And goodbye is coming. She’s scheduled to return to the US next week, and without a passport, it will be awhile before I can go anywhere. Not that I have any desire to return to the States and face my father. Will I ever see her again? Or will she be just like Luke and Chrissie and so many other travelers I’ve met, characters I’ve crossed paths with and never re-encounter?
After our new nightly tradition of watching the mountains change colors in the sunset, we head back to our hotel. We spent longer than usual chatting, and darkness is falling. The city lights reflecting on the canals give the place a new dimension of beauty (65). We’ve been holding hands as we walk; the same touch that would’ve felt unsettling and enticing a few days ago, feels surprisingly peaceful tonight. Like even my horniness has quieted down to show respect for the process Sophia is about to enter.
We stop at the bridge on the main canal, to grab a bedtime snack of lemon glace and admire the lit up Palaise de l’Isle, the old stone prison-castle, reflecting in the water—talk about self-reinvention (66). Aware that she’s about to resume reading, I’ve lost my appetite, so after finishing hers, Sophia rescues my barely touched glace from going to waste.
“Thanks for making me get out of the room,” she says after a spoonful. “This day has been great. And I would’ve missed it, if I had insisted on getting stuck in the past. Literally.”
“You’re welcome. Didn’t you say that’s our role in each other’s lives? Helping us keep track of what we’re really here to find?”
She seems to consider my words during our stroll back to the hotel. As we arrive in the miniscule lobby and enter the elevator, she replies, “You’re right. I have to keep reminding myself I’m not here to trap the past, but to use it to enhance my present.”
I smile as the elevator ascends. “And I’m not here chasing my future, but allowing this moment to let me find it.”
We fall back into complete silence while crossing the uneven hallways to our room. Once inside, she finishes the last spoonful of glace, drops the empty paper cup in the trash, and her eyes fix on the red journal still lying on her bed.
Then, her gaze leaves the journal and locks on mine. Her lips tremble. “I’m so lucky to have met you on this trip. Finding my mother’s journal wasn’t what I came here looking for, but it has exceeded any dreams I dared to have. And I owe it to you. You’re amazing.”
Shit, I don’t know if she’ll still think the same when she arrives at the last page. Instead of answering, I hug her.
I press her face against my chest, my nose against her soft, blond hair, savoring the moment. In a way, I’m saying goodbye to the Sophia I know before she starts a painful metamorphosis.
I swear my intentions were clean. All I wanted when I took her in my arms was to transmit my support, but before I know what’s happened, we’re kissing.
Her mouth tastes of sweet lemon juice, and her tongue is still icy cold from the glace. But the fire of our hunger soon seeps through, warming us up. I deepen the kiss and she responds unapologetically, electrifying me with a surge of pleasure.
I spoke too soon when I said my libido had calmed down. Instantly, I’m bursting into flames, swelling with passion and want. One of my arms circles her torso and the other one cradles her head as I savor her. Her hands clench me, pulling me toward her, crushing me against her breasts, erasing the space between our hips, and I sense something has shifted.
Flashbacks of Rodin’s Kiss statue enter my mind. There are kisses of longing and others of consummation.
This kiss is about to enter the realm of consummation.
Then as if my thoughts were a premonition or an oracle, we’re suddenly in bed. My fingers tremble like fluttering hummingbirds, flying between her breasts, her hips, and the button and zipper I struggle to unfasten on her jeans. We roll without breaking the kiss; one moment I pin her down with my body, the next she straddles me with her legs while her hands work to free me from my shirt. It’s a déjà vu of the night on my couch, but this time she means it.
But I can’t. I can’t let her cave in a moment of emotional fragility and then regret it the rest of her life. When her whole world is about to be shaken, I would never forgive myself if I cause her more suffering.
And at once I understand why it hurts me so much to think that the Sophia I know might be dying.
Gathering all my strength, I break the kiss, softly push her aside and sit on the bed, panting. My voice is a shaky whisper. “No.”
Still clinging to my shirt and kneeling on the bed, she seems about to fall off to the floor as she gapes at me. “What do you mean no?”
She’s as breathless as I am. Her flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, and swollen lips summon me, irresistible. I have to put distance between us before I cave in.
As gently as I can, I disentangle her fingers from me and slide to the bedside. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how much I want you. But I can’t take advantage of you when you’re this vulnerable.”
She gawks at me as if I’d spoken in Russian or Japanese. Her eyelashes fluttering, she scoots to sit next to me and extends a hand to touch my arm. “Trevor… I—”
I hold her wrist to prevent her touch from threatening my resolve. “I know exactly what will happen if we keep going. Tomorrow you’ll hate yourself for it and hate me for being the cause of you breaking your promise. And I don’t want your hate.”
Sophia is mute. I let go of her wrist and leave the bed. After re-buttoning my shirt, I slip on my trench coat. “I’m going for a walk and will be back in an hour or two, when we’ve both cooled down. And tomorrow I’ll find a way to get back to Paris on my own.”
Startled, Sophia rises from the bed. She sort of stumbles and has to regain her balance before stepping toward me. “I… I’m sorry. You don’t have to do that; everything can go back to be the same.”
“No, it can’t.” I press my fingertips to my forehead. “You’re not ready to give what I need from you and I can’t keep hanging around, risking that one of these days our self-control will fail us.” I reach for the doorknob but stop, realizing there’s more I have to say. And if I don’t say it now, I may never do it.
I turn to face her. “I don’t want you for one night. I want more. Much more.” I pause and struggle with the words. “Because I love you.”
Time freezes, and so does Sophia, processing my statement. It’s true. I’ve fallen in love with Sophia. The same woman I’m not sure will survive the blow of losing the ideal of her parents’ love.
Before she feels obligated to answer, I trudge away.
Chapter 27
Sophia
Trevor left an hour ago, and I’m still spinning in circles in my mind. Did I dream all that? Did Trevor just kiss me, take me to the edge of ecstasy, and then walk away leaving me not only high and dry but also reeling from his final words?
His words cling to my soul, but the longing in his expression sticks even more. How could I have answered anything that made any sense? And what for? Did he just say he’s decided to walk away from my life?
I panic about his possible return, not ready to confront him yet, and go on my own night walk. I wander aimlessly, pondering for the longest time, dragging my feet about returning to the hotel room.
I get why he’s leaving; he’s tired of games with me. If I can’t be there for him fully, he doesn’t want to put his life on hold. It would be irrational to feel disappointed about that, but I do. A part of me thinks that if he really cared for me, waiting a few months would not be a big deal.
But how can I blame him for not believing in vague promises of staying in touch across the distance? If I haven’t embraced him enough to sleep with him, how can he trust I’ll find a way to reunite with him months from now?
And then, when it rains, it pours. Killing time, I check my messages and find a missed email from Chloe from two days ago.
Iris is being admitted to the hospital with a fever. We hope it’s not a surgical wound infection.
My heart ro
lls down to my feet and I break into a cold sweat. Shoot. And I thought she was safe after she finished the dangerous part of the chemo.
It’s midnight here, but 6:00 p.m. in Florida, so I send a FaceTime call direct to Iris’ phone.
When she answers, I’m relieved to see her looking better than ever, even wearing makeup and a new brown wig.
“My surgical wound is fine, the infection was in my port!” she says without preamble, referring to her IV site, and probably knowing I’m about to panic. “They removed the port this morning and the fever’s already gone.”
I press a hand to my heart, exhaling in relief, when I notice the other two faces waving at the screen. “Chloe? Mia? Are you there? It’s awesome to see you all together!”
“I canceled my return to Chicago, and Mia dropped everything to come join us,” Chloe explains while handing Iris some green drink in a glass, probably Kombucha, or that vitamin-loaded kale juicing concoction she swears by.
“But there’s someone else in the hospital room you have to see.” Iris flips the screen. “Look who’s here, straight from Silicon Valley.”
A squeal of delight escapes me at the sight of Ezra, our elusive “fifth sister,” grinning and waving at the camera. “You’re the only one missing, Sophie! Can’t you just hop on a plane and come over real quick?”
I want to cry. I wish so badly I were there. “Oh my God, Ezra! You look amazing! So… grown up!” The last time Ezra and I FaceTimed he had spiked blue hair; but now he has returned to his natural brown color, styled in a very flattering cut, short on the sides with a longish, tousled top. “What happened to your hair?”
“Miss Fashion Police attacked again.” He rolls his eyes and tosses a thumb at Mia, who’s moved into frame next to him. “My plan was to shave my head in support of Iris, but bossy-boss here wouldn’t let me.”
“Oh, drop it! Your head is way too big to pull off getting shaven.” Mia playfully shoves his shoulder away.
“Mia!” Iris reprimands her.
“No, no. She’s right.” Ezra shakes a hand. “My head is ginormous. My doctor still suspects I have some genetic syndrome.”
He’s kidding, of course. Ezra has become a very handsome man. Nothing is left from the awkward late bloomer I met in college.
It’s a rare privilege to see my best friends under the same roof, even if I can only be present through video-chat. As it always happens, instead of us supporting her, Iris is the one supporting us.
We celebrate together the great news that Iris’ surgical pathology showed a complete remission. After a few minutes catching up, Iris sends Ezra to run some errand, like she used to do in college when we wanted to talk about gynecology appointments. “Enough about my health!” she declares once he leaves. “Sophia, you have to update us. What has happened since we last touched base?”
As I inch in the direction of the hotel, I vent about the two days since our last chat, and even Mia is hard-pressed to find something bad to say about Trevor after the way he’s behaved.
But, of course, she does. “Be careful, this can still be a scheme,” she warns me. “He’s claiming he loves you just so you give in and get in bed with him.”
“Drop it, Mia!” Chloe grumbles. “Let Sophia decide if she believes him or not.”
Iris takes the phone. “Uh, excuse me for a moment, girls. I have to use the restroom.”
The image bounces, with flashes of a hospital floor, an IV pole dragging, and then a typical tiny hospital room bathroom. The bathroom door closes, then Iris’ face looms into view once again. “Are you out of your freaking mind?” she whispers.
I blink in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“You stubborn girl, are you seriously still clinging to that self-vow?”
“Stubborn?” I gape at my phone while entering the hotel lobby. “The whole purpose of calling it a ‘vow’ is not breaking it!”
She sighs deeply. “Do you realize that my whole point was to make a statement about taking control of our lives and being happy? If you’re miserable, it defeats the purpose!”
I plop myself in one of the chairs in the deserted hotel lobby. “I get your point, but if I break this vow, I’ll never forgive myself.” I pause. “Because my noble cause for taking the ultimate challenge is that you get cured.”
Iris groans and then whimpers. She knows how superstitious I am. “Why would you do that? I am the one whose life is on the line, and I would never have wanted you to deprive yourself of happiness on my behalf.”
“What do you mean by ‘happiness’?” I frown at the screen. “We’re just talking about giving into temptation with a guy I’ll never see again after this trip.” As I say the words a deep pain pierces my soul and I immediately understand what Iris means. That’s not what Trevor is to me. He’s much, much more.
The last words he said before leaving the room sink in for the first time and I tremble, realizing how much they echo my feelings.
“Sophia, I’ve known you since grade school,” Iris goes on. “You’re crazy about this guy. And being with him the past few weeks has made you blossom more than any ridiculous fasting or silly cleansing program would ever do. Doesn’t that tell you something?”
I know what she means. I’ve been refusing to turn Trevor into just an affair I had during the first crazy adventure of my life. But a voice inside me yells that he could never be only that. That what’s going on between us is worth fighting for, even across the geographical distance.
“But this is insane! I didn’t even know Trevor a month ago.” I talk more to myself than to Iris. “What if the beauty of these places is brainwashing me? And let’s not forget that he lied to me; what if… what he said is nothing but another lie? I can’t take a risk with him now, right?”
“No, unless your instinct is guiding you to do it, and you’re willing to listen to yourself.”
Darn it. Iris is trapping me in my own words.
Does she have a point? Am I stuck in my own rules to the point I can’t see they’re defeating the purpose of having created them?
“My instinct is telling me I can trust him.” My voice weakens. “But even if you give me permission to break the vow, I still can’t do it until my own journey is over. Until I’ve reached what I promised myself that night at the beach.”
“Can you find an escape clause in that contract you made with yourself?” Iris asks. “I don’t know. What were your exact words when you said your vows?”
I go back in my mind to my memorized vows. “I’ve spent my life being dragged by situations, never planning ahead, never taking control. I once saw true love; I saw it in my parents. Yet I settled for less and came close to marrying the wrong man. I will never again forget what I want.”
Iris pierces me with her hazel eyes through the phone. “And what do you want?”
“I want real love, like the love my parents had.”
As I say the words, the last passage I read from the red journal returns to me. It was my mother’s descriptions of their first days in Paris. The way my father held her hand when going through the crowds. The way every piece of art at the Louvre took on a new light when discussing it together. The way they made each other laugh while people watching near the Arc du Carrousel. What my mother described in those pages is exactly what I feel for Trevor.
“Oh my God. I already have what my parents had. I already found that best friend I want to be my travel companion.”
Iris smiles on the screen. “Then go get him.”
I disconnect the call and head to the room.
My heart hammers as I ride the tiny elevator and cross the long, uneven hallways. I enter carefully, in case Trevor’s asleep, but his reading light reveals him lying in bed, his hands clasped behind his head, eyes focused on the ceiling.
When he sees me arrive, relief flashes on his face. “I was starting to worry. Are you okay?”
I advance toward him, but don’t answer. Instead, I slowly peel back the white covers. His eyes fill with q
uestions, as I perch on the bed, then enlarge when I slide my legs under the blankets and join him beneath the soft, warm duvet.
Unhurried, I turn toward him and face his rising eyebrows.
“Sophia, what’s this?” His voice is hoarse.
Again, I don’t reply. Deliberately, I cup his face in my hands and kiss him hard.
Startled, he holds my wrists and breaks the kiss, keeping me at a distance. But I can read his struggle and desire. “Sophia, what are you doing?”
“Shh.” I shush him and my lips search for his again, this time gently. He tenses, torn between whether to fight me or to indulge in what he wants.
“Wait.” He pulls his head back to free his mouth. “You’re going to regret this tomorrow.”
“I won’t,” I whisper, knowing the next sentences will decide my destiny. They will either have him surrender to the force magnetizing us, or, if he’d just spoken on impulse and didn’t mean his words, will send him running away forever.
“Mister Lawyer, I found a loophole in my contract.” I smile weakly. “I promised not to have sex for a year. But I’m not going to have sex with you, I’m going to make love.” I pause. “Because I love you, too.”
That’s it. This is the biggest risk I’ve taken in my life. I have no guarantee that he feels the same way, that the words mean to him the same thing they mean to me. But he deserves to know it so he can decide if he leaves or stays.
A transformation occurs in his expression. He doesn’t need to say a word. I recognize the look in his eyes—it’s pure adoration. It’s liquid love, permeating every corner of my soul.
“And I love you, too,” he answers. Then his mouth claims mine.
He kisses me, ravenous, and I mirror his ardor. The surge of elation invading me frightens me for a moment. It’s exhilarating to break free from all restraint.
And I can tell he’s also left restraint behind. His daring hands caress me and incite me like they’ve never done before, setting me on fire. His mouth finds unmapped sensual zones on my skin, flooding my body with waves of pleasure. Every vital sign climbs along with my arousal. My heart rate escalates, my temperature rises, my breathing speeds up.
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