I’D BOOKED THE PENTHOUSE suite in the plushest hotel I could find, and the views out across the city were simply breathtaking. Rowan had flown us both out in his private jet – an early birthday present to himself – to meet up with the transsexual writer/director I had arranged for our fantasy night. Organising the trip had been the very least my husband could do, considering I’d made all of the other arrangements – namely with our third party. Of course, this was by no means the first stupidly decadent and wildly expensive hotel suite we’d stayed in – just one of the perks of being independently wealthy and being married to a guy who is as rich as he is handsome – but somehow this one felt infinitely special; I guess because my mind was racing ahead to what I had planned out between the th
