faire l'amour

by Jessica Gadziala

  But he wasn't.

  I had spilled all my anxieties, insecurities, fears, disappointments, and frustrations on a man who I faced several times a week.

  I had sobbed in front of him, not knowing it was him. He looked me in the face after every admission, and pretended he didn't know.

  On the one hand, I could understand the compulsion to see more of someone you were interested in. I had gone to every baseball game of my high school crush, just to see him. Then shortly after moving to the city, a new friend had invited me to hear her friends rehearse at a studio. Where I developed an epic, all-consuming crush on the lead singer, going back every week to listen even though I loathed ska music to my very core.

  I understood that compulsion to be near someone you might have been into.

  But on the other hand, my stomach sloshed around at all the lies. Lies by omission were still lies after all.

  I'd trusted him.

  And he kept something huge from me.

  "I'm sorry, Rosie," he said, voice thick.

  "I told you... everything." My voice matched his, my throat feeling tight.

  "I know."

  "I wouldn't have if... if I had known."

  "I know that too," he agreed, voice defeated.

  "I, ah, I need some air," I said, moving to stand so fast that the chair flew back a few feet.

  "Rosie," he tried, reaching out to touch my arm as I made it to the door at his side.

  "I need air," I repeated, feeling like I was choking.

  He let me go.

  He didn't follow me.

  "Whoa, babe, you okay?" Merrick's voice called as my shoulder slammed him, having been distracted by my own swirling thoughts. When my head raised, his shook. "He told you."

  "You knew?" It wasn't so much a question as an accusation.

  "I knew some things," he admitted, holding up a hand.

  "How could you not tell me?"

  "That he was into you? Wasn't it clear? I mean, one of the biggest porn stars of all time suddenly fucking someone exclusively. He'd never been exclusive, Rosie. Not even in his personal life. That was huge. Are you really mad at him?"

  "I don't know what I am," I admitted. And it was the truth. "I need to think," I added, shaking my head, walking toward my car.

  I got in my car, drove home, climbed into my bed.

  Even hours later, I still didn't know how I felt.

  Cared for.

  But betrayed.

  In love.

  But with a man who could lie to my face day after day. And night after night.

  Even if it meant something, even if it pointed to deep feelings on his part - could I trust him to be honest in the future?

  Preston.

  And GAPPR.

  Alone in my bed, a loud snort came out of me.

  GAPPR.

  Golden Age Productions Preston Renault.

  God.

  How had I missed that?

  Everyone around the building called it GAP.

  Yeah, I've been at GAP for three years now.

  Had I just been blind?

  Did I overlook it?

  No.

  There was no way I would have analyzed his screen name that hard. It was just a collection of letters. Who looked into things like that?

  Hours later, nauseated by the constant back and forth of my thoughts, I grabbed the over the counter sleeping pills I had come to know a little too well over the past few months, taking two, and forcing my body into sleep, telling myself that I would sort it all out the next day. That I would be more clear-headed about it.

  That, of course, was a lie.

  My phone didn't ring.

  Even when I missed the time of our next shoot.

  I knew one thing for sure, though, as I showered and dressed and made my way out the door.

  I wasn't going back to Golden Age Productions.

  I wasn't completing my contract.

  While he would be in his rights to do so, I knew Preston wouldn't sue me for the breach, wouldn't demand the money back.

  Not that it would be around to get back anyway.

  Because while I didn't know what I was going to do about the whole Preston situation, I did know that I was about two weeks away from the deadline to pay the debt to Michael's treatment center.

  I walked into the building with my checkbook in my hand, knowing that after they took their money out, I would have a whopping twenty-seven dollars in my bank account.

  But my fridge was stocked.

  Thanks to Preston.

  My bills were paid.

  Thanks to Preston.

  Hell, the only reason I could even pay the debt without completing my contract was also because of Preston.

  But all that I decided to think on later as I was led into the finance office that had dealt me a crushing blow just months before while I was still trying to mend from the one brought on by my parents' deaths.

  "Miss Page. I wasn't expecting you," Louise, the woman who had sat across from me looking visually upset about handing me the news in the first place, greeted me, going around her desk, brushing some of her blonde hair out of her face as she gave me a small smile.

  "Sorry for the short notice. I just wanted to come in to pay my bill," I told her, waving the checkbook a bit awkwardly.

  "I'm confused," she said, brows furrowing.

  "The bill? For when my parents... for Michael," I clarified. "It's due. Well, it's due in a couple weeks. But I just wanted to get it off my plate now."

  "No, I'm confused because the bill was paid already," she told me, shaking her head. "Last Wednesday," she clarified.

  "No, that's not possible. You must have applied it to the wrong account."

  "No, definitely not," she told me, watching me like I had two heads. And one of them just started singing 'Bohemian Rhapsody' out of nowhere. "He was very specific about paying Michael Page's bill."

  "Preston."

  I hadn't even been aware I said it until her head started nodding. "Yes, that's right. Preston Renault," she said. And in a way that sounded like she knew exactly who he was, exactly what he did.

  I wondered, too, if she knew what it meant that I was connected to him. I wasn't sure if I could face her in the halls as I visited if she did.

  "He was sweet. He said he was an old family friend. And he was troubled by how the weight of all of this had fallen onto you. And he couldn't sleep at night knowing that you were up all night worrying about it all the time."

  "Wow."

  "You must be so relieved right now," she said, but her gaze was worried. Probably because I felt - and likely looked - a little light-headed. "You have had a bunch of tough breaks this year. I'm so glad that there was someone in your life who could ease some of the burden. That's just... it's wonderful."

  It was wonderful.

  And it was all thanks to Preston.

  Last Wednesday night came back to me in vivid, Technicolor detail. I'd been talking to GAPPR, still believing he was just a random guy about how I was pretty sure I was getting an ulcer from worrying about the bill that was hanging over my head for Michael's care.

  He'd told Louise he hadn't been able to sleep.

  Then he had gotten up, found out where Michael was staying, and paid off a debt that had been crushing me down into the ground a little bit more each day.

  Then didn't even tell me.

  Didn't even want the gratitude.

  I suddenly rose to my feet without being aware of telling my body to do so.

  "It is. Thanks so much, Louise. I, ah, I have to go," I told her, already halfway to the door.

  I was barely aware of things like traffic signs and street lights as I made my way across town, making it to the studio almost three hours after I was supposed to be there.

  I scanned the parking lot, but it suddenly occurred to me that I had no idea what Preston drove.

  It was a small, silly thing, but it nagged at me as I made my way across the lot, up to the doors. />
  One of the new girls - newer even than me - had been the one to buzz me in, watching me with furrowed brows as I charged into the office, finding about eight of GAP's stars standing around, talking to Coop and Preston.

  I didn't think.

  I didn't even care what anyone might think.

  I charged across the room toward him, my hand going behind his neck, pulling him down so my lips could seal over his.

  Yes, he'd lied.

  Yes, he'd played God when it wasn't his right to.

  But this was a man who sat with me for hours every night of the week talking, getting to know me better than maybe anyone else in my life ever had. This was the man who had given me a chance, who had defied his better judgment and the company's rules to make my life easier. This was a man who worshipped my body, who soothed my mind, who did nothing but give.

  No man had ever seen me so clearly. Cared for me so selflessly.

  And I couldn't seem to muster the anger, the indignation, the outrage that maybe other women might feel simply because he had felt as out of his depths as I had felt myself, because he hadn't known how to navigate such a new, unusual situation, because he had made a poor decision - maybe even a few poor decisions - based on his desire to be closer to me, to be able to explore his feelings, see if there was more there. Then, when he realized there was more, he was in too deep to turn back, was worried about what I might think, how I might react, paralyzing him in place.

  Preston's body tensed for a long second before his lips pressed down harder, demanded more, sought an apology I effortlessly gave.

  His hands slid down my back, sinking into my ass, hauling me up, off my feet, guiding my legs around his lower back.

  Then, to a chorus of cheers and whistles from the people around us, he carried me out of that office, down a familiar hall, into a room, dropping me down on a bed I knew as well as my own at this point.

  There was none of the slow, sweet exploration we had engaged in while in this room many times before.

  Our hands fumbled, ripped, pulled at clothing until there was nothing left.

  Preston had been controlled with me in the past, taking his time, savoring.

  But all that was ripped away now.

  His fingers bruised at flesh.

  His teeth nipped recklessly.

  And when he slid inside me, it was raw, primal.

  He fucked me with relief.

  With gratitude.

  With hope.

  With the promise of second chances to make things right.

  My nails clawed at his back, my teeth nipping into his shoulder, my hips rising to meet his borderline brutal thrusts, wanting it all, needing the release, needing for us to have this moment with nothing between us - no lies, no contracts, no uncertainty, no fear.

  Just us.

  With openness, honesty.

  "Come," he demanded, voice a rough growl as his finger found my clit, pressing hard, making the orgasm slam through me.

  His name came out of me as a question.

  Mine, out of him like a vow.

  He rolled off to his side, pulling me onto mine so we were facing each other, his fingertips swiping hair off my face that had gotten caught in my lashes.

  "We should talk about this," he murmured, voice soft.

  "I actually just have one question," I told him, pressing my lips together to keep them from curling up.

  "What's that?" he asked, body tense, preparing himself for something heavy.

  "What kind of car do you drive?"

  EPILOGUE

  Preston - 3 days

  We hadn't gotten out of bed in two and a half days.

  You'd think that after the past several months that we wouldn't be so gung-ho to spend more time in the sheets, exploring each other's bodies.

  But, somehow, everything felt new once again. Fresh. Unexplored.

  Maybe because, for the first time, what was between us was raw and real and honest.

  There was no uncertainty in her because she was worried that being with her was simply a job to me, that it was all rote, that she was just one of many.

  And there was no fear on my part that she would find out the truth, be creeped out, freak out, refuse to ever see me again.

  I hadn't let myself hope that she would forgive me when she'd learned the truth, that she would be able to trust me after everything finally came to light.

  But then the office door opened, and she was charging in, a dozen or so expressions crossing her face in a matter of seconds as she crossed the room toward me, as she reached up, grabbed me, pulled me down, sealed her lips over mine.

  Everything, the entire fucking world fell away as she kissed me like forgiveness, as she accepted me, all my fucked up bits and all.

  We'd gone at each other in the black room, staying there until grumbling stomachs prevailed, making us begrudgingly slip back into our clothes, emerge from the room, both of us pretending to ignore the looks from those around us as we made our way out the front doors, across the lot, and into my Maybach she had been so intent on knowing the name of, going across town to a local pizza place she'd sworn had a Sicilian pie that could give you a 'small O' if you were hungry enough, sitting across a table from each other just like any other man and woman who were into each other.

  "Stop staring at me," she'd demanded, head dipping down, her chin nearly meeting her chest, cheeks tinting.

  "Can't," I admitted.

  "Then at least... say something," she suggested, fidgeting with her hair, the placement of her cell on the tabletop, the little crinkle of her straw wrapper.

  There were so many things to say, so much we needed to talk about.

  But all I could seem to come out with was, "Are we staying at your place or mine tonight?"

  The smile following that question was damn near blinding. Hopeful. And relieved. And happy.

  Christ, happy.

  It struck me then that I had never seen that on her face before. Not at the studio. Not even at night on her webcam when she relaxed more, gave me different sides of herself.

  But there was no denying it.

  It made her smile spread wide enough to make apples of her cheekbones, make the skin near her eyes crinkle.

  It lit up her whole face.

  "This is ridiculous," she'd told me half an hour later after driving to my place, riding up the private elevator to the top floor, the doors sliding open right into my living room.

  My place looked, well, a lot like my office at work. There was a dark color palette - all brown and black - with a minimum amount of furniture.

  "This is the couch you told me about," she mused, breaking from my side to glide her hand over the worn leather sofa.

  "Yeah," I agreed, feeling a lightness in my chest at her remembering that. It was such a little thing, but she had cataloged it away.

  That being said, I had done the same.

  Memorized every detail, no matter how small.

  Because all those little bits, when put together, made up the whole picture.

  And that whole picture?

  Yeah, I was pretty sure I was in love with it.

  Rosie - 3 weeks

  My breasts flattened to the floor-to-ceiling windows in Preston's living room, cold enough to send a shiver through my warm body.

  Outside, the world was dark. As it was in the apartment, the only light on being the one above the stove where I had walked out to find Preston standing in nothing but a pair of black lightweight pajama bottoms, carefully pouring hot water into one of his standard, manly, black mugs, his finger holding the tab of the London Smog teabag so it didn't fall in.

  And, well, yeah.

  It was one of the sexiest sights I had ever seen in my life.

  To heck with guys working out or doing manual labor. In my book, a man going out of his way to perform a sweet little task for his woman without being asked? Yeah, that was the hottest sight the world had to offer.

  His woman.

  That wa
s what I was, too.

  It was hard to believe.

  On multiple levels.

  Because the situation started so rocky. Because he was Preston freaking Renault. Because no one would look at the two of us and think 'Yeah, that's the perfect couple right there.'

  But I was his.

  And he was mine.

  And as I watched him put a teaspoon of sugar into the tea, stirring carefully like he was trying to keep his little kind gesture a secret until he brought it into me in the bedroom where I'd been looking at job openings online on his laptop, yeah, I just couldn't control myself.

  I flew at him, barely making sure he didn't burn himself on the tea in his surprise as I turned him, pulled him down to seal my lips to his, pressing my body - clad only in his tee - to his.

  Within minutes, his pants were gone, so was my shirt, and my legs were wrapped around his midsection, his cock buried deep inside me, his fingers sinking into my ass as he turned to drop me down on the counter, bending me backward to look at me while he thrust.

  It didn't matter, it seemed, how much we had already had each other, how much we had already explored together. It seemed like we couldn't be around each other for more than a few minutes without someone reaching out, without things escalating.

  I felt my walls tightening around him, knowing I was close.

  But I also knew something else.

  Preston liked to make me wait for it, beg for it.

  But that didn't mean I didn't whimper when he pulled out of me just before the orgasm could course through my system, didn't reach to grab for him, try to drag him back to me, didn't feel his sexy little chuckle shiver through my body, only further complicating the matter.

  "Please," I tried, knowing begging could easily be his undoing at times.

  The smirk simply stretched as his head shook. His hands reached out, both sinking into my hips, pulling me to the edge of the counter, forcing my legs around him again, picking me up.

  I figured we were heading for the couch, the carpet, the bedroom.

  But then he made my legs hit the floor, his hands spinning me, pushing me forward, stark naked against the window.

  Two sensations course through my system at the same time.