Marked By Fire

by Meg Ripley

  “Of course, I do.”

  “I feel the same way,” I tell him. I take a quick, deep breath. I try not to feel nervous, but that only makes me feel worse.

  “Do you feel like you’re ready to be my girlfriend?”

  I’m about to tell him to forget about it; that obviously, things aren’t going to work between us, but before I can, he speaks again.

  “I only ask because, when we first met, you told me you’d made a pact with yourself, saying you weren’t going to date anyone for six months. Right?”

  The fact that Jacques remembers this—two months later, no less—is a really good sign.

  “I did say that,” I admit. “I certainly wasn’t planning on getting serious with anyone anytime soon, but I...I think that I already feel like we’re committed, in a way; we just aren’t saying anything about it.”

  Jacques considers that for a moment and then chuckles.

  “What’s so funny?” I ask.

  “Do you remember? I don’t think you will, but when you got your tattoo, Julienne mentioned me paying her.”

  “Yeah, I remember that.”

  “I told you that it was about a bet,” Jacques says.

  “Okay,” I say, nodding again, gesturing for him to get to the point.

  “The bet was that I would end up dating you,” Jacques tells me. He grins. “It’s a good thing I’ve been putting aside a little bit of money every week in case I need to pay her off.”

  “Have you been avoiding asking me to be your girlfriend because you’re going to have to pay up to Julienne?”

  Jacques shakes his head and laughs. “Not a chance. I just didn’t think that you were ready,” he says. “But I was hoping.”

  “For how long?”

  Just then, Jacques cupped my face in his enormous, powerful hands and locked his eyes with mine. “Nora, I knew I had to have you all to myself since that first morning we were together. I would’ve asked you to be my girl sooner, but I knew you wanted your space. Trust me, I can respect that. The last thing I’d want to do is push you into something you weren’t ready for. I want you, Nora, and I’m willing to wait for you, no matter how long it takes for you to come around,” Jacques says.

  I shake my head, astonished at the turn of events.

  “So, will you be my girlfriend?”

  “Yes,” I say, finally, as a smile begins to spread across my face. “I’d love to, Jacques.”

  Chapter ThIRTEEN

  Jacques

  I take the money out of my wallet and hand it to Julienne.

  “It’s about time,” she says, taking it with a grin as she begins to count the stack of euros in her hand.

  I shrug off her self-satisfied pleasure and put my wallet back in my pocket. “Well, Boss, as usual, you were right. We just became official the other day,” I tell her.

  “Everyone knew it before you did,” Julienne says. She puts the money in her wallet before stowing it in her purse. “I almost feel guilty taking your money. How would you like the chance to win your money back?”

  “Oh Julienne, you always find a way to bust my balls. What do you propose this time?” I’m intrigued, but I know that look in Julienne’s eyes. She’s going to make a bet that will just make me irritably aware of my feelings.

  “Let’s have some fun and really up the ante. I bet you a thousand euros that you two love birds will be engaged to by the time her visa expires,” Julienne replies, holding my gaze confidently.

  “Enh. You could easily do something to sway the outcome in your favor,” I counter. “Like sabotage her birth control or something.”

  “C’mon, Jacques! Give me some credit. After all these years working together, you should know better than that. I would never stoop that low just to win a thousand euros from you.”

  I smile. “Either that or you’d put it in her head to propose to me so that she can stay here longer,” I counter.

  “You’d still be the one who has to say yes, and deep down, you know as well as I do that you would jump at the chance,” Julienne insists. “You’re more than halfway there already and it’s only been two months.”

  “We only just now made it official,” I say. “I’m not ready to be engaged to anyone just yet.”

  “You say that now,” Julienne says. “But in another six months, I promise, you’ll change your tune.”

  “Six months isn’t going to change that,” I insist.

  Julienne raises an eyebrow. “Fine, tough guy. If you’re so confident, then be a man and let’s make a wager,” she says.

  I hold her gaze for a few long moments, deliberating this. I have to assume I know myself better than Julienne does, and that I know Nora well enough to know she probably won’t want to get engaged just yet—not even in the next eight months, which is when her visa will have to be renewed. But I had been just as certain that nothing would happen between Nora and I in the first place. Come on, Jacques. You know better. You haven’t been engaged to anyone in your life. Hell, you’ve never even come close.

  “You have a deal, but I want to wager something other than money, and more importantly I’ll be damned if I cheapen what I have with Nora,” I suggest. “A thousand euros is a hell of a lot for both of us anyway.”

  “Only for the loser,” Julienne counters.

  “Look, I don’t want to take a thousand from you,” I say flatly. “So, let’s wager something else.”

  “What do you have in mind?” Julienne crosses her arms over her chest.

  “A tattoo,” I suggest. “Still high stakes, but no actual money.”

  Julienne considers this for a moment.

  “How about one of Nora’s designs,” she suggests. “That would be apt, wouldn’t it? Let’s face it, that’s a win-win for both of us. Her designs are gorgeous.”

  “Yup. You read my mind, Boss,” I agree. I extend my hand to her and we shake on it.

  “And considering that if you get engaged, it would only be appropriate for you to have one of her tattoos on your body as a tribute to her. That’s pretty poetic,” Julienne adds, once we’ve sealed the deal.

  “And if we don’t get engaged, having one of her designs on you will be a reminder to never to bet against me again,” I tell her.

  I wonder if I should mention this wager to Nora and decide against it—at least, not right away. Of course, if I tell her that Julienne and I wagered about my chance of getting engaged to Nora, I’m pretty sure she’d break up with me on the spot, and that would result in me winning by default. But there’s no way in hell that I want her to break up with me, even if I currently have no plans to get engaged in the next eight months.

  I leave the shop and get ready to get my gear together for the show the band and I are playing that night. Crazy Hélène is going to be there, and so is Nora, so I’m a bit on edge; Julienne’s prediction about Hélène switching her attention back onto me once she saw I was involved with someone has proved to be as accurate as her wager that I’d end up dating Nora in the first place. I have to hope that Hélène will get over it within the next few months and go back to fawning over Pascal before she has the chance to try and get into Nora’s head and mess up my life.

  The worst possibility I can think of is that Hélène might try to actually harm Nora in some way—whether in a minor way by cutting her hair off or playing some prank on her, or a major way by trying to fight her—or that she’ll file a false report to the police that Nora stole from her, and get the woman I care about deported from the country and her visa canceled. I keep trying to tell myself that not even Hélène is that extreme, but I know better.

  I talked to Yann, Sam, and Pascal about the possibility of asking that Hélène be barred from our future shows, but we don’t want to create any friction with the bars that let us play there. She hasn’t really done anything that would justify us talking to the police, but we don’t want to give her the opportunity to, either.

  I start getting my gear together and decide to just deal with Hélène wh
en I see her. Hopefully, I can just tell her to get lost and it’ll be okay.

  The intercom shrieks just as I’m getting the last of my gear set up at the door to take down. I pick it up, wondering if maybe one of my band mates has come to help me get my guitars and amp into the car. “Yo!”

  “It’s me,” I hear Nora’s voice say.

  “Oh, hey, babe! Come on up,” I tell her, pressing the button to unlock the door. Thinking about the bet I only just made with Julienne, my heart beats faster. There’s no way that Nora will want to get engaged anytime in the year she’s staying in France, is there? It’s ridiculous. She didn’t even want to date for six months, until things had happened spontaneously between us.

  I unlock and open the door by the time she’s arrived in front of it and I pull her into my apartment, kissing her hungrily. I slip my hands up under her skirt and cop a feel of her ass. “This is a nice surprise,” I tell her, barely pulling back from her lips.

  “I thought you might want help,” Nora tells me. “And...now that I’m your girlfriend, it comes with the territory, right?”

  I laugh and kiss her again.

  “Thanks,” I say, pulling back, “but I’ve got this.” I grab the two guitar cases with my left hand, and the handle for my amp with the right.

  “Let me at least lock up for you,” she says and fishes the key from my pocket, pushing her hand a little further down so she can feel the ridge of the head of my cock and grins.

  I think to myself that once it becomes fully obvious to Hélène that Nora is my girlfriend, she’ll have no choice but to back off and fully focus her attention on Pascal.

  Chapter FOURTEEN

  Nora

  As I walk with Jacques into Emporium Galorium, I realize it’s been almost exactly a month since we started officially dating, and three months since we started having sex. It’s deep into autumn already, and I’ve been spending most of my extra money on decent clothes for the weather. The summer wear from the US that I brought just won’t suffice, since the even the jeans are too light to manage against the damp cold.

  I look over my shoulder and grin at Jacques, who’s carrying his guitars and amp into the building right behind me. I’ve gone to every Quatre Pistoles show since Jacques and I started dating, and I have to admit that even if I wasn’t having regular and incredibly mind-blowing sex with the band’s guitarist, I would love them anyway.

  Most of their shows are split pretty evenly between covers and original songs, and Jacques has been badgering me for weeks to help him find some more American bands to cover. In spite of the fact that French radio standards require a certain amount of French-language music per hour, there’s a powerful hunger for American rock music throughout the country.

  Tonight, they’re going to play a song I love: “Hearts of Love” by the Crocodiles, which isn’t exactly a new song, but it is one that suits the band’s sound perfectly, and that isn’t as well-known in France as it used to be. Certainly, it beats the hell out of the half-dozen covers that all the other French bands seem to want to play.

  I watch Jacques carry his gear up to the side of the stage, where he and the rest of the band will be setting up in the next hour for their set. Jacques kisses me quickly, reaching around to give my ass a quick squeeze and I let out a surprised squeal before heading off to the bar to grab a drink.

  Just then, out of the corner of my eye, I see Hélène come into the bar, and groan. I was less than pleased to hear that Jacques and the others refer to her as Crazy Hélène, but after a few months of seeing how she acts, it’s hard to consider her as anything else. She’s fixated on the band, and all its members, and apparently hates anyone who is involved with them on a personal level.

  I’ve overheard rumors—now that I can speak French better, and can definitely understand it better—that she’s actually been involved with some of the members of the band and had sex with them. Every time she’s seen me at a show, since Jacques confirmed that we’re dating seriously, she’s given me dirty looks. A few times—though I can’t prove it—she’s even sabotaged me in little, annoying ways: telling guys that I’m a slut who is just begging for a chance to cheat on Jacques, or who wants a threesome with him with any interested guy, or putting drinks on my tab. Stupid shit like that.

  She’s never done anything that anyone can point to as a reason to call the police, or to force the bar owners to ban her from attending their shows, but everyone is just waiting for it to happen.

  So, when she makes her grand entrance tonight, I try to make myself scarce. If she hasn’t seen me yet, I’m not interested in her provocations. I decide to just stay close enough to Jacques that I can bail him out if Hélène tries to corner him for a chat-up attempt, but not so close that I’m the recipient of the stink-eye all night. There will be enough of that later.

  But when Hélène spots me, she actually does something I wasn’t expecting: she comes straight at me, smiling. “Nora, I hope that I haven’t ruined all possibility of a relationship between us,” she chirps.

  “What?” I stare at her in nothing short of shock at this particular opening.

  “I know I’ve been a total bitch to you,” Hélène says. “And I know that that was really fucked up of me.”

  “Oh, really? What brought that to your attention?” I’m looking around for Jacques, feeling weird about the fact that Hélène is talking to me like this.

  “I just wanted to become friends, is all,” Hélène says. “I know I’ve been awful, but I can see that we’re now going to be involved in each other’s lives for a long time to come, so I wanted to be the bigger person and make amends.”

  For a long time to come? I don’t know what she means by this; I’m only going to be in France for another nine months, unless something changes drastically. I have a master’s program waiting for me back in the States, after all.

  “Right, sure,” I say.

  “Will you please accept my sincere apology?”

  I think about it. What harm can it possibly do? Maybe it will even help Hélène drop her fixation on my boyfriend and force her to find someone else.

  “Sure,” I say. “I accept your apology.”

  She leans in and we kiss each other on the cheek, and as soon as Hélène walks away, Jacques is right there.

  “What the hell did she want?”

  “She wanted to apologize for treating me like garbage,” I say.

  Jacques raises an eyebrow at that, and I don’t blame him.

  “Well, maybe this is going to be a good thing,” he says.

  “We can only hope,” I mutter.

  Jacques gives me a quick peck on the lips and heads back to the stage to finish their sound check before tearing into their first song. A few songs into their set, Hélène and I even start dancing together. In the back of my mind, I notice that she’s only drinking Diabolos—which have no alcohol—and I wonder at that.

  “I’m so glad that you agreed to be my friend,” Hélène says over the roar of the music blasting from the bar’s PA system.

  “I’m happy that you are feeling peaceful,” I yell back, not knowing what else I even can say to something like that.

  “It’ll be nice that we can talk about Jacques now, you know? It’s great,” Hélène shouts.

  I raise an eyebrow at that and notice that I’ve stopped dancing.

  “I don’t know what you might have heard about me,” I say hesitantly, “but I keep my personal life pretty private.” I haven’t even shared any big details with Jess; I’m certainly not about to share them with Hélène, of all people.

  “No, no, I mean, we can talk about him as someone we have in common,” Hélène says. “I mean, after all, if you and he are serious...we’re going to be part of each other’s lives, you and I.”

  I can’t help but stare at her.

  “I mean, I understand that you’re a fan,” I say slowly.

  “Oh, more than just a fan, honey,” Hélène tells me, looking earnest, still swaying her hips to
the music. “I just found out that I’m pregnant, and the man I was with most recently...well, it was Jacques.” Hélène beams at me brightly. “So, you see, I was thinking that since he’s going to be the father of my child, and you and he are so serious together, you and I should become better-acquainted.”

  She keeps talking, but it’s like I’ve lost all fluency that I spent three months gaining. I just stare at her and shake my head.

  “You’re pregnant?” I look her up and down. “Jacques and I have been dating for a month, and seeing each other for three months.”

  “Yes, I’m six weeks pregnant,” Hélène says, still smiling. “I missed my period and went to the doctor, and he confirmed it.”

  I stare at her.

  “Six weeks?” I shake my head. “There’s no way. Jacques and I were seeing each other.”

  “I hope you don’t think you were exclusive then,” Hélène says. “I mean, sure, once the two of you started dating seriously…” she shrugs.

  “No, he wasn’t seeing anyone. And if he was, he would have told me,” I say.

  It’s like deja vu; it’s like the moment I found out that Ethan was cheating on me.

  “Why would he? It’s not like you two were serious,” Hélène shouts. “Besides, he and I have a history.”

  My whole body goes numb as the music stops, and I can’t even listen to her anymore. Jacques comes to say hello to me, stepping down from the stage while the band takes a short break, and gives me a kiss, but I can barely bring myself to return it. I’m nauseated, but it has nothing to do with any of the alcohol I had to drink.

  This is why you made a pact not to date anyone for six months, I remind myself. This is why you made a promise to yourself not to get involved with someone: because you have no idea how to pick people to date. No wonder Jacques acted exactly like Ethan. You haven’t learned a damn thing.

  I pause for a moment before telling Jacques that I got a phone call from my parents and I need to go home and find out what’s going on. In reality, I just can’t stand the thought of being around him after what Hélène told me. I rush home on foot, almost running through the streets of Rouen, and all I can think about is that I can’t even stand to be in the same city as him.