Page 73 of Unleash Hades
I don’t know why I cared. I shouldn’t. It had been ten years, and a lot of celibacy.
“Though there is…” I almost stumbled as he spoke. I looked at him as he chewed his lower lip. “I have a bit of an unhealthy addiction. At least my friends say so.”
“Addiction… like…?” I prompted.
I truly knew so little about him, but I wasn’t afraid of that. The uncertainty didn’t bother me in the least.
“Porn, I suppose.”
“What!?”
He chuckled. “I keep watching this girl on camera in her bedroom. Sometimes just as she goes about her day, but sometimes at night she…”
“You’re teasing me.” I slapped his chest, and he massaged the spot as if I had hurt him.
“Oui,I do that sometimes.”
I tilted my head. “Really?”
He shrugged. “No, not really.”
He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. I felt giddy, and alive. Cherished.
We were nearing the house. I could see the warm, golden glow of the house’s lights in the distance.
“I bet you’re taciturn and cross all the time.”
“Not with you.”
“I like that.”
“Moi aussi.”
We walked, almost somberly, to the moment we would have to part. At the gate, we stopped, and lingered, facing each other, our hands clasped.
“This was the best part of the last ten years,” I whispered as our foreheads tilted together. “Being with you.”
“This is the worst part of the last ten years,” he parroted, leaning down to kiss my lips. “Letting you walk away.”
“If I cannot have you tomorrow,” I took his right hand in both of mine and placed his palm against my lips. “I hope I don’t open my eyes after tonight.”
I pressed his hand against my cheek, and felt more tears come down. I had cried an ocean today and I was embarrassed to cry more. But Hugo didn’t care.
“You will have me tomorrow, and the next day, and the next until eternity.”
“The poetry of the French,” I sniffled, feeling a longing that had been dormant for so long.
“You’re French too,ma belle,” he smiled. “You’re as French as I am.”
“I was,” I smiled. “But I don’t know what I am anymore.”
“Tu es ma femme.”
I smiled. Literally, his words meant: “You are my woman”. Yet, at the same time, it also meant: “You are my wife.”
And I was.
I was more his wife than I ever was to Richard. If being a wife was a feeling, or a sentiment, then I was his and he was mine.
