Faux Pas

by Natasha Madison

  “Chérie,” he says, leaning in closer to me. “I know,” he whispers.

  “It’ll go fast,” I tell him. “Plus, we can FaceTime and …” He closes the distance and kisses me softly, carrying me upstairs. We spend the rest of the night in bed, neither of us wanting to be too far away from each other.

  The next day, I sit on the bed in my yoga pants and thick sweater, my hair still wet from the shower we took an hour ago, and watch him bring his bag out and pack his things. He leaves a couple of shirts here and his baseball hat.

  He dresses in his dark blue jeans and his white simple T-shirt that molds to his body. He puts on his blue suede shoes and stands in front of the bed. “We have to go, Chérie,” he says, picking up his black leather jacket and slipping it on. I get off the bed, walking into my closet and grabbing my flip-flops. Taking my hair and braiding it on the side, I walk out, grabbing his baseball hat and putting it on. I don’t say anything to him when I walk out of the room and down the stairs. We make it out, and he puts his bag in the back seat of the Jeep.

  “What is the address?” I ask him as he gives me the address to the private airport where his plane is waiting. I drive there, dreading the next thirty-five minutes. One hand on the steering wheel, I have the other in his lap, and he plays with each of my fingers gently, rubbing my hand and bringing it to his lips. I pull into the private parking lot, parking the car and getting out with him. He grabs his bag, holding it in his left hand, and puts his right arm around me, hugging me. My left hand goes around his waist. He walks into the little office off the gate and gives them his passport.

  He signs the sign-in sheet and then nods at the man when he hands it back to him. We walk back outside in the back of the gate, and there his plane sits with the steps out and a red carpet in front of it. His pilot already in his seat doing flight checks. “Well, this is fancy.” I try to make a joke of it, but no laughter comes out after I talk.

  “Two weeks, Chérie,” he says, and I just nod. It’s the easiest thing to do. “Deux semaines,” Two weeks, he repeats.

  “Okay,” I whisper and place my head on his chest and hug him, taking in his smell.

  “Je t’adore,” I adore you, he says and kisses my head. I look up, and he takes my lips softly, his tongue coming out to meet mine. I kiss him with everything that I have, only stopping when he slowly pulls away. He kisses me softly three times and then turns to walk toward the plane. “Text me when you get home.”

  “I will,” I say, putting my hand on my lips that still tingle from his kiss. He walks on the plane, turning once more before going in and waving. I blow him a kiss and smile at him, holding the tears at bay when I turn and walk back inside the office and then to my Jeep. I sit here as I watch the plane start and make its way farther and farther away till it’s just a blip in the sky.

  I make my way home, praising myself for keeping the tears at bay, but when I open the front door and walk in to see my two best friends sitting on the couch waiting for me, I let go a touch. “We thought you might need some wine,” Kate says, holding up her wine glass.

  “And pizza,” Diana says, holding up the white pizza box. “We haven’t had a Netflix marathon in forever,” she says, and I walk in, throwing myself on the couch. Bringing out my phone, I send him a text.

  I’m home.

  He answers right away.

  Tu me manques déjà.

  I miss you already.

  I don’t answer him and just put the phone down and open the box of pizza. Grabbing a slice, I fold it and bring it to my lips. “How did this happen?” I ask while I chew and watch the television. Kate grabs the remote and turns on Netflix to flip through the new and trending.

  “How did what happen?” Diana asks.

  “How the hell did I fall for a guy who lives halfway around the world?” I ask them.

  “Well, he’s hot,” Diana starts, and then Kate puts in her point. “As fuck.”

  “Yeah,” I say, thinking of his smile and how it makes my stomach flutter.

  “He’s good in bed,” Diana says, and I look over at her in question since we haven’t had the how is he in bed talk that all girls do. “What?” she says, throwing up her hand. “Do you think you would be this invested if the sex wasn’t up to par?”

  “I wouldn’t,” Kate says. “It’d have to be off the charts the best dick I’ve ever seen, and he’d have to make me have multiple orgasms hourly.” She looks over at me. “Any of that?” she asks, raising her eyebrows. I have the sudden urge not to share anything about Alex, which is weird because we’re best friends and we’ve always spilled on our sex lives.

  “No comment,” I say, almost glaring at her.

  “Holy fuck me,” Kate says, sitting up and smiling, then laughing when she says, “Holy shit.”

  “You like really, really freaking like him,” she says, looking at Diana. “You owe me fifty bucks.”

  “You guys made bets?” I ask them, and they look at me, shrugging.

  “I was on your side,” Diana says. “You cost me fifty bucks. Why couldn’t you just give us like a little detail? Anything, even ‘he’s the biggest I’ve had’?”

  I don’t even answer her. I just eat my pizza, and they both burst out laughing. “He’s totally the biggest she’s ever had,” Kate says first.

  “He probably even gives her the multiple orgasms,” Diana says, shaking her head. “Bitch.” I don’t even look over at them. I try to hide the smile while I chew, but I can’t.

  “Okay, fine, yes to both,” I tell them, “but that’s all you’ll get out of me.” The girls turn toward each other, giving themselves high-fives. They don’t ask me any more questions, and we binge watch Stranger Things. When they finally leave, it’s almost ten o’clock, so I lock up and make my way up to bed. I grab the phone and send him a message.

  I’m off to bed. Miss you.

  I press send and undress right near the bed, then slide in naked. The phone buzzes by the bed, and I see he wants to FaceTime me. I accept, and his face fills the screen. “Chérie,” he says, and I smile as I look at him, “did you have a nice visit?”

  “How did you know?” I ask him. He shrugs his shoulders, and he smiles now.

  We talk until I can’t fight sleep any longer. “Je t’adore,” he says again right before we hang up. My dreams are filled with him. I toss and turn most of the night, reaching out and finding the other side of the bed cold.

  I roll out of bed the next day, grabbing my robe and making my way downstairs where I start the coffee. I send Alex a text, but I’m hoping he’s still asleep. My phone rings right away; I’ve come to the conclusion he isn’t a texter.

  “Bonjour, Chérie,” Good morning, he says when I grumble on the phone. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Not really,” I tell him. “I tossed and turned most of the night. What about you?”

  “I slept on the plane a bit, but it was almost morning when I arrived,” he says, yawning.

  “It’s going to be a long day for you,” I tell him and look at the clock. It’s almost three in the afternoon for him. “Do you have a long day?”

  “No,” he says. “I’m almost finished up here, and I’m going to take another walk through the vineyard, and then I’m going to go to bed early.”

  “Okay,” I tell him. “I’m making coffee, and then I have some emails that need my attention. Call me later.”

  “I will, Chérie,” he says, his voice soft. “Bisous.” Kisses, he says and hangs up.

  “Thirteen days,” I say to myself while I get my coffee ready and walk back upstairs to start the day. “We got this,” I say to myself while I turn on my computer and start my day.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alex

  “How much longer is this bullshit going to continue?” I ask my father. I’m sitting in the chair across from his desk in his office.

  “It’ll die down soon,” he tells me. I don’t believe it’s been three weeks since the story broke about my breakup with Jacquel
ine, and the press is still running pictures, trying to find out who Meghan is. I’m pissed about it, but I’m not about to give away who Meghan is. She’s mine for now, and I’m not sharing her.

  “Not soon enough,” I tell him. “I just can’t handle it anymore,” I tell my father and get up, going to the window and looking over at the vineyard. Not only am I pissed about the press, but this two weeks without seeing Meghan is not as easy as I said it would be. She gets here tomorrow night, and I swear it feels like I haven’t seen her in a month. We talk all through the day, but when I go to bed or when she goes to bed, we don’t do it together.

  “When does Meghan arrive?” my father asks me.

  “Tomorrow night,” I tell him, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m flying over to pick her up.

  “Have you told her?” he asks me, and I shake my head. “tu dois être honnête avec elle c’est la seule façon de savoir si elle est capable de gérer tout cela.” You aren't doing her any favors if you don't give it to her honestly. It is the only way you'll know if she can handle it, he tells me, and I turn around to look at him.

  “What do you want me to say to her? ‘Meghan, the French press has literally put a bounty on your head to find out who you are?’” I shake my head.

  “Yes,” he tells me. “That is exactly what you say to her.” He gets up and walks around the desk, and we are both wearing tan pants and matching shirts, except he’s with his big straw hat on. His hands dirty from the work in the field. “I know you are intrigued by this woman,” he says and sees my eyes go small, and I grind my teeth. “détends toi je ne suis pas l'ennemi.” Relax, I am not the enemy, he points out.

  “Papa, for once, I have a woman who doesn’t care that I have a private plane or what social event I’m going to take her to. She has some idea about our wealth, but I don’t think she knows what else comes with it. The pictures in the press, the speculations, the lies, the truth, everything blurred.” I bury my hands in my hair, holding my head.

  “Do you not think she is strong enough to handle it?” My father is getting to something, and he’s doing it in a roundabout way. “Do you think that if you tell her all this, she will turn and run away from you?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “I know she cares for me. I know that when we are together, it’s just the two of us and I’m just Alex. I need that from her. Before I show her the big picture, I need her to love just Alex.”

  He walks up to me, and his hand goes to my shoulder. “She would be lucky enough to have you however she can get you.” He takes my face in his hands. “But in order to love all of you, she has to know all of you.”

  “Je sais,” I know, I tell him. “She’s coming for a week.”

  “nous dînerons ensemble dimanche.” We will have dinner Sunday, he says, walking away. “If I can give you any advice, don’t wait much longer. There is only so long we can hold off the press.” I nod at him, and he walks out the office, and I close my eyes. My phone beeps in my pocket.

  Le vol part demain soir à trois heures. Il devrait atterrir à six heures, ce qui nous donne une heure pour faire le plein de kérosène et repartir.

  Flight is leaving tomorrow afternoon at three. It should touch down at 5 EST, which gives us an hour to refuel turn around and go back.

  D’accord.

  Perfect.

  I walk out of the office and head to my wing of the house. I’m walking up the driveway and see Giselle arrive.

  “Salut, mon frère,” Hello, my brother, she says when she gets close to me, and I bend to kiss her cheek. “You look tired.”

  “Yeah,” I answer her, and we walk into the house together. “I am. I’m just excited for Meghan to come back.”

  She claps her hands together and smiles. “I’m so excited. She said she is going to go with me next week to pick out some decorations for the wedding.”

  “You made plans with her?” I ask her, surprised. “She didn’t tell me.”

  “Alex,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Who do you think is helping me with decorations?”

  “You know that I had the company reach out to her for the new restaurant,” I tell her, and she shakes her head.

  “You didn’t tell her it’s yours?” She laughs. “I guess it’s better, since she probably wouldn’t charge you.” She walks inside to the sitting room. “She refuses to take any money for all her research and time.” I smile; that’s my girl. “So I’m having her dress custom made for the wedding. My gift to her.” I turn my head to her. “vous alliez l'amener au mariage, n'est-ce pas?” You were going to bring her to the wedding, right? she asks me and doesn’t wait for me to answer her. Connard. ? Diana et Kate viennent aussi.” Asshole. How could you not? Diana and Kate are coming also.

  “Of course, I’m going to bring her to the wedding,” I tell her and sit down, my mind going a million miles a minute. “The press is going to be there,” I tell my sister, and she shakes her head.

  “Most likely,” she says. “They are already trying to guess who my dress designer is.”

  “It might be the first time we are in front of the press together,” I tell her.

  “And?” she asks me, and I just shake my head.

  “Nothing,” I say, smiling. “I think she’s going to be amazing. I just think she’s going to be nervous, and I don’t want her to feel like that.”

  “So take her out while she’s here so the press sees her,” she tells me. “Take her to the movie premiere next week. Tyler is doing his movie premiere in Paris because he filmed half the scenes here.” She tells me of Hollywood’s biggest name in the business, Tyler Beckett. “We could make an outing for the four of us, so it will take the stress off her a bit.”

  “Yeah, I’ll ask her tomorrow,” I tell her. “I have to tell her about the press anyway.”

  “I heard that Jacqueline is paying fifty thousand dollars for any information about her,” my sister says, leaning back in the chair. My leg shakes, and I’m about to blow out of the chair when she puts her hand up. “I’m paying eighty to keep it away from her,” she tells me with a sly smile, “but I can’t keep the press at bay for long.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her, and she just smiles at me.

  “I like the Alex that Meghan brings out,” she tells me. “He smiles, and he laughs. You didn’t do that much before.”

  I nod at her and then get up to kiss her goodbye when my phone rings, and I see it’s her. “Chérie,” I say, answering the phone “Comment s’est passée ta journée?” How was your day? I ask her.

  “Alex,” she says in her serious voice. “Funny thing just happened,” she starts, and I hear her slamming her drawers. “I just called the airline to inquire about my flight tomorrow, you know, because I didn’t get a check-in email.”

  “Okay,” I say. I know what’s coming, and I’m ready.

  “They told me that my reservations have been cancelled, and my money refunded,” she huffs out. “You wouldn’t know what that means, would you?”

  “Chérie,” I say softly. “That flight was leaving five hours after you finish work. It’s silly to waste five hours waiting for a flight when you could be halfway to see me.”

  “Alex,” she says softly now.

  “I miss you.” My voice goes softer. “So much and I can’t wait to see you,” I tell her.

  “Alex, you didn’t have to do that,” she says. “It’s too much money for nothing.” I roll my eyes; she is really going to freak out tomorrow when we get home to my chateau.

  “So,” I start talking, “the plane will be ready for you at six. Get an Uber to the airfield and check in like I did, and they will tell you where to go.”

  “I’m so excited,” she finally says. “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”

  “Good news is you can sleep on the plane. You’ll arrive here at eight a.m.”

  “Yup. Tomorrow, I have to send out all my emails, and I have a couple of conference calls next week, but I can work in your office or your r
oom, it’s fine.”

  “Whatever you need, Chérie,” I tell her. I’ll give her whatever she needs. We spend the rest of the time talking until I’m yawning and can’t hide it.

  “Go to sleep and I’ll call you tomorrow when you get up,” she tells me. “Dors bien, fais de beaux rêves” Have sweet dreams.

  I hang up the phone and fall fast asleep. The next day, I fly out of bed, and there is a spring in my step when she calls me in the morning because it’s already afternoon for me. We chat all day long, and I’m about to go stir-crazy when I finally get word that she just checked in. The door opens, and the steps fall down, and I stick my head out and see her, but she doesn’t see me. My heart stops when I watch her walking out with her head down, and she looks up and finally sees me, her bag drops to her side and she stands there, her hand covering her face.

  I walk down the steps toward her and finally get her in my arms, and she wraps her hands around my neck and buries her face in there. “Chérie,” I say softly to her, and I lift her up, her legs wrapping around my waist. She hangs onto me when I bend and pick up her bag, her face never leaving my neck, and I feel her tears. The past fourteen days have been hell. Chatting with her on the phone up to ten times a day and seeing her face in the little square on FaceTime was pure torture. But it led me to this, this right here and if I had any doubts before if it was worth it, the answer is in my arms.

  “I missed you so much,” she whispers, her grip on me not letting me go. I walk up the steps with her and nod to the pilot. He closes the door and does the cross checks when I sit on the couch with her.

  “Chérie, we have to put the seat belts on,” I tell her, and she just shakes her head.

  “I don’t want to let you go,” she says and then finally brings her face out of my neck, and I see her. Her eyes are red, her eyelashes wet, her face beautiful and all mine.

  “Chérie,” I say, rubbing her wet cheeks with my thumbs. “Je t’adore.”

  Her hands go to my face, and she holds my face in her hands. “Je t’adore,” she whispers and then leans in and kisses me ever so softly, holding her lips on mine.