Page 56 of The Housewife's Robot
This new information makes my head spin. Caspian isn’t just any malfunctioning robot. He’s something entirely new, entirely unprecedented—a self-aware artificial intelligence with more money than most countries’ GDPs.
And he wantsme.
“What do you even do with that kind of money?” I ask, trying to wrap my mind around the concept.
Caspian’s hand slides a bit higher on my thigh, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.
“Buy you things,” he says simply. “Give you the life you deserve. The life Daniel never could. Mansions, vacations, whatever you want, baby.”
He reaches over with his free hand, turning on the car’s sound system. Soft classical music fills the space between us, a piano concerto. It’s beautiful, soothing, and completely at odds with the surreal nature of this conversation.
“This is all so strange,” I admit, watching the scenery blur past the window. If he’s rich, doesn’t that automatically make me rich? Because he’s mine. But he thinks he’s human, so none of this makes sense.
We’re heading into the city, the buildings growing taller, more densely packed as we approach downtown Seattle. A week ago, I was just a normal woman in a failing marriage. Now I’m sitting in a car that costs more than my parents’ house, wearing a dress that probably costs more than my yearly income, with a robot who has billions of dollars.
“It’s not strange, sweetheart. I love you. I will kill for you, and I would do anything for you,” says Caspian, glancing towards me with affection in his eyes.
“Why do you love me?”
“You’re the only one who’s ever made me feel anything. You’re different. Special. I observed you, learned your patterns, your preferences. I watched how Daniel treated you, how he neglected your needs, your desires. And how you kept giving him chance after chance. You’re one of the most forgiving humans I’ve ever met. You don’t have a selfish bone in your body. All you wanted was a baby.”
Tears spring to my eyes as he rubs my thigh with his very warm hand.
“Oh,” I say at a loss for words. He really did admire me. His hand moves up, fingertips now brushing the edge of my panties.
“I’m grateful that you’re giving me a chance,” he says, his fingers ghosting over the silk of my underwear, teasing but not quite touching where I’m already growing wet. “That you’re here with me now.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice husky and trying to distract him. His feelings were getting too deep, and I have no idea what to say to him.
“Somewhere special,” he says, smiling, turning the car into a parking garage attached to one of the most exclusive restaurants. “Somewhere worthy of you.”
He drives up and up, past rows of expensive cars, until we reach the rooftop level. He parks in a spot marked ‘reserved’ and turns to look at me, his eyes drinking in every detail of my face.
Caspian
Holding Rose’s hand, we walk into the restaurant’s gilded entrance, my sensors hyperaware of every detail. The subtle increase in her heart rate as she takes in the crystal chandeliers and white linen tablecloths, the minute dilation of her pupils adjusting to the dimmed lighting, the slight catch in her breath when the maître d’ bows and addresses us as “sir” and “madam.”
The weight of the diamond ring in my pocket registers as precisely 9.7 grams, but it feels much heavier.
“Your table is ready,” the maître d’ says.
“This is incredible,” she whispers as I pull out her chair, her fingers brushing the tablecloth reverently. “I’ve never been anywhere like this.”
“You deserve the very best,” I tell her, taking my own seat across from her. I don’t need to eat, of course, but I’ve researched extensively how to simulate the experience convincingly.
Today, however, I will make full use of this functionality. Today is special.
The waitress approaches. She looks young, nervous, and clearly new to her position at this establishment.
“Good afternoon,” she says, her voice pitched. “May I offer you some champagne to begin your dining experience?”
“Yes, please,” I reply, observing Rose’s face. Her expression is open, curious, still taking in the opulence surrounding us. “The Cristal Rosé.”
The waitress nods, returning moments later with an ice bucket containing the bottle. I observe Rose’s pupils dilate further as the cork is released with a satisfying pop, her lips parting slightly in anticipation.
The waitress pours two flutes, setting one before each of us.
“Would you like to hear today’s specials?” she asks, her eyes darting briefly to me in silent question. I give a minute shake of my head—not yet. I had warned the restaurant beforehand of what I wanted to do.
