Gia sat on my lap as I fed her by hand. She wanted to argue the point. However, with her punishment for being fresh that morning looming on the horizon, she was learning to pick her battles.
“Christ, lads. Look what this little fuck-stick has me using.” Woody lifted a tiny spoon.
I had to laugh out loud. I knew the tiny spoon was used for espresso. I was taught at any early age the importance of a place setting. I never gave a fuck about a salad fork. My mother did. And because she did…my dad did. It didn’t make sense to me. Why she chose to empathize the importance of table manners. She was neurotic like that. I guess I didn’t have to understand. Instead of trying to understand or faking my way through it, I chose body art. Tats and piercings were one way I dealt with the privilege of overbearing-self-important-social-climbing parents. Woody had no fucking clue how fortunate he was to live simply.
“Mr. Wood. My name is Chance. While I love the fact you call me a fuck-stick, I refuse to be sexually exploited.” Chance flitted around the table, prepping for more mimosas. The table broke down in damn near hysterics. Woody even cracked a smile twirling his implied fuck-stick…his spoon.
“Keep your trousers on, Chance. Yer not gettin’ near my fuck-stick anytime soon.” Woody pulled Cindy closer, as if Chance was challenging his manhood.
The boys were too homophobic to have a gay assistant. I was liberal when it came to that. I didn’t give a fuck about sexual preference. Just as long as I had my preferred, and plenty of it.
Ender and Jake were catching a rap with two waitresses. They didn’t have any problems getting a girl to warm their beds. Being on tour was a cornucopia of babes. Being that we were rockers was an instant chick magnet.
I was glad to see Cindy and Gia enjoying themselves. However, the selfish prick in me wanted my girl to myself. I didn’t want to do the traditional Eiffel Tower tour. Romantic, yes…but not me. I wanted something representative of me and my love. I had Dave call in a few favors to make this day extraordinary for her. I grew up cultured. I fought it at every turn, but I knew art. After all, I am an artist. I had a deep appreciation for it. And I was chomping at the bit to share it with her. Finally, something I’d use from my private-school upbringing.
I pulled an errant curl that sprang back to life. ”Ready, Beauty?” I whispered in her ear.
She turned her head to answer. “When you are.” A note of happiness was in her voice. The curve of her neck begged to be kissed. And so I did. I kissed along the column of her throat. A moan escaped her partially opened lips.
“Hostia, Conseguir una habitación!” Ender exclaimed from across the table.
“Fucking English, dude. Talk English.” Jake grabbed him by the neck in a headlock. Here we go. Was there ever a place that we could inhabit without our words coming to blows?
Ender shrugged Jake’s arm off. “Jesus Christ…get a room!” He threw his napkin on the table, looking to exit. I guess he was done.
I threw my chin at him…like saying what’s your fucking problem. “Esse, the Parisian pussy’s not doing it for you? A bit uptight today, huh?” I laughed. The table joined in as we traded insults at each other.
“Don’t worry about my cock A. We’re just doin’ just fine.” He said his goodbyes and promised to meet up with the gang later. Said something about errands…yeah right. Most likely meeting up with a little afternoon delight with the doctor or the waitress.
Cindy stood up and yelled, “Ender.” He turned. “Hello, notch, meet bedpost.” She winked.
“Ha ha. Fucking hilarious. Why you so concerned with my sex life?” He winked. Cindy sat right back down again, blushing profusely. “Wood, you’ve got to be asking yourself why she’s so interested in my romance. Watch your girl, dude.” He turned, leaving that thought to hang uncomfortably in the air.
“I’m so not interested in his sex life. He’s such an asshole.” A pout donned her face.
Woody hugged her from behind whispering something I couldn’t hear in her ear. She smiled sweetly. I was happy for Wood. He had been alone for a while, refusing to fuck just anyone. Said he had particular tastes and shit. Didn’t we all. We were all shades of grey.
“Excuse us, guys.” I slid my chair out. “We have a date.”
We stood. Beauty kissed Cindy, doing the girl thing while giggling. It was sweet. I said later to Wood, Jake, Dave, and Chance.
Chance had grabbed my arm before I made my way to the car. “I’m so excited for you. It’s like your first date.” He beamed. “Where are you taking her?” He bit his lip nervously. His eyes were wide and waiting. “Oh my God, tell me. It’s killing me not to know. You know how I am.” He clapped. Christ.
“First of all, man the fuck up and stop jumping.” Sigh. I looked to make sure Gia wasn’t listening. “I’m taking her to Sainte-Chapelle,” I told him.
“The church?” he questioned. I was used to be questioned by anyone else but my father. And I fucking hated that shit.
“Yes, the fucking church. Why? You have something against churches? Are you forgetting we all attended catholic school?” I answered. Why was he questioning me?
“No, that’s not what I’m getting at. Do you think it’s a little bit out of her depth? I wouldn’t want her to feel…well underprivileged. She didn’t grow up in our circle. Did you ever take into consideration how she’d feel that…well, you’re so worldly, so young?” he explained.
Well fuck. I never thought about that. It never crossed my mind. While Chance went to school with us, he wasn’t exactly privileged, either. He was a ward of the state. His teenage parents gave him up for adoption. He went to school for free…attended the best university for free. I befriended him because he was different—cool. He partied and basically did whatever I wanted. He became not only my friend, but a PA as well. He handled all of our band shit early on. Organized everything. Put us on a schedule. It was good to have that support. I or we owed him a lot.
Woody wasn’t a big fan, he swore the priest made him gay and it was sacrilege having him around. Woody, being from the catholic part of Ireland took religion to a whole new level. Yea, fucked-up, right? We’re tatted, addicted, sexual deviants with religion…go figure? He had a big homophobe problem. He also never trusted him. We chalked it up to Woody being Woody and outvoted him. Thinking back to some of our early conversations we had while we were stoned, I had to laugh. Truly unbelievable.
“You know what? I disagree. She’s more cultured than you think. And I think she’ll love it. I’ll let you know how it goes, man.” I slapped his back a little harder than I anticipated. He had an odd look on his face that rubbed me the wrong way. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was jealous of Gia.
“As you wish,” was all he said and then walked away.
Huh? Whatever. I didn’t have time for his estrogen tantrums. I texted Renee the address of where we would be. We both made sure our walkie-talkies were on and charged. Renee insisted on coming, said he wouldn’t be seen or heard. Fucking perfect. Gia was safe. I could relax and enjoy myself.
I held her tiny hand in mine, explaining the royal medieval gothic chapel.
“This chapel was commissioned by King Louis IV of France in 1239. It holds one of the most treasured passion relics.” My words were a whisper. I did remember my schooling. I wasn’t a total asshole of disrespect for the church.
“Passion relic?” she whispered back. She was asking questions. She was actually interested. I was thrilled to explain the knowledge bestowed to me from early on. We sat in a pew just across from a stained glass scene of the Life of John the Evangelist. The scene was a somber one. However, it was perfect to the point I’d be making.
“Passion, in Christianity, is the short period of time before and up until Jesus Christ’s crucifixion. It all has to do with his suffering, Beauty.” My words were heavily weighted. Damn, my parents would be proud. “One of most important relics in all of Christianity is here. Christ’s Crown of Thorns,” I explained.
“No? The
actual thorns?” Her mouth in a perfect O.
I nodded. I know, it was fucking mind-blowing. I answered every question she had with exactness. I was blown away by the feeling I had from sharing all this knowledge. I loved theology in high school. I was always fascinated by it. Until my mother tried to convince me there’s no shame in being a priest. Ugh. Fuck. She was a crazy bitch. I loved her all the same. However, her thought process was fucked. Why I couldn’t show natural interest without wanting it to be a career was beyond me. So, like anything else requested of by my parents, I dropped it.
We spent hours speaking about Peter of Montereau. The Goth architect of the chapel, Notre Dame and Abbey of Saint-Germain. How the fuck did someone actually have the intelligence, balls, insight, and material to build such sites? See? We spoke the same language. The language of love, passion, and desire. That’s what mattered to me.
I decided to take her to Le Voltaire. It was very chic. Very French. And very me. We sat outdoors across from the La Seine River.
“We could have eaten at the Hard Rock. It’s on Zagat, too.” Her smiled bloomed beautifully. That fucking smile.
“I don’t think so, Beauty. I want you to see Paris. Dine on real Parisian food. Anyone can go to the Hard Rock anytime and have wings. When will you be here again?” I clarified.
Her face dropped. Her eyes fixated on her hands. “You’re right. I’ll never be here again.” Her gaze met mine and my heart fucking broke into tiny fragments.
I grabbed her hand from her lap. “Not what I meant, Beauty. What I meant to say is…I wanted a place just for you and me. A place to call ours.” God, I felt like a douche. I meant the words. But, it was foreign to utter them.
Without asking, she put her napkin on the tabletop and approached me. “You, Abel Gunner, are the most romantic man I’ve ever known.” She ended her statement with a searing kiss that I felt down to my balls and up to the deepest depths of my mind. I knew without a shadow of a doubt she’d one day wear my ring. That’s how profound that moment was for me.
I’ve never woken up to the feeling of being emotionally whole before. But that was exactly how I felt waking up next to this man—complete. I had a serious hero complex going on. Him being my hero. To save me from a past so tragically emotional, it was utterly fucking excruciating. The pills worked and yet they didn’t. I wanted something to make me forget. Something to wipe the slate clean. I was told it was a process. I needed time. I just couldn’t help but feel that time would never relieve the pain of my past. Erase my mother. The memories. The abuse. It was a wonder how I was able to have a normal sexual relationship. Self-sabotaging and self-mutilation were all I knew. It actually made me feel better. Sick. So fucking sick. With him, it was different. It came natural. It wasn’t forced. I didn’t feel forced. Yes, it was bondage. However, I felt free. I didn’t fully understand it. No. Nevertheless, it was the honest truth. My first real truth. I needed it. I needed it with him.
He surprised me with an elegant outdoor breakfast. The table was set with fine bone china that was decorated with twenty-four karat edges. The flatware was solid gold. My favorite flowers, peonies, blanketed a white gazebo. Princess? Princesses had nothing on this. He treated me like a queen. His queen. Chance was behind the decorations. He told me so. I knew Abel didn’t actually decorate. However, I also knew he had a hand in putting it all together. Maybe not the execution. But the intent was all his.
“Christ, you must be some knob-gobbler.” Cindy laughed and I elbowed her.
“You’re so crass,” I shot back.
“Crass? Tell me you just didn’t use the word crass in front of me? I’m gonna puke. I swear to fuck.” We both laughed. Why that came out of my mouth, I had no idea. Usually, I prided myself at my use of sailor slang curses. Abel must have been rubbing off on me. He was all rough around the edges. And yet, cultured. A double negative. It made no sense. And yet, perfect sense at the same time.
“Seriously. How are things with Wood?” I leaned my shoulder into her. Abel’s hands were behind me, steadying me. He was always there to steady me. My titan.
“Damn, girl, I’m royally fucked.” She shook her head. I read that statement loud and clear. I felt the same way. “I mean, he’s all about those God-damned drum sticks. Fuck, the things he does with them,” she gushed.
I quickly looked around and then back to Abel to see if he was eavesdropping. He was wrapped up in the next and last concert there. They played one more night. Then on to Germany.
“Damn, girl.” I shook my head. “I don’t even know what to say…but congratulations.” I smiled, pulling her into a hug.
She nodded, bobbing her head. “That’s not even the half of it. We need to talk, chick. I mean, girl-talk that doesn’t leave the room kinda talk.” She wiggled her eyebrows.
Gah. I shuttered to think what she’d say about Abel’s preferences. He and Woody were bandmates. I often wondered if guys talked as much as girls. I had no clue. What I did know was…girls told each other everything. At least with respect to sex and romance. We gushed when it came to that stuff. I was more apt to being open about my sexual prowess than I was with my emotional baggage. Cindy knew some. However, she had gotten the cleaned, neat version of my life.
“Agreed. We need a girl-margarita night,” I responded.
“His speech, Gia. You have no fucking clue. At first, I was offended…pissed. Until he explained. You wanna piss yourself?” she asked.
I didn’t know that was up for debate so I answered yes.
“Imagine, in the moment, he says—” She looked around, her voice very low. “—I want to throw it in your box! What. In. All. That. Is. Holy.” We both blinked before almost laughing out of the chair. The conversation stopped around the table. All eyes on us.
“Private joke,” I explained, holding up my hand to say sorry. We laughed harder. “He has some fucking weird ass expressions,” I said.
“You think? My box? Who says that? Throw it in? Damn, I have a whole arsenal of Irish speech to English. Day in and day out I’m rolling on the floor. He gets pissed. Oh, yeah pissed means…let’s get drunk.” She snorted and I giggled.
Abel squeezed my sides while leaning in to smell my hair. He was always touching, stroking, smelling, and kissing me. It was hard to believe he was as dominant as he was in the bedroom. I’d never peg him to be what he is. Then again, I never knew anyone quite like him.
The two hours went by quickly. We promised to meet up with everyone later. I was pleasantly surprised to see Ender was behaving as well as he was. Normally, he itched to scratch Abel’s possessive side, creating a cluster-fuck of tension. His sudden maturity was a welcomed surprise. Jake and he were wrapped in two waitresses, who were doting shamelessly on them. Enjoying my mimosa, I noticed Chance in the corner ordering the staff around. He turned. Our eyes caught. A glint of sorrow and something else. Dare I say, distain? Something just felt off about him the last few days. He looked away, busying himself with something trivial. So, I let it go.
The ride to Abel’s surprise adventure was nothing short of spectacular. I thought we’d end up all over each other. However, he paid special attention to the details of the city of Paris explaining the architecture, city, and culture to me as we rode by. I thought he should apply for a tourism job. The information coming from his mouth wasn’t the Abel I was used to. No way. It was a whole new side to him. It was refreshing. He was eager to teach. Just as I was excited to learn. Always the teacher and pupil. I wondered if that part would ever change. Was there anything I could teach my Sir? My heart sank at that. Probably not! He was so much worldlier than I was in everything we did. Lost in thought, I decided not to label it. If it worked, who gave a fuck, right?
The limo dropped us off in front of a gorgeous gothic church. He threaded his fingers through mine. The sweetness was not lost on me. He guided me through the chapel’s extensive assembly of stained-glass windows and explained it was the most all-embracing collections of the Thirteenth Century anywhere in
the world. I sat up a little straighter as we sat in a pew to the side of one particular window for his little tutorial. He told me about King Louis IX of France, and how he commissioned the architecture to construct other notable works around the city. He said the king was later recognized as a saint by the Catholic Church. His title now, Saint Louis.
“The actual thorns of Christ?” I asked.
He nodded solemnly, explaining all that he knew. I was thankful to be in such a holy place. I had never been in church. I was ashamed to say that my mother never thought enough of me to even send me to a religious institution. I never even made my communion. Who knew if I was baptized? At least I knew I was Catholic. That was something at least.
Wide-eyed and wondrous was what I was. It was a lot to take in. I wondered if I’d meet a priest. I’d love to meet one. To be blessed by one was on my bucket list. One breath in. One short breath out. He hadn’t a clue as to the emotions that were stirring within me. It meant the world to me that he was sharing a piece of who he was with me. I hoped one day I’d be able to show him something as impressive. He wasn’t just any rock-star. He was brilliant, successful, and mine.
We were both hungry. I tried to deny it, but my stomach spoke before I could.
I suggested the Hard Rock Café. He shot that down, saying the sweetest, most romantic accompaniments I’ve ever heard. He wanted something special between us. A place to call ours. I never had an ‘ours’ with anyone.
An expensive little café adjacent to the Seine River was where we sat. I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
After dessert, I wanted to take a walk along the river. “Can we walk?” I asked, looking around. I was beyond shocked his fans weren’t intrusive. A few asked for autographs during dinner, and he apologized to me while he signed. Please, what did he have to apologize for? Being successful? Being a sex-symbol? Being him?
Forgiving Gia (Rocker Series Book 2) Page 10