Bookish

by Olivia Hawthorne

“Did I mention we’ll be meeting my sister?” Isaac said and reached for the tiny bottle of water on the table in front of us. We were somewhere over the Atlantic, and it was sometime past midnight as best I could tell. Seattle time, I didn’t know what time zone we were in.

  “What?” I gulped, nearly choking on my own drink, “you never told me that.”

  “I didn’t want to scare you,” he said and looked apologetic. “She’s the nicest of the bunch, the least judgemental. She’s a performance artist, she gets paid to stand around in rooms full of people doing bird calls or something.”

  I laughed, snorted really, and looked around to make sure nobody heard me. “Birdcalls? You’re kidding, right?”

  “No, I’m not,” he said and smiled, “in fact she’s the first one in the family who’s been featured in British Vogue. We’re all very proud of her, strange job and all.”

  “Does she know about us?”

  “The entire family does by now, yes.”

  “Seriously? They all know who I am? That freaks me out somehow.”

  “Why?”

  “They seem very…judgey.”

  “But you’ve never met them, how could you tell?”

  “It’s a hunch,” I replied, “and from the things I’ve read.”

  “You can’t believe what you read in the papers, Ms. Britton,” he said, “you of all people should know that by now.”

  “Well, have they said anything about us being together?

  “They’re concerned I suppose.”

  “About what?” I asked, a little offended.

  “As they are with any new girlfriend I have, that she might be interested in my money.”

  “Do I ever give you that impression?” I asked, “Because if I did, it’s the wrong one. I don’t want your money, Mr. James. I won’t lie, I enjoy the benefits of being with you, but only one percent of me feels that way. The rest of me is using you for your…magnificent male appendage.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, I loved making him laugh.

  “Is that straight out of one of your romance novels, love?”

  “It could be, and if it isn’t, then it really should be.”

  He kissed my cheek and laughed again, then grew serious. “You really shouldn’t worry about what they think. The moment they meet you, they’ll love you, I’m certain of it. My sister is like dipping your toe into the water to test it out, she’ll tell them all how amazingly lovely you are, and they’ll be much more receptive.”

  “Have they met any other girlfriend?”

  “No, they haven’t.”

  “Not even one of the many super models you’ve dated?”

  “Definitely not them,” he said, “and you have to remember, dating is much different than what we have. We’re in a relationship, I’m part of your life and you of mine. Anything I’ve had before has been more of a dalliance of sorts. A means to alleviate boredom.”

  “You’ve been with so many perfect women though,” I said, admitting that little insecurity that resided deep inside of me, “it must be so different, being with me after being with them.”

  “Can I tell you something?” he asked.

  “Of course,” I replied.

  He moved his hand to my lap, went under my shirt and caressed my stomach, my waist, the curve of my breasts from underneath, through my bra. “This is perfection to me. I love your curves and softness, I love that you feel like a real woman.”

  “A super model doesn’t feel like a real woman? That’s rather sexist,” I said, but secretly felt very pleased with his response.

  “Of course they’re a real woman, but to any man who wants to be with them. I want this,” he said and closed his hand around my waist, “having sex with a super model is a little like having sex with a bicycle.”

  It was my turn to laugh, “I can’t believe you said that, my mother was a model, remember,” I said but I was still laughing.

  “It’s true, love,” he replied, “you’re all gentle slopes and smooth skin, they’re all angular protrusions and awkward limbs.”

  “You make it sound like geography class,” I teased him.

  “I don’t know how else to put your mind at ease,” he said, “I’m with you because I love you. Everyone else I was with was in another time. I felt like I was sleepwalking.”

  I took his hand and sat there next to him, staring out at the pillowy clouds hovering just below the airplane, seemingly solid enough that I would fall right on top of them if I were to leave the plane right now.

  I wondered if Isaac was like those clouds, perfect and supportive, comfortable and safe, until you touched them…then they dissolved like so much rain in your hand.

  I decided to take my step yet again, meet his sister, love him in Paris and risk the fall to be in love.

  ***

  “Madeline,” Isaac said, “this is Aubrey. Aubrey, my sister Madeline.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I said and offered my hand to shake it.

  She shot me a wide grin, said, “Oh my god, finally!” and threw her arms around me.

  As I was hugging her, Isaac caught my eye and gave me a smug look of approval.

  She was simply lovely, gracious and so pretty. She smelled incredible, like the fields in the spring, fresh and young.

  “Finally?” I asked when we pulled apart.

  “Yes,” she said in her adorable British accent, “Isaac is such a sneaky lad, you know, he’s never brought a girl around at home.”

  “He did mention something like that,” I said, “I guess I’m the lucky one.”

  “You know he can’t stop talking about you, every text he sends he’s all like Aubrey this, or Aubrey that. He’s rather taken with you, and we’re all so thrilled.”

  “I’m thrilled to hear that,” I said and let them catch up a little as I covertly checked out our surroundings again.

  We were in the lobby of the exclusive Penninsula Hotel, I had gasped when we walked through the doors initially. I had forced myself to look around with cool appraisal, but inside I was doing the slack jawed yokel thing again, mouth agape and stunned insecurity on my face.

  Thank god I was good at hiding my emotions, perhaps all those years of crouching behind my walls had given me the right ammunition to be Isaac’s girlfriend.

  I was unflappable, even though I was flapping like mad on the inside.

  We’d gone to our room. Scratch that. Our suite…the Peninsula suite to be exact… and freshened up. We’d met Madeline at exactly six in the evening, Paris time. I wasn’t even sure what time that would make it back home, but I did know that my head was almost spinning with the time change.

  I was simultaneously buzzing with nervous energy and dying for a sleep.

  We decided on a suitable restaurant. Scratch that again. They decided on a suitable restaurant because let’s face it, Paris. I’d been here before as a child, but it’s not like I could discreetly google “Paris restaurant to impress rich family” and come up with anything on my own.

  I had googled our suite while Isaac was in the bathroom. The Hotel’s website assured me it was the priciest of all the available spaces at over ten thousand euros a night.

  I’d reddened at that, and had decided not knowing was probably better for me at this point. I couldn’t fathom throwing away that kind of money, but we weren’t exactly connected enough for me to be dictating how he spent his cash. Besides, honestly, I had to admit…I liked it. It made me feel special and precious.

  “Shall we head out?” Isaac final said, holding his arm out to either of us, “Le Restaurant has our reservations for six thirty.”

  “What restaurant?” I asked and hooked my hand in the crook of his arm. Madeline did the same on his other side.

  “Le Restaurant is the name of the restaurant,” she said and looked over at me with a little smile, “I know, it’s confusing at first.”

  I felt idiotic, and even more so when I saw the look Isaac and she shared. Sympathetic maybe, at how stupi
d I was.

  I shook the feeling off and decided I would enjoy the evening in spite of my creeping insecurities and tendencies to slack my jaw and gape like a hill billy.

  We walked to the restaurant and were seated right away, moved past a long line up of waiting customers. I could tell some of them grumbled as we swept past, but I felt like royalty.

  The dinner was exquisite, tiny little morsels of the most intense tastes I’d experienced.

  The conversation was what made it all perfect though. Madeline and I got along famously, and Isaac was pleased. You could see it in the way he watched us discuss some novel we’d both loved, or the way he squeezed my hand under the table when she was ordering dessert.

  He loved me, but most of all I made him proud.

  I don’t know why that meant so much to me, but it did.

  When we left, I was walking on clouds, a foot off the ground, holding his arm and soaking up the feeling of being connected.

  Of being part of a family.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  “I am so sorry,” Isaac said for the hundredth time, “I didn’t expect this at all.”

  “It’s okay, I’m serious,” I said, “let’s just enjoy the day that we do have, and I’ll spend the evening in the hotel until you get back.”

  He looked at me, brushed my hair back, cupped my face in his broad, strong hands and kissed me.

  “You are too fucking good to me, love,” he said, “how many women would be totally fine with their boyfriend going to a work meeting on their romantic Paris holiday?”

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” I replied and kissed the stubbly end of his chin, “I’ll let you get away with it this time, but don’t make it a habit.”

  “Yes Ms. Britton, I understand.”

  He had been contacted by David some time in the middle of the night. We’d woken up to a bunch of texts outlining a meeting he simply had to attend. It was going to ensure him a contract for the next three years, a stable income and the chance to settle down in Seattle a little more than usual. I simply had to give up a few hours with him this evening, and I would have him more at home.

  “Can we see the Eiffel Tower this morning?” I asked.

  “Anything you want, love,” he said.

  We made our way downstairs and I jumped when a car pulled up and a driver got out.

  “Is that a Rolls?” I asked Isaac.

  “It is,” he said, “I knew our time was short today so I decided to hire a driver.”

  The driver opened the door and gave me a slight bow. I felt awkward and ungainly as he took my hand and helped me get in the back seat. I wasn’t used to being waited on hand and foot, and it unsettled me on some level.

  Isaac got in and settled beside me. “Are you okay with this?” he asked, “you seem nervous.”

  The driver sped away from the hotel through the crowded Paris streets and all at once I was grateful for having this opportunity. I was feeling a little like a brat, not recognizing this incredible gift as it was being given.

  “I am okay,” I said and leaned back into his arms to watch the people on the wide boulevards.

  The line up at the Eiffel Tower was pretty long, and there wasn’t much Isaac could do about it. I suggested we take the stairs, but he didn’t seem keen on the idea. We decided to walk around a little to see if the line up for the elevator would have thinned out.

  We made our way to a large grassy field behind the Tower, the Champs de Mars, I read in the guide book.

  “I want to take a photo,” I said and pulled out my phone.

  “You’ve taken a hundred photos already,” he teased.

  “Of us, in front of the Tower. Isn’t that a Parisian thing to do?”

  “A touristy thing to do, but of course, let’s take an Eiffel Tower selfie.”

  We leaned back, I extended my arm and we grinned. My arm wasn’t long enough though, so he took the phone and extended it far enough to get the Tower in the background, even though it was at an angle.

  “Say fromage,” he said and I kissed his cheek as he took the picture.

  I grabbed the phone to see. I loved it, I looked adorable, I had ditched my glasses for my contacts, done my own version of smokey eyes, and applied a very bright red French lipstick before we’d left.

  He looked brilliant, his gorgeous eyes shining and the love radiating from both of us was unmistakable.

  I did something I didn’t often do. I shared a selfie on Instagram.

  “What are you giggling about?” Isaac asked.

  “I’m sharing a selfie,” I said, “I hate people who share selfies.”

  “Love makes us do strange things,” he said, “and it makes us softer, the world seems less aggravating when you’re completely and utterly and madly in love.”

  “That’s true,” I replied, “I am a grumpy person. I never giggle, I don’t do these kinds of things.”

  “But now you do,” he said.

  “Because I love you,” I replied.

  He grinned and said, “Let’s go take a selfie at the top of the Tower.”

  The line had thinned out and we only had to wait a few minutes for the elevator up. I stood pressed against the glass, and they had sandwiched so many people inside with us that Isaac’s hard body was mushed against mine.

  I didn’t mind at all, but it was a little disconcerting, sliding up the Eiffel Tower with the man you love pressing his hard cock against you, and your knees feeling a little like melted ice cream.

  I clung to the hand rail or else I might have fallen back into his arms.

  We exited and my cheeks felt flush with excitement, for being so high above the beautiful, expansive city, and for being in love.

  He took a photo of me leaning against the railing, and we took a couple more selfies of us together. All around us people came and went, different nationalities, different tour groups or families, but all that mattered were Isaac and I.

  I loved him with all my heart and I wasn’t afraid to show it.

  “I love Isaac James!” I yelled off the Tower. He laughed and wrapped his arms around me from behind.

  “What’s gotten into you, love?” he asked and brushed my hair of the way to nibble the back of my neck.

  I shivered and said, “I don’t know, I just feel so wonderful.”

  “So do I,” he said in my ear, “so do I.”

  “Can we go to Notre Dame?” I asked, “will there be time?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said, “anything you want.”

  “And Pont Neuf?”

  “You want to go to a bridge?” he laughed in my ear, “But yes, anything you want. But why a bridge?”

  “I have a photograph,” I told him and turned around in his arms so I could face him. The wind was blowing now and the day was cooling down, the summer’s heat was giving way to the fall weather. My hair whipped around my face as I looked up at him and continued, “It’s of me and my parents on the Pont Neuf. I don’t know how old I was, and I don’t know who took it, but I want to see the bridge I once walked on with my family.”

  “Oh, love,” he said and brushed my cheek. I realized a tear had escaped my eye and was sliding down my face. “Of course we can go, if I had known I would have rented the bloody thing for you and had traffic blocked off.”

  I smiled, “I don’t need that, I just want to see. They were murdered, you know. I wanted to tell you. I wanted you to know why I’m so weird, and closed off, and a little prickly I guess. I wanted you to know that I share your pain, and I think we were brought together to heal ourselves and each other. I think our love is deeper because of it.”

  He didn’t reply, he simply looked at me, smiled and kissed me. It was a tender kiss, the passion he had for me remained just behind, under the surface, but he was being gentle and loving.

  He pulled away, looked at me again and said, “I’m sorry, Aubrey. I’m sorry that anything ever caused you this kind of pain. If I could take it from you and shoulder the burden, I would. Sin
ce I can’t the only thing I can do is offer my love. I do hope this is enough, that this will bring you some comfort in your sorrows.”

  “Oh Isaac,” I breathed out, “I love you so much. Just being with you seems to offer relief. Just knowing that you love me and understand me is more than anything I ever expected out of this world. I feel safe with you, and I feel loved. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

  “I feel the same way, so I think I do.”

  We kissed for a while on the platform against the railing, the wind blowing around us, people milling about, and the glorious beauty of the city spreading out below us.

  I was in heaven, and anywhere Isaac James was, that’s where I wanted to be.

  ***

  “You look stunning,” Isaac said and allowed me to spin around for him. We had just left a little shop on the Champs-Élysées, not far from our hotel.

  We’d gone to the Pont Neuf, I’d gotten my fill of nostalgia and sad memories, so Isaac had decided to take my mind off the past by shopping.

  He really was a dream come true.

  I felt beautiful in my new dress, a wispy thigh length Bohemian number flowing with gauzey lace. This was brought together with a Chanel bag and a pair of Chanel heels. Both in rich chocolate brown.

  I felt like a princess, and I finally felt like I might fit in somewhere in this amazing city and in Isaac’s sophisticated life.

  “Thank you, Mr. James,” I said and smiled. I jumped towards him and he caught me in his arms, spun me around and we both laughed.

  There were enough people on the street that I didn’t feel self conscious, there simply was no way to draw attention to ones self in this crowd.

  “Anything for you, love,” he said and set me down. I stood a full three inches taller in these heels, I was able to kiss him without standing on tippy toe. I liked it, a lot.

  “I guess we should head back to the hotel,” I said reluctantly, knowing he’d be leaving me for a few hours.

  “Yes, we should,” he agreed and appeared to be as reluctant as I was. It was for the greater good though, we couldn’t deny that. A few hours apart here and now meant months together in the coming year.