Page 62 of That Weekend in Paris
We opt out of dessert, and when the waitress brings the check, Klein insists on paying it. I start to argue, but decide I’ll just get the next meal. We walk back to the room, mostly quiet, except for a few impersonal comments on the château and its furnishings.
When we reach the room doors at the end of the hall, we pause awkwardly. I pull my key from the small clutch purse I’d carried to dinner, wave it a little, and say, “Okay then, I’m really tired. I’m sure you are, too. So see you in the morning.”
“Yeah,” he says, “I’ll see you in the morning.” He pulls out his key and inserts it in the door, swinging it in and stepping into the room, closing it quietly behind him.
I step inside my own room then and close the door, leaning against it with my head resting on the wood. I shut my eyes and wonder exactly what just happened. Did I misread something? Say too much? I don’t know, but no point in trying to fix it now.
A knock sounds on the door that connects our rooms. I startle in a moment of surprise, take a deep breath, and walk over to open it.
Klein is standing there looking at me, not as he had in the hallway a few moments ago, but as he had looked at me this afternoon in the orchard. Something warm and happy unfurls in the center of my chest, and I bite my lip, heart thumping hard. We don’t say a word.
He merely ducks in, his hands anchored on my waist, lifting me up and carrying me back against the wall behind us. I wrap my legs around him, my arms around his neck. He kisses me. All reserve gone now, we devour each other. Any of the doubts we voiced to this point have dissipated like dust in the wind.
The truth is, I don’t want to think about anything except how amazingly good it feels to be in the arms of a man who clearly wants me, a man I cannot deny wanting more than I have ever wanted anyone in my life. I don’t bother trying to hide this from him. I kiss him back with complete abandon. My fingers find the top button of his shirt, undo it. I hear his quick intake of breath, feeling a sharp stab of pleasure for the realization that I can make him respond this way. I don’t even know how long we kiss like this before his hands find the zipper of my dress, slide it down tentatively as if a question is attached to the action.
I make a sound that lets him know it is exactly what I want. The zipper slides to its end, and he slowly, carefully, lowers the shoulders of my dress down my arms where it stops at my waist. He drops his gaze to my breasts, mostly hidden behind a black lacy bra. The old self-consciousness grips me, but I realize in that moment that no one has ever looked at me with such longing, such desire. I drop my head back in invitation. His mouth finds my neck, kissing his way down to the top of my left breast. I can barely breathe at this point, afraid that if I do so, he will stop, take it as some audible sign that I want him to, but nothing could be further from the truth.
But then again, I’m thinking of the times I had nearly thrown myself at Josh, how clear it had been that at some point he had stopped wanting me, and I stiffen unintentionally.
“What is it?” Klein asks, pulling back to look down at me, his hand at the side of my neck.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s not you. It’s just me thinking about how awful things with Josh got, and how there was a time when they weren’t like that.”
“Hey. I’m not Josh, and I can’t even begin to imagine what he was thinking. I mean, to have a woman like you and—”
“Don’t,” I say, mentally flinching a little. “I didn’t say that to make you feel sorry for me.”
“Sorry is the last thing I feel for you,” he says softly. “Have I not made that clear enough?”
I force myself back to the present, leaving the memories where they belong, in the past. I look up at him, and I cannot deny that this thing happening between us feels very, very real.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to bring all that baggage into this.”
“It’s okay.” He takes a defining step back. “But I think it’s probably a good idea if I say good night.”
“That’s really the last thing I want you to say,” I admit.
He leans in, kisses me deep and full, and then with a sigh of resignation, says, “I’m going now, back to the other room, closing the door between us. I very strongly suggest that you lock it.”
I reach out to put a hand on his arm in protest, making a sound of disappointment. But I know that he’s right, and so I let him go.
Klein
“Monitor motives.”
?Daren Martin
I AM AWAKE WITH the sun and unable to go back to sleep. I decide to go outside and take a walk in the early morning fresh air. I leave through the massive front door of the château, grabbing a cup of coffee made available for guests. The steaming cup is warm in my hands, and I take a sip, enjoying the robust taste of the French coffee.
The sun is rising on the horizon of a beautiful green field to my left. I follow the path we had taken yesterday to the orchard, breathing in the sweet scent of the fruit I can smell even from this distance away. I nearly finish the coffee by the time I reach the orchard’s edge, and I take the last sip, pressing the paper cup together and sticking it in my jacket pocket.
My phone dings, and I consider ignoring it, reluctant to let its intrusion into the peace here affect me. But there’s always that worry that something is wrong somewhere. So I glance at the screen, tap into my message app. It’s from Riley.
Hey, I’m sure you’re not up yet, and it’s late here, but I was thinking about you and just wanted to see how you’re doing. Make sure you’re keeping up all your healthy habits, vitamins and such. You know, I really admire your discipline and dedication to stay healthy now that you’ve got that back again. Anyway, we may not be together anymore, but I do still care about you.
I swipe out of the app, tuck my phone into the other pocket of my jacket and walk on into the orchard. My steps faster now. I’m surprised to hear from Riley, given our last communication. Why she considers it her mission to keep me healthy, I don’t know. Something about the message bothers me in a way I can’t explain. I guess it’s just an ex-girlfriend letting me know she still cares about me. Nothing horrible about that, but I know Riley, and there is always a purpose to everything she does. It’s just who she is. It took me a long time to figure that out, but once I did, I found myself always questioning her motives.
I think of our baby, and a rise of grief swoops through me. I wonder if it will ever not feel this way. I don’t think so. It doesn’t matter that I never met our baby. Never even saw him or her. This loss I feel is the same as if I had held the baby in my arms.
