Love Me in Paris

by D Pichardo-Johansson

  I whimper at his touch and he groans and shudders at mine. I love seeing him unguarded, weakened by ecstasy, surrendering to the effect I have on him. And who is this bold woman awakening in me? This frantic lover who explores her man unapologetically, who feasts on his luscious body, while guiding him and coaxing him to give her what she wants?

  Overheated by passion, we soon kick the blankets away. As his deft fingers free me from my jeans and my shirt, mine liberate him from his T-shirt and pajama pants, trembling with eagerness. If the sight of his bare perfection delights me, finally having him skin against skin enraptures me. His body is incandescent; his scent addictive; his ragged breathing a heady, hypnotic soundtrack.

  How can he tease me in so many ways at once? His mouth licks and nibbles at my neck and my ear. As one of his hands torments my breasts, the other works relentlessly on ripening me. My identity escapes me. I’m transforming into pure primal, raw female energy knowing nothing but this craving for him.

  A glimpse of a condom jerks me alert, concretizing in my mind what’s about to happen. Suddenly, I’m filled with fear and doubt. But then, guided by instinct, my body aligns with his, molding into him, snapping into place like we are pieces in a puzzle.

  There’s no room for doubt now, because I’m filled with him. He’s stretching me with his love and I’m enfolding him with mine. We freeze for a moment, overwhelmed by this intensity. And even if he is the one possessing me, I know right now he’s just as powerless as I am.

  He starts moving slowly, gently, rhythmically. Then faster.

  And then my mind dissolves, and all guilt and second-guessing disappear.

  Chapter 28

  Trevor

  I’ve died and gone to heaven.

  I know, it’s a cliché, but how else can I describe the past two days?

  To my own bafflement, finally making Sophia mine hasn’t ended my painful craving for her but instead worsened it. Every minute of the day, all I can think of is when can I have her again. We’ve become two junkies who just found an unlimited supply of their favorite brand of heroin and can’t manage to do anything but indulge in it; even sleeping and eating are annoyances when they interrupt our feast.

  Yes, this has to qualify as an unhealthy addiction, but how awesome it feels.

  Our last day in Annecy, we make an effort to pry ourselves out of bed and throw on some clothes to make it inside the main town attraction, the Chateau d’Annecy. (62, 67) Sophia and I explore it holding hands, giggling like children at everything we see. I can’t help tugging her into every dark corner and hidden recess within its thick stone walls to indulge in some steamy making out. Those stolen kisses console us for time away from the bedroom, but also add to its agony.

  This rustic stone fortress proves a drastic change from the gorgeous buildings we’ve seen in Paris (67). Instead of elegant plaster carvings or paintings, dark wood beams crown the high ceilings; instead of marble, we walk on hardwood floors; instead of art, reliefs or gold leaf trim, the charm of the thick walls comes from patches of exposed stone under the stucco. Yup, compared to the Louvre or the Opera House, this place is nothing. Yet seen through the eyes of new love, it becomes sublime.

  And that gets me thinking about my life in the US. I came to Europe seeking to soak in beauty, but maybe the problem wasn’t a lack of beauty where I was, but the eyes I brought to it. Maybe any new life I can build won’t be hopelessly flavorless, if I can add to it this seasoning of love.

  Back in the hotel, we make love one more time before checking out and heading to the train station. And the four-hour train ride that took an eternity the day I lost my passport passes in a blink as we spend the time chatting, kissing, and dreaming of the trips we’ll take together in the future.

  The future. It’s scary to realize there are so many unknowns ahead of us. How will we manage apart until I return to the US? Would she relocate and move to be with me when I do? Where, if I don’t even know where I will be? Definitely not Indiana. I’m easing into that conversation. But for the first time since my sabbatical began, I see one thing for sure that I want in my life. Even returning to my dreaded law job might be bearable if I could have this woman waiting for me at home at the end of the day.

  The second we make it back to the flat, we stumble, entangled in kisses, to at last baptize that bed I lent her. Later, we baptize the couch that once was witness to our frustrated desire. No more longing and hunger. Take that, Canova. Good job, Rodin.

  * * *

  Waking up with Sophia in my bed Saturday is amazing. Unable to do anything about my passport until Monday, we decide to revisit some of our favorite places in Paris. This time we walk slower, stopping often to kiss in the streets. We’ve become that annoying Parisian couple who smudges the line between making out and foreplay in public. I insist on spontaneous strolls, without pre-made routes dictating our steps. I want to send the message that our destiny as a couple has nothing to do with what happened to her parents.

  Ouch. Her parents.

  We’ve been so engrossed in our honeymoon-like haze that Sophia hasn’t touched her mothers’ journal again. I don’t look forward to the moment when she reaches the last pages. Her return flight is only three days away and I want to be there to hold her when she finds out the truth.

  I’m also afraid that if she finds out about it while away from me, she might lose her faith in love and I’ll never see her again.

  We’re watching the sun setting over the Seine River (68) and Sophia looks so beautiful bathed in the sunset colors I insist on borrowing her phone to take a picture of her. As I hand her back her cell I ask, “Sophia, have you considered skipping to the end of your mother’s journal and finding out what city they went to after Annecy?” The question tries to be casual, but huge tension clasps me.

  A north wind has been blowing, and the day has been chilly, even more so now that the sun is setting, yet our constant embrace has kept us warm. Sophia’s expression darkens and she gazes absentmindedly at the red-dyed clouds. “I already did.”

  My muscles stiffen and I have to make a conscious effort to loosen my grip on her hand. “Did you?”

  “It was a little disappointing.” She moves a lock of hair away from my eyes. “The journal ends abruptly. There’s one short entry about my mother’s first impressions of Annecy and Dominique’s house. Then the next day is only one line that reads, ‘I can’t believe this.’ That’s it. No explanation.”

  I wrap her in my arms and knead her back in circles. “Do you have any theories about what that means?”

  “All I can imagine is that she was referring to how beautiful everything was. It doesn’t mention their next plans. And surprisingly, it doesn’t even say anything about their final days in Annecy.” She closes her eyes, savoring my back rub, and treats me to her face of delight. “Maybe she misplaced the journal shortly after arriving there and that’s why it stayed behind.”

  I nod, torn. A part of me is deeply relieved that the journal didn’t mention her parents’ last fight or her father’s affair. The rest of me is overwhelmed because the ball is back in my court. “How do you feel about that ending?”

  “I don’t know what I was expecting; it’s not like there was a chance of finding out anything earth-shattering, like they never boarded the plane.” She shrugs with a small grimace. “But I’ve had enough of the past for now and I’d better change my focus.” With a smile, she traces my lips with her fingertips. “My present has never been better.”

  Moved, I kiss her, softly and gently. What does this mean? Does it mean that I should leave it like that and not tell her the truth? If I don’t, she’ll never know.

  I’m still dwelling on the questions as her hands slide down, caressing my face, my neck and shoulders, my waist and hips. Abruptly, she tenses and breaks the kiss. “Trevor, I’m feeling something hard in your pocket.”

  I can’t help but snicker. “You think?”

  “No, no, it’s not a joke!” She keeps patting my side. �
��I’m touching something hard and rectangular in the right side of your coat.”

  Frowning, I slide my hands in my trench coat pockets like I’ve done a hundred times since I lost my money belt. “There’s nothing in there.”

  “It’s here. Feel it!”

  I follow her guidance and confirm she’s right. There’s something trapped in the lining of my coat. And it’s suspiciously familiar.

  In a flash I strip it off and we sit on the side of the street. I probe my hand deeper than ever and confirm my suspicion. There’s a tear in the bottom of the pocket, leading to the space between the coat and the fabric lining. My hand is too wide to pass through it without ripping it all up. Sophia tries with her much more slender wrist and soon her hand emerges, triumphant.

  It’s my money belt.

  Chapter 29

  Sophia

  “Finding Trevor’s money belt with his passport inside is a miracle. I can’t believe we tortured ourselves so much that day, and it was there the whole time, trapped in the lining of his trench coat.” While packing for my return trip the day after tomorrow, I chat with the girls who came home with Iris from the hospital. I’ve propped my phone on a chair to free my hands.

  As Trevor taught me, I roll my sweater into a tight cylinder to fit it in the new rolling suitcase we purchased earlier—bigger than my duffel bag so I can pack my souvenirs, but smaller than my old one so it’s the right size to carry on. “It’s such a great relief that now we don’t have to waste my last days here running errands at the Embassy.”

  “But have you realized the most interesting part?” Chloe asks from off screen. “If you hadn’t thought he’d lost the passport and cards, you’d probably have parted ways soon after arriving at Annecy.”

  I bob my head effusively. “And we wouldn’t have shared this trip that finished pushing us together.”

  “My faith in a loving universe that conspires in our favor is restored.” Chloe claps with enthusiasm.

  A throat clearing sound gets our attention and Iris flips the screen to show Mia in the back of the room, crossing her arms. Mia still doesn’t trust Trevor and has been very eloquent about her concerns. “So did he ever pay you back for last week’s expenses?”

  “He tried to give me the cash in his money belt, but of course, I refused to take it. His credit cards are useless, since he canceled them, and he needs a way to get by until the new ones arrive in the mail.” I use the front pocket of my suitcase to pack my journals and letters. “And there will be plenty of time to repay me in the future.”

  Mia raises her eyebrows and tilts her head. “Are you sure?”

  My hands freeze on the zipper. For days I’ve refused to think about the moment of goodbye or what’s going to happen next. I’ve assumed that Trevor and I will have a long-distance relationship for the next couple of months, and then we’ll find a way to get together once he hopefully returns to the US.

  Because I’m hoping he changed his mind about staying here or going to New Zealand. I’ve been so lost in my bliss I’ve neglected to ask him what his plans are.

  I try to think with optimism, but even the best-case scenario doesn’t sound very promising. If he does return to the US, then what? We’ll have another long-distance relationship as he settles back in New York, about eight hundred miles away from me?

  “Stop it, Mia!” Ezra joins the screen and punishes Mia for her comment with a pinch on her waist that makes her jump. “Give the guy the benefit of the doubt and stop being a party pooper.”

  She pays him back with a punch on his arm. “And of course you’ll defend the guy, you sleaze.”

  Ezra gives her shoulder a little push. Sometimes they remind me of four-year-old twins stuck in love-hate sibling rivalry. “Princess, you know better than anyone what scum men are—you collect them and call them your boyfriends. If that guy really were as shady as you say, he never would’ve told Sophia the truth about not taking the vow.”

  Apparently, the girls have brought Ezra up to date about all my drama. It doesn’t surprise me, he’s always been like one of the girls in the gang, except he never has to deal with PMS.

  Mia shoves him away a little harder than necessary. “Sorry, but after you showed up here with blue hair and wearing those ridiculous suspenders, you lost your credibility in my eyes.” She straightens the collar of Ezra’s white shirt, unbuttons the first two buttons, then rolls up his long sleeves. “Seriously, you have so little fashion sense that if it weren’t for my vigilant eye you’d get beaten up daily, just like in middle school.”

  “Mia, that’s not nice,” Iris warns, still pointing the phone in their direction.

  “No, no, it’s okay! I like her fashion and style feedback.” Ezra waves dismissively, then points at himself. “You know geeky me, I need all the help I can get.”

  Mia pats his face. “I only torture him because I care. I love this big nerd.”

  “Aww!” Ezra grins and pinches her cheek. “And I love you, big airhead.”

  Iris turns the phone revealing her puzzled stare. “Fourteen years later and I still haven’t figured out what’s really going on between those two.”

  Mia steps toward Iris and takes the phone. Worry darkens her big amber eyes as her face fills the screen. “Sophia, I swear I’m not trying to spoil your joy. All I ask for is that you please be cautious. This is the first time you’ve fallen hard for a guy for real. We all know George never did it for you.”

  She has a point. For being an incurable romantic, this is the first time in my life I’m this flat-on-my-face for someone.

  “Being in love, for fake or for real, is like getting high on a dangerously addictive drug,” Mia continues. “And impairs your judgment just as much. If anyone knows the hazards of letting that drug cloud your mind, it’s me.”

  If anybody else would’ve said those words to me, I would’ve accused them of trying to rain on my parade. But Mia and I have a special bond. She has suffered a lot in the name of love in her life, and she believes that, by warning me, she might be able to spare me from repeating her story.

  “Thanks for worrying about me. But I’m confident that I’ll be fine. Trevor loves me too, he said so.”

  Mia winces and I can almost guess what she’s thinking: this is the same guy who once told me he’d taken a vow of celibacy.

  “I’m just saying, sweetie,” she adds. “Let’s remember he doesn’t have the best track record when it comes to trustworthiness.”

  “No, Mia, I trust Trevor,” I answer, but I have to admit she’s making my confidence wither. “He would never lie to me again.”

  * * *

  I manage to push my worries aside for our last event, a tour of Versailles Palace (69). Our ongoing romantic bliss softens the impossibly long lines and the crowds, making it difficult to see more than a few feet away.

  This place reminds me of the Opera House. In Trevor’s words, a redundant exaggeration of luxury on top of beauty that deserves an eye roll. But the palace feels colder and impresses me less than other places we’ve visited. Maybe I’m sensing the anxiety of the former inhabitants, fearing their end on the guillotine.

  Or maybe I’m projecting on this place my own anxiety about the end of this trip.

  But Trevor is in a great mood, and his joy is contagious. My best memory of the day is giving our stiff necks a break by lying on the floor on our backs in the famous Hall of Mirrors. The much better view of the innumerable gold-trimmed paintings on the ceiling is worth getting reprimanded by the security staff (70).

  We planned an outdoor picnic and I brought my drawing pad and Iris’ book for entertainment. But even the famous gardens are packed, so we decide to leave shortly after our late lunch.

  As we stroll back to the flat from the Metro station, hand in hand, approaching our last night together, nagging thoughts drum in my mind.

  “Why so quiet?” His hand tightens the grip on mine.

  I hesitate, choosing my next words carefully. “Trevor, we are going to s
ee each other again after I leave, right?”

  He releases my hand to use his key to open the carved wooden door to the lobby. “Not exactly.”

  “What?” I stiffen and gape at him with what I’m sure is an unflattering face of stupefaction.

  A soft smile slowly curves his lips. “Because I’m still hopeful I’ll convince you to stay.”

  Relief presses in my lungs, deflating them. As he guides me by the hand to the stairs, I chuckle. “You know I have to go. I have a summer class to teach.”

  “No one is indispensable. If you call them and tell them you’re extending your educational trip, they’ll have to find a substitute.”

  The month walking my feet off must’ve done something to improve my fitness; I’m surprised how I’m panting, but still able to talk intelligibly as we reach the fourth floor. “These kids are part of my program with at-risk youth and I would never leave them hanging. Especially after the school accommodated me to take this trip.”

  “But this is a special situation. We just got together and it makes no sense to say goodbye now.” Obviously better trained than I after months climbing the stairs, he shows little signs of fatigue.

  “I’m sorry, Trevor.” I try to catch my breath while he searches his key ring for the apartment key. “I promised to be back to teach that class and I can’t break my word. End of argument.”

  Trevor shoots me a sideways look and half a smirk and I have the dreadful suspicion that the argument is just beginning. It suddenly hits me that, if my goal was to find my own voice and stop being bossed around by others, the best way to accomplish it was not to get involved with a lawyer.

  “Well, just for the sake of brainstorming,” he says as he opens the door. “How about you tell them—”

  Trevor breaks off abruptly and freezes with the doorknob in his hand. I follow the direction of his gaze to a gentleman standing in the middle of the living room. By their resemblance in stature, body frame, and features, I guess he must be Trevor’s father.