by Jane Nin
24.
When we swam up into wakefulness a little while later the floor felt harder than ever. Jack gently disengaged our bodies and sat beside me, rubbing his knees. My stomach growled.
I also sat up, and he pulled me to him, and kissed me on my temple. “Will you let me buy us dinner somewhere nice?”
“Oh yes,” I said, glad I at least had my single suitcase of clothes.
“Good,” said Jack. “Maybe if I can get you drunk I can convince you to stay in a hotel with me for the night.”
I grinned, and kissed him, and we wasted no time getting dressed. My hair was all awry from our lovemaking but honestly, that gave me a little, private thrill—it made me feel like I belonged to Jack, somehow. Like I was created partly for his pleasure.
He was looking at me approvingly.
Fifteen minutes later we were seated on the balmy, twinkle-lit patio at a tiny restaurant and a waiter was pouring us champagne. I eagerly took a sip—I had to admit, I was developing a taste for it.
“I want to show you something,” said Jack, and only as he reached for it did it register with me that he was carrying his briefcase. From it he extracted a manila envelope, and out of that he slid a handful of glossy, black & white photos.
They were from Anne’s. Of me: bound, and masked, and naked.
I blushed deeply, looking at them. They were beautiful photos, and my body looked beautiful in them—gleaming with oil, and lit dramatically, straining against the rope. Remembering those sensations—the lights, the tension—I grew aroused again. And yet, this woman in the photos. She both was and was not me.
The busboy came and dropped off bread and butter and I saw him steal a glance at the pictures. I wondered if he guessed it was me in them. Or assumed we were just some dirty couple looking at artsy porn. Then he vanished again.
“Anne gave these to you,” I said, and it was not really a question.
Jack nodded.
“Do you hate them?”
“You know,” he said, “I don’t. I…” He paused a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I look at them, and even though I know it’s you in them, it feels like such a different version of the you I know… it doesn’t bother me.”
“But in the moment, it did.”
“I suppose so. I mean, yes. But when I look at these that almost seems silly.”
“Not silly.”
“You were attracted to Valerie.”
“Yes,” I admitted.
“You wanted her to fuck you.”
I nodded. I realized I wasn’t sure if he knew that she had.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, almost as if I’d said it aloud.
“What do you mean,” I asked quietly, apprehensive.
“I mean… I’d forgotten the difference.”
“The difference.” It was like we were back to our first ever conversation—he reading my mind; me echoing him, lost.
“I know I talked about it but I’d forgotten it myself. Sex with someone who adores you. It’s different.”
“Yes,” I breathed, and reached for his hand, and squeezed it. He’d been right that first night: I hadn’t ever experienced it. Not as an adult, knowing anything about anything. And now I had, and it wasn’t like anything else. It was like light and solid at the same time. It felt sure like nothing in my life had ever felt sure. It was like a comfortable thing you could wear, always.
We sat quietly, hands joined, until the waiter came with two orders of moules frites and we let go of each other and faced the table to attend to our hunger. The broth was light and creamy and tasted like the ocean; a splash of Pernod gave it a liquorice fragrance just like that tawny hillside on the coast of Spain.
After a few moments of eating ravenously, Jack paused.
“Anne was quite taken with you, you know.”
“Oh?”
“She said she thought she could help you find work.”
“Really?”
“She has all kinds of art world connections. Said she thought she could find a conservator who might take you on as an assistant.”
I was dumbfounded. Could my life really be changing this fast?
“You might have to consider another move, of course.”
“Oh.”
“Possibly to London, though she knows people elsewhere in Europe, too, I believe. At this point, you’ve demonstrated the ability to pack light.”
For the first time since setting it alight, I wondered what had happened to my car. Then instantly forgot it again.
“Where would you be?” I asked, not wanting to be far from him—certainly not halfway across the world.
“Wherever you need me,” he replied. “I travel so much anyway. You’ll be my home base, then. Wherever you are, I’ll come back to.”
Of all the moments we’d had so far, this one felt the most like a dream. And I did—I honestly pinched myself, just under the table, where Jack couldn’t see.
But I didn’t wake up. Jack was still there. Our meal was still before us. Our lives.
“Jack,” I said wonderingly, “Can I ask you something? It might sound stupid.”
“No, it won’t,” he said. “Anything.”
I took a deep breath. Considered not asking. But had to.
And so I did. “Why me?”
He looked surprised. Smiled. Cocked his head.
“Why you? I don’t know. You’re sexy, you’re kind, you’re smart. You’re honest.”
“But lots of women are all those things.”
“Maybe fewer than you’d think.”
“Still, plenty.”
Jack shrugged.
“What’s that shrug mean?”
“It means, ‘why not you’? If it could be any of those women, why not you? You want me to tell you you’re marked, some sort of goddess walking among us?”
“Maybe,” I admitted. It was silly, but I suppose I did want it. I sipped my champagne.
“Okay then, you’re a goddess.” There was humor in his tone.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Not the way you want me to, it’s true. But I do mean it. Sylvie, you’re everything I want. And you love me. Why should I look further than that?”
“Because that’s what people do.”
“Not me,” he said. “I know enough to know everything you want doesn’t come along nearly as often as everyone’s convinced they deserve. It happened once before, and I blew it. I’m not letting it slip away again.”
I moved my chair over beside his and leaned my head against his shoulder. He put his arm around me.
“Is that a good enough explanation?” Then he added, smiling down at me, “I also have to admire how much you straight-up enjoy fucking.”
I grinned, a little guiltily. “I do,” I said, “I’m sorry.”
“Never be sorry for that,” he said, deadly serious. “I meant it when I said I admired it—you ought to enjoy it. I’m glad to be able to enjoy it with you.”
He was perfect, just perfect. I turned my head to look up into his eyes. “You’re amazing,” I said.
“And so are you,” said Jack, “and I promise, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you are happy, and cared for, and fulfilled.”
And now he bent his face to mine and kissed me again, softly, slowly… perfectly.
When we broke the kiss he reached for the champagne and refilled my glass, and then lifted his glass to mine, and we toasted, and then we each took a sip, and then he kissed me again, and I thought of how lovely it would be when we piled into some crisp, cool hotel bed in just a little while, giddy and pleasantly light from the champagne, full and yet hungry for each other.
“Jack?” I said, as a delightful, wicked thought came to mind.
“Yes?” he replied, eyebrows lifted, seeming to know what I said next would be some kind of mischief. “Uh oh… I’ve fallen in love with trouble, haven’t I?”
“Maybe,” I agreed, still grinning.
“Well,” he said, “
Spit it out.”
“I’ve still never fucked a virgin.”
And for that, he shook his head bemusedly, then kissed me again.
the end.