Page 69 of That Weekend in Paris
“Yes,” I say, “actually, I did.”
“Do you write about your life there?” Elizabetta asks.
“I have, and I still do draw on pieces of my childhood. It’s very much a part of who I am.”
“I have always wondered what it would be like to be a writer and tell stories that other people recognize something of themselves in.”
“When we get it right, I think that’s what happens. They’re sort of like our children, though. We’re reluctant to consider any of them inferior,” I say with a smile.
“I am envious,” Elizabetta says, “of your talent.”
I start to shrug off the compliment, but I can see that she sincerely means it. And so, I simply say, “Thank you so much.”
~
THE CLUB IS a renovated feed mill. The outside walls are stone and look centuries old, but the inside has been brought up to date with red leather chairs and booths, and a large dance floor. The bar is made with what looks like beautiful green sea glass. A copper glass rack dangles from above the bar. Multiple bartenders are busy making drinks. The music has a deep, throbbing beat, and for the first time in longer than I can remember, I really want to dance. I reach for Klein’s hand, pull him toward the dance floor.
“Contrary to André’s prediction, I’m not the greatest dancer,” he leans in and says near my ear.
“Neither am I,” I say. “Let’s just have some fun.”
And that is exactly what we do. For the next two hours or a little more, we are nonstop on the dance floor, the only thing pulling us off is a quick trip to the bar for sparkling water to quench our thirst.
It’s somewhere after midnight when the DJ decides to slow things down. I instantly recognize the introductory notes of the song as one of Klein’s. “Oh my gosh, it’s yours!”
Klein looks over his shoulder at André, who is dancing nearby with Elizabetta. André waves a hand, letting us both know that he has requested the song. Klein looks a little uncomfortable, but then pulls me up close, one arm looped around my waist, and we settle into the twang of a Nashville steel guitar behind Klein’s whiskey-smooth voice. It’s a little surreal being somewhere in France dancing to one of the top country songs from last year, and in the arms of the artist singing it.
I rest my cheek against his chest, flowing in sync with the music, fueling the dancing of everyone around us. For a moment, I let myself wonder what it would be like to have Klein in my life. For him to be the man I have a right to dance with this way. I lean back, looking up at him, and I’m guessing my eyes must be revealing what I’m thinking because Klein dips his head and finds my mouth with his, kissing me full and deep. All my thoughts fall away, and there is nothing except this moment between us, the beat of the music, and I wish, truly wish, we could stay like this forever, that there wasn’t real life waiting for us. Me, in the finality of an ugly divorce, Klein uncertain about his career and the ex-girlfriend whose choices haunt him.
For now, though, it’s just this, and I tighten my arms around his neck, kissing him back with no desire whatsoever to hide what I’m feeling. I want to give him all the emotion inside me, let him know there is nowhere else I want to be, no one else I want to be with. We both seem to forget there are other people around us.
For once, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I only care that Klein knows how much my time with him has meant, how I wish it didn’t have to end. The song is fading into its final notes when he takes my hand and leads me across the dance floor through the hallway that leads to an exit. We make our way outside into the cool night air.
An ancient stone wall encircles the building that houses the club. Klein leads me to a darkened corner. I lean against the wall. He clamps his hands to my waist and lowers his head, his mouth finding mine, hungry, devouring in a way I have not yet felt from him. This feeling of being wanted is utterly intoxicating, and I loop my arms around his neck, pulling him as close as I can, pressing myself into him, wanting nothing more than to give every part of myself to him.
For a moment, a very brief moment, I remember what it felt like to wonder if I would ever feel attractive again, and that memory attempts to mar the happiness I feel here with Klein. But I refuse to let it, forcing it away from the present and banishing it to the past, where I know now that it belongs. We kiss for a very long time, the audible beat from the club music thumping around us. It mimics my heartbeat, and when Klein pulls away to look down at me, his voice is low and a little urgent when he says, “Why don’t we catch our own ride back to the château? I really want you alone right now.”
I can’t bring myself to speak an answer, not trusting my voice. I simply nod, and leave no doubt to myself, or to Klein, that there is nothing I want more.
Klein
“Know that everything is in perfect order whether you understand it or not.”
?Valery Satterwhite
IT’S NEARLY TWO A.M. when we get back to the château.
Dillon and I have said very little the last part of the drive, but I hold her hand on the seat between us. I can feel her pulse throbbing against my palm in perfect rhythm to my own thudding heart. We walk through the lobby, our fingers still entwined, an urgency in my steps now that I can’t deny. We take the long hallway to our rooms, stop in front of my door. I look at Dillon without saying anything. She reads my thoughts and simply says,“Yes.”
I insert the key in the door, pull her in behind me. Once the lock has clicked into place, I turn for her, my hands on her waist, pulling her to me, our bodies flush against each other. I hear her soft intake of breath and feel the way she melts into me. She pulls me in and kisses me fully, with a desire that lights me up from the inside. I kiss her back, and we engage in a dance of back and forth, our hands no longer still but exploring, touching, pulling loose clothes, my shirt, the zipper of her skirt. I pull her blouse from her shoulders, unbuttoning as I go. I look down to take in the black lacy bra covering her breasts and then lower my mouth to graze the top of each beautiful swell.
“Dillon,” I say, my voice low and hoarse. “I want you so much. I need you in a way I can’t even understand myself.”
She lifts my head with a fingertip beneath my chin, looks at me with a long, smoldering look, and says, “You have no idea how nice it is to hear that.”
And I know the why behind her words, understand that this is something she needs to hear for reasons that don’t apply to the moment. I’m glad that I can give that to her. But it is honest, and only comes from the fact that I find her not only undeniably beautiful but so many of the things I have never imagined finding in a woman altogether in one person.
“I know this isn’t the right time for us,” I say. “There are too many things unfinished in our real lives, but that doesn’t change the fact that what we’ve found here between us is real, and I want it, Dillon.”
