Dating isn't easy for anyone, but it's nearly impossible when you're one of Paris' up and coming politicians, a near household name, and a fully closeted Lesbian.
Keeping her sexuality a secret this long certainly hadn't been her plan. As soon as her father retired from his position as Mayor, she had expected to be able to come out. Of course, by that point, she'd begun her own campaign, and things hadn't exactly gone her way. It turned out that her father's name was both a blessing and a curse—a blessing, first, because it meant that she had the full support of all those who had previously backed him; a curse because it meant those people fully expected her to endorse his conservative, bigoted, fairly backwards platform.
'Just ten more months until the election, Chloé,' she reminded herself each morning as she rubbed her temples over a cup of coffee. All she had to do was stick it out until she was in office, and then she would be able to—
No. That wasn't true. Even once she was in office, she had no way of knowing how things would go. Three months ago, one of her closest colleagues had announced her bisexuality and suddenly, despite having been happily married for two years, Chloé had begun to hear rude whispers of "unfaithfulness" and "hypersexuality" targeted at her friend at the local benefit dinners. Just the other day, a senator had actually been audacious enough to insinuate that she wouldn't be voting as she was if she were "A regular girl like the rest of them."
The world was changing, but politics—closed-door meetings with old men and bigoted women, and press conferences with backwards newscasters vying for a slip of the tongue—politics was the same as ever.
It was for that reason that Chloé Bourgeois had turned her attention away from traditional dating methods, and opted for something with a bit more secrecy in its nature.
The first time she signed up on a Sugaring site, she'd felt more nervous than she had giving her first public address. She was happy to have been alone at the time, because her cheeks turned bright red, and she felt her blood go hot as she clicked "Generous Party/Sugar Daddy/Mommy" and selected, for the first time in her life, "Interested in women."
The nerves hadn't subsided after the account was made. Filling out her profile had been a nightmare. Without being able to actually describe her job, or even upload a picture of her extremely recognizable face, she'd ended up with the most bare-bones, undesirable account in existence. She didn't even feel comfortable verifying her income. What kind of Sugar Baby would want her?
The answer, it turned out, was almost no one. The first week, she'd forced herself to message eight girls—all of which self-described as "Bisexual"—and gotten eight "No"s in one form or another.
She didn't blame them at all, though. On top of having the world's worst profile, Chloé had also come to the conclusion that it made sense for the first date to happen at her own home. She couldn't, after all, be caught out in public with another woman, and she was beyond terrified of that happening.
This, though, meant that Chloé set off red-flag after red-flag that even the most easy-going Sugar Baby was sure to take note off. There were only two, thus far, who had actually been inexperienced enough to take her up on her offer, and after only a few minutes with each she'd quickly discovered that they were both only 'queer' for the money. In fact, it had turned out that—as longtime friends—they'd actually instructed each other to list themselves as Bi in order to "appear more interesting to men."
Feeling somewhat scorned, and not at all eager for a repeat performance, it was no wonder that as soon as a brand-new account for a "Shy Lesbian looking for some company," appeared on her radar, she jumped at the opportunity.
The profile, like hers, had fairly basic information—she knew they were the same age, lived fairly close together, and at very least, shared a sexuality, but not much more—and none of the pictures had been approved yet, but Chloé decided to bite the bullet and send her a simple message.
[Hello!] she began, opting for a cheery greeting despite the pit in her stomach at the possibility of another failure, [I see you're new here. I'm looking for a Sugar Baby and I was wondering if you'd be interested in meeting me.]
She pressed send, and then—her heart still racing—amended, [That is, if you're okay with that. We could always talk on here first if you'd rather.]
The girl really was new to all of this, she discovered.
[Sure!] she replied, [When are you free?]
Within a matter of hours, all of the details had been worked out. She'd arrive promptly at 7:30 the following Tuesday, they'd have dinner, and then perhaps they could talk or watch a movie. Chloé would pay her for her time, and her cab fare; and in exchange the girl would tell no one where she was going, or who she was meeting.
By the time the appointed day rolled around, Chloé was practically a wreck. Nothing in her wardrobe seemed good enough. All of her dresses seemed too fancy, and all of her blazers seemed to business-like. She couldn't wear her salmon blouse—she'd worn that on her first date—or her brown sundress—she'd worn that on her second—as she was fully convinced the outfits must be cursed, and she'd torn apart all of her closets and drawers looking for a suitable alternative.
She'd finally decided on a black cocktail dress with a gold necklace and earring set. 'Fancy enough to show I can afford her, but not enough to look like I'm bragging,' she thought, and then decided to ditch the necklace. She knew she was entering into an arrangement—she knew whoever this girl was, she too might only be interested in her for her money—but there was a part of her that dared to hope that maybe there would be a genuine connection this time. Perhaps, being the same age and all, they would be able to talk freely and easily, without all of the awkwardness.
While she was busy destroying her bedroom, her personal chef had been hard at work preparing dinner for two, and then preparing to leave along with the rest of the household staff.
"I've got a man coming over tonight," she lied through her teeth, "I'd like for us to be able to spend some time alone."
The cook only winked, and promised to prepare a feast fit for a Queen. None of the staff had been terribly surprised by the news. After all, the tabloids were always sporting headlines declaring "Formers Mayor's Daughter, Chloé Bourgeois Spotted on Hot Date With Model Adrien Agreste!" and no one in the home thought to question it.
Chloé and Adrien were both very much aware of the rumors, but neither saw any reason to protest them. Chloé was naturally quite happy to have her secret protected, and it had actually been Marinette who'd convinced Adrien not to say anything to the contrary. Now that she was entering the world of fashion, Marinette was looking to make a name for herself—and she did mean she wanted to use her own name. If she was only recognized as "Adrien's girlfriend," she felt as though her accomplishments wouldn't be nearly as meaningful, so the two had opted to keep their relationship on the quiet side. Chloé respected that and was, quite frankly, a bit jealous that she couldn't follow suit—but it wasn't as though she could escape her father's influence at this point in her career.
Finally, hair brushed and styled, makeup applied, table set, staff-dismissed, and stomach filled to the brim with butterflies, Chloé heard the fateful knock on the door.
She gulped hard and took a slow step forward, clasping her hands in front of her. Then, she shook herself, dropped her arms to her sides and strode forward with the confidence she'd faked a thousand times.
Without hesitation, she swung open the door to reveal—
"Sabrina?"
"Chloe?"
The two stared at each other in shock. Two hours messaging back and fourth, plus three days of waiting to meet—not to mention what percentage of that time they'd spend discussing prices—and her date for the night turned out to be her childhood friend. Neither one seemed to be able to process the situation.
After the longest moment of pure, unadulterated discomfort that she'd ever experienced, Chloé slammed the door in Sabrina's face.
She clutched her chest and breathed heavily as she slid down the door and crumpled into a heap on the floor, her back still pressed to the wood. She was right on the verge of hyperventilation. After only a few seconds though, she burst out laughing, and didn't stop until there were tears running down her cheeks. It was absurd. It was all just so ridiculously absurd. What were the chances?
Finally, she collected herself and opened the door once more. Thankfully, Sabrina had been far too bewildered to move from that spot.
"Why don't you come in," Chloé said, picking up part of the dominant air she had possessed during their school days and using it to cover a new wave of anxiety that had come over her, "I don't want dinner to get cold."
Sabrina complied, and the two of them had barely sat down before she blurted out: "Chloé, I swear I didn't know it was you!"
"That's for sure," Chloé laughed, and then let her smile drop almost instantaneously.
As she brought over the appetizers, the only noise she heard was the loud, hammer like beating of her heart.
The first course, likewise, was eaten in a painful, stabbing silence that seemed to invade their lungs and force them to choke down what otherwise would have been a lovely meal. It wasn't until they had finished desert that Sabrina worked up the nerve to speak again.
"I… I didn't know you were… I didn't know you were gay," she said meekly, as though she were trying to make conversation, but had chosen far too heavy a subject.
"I…" Chloé stuttered, "I try not to tell people." She loaded the last plate into the dishwasher and then asked, "What about you? Are you really…" she couldn't finish her sentence. She couldn't take another "No." Not now.
"Yes of course!" Sabrina cried out, "I wouldn't lie—" She trailed off.
"Other people have," Chloé shrugged, not quite sure whether she was relieved by the confirmation, or terrified by it.
"But not me, I promise," Sabrina said with such sincerity that Chloé felt her own face flush. "But you… How long have you known?" she asked.
"Since I was three," Chloé responded, thinking back to her days on the campaign trail with her father—to the senator's daughter for whom she'd fallen head over heals, and to the awful, berating lecture that had followed when her father had caught wind of her affections. "What about you?"
"Since I met you."
She stopped. They both stopped.
"You mean?" Chloé began.
Sabrina laughed—the first joyful sound she'd uttered all evening—and replied, "It's true, Chloé. I used to have a huge crush on you."
Chloé sunk into a full-faced blush. How could she not have known?
"Oh, but don't feel bad! I was good at hiding it!" Sabrina said, seeing her friends pained expression.
That was a lie, though. Sabrina had been as obvious as they come, but Chloé had been too caught with her affections for a certain superhero to even consider that her best friend might have feelings for her. As she considered the situation, memory after memory reared its ugly head—clues to a mystery she had never intended to solve—piecing themselves back together to form a perfect image of unrequited love.
"What about now?" Chloé asked, and then before Sabrina could answer the real question added, "What were you doing on a Sugaring site?"
"Oh," Sabrina squeaked out, "I… I'm having a bit of trouble with my bills and… You know, I missed having nice things and… and Marinette recommended me this website and…."
Chloé burst out laughing. OF COURSE there was another reason Marinette didn't want her relationship with Adrien to become public! Whether or not they were still in an 'arrangement,' rather than a 'relationship,' she wasn't sure, but she doubted Marinette wanted the media to catch wind of THAT.
"Sorry, sorry," she said, drying her eyes rather than explaining her outburst, "No, that makes perfect sense." It did make perfect sense, after all. Chloé had always been something of a provider for Sabrina—loaning her new clothes and accessories when she was feeling generous, and giving her her cast offs when she'd grown tired of them. It was no wonder Sabrina had gotten used to that lifestyle. She couldn't think of a better profession for her former doormat of a friend.
"Would you…" Chloé struggled to form the question, she wanted to ask, but was only able to force out, "Would you like to watch TV?"
"Sure!" Sabrina chirped, breaking the tension even further.
The two of them climbed onto the couch, at first sitting a respectful distance apart, but then moving closer and closer together as the movie continued. It was a sappy, heterosexual love story, but it was the kind of thing that always left both girls completely enthralled. Chloé hadn't even noticed that she'd put her arm around Sabrina—as she recalled she used to when the movie they were watching had gotten intense—and she was only barely aware that Sabrina had soon snuggled into her side, pulling her knees up onto the couch with her, and resting her head on Chloé's chest.
When at last, the film ended and they'd both wiped away their tears and composed themselves, they still sat, cuddled together, as the credits scrolled past, and the menu flashed on screen. After a long silence, Chloé was finally able to ask the question she'd swallowed before.
"A-are you still… Would you still… Do you still… Do you still want me?" Chloé stuttered, with the least vocal accuracy she'd ever managed. "As a Sugar M—as an "arrangement," I mean. Do you still want to make an "arrangement" with me?"
Sabrina sat up from where she'd been nestled and looked Chloé straight in the eye.
"Absolutely."
Chloé breathed a sigh of relief, but Sabrina continued.
"But… But I don't want it to be all about the money…. I-I still need help with my bills, I mean, but… I really do… I always did… I…."
"I understand," Chloé said, finally noticing the time, "It's getting late. Your cab driver should be back any minute now, shouldn't he?"
"O-oh, yes" Sabrina said, hopping up off the couch and grabbing her purse, shoes, and coat from their varying locations around the room in a great hurry.
Chloé lingered on the couch for a bit, and then met her at the door, wallet in hand.
"I suppose I owe you for your time tonight," she said casually, still blushing heavily at the idea as she held out a pile of bills.
Sabrina, though, was more than ready for this.
"Yep! You do," she responded cheerfully, accepting the money, and quietly stashing it in her purse, "But you can have a kiss for free if you'd like."
Chloé froze, her heart racing. What was the protocol on kisses again? Slowly but surly, her hand rose—almost on its own—and came to rest under Sabrina's chin. She turned the young woman's head slowly to the right, as though looking for the perfect spot on her cheek, when Sabrina centered her face once more, threw her arms around Chloé's neck, and planted the kiss they both knew they truly wanted.
As the taxicab pulled up into the driveway, Chloé could still feel the warm, tingling sensation on her lips. She bid farewell to Sabrina, and promised to text her on the old number. Then, she closed the door once more, and slid down it again, just as she had when Sabrina had first arrived that evening.
Once more, she found herself caught up gales of laughter—only this time, filled with relief, and not surprise and confusion. Nothing about that night had gone as planned. She hadn't expected to know her date, hadn't expected her date to be her former best friend, hadn't expected her former best friend to have truly been interested in her, and above all else Chloé Bourgeois had not expected to fall in love that night.
Of course, love has a funny way of finding us when and how we least expect it.