Sleeping with Paris

by Juliette Sobanet

  “He’s my English student, and you’ll never believe this, but he’s Madame Rousseau’s son!”

  Fiona’s eyes widened to the size of quarters. “That old hag at the Sorbonne?”

  “Mmhmm.”

  She glanced over at Marc then back at me. “It’s not possible. He’s seems so normal, not to mention good looking, and she’s so . . . dreadful.”

  “I couldn’t believe it either. But you’ll see—he’s nothing like her.” I watched Fiona glue her gaze on Marc as he and the rest of the group walked over to us.

  Luc had ordered everyone a drink, so we all clinked our glasses together and got started. In an attempt to drown our sorrows, Fiona and I downed our first two drinks. I hadn’t eaten dinner, so the alcohol hit me right away. There wasn’t too much space to dance at Rhubarb, but we made room. Before we knew it, our whole group was out on the dance floor busting a move, except Lexi and Benoît who were draped all over each other in the corner of the bar. Luc took my hand to dance with me, so Fiona and Marc ended up dancing together.

  “It’s so nice to see you again. I missed you,” Luc said as he wrapped his arms around my waist.

  “It’s nice to see you again, too. So you’ve been out of town for the whole month?”

  “Yes, but it is good to be back,” he said as he brushed his stubble up against my cheek and pulled me closer to him.

  I inched my face back and asked, “Is everything okay with your family?” I knew I was breaking one of my own rules by starting a serious talk when I should just enjoy the moment, but I wanted to know what in the heck was going on with this guy and why he had disappeared for a month.

  “Euh . . . well, it will be okay,” he said unconvincingly. “But for tonight, I just want to forget about it and enjoy this time with you.” He pulled me in even tighter while his hands roamed down to the small of my back.

  I became intoxicated by the smell of his cologne and the feel of his body pressed up against mine. He made me forget all about Jeff and Brooke’s frolics through the daffodil fields, not to mention my dysfunctional family situation. Plus, I hadn’t had any physical contact with a guy since my phone call with Hannah, and it was starting to take a toll on me.

  The news of my parents’ divorce was still ringing loudly in my ears though, telling me to sleep with Luc and nothing more. No feelings, no attachment, no falling in love.

  So, when we got back to our dorm and Luc invited me into his room, without hesitation, I said yes.

  Luc led me over to his bed and pulled me down on top of him. I relaxed into his arms as his hands wandered all over my body. He kissed my neck and shoulders and slowly made his way up to my lips. His scruffy face scraped against my soft cheeks as his lips pressed harder into mine and he rolled over on top of me. Our hips grinded together as Luc moved back and forth over my pulsing body.

  Jeff’s face flashed unwelcome through my mind as Luc’s hands slipped underneath my bra. I tried to forget about Jeff, but then I thought of Brooke. Stealing my fiancé. She probably thought she’d won the jackpot with him, just as I’d thought when we’d first met.

  As Luc’s hands groped my breasts and his breathing grew heavy, I snapped back to reality. Screw them, I thought. I was here, in bed with this gorgeous, sweet guy who wanted every square inch of me. I didn’t need Jeff. I had Luc.

  As rage and passion boiled inside of me, I reached down to unbutton Luc’s pants. He grinned at me as he let me take his pants and shirt off, and then tore all of my clothes off. He reached into his bedside stand for a condom and put it on in record speed. He kissed me again as he pushed himself inside of me and moved forcefully over top of me. He groped my ass, my waist, my breasts, and moaned deeply in my ear as our bodies moved violently in sync. I dug my nails into his back as he rolled me over on top of him and made me cry out in pleasure. Then, no more than a few seconds later, he finished and we collapsed in each other’s arms, barely able to breathe.

  We lay in bed together for a few minutes, my head resting on his chest, listening to his rapidly beating heart. He ran his hands up and down my back and kissed the top of my head. I looked up at him and smiled, and he leaned down and kissed me softly on the lips. Once we caught our breath, Luc stepped out of bed and sauntered, naked, over to the counter to pour us each another glass of wine. I admired his lean, sculpted body as he grabbed a small bag of Ferrero Rocher chocolates and cuddled back up next to me.

  Luc unwrapped one of the golden truffles and held it out for me to take a bite. An explosion of luscious hazelnut and creamy, milk chocolate met my tongue as Luc popped the other half of the truffle into his mouth.

  “Mmm.” I closed my eyes and took a sip of the smoky red wine. “This is delicious.”

  “See, you agree with me now. There is nothing better than chocolate after sex.”

  I smiled as Luc fed me another truffle, his warm, bare skin pressing up against mine.

  “I am sorry I did not tell you I was leaving for a while. I didn’t know I would be gone that long,” he said after unwrapping another piece of chocolate for himself.

  “That’s okay. It’s just nice to see you again.”

  “You too. Are you having a good time in Paris?”

  I opened my mouth, ready to lie, to tell him what a fabulous time I was having here. But with the exception of spending this wonderful evening with him, life had been pretty tough lately. I knew that if I opened up, I would be violating my rules—no serious talks and no emotional involvement. But lying there in bed with Luc, I felt myself wanting to let him in and show him the real me . . . even the not so glamorous parts.

  So, I ignored my rules, my blog, my promise to myself to stay detached, and instead, I started talking.

  “To be honest, the past few weeks here have been kind of rough.”

  Luc pulled the sheet up over us and cuddled even closer to me. “I'm so sorry to hear this. What has been doing on?”

  As I began to tell Luc about my parents' soon-to-be divorce, the knot that had been lodged in my chest since that talk with Hannah finally released. It felt so amazing to open up to someone who cared, someone who listened without judging, without trying to fix everything. And as I started in on the story of what happened with my dad when I was a teenager, I realized that I'd never told any of my friends about that incident. Not even Katie. I'd been so mortified that my dad would do something so deceitful to both me and my mom that I'd never told a soul. I'd let everyone believe that my parents were happy, that my family was perfect.

  But they weren't perfect, and Luc seemed to get that. He understood that I wasn't perfect either. So, as I ignored all of my rules and spilled my guts to this man who somehow had managed to draw me in like no other, I wondered if in Luc, I'd actually found a man who could be different from all the rest. Different from my dad. Different from Jeff.

  A man who wouldn't hurt me.

  After I finished talking, Luc squeezed my hand and kissed me on the forehead. “Divorce is ugly,” he said. “And even though you are an adult, it is never easy to see your family falling apart. Trust me, I know.”

  Just as I was opening my mouth to thank him for listening, and to ask how he was doing and why he'd been out of town for so long, his cell phone rang.

  He jumped out of bed naked, took one look at the caller ID and scowled. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I have to take this . . . Alone.”

  I sat up in Luc's bed, only a sheet draped over my naked body. He was seriously kicking me out? After we'd just had sex, and after I'd told him the entire story about my family splitting up? Unbelievable.

  I shot out of bed, feeling like an idiot to have thought for even one second that Luc would be different. When would I learn? I threw on my clothes and let the door slam on my way out.

  Back in my room, I could almost feel the steam puffing out of my ears as I flipped open my computer. I didn't want to waste any more tears over a dumb man, so instead, I poured all of my rage into my next blog entry:

  Rule # 1 – Avoid relatio
nships at all costs because they may eventually lead to marriage, and marriage is doomed to fail. Over half of marriages will end in divorce and heartache. Do you really want to be fifty years old and reinventing your life all by yourself while your husband is off sleeping with a younger model? I know I may be coming off as a pessimistic man-hater, but I’m just telling you how it is ladies.

  Case in Point: After finding out that my parents are getting a divorce and my dad is sleeping with another woman, I have to reinforce this point. How could it be possible to be with someone for your entire life and never want to be with anyone else? I’m not even blaming it all on my dad here. Marriages take two people, but those two people are human, and humans get bored easily. So why even enter into such a faulty institution in the first place?

  Rule #2 – Guys are sketchy. I know, I’ve already told you this, but hear me out.

  Case in Point: After disappearing for a month, Half-Naked French Hottie shows up, we have a wonderful night out dancing in Paris, then we come back to his place and have orgasmic sex followed by chocolate and wine in bed.

  Then his phone rings, and he bolts up out of bed to answer it before telling me to leave. Totally unacceptable, not to mention rude. Tell me, who exactly do you think is calling him at two in the morning? It’s not his mother, that’s for sure.

  I’m not saying that you can’t hang out with guys who demonstrate sketchy behavior (because, let’s face it, they all do something weird at one point or another), I’m just saying that you shouldn’t get emotionally attached to these guys. They’re dangerous, and, as I’ve said before, taking care of your heart should be your number one priority.

  Rule # 3 – It’s okay to hole up in your apartment and hide from the outside world from time to time. Sometimes you just can’t take another setback, and it’s better to close the door on all of it and hope that the drama has disappeared by the time you’re ready to come out.

  As I was about to hit the “publish” button, I thought about the fact that my mom was reading my blog now. I didn't want to add even more fuel to her fire, but I knew that it didn't matter what I said at this point. The house was on the market. She was leaving Dad. My small family was officially broken.

  I published my blog post, then signed into my email. There, I found a message from Madame Rousseau at the top of my inbox. My insides twisted into knots before I even opened it.

  Mademoiselle Summers,

  After checking in with your professors, I have learned that you have not been attending your classes. In addition, you have not yet contacted me to schedule our required meeting in December. My schedule is extremely busy, so if you are serious about being a teacher at a private school in Paris, I suggest you make more of an effort. The fact that my son seems to be keen on your abilities to teach English does not mean you have earned the privilege to miss your classes and act like an irresponsible teenager. If this behavior continues, I for one will not place you in a teaching position at the end of the academic year, and I will advise my son to discontinue his English lessons with you.

  Madame Rousseau

  Why was this woman so freaking unreasonable? It was only the middle of November. Did I really have to schedule our meeting a full month in advance?

  I emailed her back and informed her I’d been deathly ill with a contagious flu. At least I’d told Marc I’d been sick, so if she asked him, he would confirm my lie. Then I asked her if we could meet the second week in December, when all of my final papers were due to my professors.

  I was so not looking forward to that meeting.

  At this point, I was sure Madame Rousseau would never recommend me for a teaching position in Paris. I’d have to kick some serious ass on my final papers to even begin to prove to her that I was worthy. What if I didn’t get a teaching job when the school year was over? What would I have to go home to? Reminders of my broken engagement and divorced parents—that’s what.

  I had to stay in Paris and I had to get this job. And if impressing that time-obsessed old French hag was what I had to do, then that’s what I was going to do.

  Fifteen

  vendredi, le 10 décembre

  A straight man who takes you to the ballet is like a rare gem—once you give it up,

  regret inevitably follows.

  In early December, after two weeks of avoiding Luc’s calls, texts, and knocks on the door by locking myself up in my room to write my final papers, I received an email from an editor at a Bella Magazine, a popular women’s magazine back in the U.S.

  Dear Charlotte,

  My friend Lexi passed your blog onto me, and we here at Bella Magazine think you’re onto something. If you’re interested, we’d like for you to write an article for our April issue on the top ten lessons you’ve learned on how to date like a man in Paris. You can include your personal anecdotes, just as you do in your blog.

  I, personally, am hooked to the Half-Naked French Hottie storyline, and I think our readers would love to see how it all turns out.

  Please let me know if you’re interested. I look forward to hearing from you.

  Beth Harding

  Editor, Bella Magazine

  I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Bella Magazine wanted me to write an article? I could reach thousands and thousands of women this way. I could save many of them from heartbreak. This was incredible.

  I hit the “reply” button without so much as giving it a second thought. I told her I was thrilled to write an article for them, and that I would begin working on it immediately. I figured I should probably finish writing my final papers first, but I couldn’t help but draw up a blank document and start drafting. I had so much to share. How would I condense it all into just one article?

  ***

  After another week and a half of non-stop writing and the occasional break to shower, sleep, and have lunch with the girls, I hit the “print” button for my final papers. The article was still a work in progress. Then I decided to get out of my room and take a walk. I needed some fresh air. I peeked down the hallway first to make sure I didn’t see Luc, and then sprinted down the corridor. Just as the elevator reached my floor, a door clicked shut down the hall. As the elevator door was opening, a man’s voice yelled, “Attends, Charlotte!”

  Damn. I almost made it. It’s not that I didn’t want to see Luc because I didn’t like him. It was exactly the opposite. I was afraid that the more I hung out with him, and the more fantastic sex we had, I might really start to care about him. But he would keep answering his damn phone in the middle of our dates (while we're naked no less) and disappearing for weeks at a time, and I wasn’t willing to put up with all of that nonsense.

  Luc caught up to me and leaned down to kiss me on the cheeks.

  “I’ve been trying to talk to you,” he said as we stepped onto the elevator together. “But, I cannot get in touch with you. You are okay, right?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I’ve just had a lot of work to do for finals. I’ve been really busy.”

  “I want to apologize for the last time we were together. For asking you to leave when the phone rang. That was rude of me. I want to explain—”

  “Luc, seriously, whatever you do in your free time is your business,” I cut him off. “You don’t need to tell me about it. In fact, I don’t really want to know. I’ve got my own stuff going on too.”

  “Oh, okay.” He shifted his eyes to the floor. “Well, I wanted to give you something.”

  It was then that I noticed the envelope he was holding with my name written across the front. He handed it to me as we stepped out of the elevator.

  “Open it,” he urged. “It’s your Christmas gift.”

  With all the writing I’d been doing, I’d practically forgotten that Christmas was coming up in just a little over a week. I slipped my finger through the flap in the envelope and pulled out two tickets to the Paris Ballet at the Opéra Garnier. I was speechless. Why would he do this for me?

  “How did you know I liked the ballet?”

>   “I saw that photograph in your room of you and your friend doing ballet when you were little girls, plus it is one of the most beautiful things to see in Paris, and I wanted to do something nice for you. So, will you go?”

  I couldn’t believe Luc had noticed that picture. It was of me and Katie in our little pink tutus at our first ballet recital in second grade. It was my absolute favorite picture of the two of us. I’d had it in my studio in DC the entire time I’d dated Jeff and he’d never once asked me about it.

  The little voice inside my head told me to say no. Saying yes could open the door to a relationship, to drama, to potential heartbreak.

  But his gesture was so kind, so touching, I couldn't listen to that damn little voice. Instead I smiled at him. “Of course I’ll go with you. And you’re actually going to sit through the ballet with me?”

  “Bien sûr, I love the ballet. And at the Opéra Garnier, there is nothing better.”

  Whoa, French men were seriously cultured. I couldn’t have gotten Jeff to sit through a ballet with me if I’d paid him a million dollars and promised to give him a blow job a night for the rest of his life.

  ***

  I had my next meeting with Madame Rousseau at eight o’clock on Friday morning. I had set my alarm for five a.m. and had already verified that there was no grève planned for that day. I had worked so hard on these papers, I wasn’t about to let the disgruntled transportation workers ruin it for me.

  At seven-thirty on the dot, I was waiting on a bench outside of Madame Rousseau’s office, trying not to fall asleep. I must’ve dozed off at some point though, because I was startled awake at the sound of her little black heels clanking down the hallway toward me. I straightened my posture and did my best imitation at a genuine smile.

  “I see you are getting quite comfortable there, Mademoiselle Summers,” she scowled.