You Turn

by Marion Croslydon

  “Do you remember?” There’s no need for him to say more.

  “Our midnight dip outside Gatsby.” We were in a similar position, but in the North Atlantic, which made for a much chillier experience. “I wanted to kiss you that night.”

  His fingers shift along the top of my bikini bottom to rest on the lower arch of my back. “Why didn’t you?”

  “You were drunk and stoned. I didn’t want our first kiss to happen that way.”

  His jaw tightens. The pressure on my back increases. “I never want you to see me like that again.”

  Our bodies keep moving as one with the ebb of the sea. My voice becomes all husky. “Today could be our next first kiss.”

  “Eleanor Carrington, you are my first in all the ways that matter.”

  I wrap my legs around Zach’s waist and his other hand slide around to palm my backside. His lips become a magnet for my own. Slowly, I tilt my face forwards.

  A loud “Whoo-Hoo!” startles me. And again, “Whoo-Hoo!”

  Grrr… My rare attempt at audacity has just been cut short.

  Zach’s focus shifts away to a point beyond me. He lifts his arm and waves it over our heads. “Salut Maguy!”

  “Quand vous voulez, le dejeuner est prêt!” Whenever you want, lunch is ready.

  I check where the voice has come from and I see a woman standing on the balcony. You can’t miss her. She’s dressed in fluorescent pink.

  “That’s Claude’s wife.” Zach’s fingers trace a line up my spine to end up in the nape of my neck. “Hungry?”

  “Very.” But not necessarily for whatever Pinky Maguy has been cooking.

  I untangle myself from Zach’s embrace—the water cold over the parts of my body he covered seconds ago—and head back to the beach. I pluck up my courage, rocket out of the water, and run over the cobbles towards my lounge chair. The experience is just as painful as before, but briefer. I’m dry and dressed in an oversized white linen shirt, my wide-brimmed hat on when Zach arrives.

  “You took your sweet little time,” I tease him.

  He’s drying himself with one of the fluffy towels Jean-Claude gave us for the beach. He dumps it on the chair, grabs his own shirt and while he buttons it up, gives me a shameless once-over. “I had to cool down.”

  Heat flushes through my veins. I busy myself with putting my flip-flops on.

  We make our way up the steps carved into the rocks leading from the beach to the house. The lady in pink waits for us at the top. She’s tiny with short blonde hair and dark leathery skin. No need for Sherlock to know Maguy is a life-long sun-addict.

  She wraps me in her arms as soon as I reach the terrace. A sun-addict and a hugger like her husband. Two loud kisses land on my cheeks, leaving me just enough time to notice that the color of her lipstick is coordinated with the rest of her clothes. It’s likely Maguy turned twenty at some point during the Eighties.

  “I’m so happy to meet you, Lenor.” She loops her arm through mine and leads me to the same table where Zach and I shared breakfast earlier. It’s protected from the sun by a natural roof of grapevines. She sits me there as if I’m a fragile little thing who needs close supervision. “We knew one day Zachary will bring a lovely girl.”

  “Maguy, Lenor and I are friends from childhood.” Zach sits opposite me.

  “Oui, oui. Jean-Claude already told me: She’s your oldest friend. If that’s how you call it in America…” Maguy pours Zach and I two larges glasses of water. “So, now you’ll take an aperitif?”

  “One Ricard, please,” Zach orders.

  I do the same. I’ve no idea why, since I’ve never been a fan of pastis.

  “So, Lenor, do you like fish? Jean-Claude has brought back some red mullet from le Marché aux Poissons. He has lit up the charcoal and will grill it. Very simple, some nice olive oil from le Mont Ventoux, some Herbes de Provence, et hop! So what do you say?”

  She looks at me expectantly. I’m not going to tell poor Maguy that I’ve sworn off fish. Something that controversial may give her a coronary. I decide to make a dietary leap of faith. “It sounds perfect.”

  “Très bien.” She hurries away. Zach and I don’t even have time to start a new conversation before she’s back with our drinks on a round tray.

  She pours some of the liquid from the brown-colored Pastis bottle into two small glasses, then fills them up half-way with water and adds some tiny ice cubes. I watch how the liquid turns yellow and cloudy almost instantaneously. Like a magic trick.

  “I’ll leave the carafe here in case you want a top up.”

  “Merci, Maguy.” The woman ruffles Zach’s hair then drops a noisy kiss on the top of his head as if he’s no older than six. She then struts away.

  “I’ve never seen people so touchy-feely with you before. I mean, except your mom.” I shouldn’t talk about her.

  Zach leans forward and brushes the top of my hand with his fingers. “It’s fine, Lenor. I’ve made my peace with the past, which includes my parents.” He raises the glass to his lips. “To finding peace.”

  “To forgetting… to the future.” I clink my glass with his and take my first sip. Maybe it’s the surroundings—and the company—but, for once, I enjoy the strange taste of aniseed, licorice, and sugar. Same with Jean-Claude’s barbecued red mullet. I savor every bite of it, as well as the juicy grilled tomatoes it’s served with. I’m transitioning into a garlic-infused food coma when Maguy brings our dessert.

  “A very simple apple tart.” Maguy’s own words.

  “I can finish yours,” Zach comes to my rescue once our hostess has retreated into the house.

  I’m about to accept his offer when I take my first bite. This is so much more than a very simple apple tart. It’s a delicious and aromatic mélange of spicy apples, cloves, and I swear, an after-taste of Cognac. And that’s before biting into the cushion of cream between the apple and the pastry itself.

  “This is a slice of paradise,” I mumble once I’ve devoured half of my second portion.

  Zach rests against the back of his chair while slowly drinking the tea Maguy served him at the same time as she brought me my second helping. “I’m relieved you can still talk. For a moment I feared Maguy’s cuisine had cost you the gift of speech.”

  I swallow, and with as much dignity as I can muster, pat the corner of my mouth with my napkin. Then I drink a whole glass of water with the hope I can rinse away the addictive taste of the dessert.

  “You’ve grown an appetite over the last five years,” he finally ventures.

  “Not really. Let’s say my mom isn’t around to remind me I inherited my father’s slow metabolism.” I use my fingers to emphasize the word ‘slow’.

  Zach’s cup lands noisily in its saucer and he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s time your mother stops infecting you with her own insecurities.” Zach’s voice is cutting and it shakes me out of my slumber.

  “She’s trying to get close to me right now. Maybe something good will come out of the summer. After the divorce, the rehab, the O.D.” Yep, listed that way, Mom has had a pretty rough time of it and the memory of her goodbyes this morning twists my heart.

  “Don’t,” Zach’s tone has turned even sharper.

  I square my shoulders. “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t feel guilty for being here… with me.” I swear his voice has strangled slightly. “Please, Lenor, as much as you love her, don’t let her steal your life away from you.”

  I stiffen further, my back now rigid against my chair. “You’re exaggerating.”

  He leans over the table and his next question sounds gentler. “Am I?”

  Not really. If the last weeks have marked a U-turn in my mother’s behavior, the change has come from her. I haven’t initiated it, and should she decide to get back to her old ways, I may very much let her dictate my choices and priorities all over again

  “I wish I hadn’t left that night on Renegade… that night on Labor Day. It was so soon after Ashton’s funeral and you�
��d asked me to stay with you.” He needed me to be with him in a way we’d never been before. I left to help my dad look for Mom and later that night everything unraveled. “I let you down because of another one of her tantrums. I’m sorry.”

  My words make him shudder. “Lenor, you’re not responsible for what happened that night. I am. For everything I did, everything I said.” His next words give me a taste of regret. “I’m sure Josh was much more deserving to be your first. At least back then.”

  Shame prickles my skin, like the cobbles on the beach. At the same time an urge—a craving—for honesty fights within me. In my mind, there’s no other option than full disclosure.

  “Josh wasn’t my first,” I announce in one breath, while nausea starts wreaking havoc with my lunch.

  Zach tilts his head to the side. “I always assumed he’d been your only boyfriend after me.”

  “He was, but my first time wasn’t with someone I loved. I thought he was a friend…but he was nothing like that.”

  “Do I know him?” Zach’s hands thump the table. He shakes his head. “Sorry Lenor, I shouldn’t ask you that question.”

  “Freddie… It was Freddie.”

  Zach stares back at me as if he is deciphering my words. “That jerk?”

  A new wave of shame heats my face, but this time, mixed with anger. “Yes, that jerk.”

  “I don’t understand, Lenor. It meant so much to you, your first time. You didn’t even care for him. You told me so yourself.”

  “It would have meant a lot if it had been with you.” My voice breaks, so does the expression on his face. “Remember how you dumped me that night. After I came back to see you, it was quite a show.”

  Images of poor Renegade flash in front of my eyes like a broken film. That night, Zach’s crazy despair had become mine. Its foul taste fills my mouth even today and I jump to my feet. A familiar haste moves me forward. It’s fed by the same despair as the night Renegade sank. Despair and fear, that was what I felt that night. Zach scared me and I fled before his anger burned me down, just like it did to Renegade back then.

  I flow up the stairs, passing by a quizzical Jean-Claude. Public outbursts are very unlike me, but with Zach, I often end up losing my marbles. I hear him say my name from not far behind, but I can’t look back. My sole purpose is to disappear inside my room and hide from the world. There, I may have a chance to pull myself together.

  I reach my door only to realize I left the key in my bag. On the beach. “Shoot!”

  I keep yanking the door handle in frustration.

  “Lenor.” The calm of his voice further irks me and I punch the door in frustration.

  “Ouch!” That hurts.

  “Lenor, please, look at me.” His hands now rest on my shoulders. He makes me pivot and face him, but I don’t have the guts to look at him in the eyes. “I had no right to ask those questions.” His lips brush my forehead and the touch takes some of the anger away. “I wish I hadn’t hurt you the way I did back then. I’ll be forever sorry.”

  His lips trace an arch along my eyebrow, down my cheekbone, and to the hollow between my earlobe and my cheek. His hand cups my other cheek and tips up my face, so that my mouth brushes with his.

  “I wish I had been your first.” It’s no more than a murmur.

  “Zachary Murdoch, you were the first in all the ways that matter.”

  I feel how his lips curve into a smile against mine. “I would’ve made it matter.”

  “You can make it matter now.”

  My words are more of a challenge than a suggestion. It takes Zach aback and he puts enough distance so that he can see my face. My whole life I’ve looked up at him from afar or up-close. He has been my hero only to turn into a fallen one. But, I’ve never considered myself equal. Until now.

  I straighten up and in doing so, narrow down the space between us again.

  “I want you,” I say, his gaze caught in mine.

  “Duchess, we must take it slowly. We must talk—”

  “I don’t want to talk. I want you. I want you inside me.” I swallow hard. “Make me yours.”

  I hear his rushed intake of air, followed by its slow release. His thumbs start drawing small circles on my cheeks. The movement soothes away any remnants of anger and hurt, searing instead, deep inside of me, a pulsing flow of desire. It burns like lava. When his lips find mine, when his tongue teases and entices, desire takes over. My arms wind around his neck, I go on my tiptoes and kiss him back. Not a demure, middle-school type of kiss, but a full-mouth one.

  I want Zach. I’ve always wanted him. He should have been my first. Whatever would have happened afterwards wouldn’t have changed the simple fact that he turns me on more than anyone before him and anyone after.

  One of his hands falls from the side of my face down to my breast. It doesn’t linger there, but instead reaches the small of my back. The linen of my shirt is thin and heat radiates through it. I push my hips against his. The effect on him is immediate and the kiss deepens, our tongues playing with each other.

  In an unexpected move, Zach squats, places an arm behind my knees and scoops me up. I tighten my hold around his neck. All that without breaking our kiss. He swivels and in two strides stands in front of his own door.

  “Do you have your key?” I manage to ask in a hushed breath.

  “I never lock.” And we’re inside his room, the door closing behind us. My focus goes from Zach’s lips to the poster-bed, similar to mine. The room smells of wood wax and lemongrass.

  He gently drops me back on my feet by the side of his bed. We stand facing each other and the seconds tick away in a solemn silence. I watch him when he closes the curtains, blocking the harsh light of the early afternoon.

  Zach buries his hands in my tangled hair, his fingers gently combing, then spreading the still messy curls across my shoulders. He undoes the first button of my shirt, then the second. I stare down at his fingers expertly undressing me. The shirt cascades along my body to pool at my feet. He leans forward and while he unties the knot of my bikini top behind my neck, his lips brush against my breastbone, as he pushes my top away. His knuckles caress my nipples and they harden in response to his touch.

  I start reciprocating, letting my own fingers remove his shirt to rest flat over his chest. His heartbeat is strong under my palm.

  “I didn’t expect another chance. I don’t deserve it but I’m seizing it anyway.” He kisses the tip of my nose, then both corners of my mouth. “I’m not sure what that makes me but I’ll never be able to let you go.”

  “Who said I wanted you to?”

  Our gazes intertwine, building a bridge between his heart and mine.

  “Then don’t try.”

  I do as he asks.

  Chapter 20

  Going down the stairs after an afternoon in bed with Zach is like the day after trying yoga for the first time. I can feel muscles and nerve endings I’ve never been aware of before.

  I’m crossing the main room of the house looking for Zach when Maguy steps out of what must have been the kitchen. The magical scent of rosemary, thyme, basil and probably every single herb you can find in Provence invades the main room and awakes my appetite.

  “Looking for Zachary?” she asks, her hands folded in front of her apron. The twinkle in her eye tells me she has a pretty good idea of how we’ve spent the last few hours.

  I don’t blush. I simply reply, “Yes.”

  “He went down to the beach. The sun should set down soon.”

  I’m a city girl. I don’t pay much attention to when the sun rises or sets. For the first time, I wonder though if I should, if finding my own sunny place far away from the hustle and bustle can be the way to make me truly happy.

  “Thanks.” I really want to convey to the woman how much I love it here. But I only manage to repeat, “Thanks.”

  I’m about to step onto the terrace when Maguy says, “He’s special, you know.”

  I turn and look back at her. She’s lost mo
st of her bright disposition and is twisting her apron around her fingers. I retrace my steps to stand closer to her.

  “I know he is,” I reassure her.

  “We like Zachary very much. We met him when Jean-Claude and I were very sad… we’d given up having a child of our own, you see. And he had lost his maman.”

  I take her hands with a firm grasp. “I’m sorry, Maguy. I had no idea.”

  She shrugs. “Zachary has been here a lot, as a guest at first, but then he became more like family.”

  “Zach doesn’t open up to people like I’ve seen him do with you.”

  Maguy’s eyes moisten. I expect tears to follow. Instead, she stiffens as if she’s gone down that road too many times and won’t allow it to happen again. Grief is a weird beast.

  “Zachary told us about you.”

  “Really?”

  “From the start, he told us about a girl he’d lost back in America. He used to say that one day he’d see her again, he’d ask for her forgiveness, and he’d show her how he had turned his life around. Then, last Spring…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, he went to that place, les Hamptons. It was last April. He mentioned a party and that the girl was not free anymore.”

  My hands leave those of Maguy’s to cover my mouth. “My engagement party.” I have no idea he was there. I guess everyone knew better than to say his name anywhere near me. My father had declared Zach persona non grata in our house, so pretending he didn’t exist hadn’t been too challenging. At least, if you didn’t scratch the surface too hard.

  Maguy scowls. “No Ménage à Trois for Zachary, please. He deserves better than an affair.”

  “I’m not married. The other guy is out of the picture now.”

  “And no pining for him?”

  “Not anymore, no.”

  “Good.”

  I confirm, “Good.”