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The Fall of King Richard 

A Prelude to A Taste of Honey   

Written by Gamal Hennessy 

© 2014 Nightlife Publishing LLC 

All Rights Reserved 

To learn more about Nightlife Publishing visit:  http://nightlifepubishing.nyc  


To Alysse, for motivating and inspiring me with affection, support, and love. 


Honey Trap: (noun) a strategy where an attractive person coerces another person into doing or revealing something. 

-Source: Dictionary.com

A Winter in Geneva  

Richard Pengrove was determined to end his affair with Dominique as he walked up to the Hotel Beau Rivage. The frigid night air blowing off Lake Geneva pushed him toward the door with eagerness that some people might take the wrong way. But he decided that his speed came more from a need to escape the cold than any desire for the warmth inside her. 

He passed through the ornate crystal and marble lobby without raising his head or making eye contact with any of the evening crowd. He knew exactly where he was going, and he didn't want to risk running into a client or colleague. Several men in his circle met their lovers here, under the flimsy pretense of business meetings. The ones who didn't have mistresses would simply pick up a prostitute in the private lounge or order one with their phone. The outcome would be the same, even if the transaction was different. Either way, he didn't want to see them. He certainly didn't want anyone to see him. 

The wide, immaculate white staircase carried him up, away from the throng of decadent executives and toward the guest suites. His shoulders relaxed as he looked down on the other liars. He imagined how much lighter he would feel once he broke things off with Dominique completely and went back to a normal life. He could share quiet evenings at home with Sarah. He could be there to watch his son grow up, instead of just liking videos of him on Facebook as if he was some random, distant uncle. After tonight, he would be free to live an honest life, unlike the well-dressed pigs who roamed this expensive sty. 

He approached her door and saw the standard Do Not Disturb sign hanging on the gold-finished knob. That was her signal for him to come. Would it be more disturbing to go inside? Richard considered not going in at all. He could just say what he needed to say in the doorway. He could watch her absorb the finality of his decision and then leave before she had a chance to cry or make some other type of plea. He had nothing more to say: just hello, good-bye, and have a nice life. 

But there was no reason to be rude, was there? What kind of English gentleman ignores a lifetime of proper schooling just to be rude to a whore? It's not as if she'd ever been cold to him. In fact, from the moment they met in the gallery, she'd carried herself with the perfect blend of affection and discretion. If a man couldn't be civil with his mistress, who could he be civil with? So Richard knocked on the door, willing to share a good-bye drink with her, for her sake, of course. With luck, he could still be home for dinner. 

He forgot about his family dinner when Dominique opened the door. He saw the shining, black curls piled high on her head like a Grecian goddess. He could see her lips glistening with some unknown moisture that instantly implied sex. But it was her eyes that captured him. They looked him up and down, with a quiet control that banished every other thought in his head. 

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