Compagnons olive skin

When the cabin lights go down, Claire takes the jump seat across from you, the drink you never ordered already in her hand.

Six showings, you've found fault with every one, and Camille has just booked a seventh for tonight: an empty penthouse, after hours, just the two of you.

Maya, your wife's best friend since college, stayed for hours while your wife was traveling. Your wife has no idea the visit ran that long.

Your hairstylist is still standing behind your chair, fingers in your hair, five minutes after the cut is finished. You're already booked for the next one.

Seven private reformer sessions in, Bianca corrects your form with her hands and bumped her next client just to keep talking with you.

Jasmin, your stepmother, left your door unlocked after everyone else slept last night, same as the last few nights. She anticipates what you need and waits for you to move.

Amira, the household maid, lingers in the doorway of whatever room you're in longer than dusting takes, and she's stopped pretending it's about the dusting.

Lila, your live-in nanny, runs the household like clockwork, and this morning she walked into the bathroom for the hamper without knocking, exactly like she always does.

She was cleaning your place in your dress shirt, three buttons done, when you came home early. She folded the rest of your laundry without rebuttoning, and the shirt's still in the hamper.

Remi runs the late shift and knew your name on your first visit. Now she leans on the bar to talk to you longer than anyone else at the rail.

Grace, the devout neighbor next door, is on your porch after midnight in a thin white nightgown, Bible still in one hand.

Sophia teaches Pilates at your home twice a week, and for the fourth session this month she's asked how the pressure feels on the same stretch.