by Serena Janes
“I will.” She hesitated. What could she say that would help him? “I love you,” she offered.
“I’ll try to call you later,” was all he said.
Chapter Two
And so began Jo’s much-anticipated two-week vacation in France.
There wasn’t much for her to do, stuck out in the country like she was. First, she unpacked her bags, hanging up the dressy clothes that she suspected wouldn’t be worn any time soon. Then she explored Luc’s house from top to bottom, feeling an illicit thrill at being in her lover’s private space, filled with his things, his scent. She touched the clothes in his closet, inspected the food in his pantry, and read the titles of the books on his shelves. She examined his music and video collection. She picked up the old glass bottles and clay oil lamps from the mantel piece, assuming they were Roman. She didn’t know much about Luc’s career with the French federal government, but she did know that his area of specialization was Roman fortifications. It made sense that, as an archaeologist, he’d have a few Roman artifacts kicking around.
Then she went into the bathroom. Feeling slightly guilty, she peeked into his cupboards. After all, she reasoned, this was the man she was going to marry. She was going to find out sooner or later what he kept in his medicine cabinet. There wasn’t much in there—just the usual collection of over-the-counter medicines for a variety of minor ailments. Pain relievers, antacids, decongestants, antibiotic cream. An out-dated prescription for sleeping pills. An empty bottle of children’s cough syrup.
Then she looked at his toiletries on a table beside the sink. His brush and comb. She touched his toothbrush, still wet. She saw another one, smaller. Daniel’s, she guessed, and a crushed tube of the German toothpaste he liked. Three kinds of floss. Mouthwash.
Then she unscrewed the lid from the jar of damp shaving soap—she liked that he used old-fashioned lather and a razor—and inhaled the delicious scent of something like bay rum. The smell made him seem closer to her, and she had to blink tears from her eyes when she thought about how badly she wanted to be with him. With her index finger she blotted up a few stray bits of cut whisker that were puddled under the wet razor. She rubbed them between finger and thumb, wishing she’d been awake enough to watch him shower and shave that morning.
When she was finished with the main floor, she went downstairs to check out the basement. She found crates of homemade wine lined up against one of the moldering walls, and a few hundred empty wine bottles heaped in wooden boxes. A washer and dryer. Some carboys of water.
The dog following her wherever she went, she moved outside. The sun was shining and everything took on a slightly surreal quality. She realized that she probably needed some more sleep. But instead of going back to bed, she walked over to look at the outbuilding attached to the side of the house. The door was locked but when she peered through the window she could see rows of tools lined up on shelves over a workbench. A bench press surrounded by free weights, a lawnmower and two or three bicycles.
Then she saw it—the motorcycle. A big one. It was the bike he’d been riding when she saw him in Spain. When he and that blonde bimbo had come roaring up the quaint cobbled street in Ronda on a quiet Sunday morning. With gut-wrenching anxiety, she remembered how nonchalantly he’d parked the bike, tied the helmet onto the back and walked right past her into the restaurant.
And he didn’t see me! He didn’t even know I was there.
She’d often wondered what he would have done if he had seen her sitting there, eating breakfast with her two companions. Two people she’d just shared a bed with.
And she wondered what she herself would have done, instead of running back to her hotel room and climbing under the covers to cry her heart out.
She’d been over this scenario a hundred times. It was pure coincidence that she and Luc happened to be in Ronda at the same time—she with Brenda and their Spanish escort, Danny, and Luc with his blondie. Jo knew she had no right to be threatened, or jealous, of Luc’s traveling companion. After all, Jo was the one who had left without so much as a goodbye when her father died. She was the one who had caused their separation, a separation that could have been permanent.
But that’s all over now. I’ll have to tell him about Spain some time, I guess. And then I expect I’ll have to hear who the blonde is.
Then, with a stab of anxiety, she remembered Brenda’s threat.
And I’ll have to tell him about Brenda—and probably Danny, too. Maybe he’ll think I’m a slut. Or a lesbian. Or both. Maybe he won’t want me after I confess what I did in Spain.
She shook her head to clear it of the crazy thoughts that threatened to overcome her good sense. Then she picked up a stick and threw it for the dog, who shot after it like a bullet. She began to wander after him, along the rows of purple grapes almost ripe enough to pick. She popped a few of the biggest, darkest ones into her mouth, breaking the succulent berries against her palate with her tongue. Her stomach growled, and she realized she hadn’t eaten much of anything for over twenty-four hours.
From the vineyard she could see that Luc’s house was old, quite small, and outdated. But, still, it had a certain charm. It would probably make a nice little sketch, she thought, and if the weather held she thought she might come back out later in the day with her sketchbook.
Then she turned to look at the other home on the property, sitting beside a small lake. It was Anna’s house, she assumed—modern, with a tiled roof and a carport. A child’s bicycle lay on the gravel as if it had been thrown down and abandoned in a hurry, and the image made her feel sad. Daniel hadn’t seemed real to her until yesterday. But now he was more than real. He was threatening to destroy all of her and Luc’s plans.
How much more damage can he do?
She knew she shouldn’t think this way. It was small-minded of her.
But I can’t help it.
Turning to the house, she thought she’d better go back inside to look for some breakfast.
The next day was spent much like the previous one—Jo stayed home with Otis, who turned out to be a Brittany spaniel. Luc offered to drop her off in town, where she could explore, shop, have lunch, then call for a taxi home, but she declined. Solitude better suited her mood, she knew. She sketched a little, read, watched a French movie without subtitles.
Again, Luc didn’t return to the house until late. Again, he flopped into bed, and passed into sleep, without saying much of anything.
And again, Jo felt neglected. Hurt. Even though she knew better, her emotions rioted and she suffered.
Daniel was brought back to consciousness on the third day, which coincidentally happened to be his ninth birthday. The doctors didn’t think he would suffer any permanent damage, but they wanted to watch him carefully for a few weeks. No one could guess when he’d be allowed to go home.
His family rejoiced. There were get-well birthday celebrations all round and much merriment. But none of the festivities involved Jo. Like the other woman, she stayed discretely interred inside Luc’s house, alone, or sometimes with Otis. Meanwhile, everyone who’d ever had anything to do with the injured boy dropped by the hospital with toys, chocolate, balloons and plenty of good wishes for his speedy recovery.
Luc’s father, a heart surgeon, arrived from Lyon, but the time wasn’t right and Jo was prevented from meeting him. Likewise, the members of Luc’s extended family and his friends. The only person who came to see Jo while Luc was busy at the hospital was Anna.
Back at home, while she was preparing herself for her new life in France, Jo had anticipated that Luc’s former wife would be a part of it, in at least a small way. After all, Anna was Daniel’s mother, and Daniel was still very young. And whenever Jo had thought about this particular compromise—having to share part of Luc with his ex—she couldn’t help feeling a peevish stab of jealousy. Of course it was perfectly natural, she thought, to feel a bit threatened by the first wife.
But Anna was a surprise. Despite meeting her under terrible circumstances, Jo could see tha
t her anxieties about rivalry, or jealousy, were ridiculous. She didn’t know how she knew this, but that didn’t matter. Anna was a small woman, attractive without being glamorous, with a dark complexion and the sharp features typical of many French women. One look into her dark, intelligent eyes and Jo knew that everything between them would be all right.
Anna was the one who called by the house with a big bag of dog food on that first day, apologizing for the presumption that Jo would look after Otis while his owners were preoccupied. Then she asked if Jo had any milk, enough bread, and offered to pick up anything else she might need, explaining that Luc would never think of stopping for supplies on his way home.
Later, when Daniel woke up, it was Anna who called Jo with the good news. Jo could hear the tears in her voice when she said her son was out of danger, and her heart rejoiced for both parents.
Anna aside, Jo still couldn’t see how she was going to fit into Luc’s life. It seemed his plate was already pretty full.
Of course she understood. Intellectually she accepted the way things were. Her fiancé has suffered the possibility that his only child would be left with a serious brain injury. At the very least, he would carry a scar on his forehead to remind his parents of how close he’d come to disaster. And she understood why Luc believed it was his fault. Of course making love would be the furthest thing from his mind.
But emotionally…well, Jo struggled. She felt more than neglected—she felt she was in the way. A nuisance, really, with her bags full of untouched lingerie and useless stilettos. She wondered if she should go home. Twice she tried to talk to Luc when he came in late from his bedside vigil. Both times he just put his arms around her and said, “Not now, Cherie. Not now. I’m sorry.”
So she spent her time waiting, wondering if Luc would once again look at her with the same expression she’d seen on his face when he kissed her goodbye at the Vancouver airport.
Was it only three weeks ago?
Nights were the worst. Lying beside him and not being able to make love to him was torture. Silently, they would get into bed, then he would take her gently in his arms, kiss her as if she were a child, and pass out cold. Sleepless with longing and anxiety, all she could do was feel him, revel in the warmth of his big, hard body, no less powerful in sleep. She would bury her face in his chest, or against his back, and breathe him in, relishing the smell of his skin through the T-shirt he insisted on wearing. He left his shorts on too, a sign that she was to respect his privacy. Even his tattoo was covered. The black and white Yin and Yang on his bicep had come to symbolize the perfect union she felt she shared with him—and now it was withheld from her. It was as if his very self was withheld from her.
Seeing as nudity was inappropriate at the moment, she had to sleep in the only nightdress she had—a flimsy silk gown that was far too sexy for the occasion. But sleep evaded her, and each night she tossed and turned and couldn’t stop thinking, thinking, thinking.
If only things had turned out differently….
Can I really do this?
In her solitude, Jo relied on the Internet and email to keep in touch with the rest of the world. Her mother, a new widow, wasn’t to be bothered, Jo knew, but she was free to spill her guts to her sister, Julie.
When email wasn’t enough, Jo used her cell phone, not caring how much it cost.
“I’m so scared, Jules. Even if there’s no permanent damage, how do I turn into a step-mother overnight? To a kid who doesn’t want me? And Luc’s no help. He’s never home. And when he is, he just looks right through me like I’m invisible. He won’t talk about my moving here. Or when we’re getting married. You know, important stuff.”
Julie had two young children of her own, and was adamant that Jo give Luc all the time he needed. “You can’t be bothering him with things like that right now, Jo. Think about it. Think about what you’re saying. His son could have died. Or been seriously brain damaged. Or gone blind.” Jo could hear her take a deep breath. “You know that tenor that Mom loves so much—the blind one—isn’t he blind because of a soccer injury?”
Jo hesitated. “Andrea Bocelli. Yes, I think you’re right.”
Oh my God—blind! I hadn’t even thought of that. What kind of horrible person am I?
“I know. I know I shouldn’t be thinking of myself,” Jo said, feeling chastised. “But I’ve uprooted my entire life for him. At the very least, I need him to acknowledge that.”
And I want him to fuck me, she couldn’t help thinking, as she chewed on her fingernail. He’d barely touched her since she’d arrived.
“I know it must be hard on you, sweetie, but don’t give him any more trouble than he already has. Trust me on this. When you have a child of your own, you’ll understand. It sounds to me like you’ve got a pretty great guy there. Would you really want a man who wasn’t a basket case in this instance?”
“No. I guess not,” Jo said faintly.
“Right. Just love him. He needs you.”
After saying goodbye, Jo thought about Julie’s wise words. Of course her sister was right, but she’d unintentionally hit the nail on the head.
All I want to do is marry Luc and have his child—yet all he can think about right now is the child he already has.
Since the moment she’d joined the Cult of the Black Virgin, Jo had allowed Luc to become everything to her. But Daniel’s accident had made it clear that she might not be everything to him. And that made her vulnerable. She’d suffered so much loss—first her father, then her engagement to one of Seattle’s most sought-after bachelors. Then there was Brenda, who would probably never speak to her again. Finally, leaving her home, her family and her job behind was not easy. After all that, she couldn’t afford to lose Luc, too.
Sometimes she wished she could talk to Brenda, her closest friend. But not the Brenda she’d left furious and hurt back in Seattle. She wanted the old Brenda. The one she’d loved like a sister. The one from before they’d gone to Spain and ruined their friendship.
No doubt the old Brenda would give Jo very different advice than Julie did. She would probably tell her to dump Luc and come back to work.
And into her bed…
Like that would ever happen…
But still, Jo missed her friend.
During the day, while she waited for Luc to come home, she replayed her last conversation with Brenda, which had been an ugly one. Jo was living in Vancouver then, and had just dropped Luc at the airport. She came home, poured herself a big glass of wine, steeled herself, and called Brenda’s number in Seattle.
“You’re doing what?” Brenda screeched into the phone.
“I said, I’m getting married.”
“Are you fucking insane! You barely know the guy. And he’s French!” She pronounced the word French as if she’d just bitten into something disgusting.
“You know how crazy in love I am, Bren.”
“Crazy, yes. You’re absolutely fucking crazy if you think you can run off and live in a foreign country. Where you don’t know anyone. And, besides, your French sucks.”
That was true. Jo could read French well enough, but her conversational skills were limited.
“And what about me?” Brenda’s voice dropped to an ominous tone. “Do you think you’re going to just run out on us, the magazine, and all we’ve created? For a big fat French cock?”
Jo and Brenda had essentially built the Westcoast lifestyle magazine together. Although it was Brenda’s baby, Jo had helped it grow every step of the way. Leaving now, on such short notice, was essentially traitorous.
Jo winced, keeping her voice small. “I didn’t want to leave so soon. But I have to go, Bren.”
“You really are something. And you fucking well owe me more than a week’s notice. How the hell am I supposed to manage without you.”
“You can,” Jo said uncertainly.
“You are one fucking selfish bitch, you know that! And I think you’re completely deluding yourself. If you think you’re so in love that
you have to run off with some man you barely know—some jerk you claim is the love of your life, some asshole you think you’re going to die without—think again. You’re dead wrong. You don’t know yourself as well as you think you do. And I’ve got the videos to prove it.”
Jo recoiled as if she’d been slapped. She really didn’t think Brenda would open that can of worms.
That fucking camera! She was fooling around with it when I was in bed with Danny. I told her to put it away, but I don’t remember what happened after that.
“What are you talking about?” Jo asked, trying to keep the fear out of her voice.
But it wasn’t easy to fool Brenda.
“You know damned well what I’m talking about. I think that lover boy of yours might be interested in seeing what you were doing while you were supposed to be pining away for him. I’d bet he’d love to see what a naughty little girl you’ve been. And how you can get it up for girls just as much as you can for boys.”
Jo pulled herself higher in her chair and took a big swallow of her Chardonnay. Then she filled her lungs with air and exhaled slowly, the wine forming a nauseous bubble in her stomach. “Brenda. I really regret that things between us have sunk so low. I love you and I’m sorry for leaving so suddenly. But it’s bigger than me. I know I can’t ask you to be happy for me. Or forgive me. But can you at least try to understand? Please?”
She didn’t hear anything on the other end of the line.
“I’m going to go now. I’ll keep in touch. Bye.”
Every time she thought of it, Jo shuddered at the memory of what she and Brenda had done in Spain, enticed by their handsome young Spanish boy toy. But she didn’t believe her friend would actually stoop to blackmail.
What’s in it for Brenda? Revenge? Don’t I have enough trouble with the Black Virgin punishing me?
But maybe she deserved it. She felt a pang of guilt every time she thought about how much Brenda had done for her. The dream job as an assistant editor was just one of Brenda’s extravagant gestures. Then there was the trip to Spain, ostensibly to help Jo forget about Luc. Not to mention the constant emotional support.