd already told his family that he was bringing a guest.
The contract had a lot of rules, Arthur was expensive, but he seemed thorough. The contract contained a long questionnaire which asked about Francis and his and Arthur's fictional relationship.
How did we meet?
Francis clicked his pen.
He had no idea how to answer the first question.
How long have we been together?
How serious are we?
What is our favourite couple activity?
What was our first date?
Francis slid the contract back into the paper folder and drained his glass, deciding he'd sort it out with Arthur when he called him.
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"Alright. So we met in the National Gallery, right in front of Monet's Irises, our mutual favourite painting and flowers." Arthur said.
Francis nodded. "That does sound nice. We got talking and went for coffee together."
"What was our first date?" Arthur said, writing everything down.
Francis sipped his wine.
"A restaurant." Francis said. "French."
Arthur shook his head. "Cliché."
"Fine. You asked. Where did we go?"
"It was a sunny day." Arthur said. "And we went and did very many tourist things. It was stupid and cheesy, but we had fun."
"And that's not cliché?" Francis said.
Arthur drank his beer. "It's much less cliché and boring than a restaurant. The French restaurant was our second date."
"Fantastique."
"And I bought you an iris plant." Arthur said.
"What if I bought you the flowers?" Francis said, raising his eyebrow.
"I really don't bloody care." Arthur said, snappily. "What's my job?"
"You're an escort..."
"No, frog, my pretend job. Or do you want me to meet your family and tell them what I do?"
"No, fair point, mon cher." Francis said. "You can choose."
"I'll be a teacher. Primary school."
"How innocent." Francis said.
"Can I see your phone, please?" Arthur said. Francis frowned, but handed it over. Arthur quickly added his number, and opened up his camera.
"Smile." Arthur said, throwing his arm around Francis. He took the picture and handed it back to Francis. "Set it as your screen picture. We'll take another one on my phone when we're outside."
"I could send you this one..."
"No. Don't be stupid." Arthur said. "We can't have the same picture. That would be ridiculous."
Francis ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a bit like tearing it out, if it wasn't so wonderful. Arthur was more than a little bit abrasive. Like a pumice stone.
He supposed Arthur was right. It would look more realistic.
"How long have we been together? Not too long, as this is our first weekend away together." Arthur said.
"Four months." Francis said.
"That's the first thing you've said today that hadn't been totally ridiculous, frog."
"I hope you are planning on me a little more romantic on our weekend, Arthur." said Francis. Arthur leaned over, and put his hand on Francis's knee, sliding it up his thigh, pressing his hand near his crotch. His lips touched Francis's ear.
"I assure you, love, I can be as charming as you need me to be." Arthur said. "When you're paying me for it."
He pulled away. "What's our favourite couple activity?"
"Arthur." Francis said.
"What, Francis?" Arthur said, draining his beer.
"Thank you for doing this."
"No need to thank me." Arthur said. "Your money does that well enough."
"You've known Gilbert for a while?" Francis said. He gestured to the bartender to bring over another order of their drinks.
"Yes. Since we were children." Arthur said. "We've never been close."
"How come we've never met?"
"Like I said, we've never been close." Arthur said. "You're not supposed to ask questions about me, you're supposed to ask about your boyfriend."
"I want to know about you, too." Francis said.
Arthur shook his head and started writing something down. Francis smiled and thanked the bartender with a wink.
"I don't usually ask questions about my clients." Arthur said. "But you flirt with everything with legs. You're not shy. You're not completely unattractive. What on earth do you need me for?"
"I'm not good at relationships." Francis said. "They never last."
"Relationships are stupid. Whether their familial relationships, or friendly, or romantic, they're stupid and pointless and will always end in heartbreak."
"No, you just have to find the right person to spend forever with."
Arthur shook his head.
"There's no such thing as forever. Somebody will always be hurt. It always ends. Two ways. Either break up or death. That's it." Arthur said. He drank more beer. "I think that's enough for today."
"I'm not finished with my wine cher."
"Then stay. Call me with questions or suggestions."
Francis stood up, they were similar height. Arthur cupped Francis's chin in his hands and pulled him close, planting a long kiss on his lips, eyes on the watching bartender.
"Be good, love."
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A/N: Thanks for reading! Please review