I frown up at him. “Yeah, right? So John can question whose number I’m calling him from? I don’t think so.”
So you didn’t tell him you’re with me?” He looks amused by this.
“No—but that doesn’t mean anything. It’s only because I don’t want him to pitch a fit. John is crazy.”
“Not crazier than me.”
I roll my eyes again. “Whatever, Playboy.”
He laughs. “What about Sonny? I’m sure she’d like to know you’ve landed safely.”
“I’ll call her when we get to the hotel.” Something occurs to me and I straighten my back, tilting my chin to meet his eyes. “Hold on… you booked two rooms, right?”
Max frowns. “Um… no.”
This time, I frown.
“What? Max, you’re joking, right? We need two rooms. We can’t share.” My heart thumps, imagining Max walking back and forth in the hotel room, a towel hanging off his waist, no shirt, showing three by two rows of perfect abs.
Or even me, getting in the shower as he sits in the bedroom. My skin crawls, but it’s not in a bad way.
“Why not? We’ll hardly even be in the room.”
My eyebrows remain glued as I focus on him, loathing his careless attitude. “This is not a joke.” I pull out my wallet. “I guess I’ll be using my credit card to book my own. What’s the name of the hotel? I’ll call as soon as we’re off this train.”
Max’s face stiffens, jaw ticking. He concentrates on my face, his carelessness no longer present. “There are two rooms, Shannon.”
I look him over. “What do you mean?”
“I booked two rooms. I’m not ignorant. It would’ve been selfish of me to do that to you.” His upper lip twitches, his heavy gaze pulling away from mine, shifting to the front of the train.
I swallow hard. “Well, shit, Max, I thought you were serious—”
“I know you did.” He drops his head to look down at me. “Do you really think I’m that selfish? That I would put you in the same hotel room as me, when you’ve made it clear that you’re a married woman and love your husband?”
“N-no—”
“Shannon, I respect you too much to do that to you. If this was a trip with some other female, some chick I wanted to fuck, then yes, there would be one room. But I don’t want to fuck you.”
His last sentence is a metaphorical slap in the face. My heart stutters. He doesn’t want to fuck me?
I don’t say anything. I can’t. I guess this trip really is just for me… something he wants to do so that he won’t feel guilty for not going through with an old promise.
I lower my head, the silence between us deafening. I feel eyes on me, many of them foreign. I’m embarrassed so I don’t dare pick my head up until the ride is over.
The train finally comes to a stop and Max picks up our bags, helping me up again before we get off.
We climb up the stairs slowly, walking onto the paved road for about three minutes before coming to a stop in front of a large, stacked, tan building.
For a moment, I forget about the conversation Max and I just had on the train. I’m overwhelmed by the hotel.
It’s exquisite. Breathtaking. It looks just like the pictures I used to stare at. The rectangular windows, the arch railings that lead to the entrance. The pointy roof, making it appear as if it’s some fancy castle. The revolving crystal doors. The smiling bellhop with his smooth, clean face.
“Holy shit,” I breathe. This place is perfection.
I already feel like royalty and I haven’t even set foot inside yet.
The bellhop greets us with a heavy French accent, asking to collect our bags. Max hands them over, tips him, then walks inside, my arms hooked through his.
We stop at the front desk, where the woman greets us with an even friendlier smile, her eyes soft, hair graying.
“Maximilian Grant?” she inquires after doing some searching on her computer.
“Yes.” Max finally releases my arm, pulling out his wallet and handing her his ID. She looks over it, handing it back and then giving him a few papers to sign. Once that’s done, she hands us two room keys, that same smile on her lips.
“Your bags will be up shortly. I hope the stay is very romantic for the two of you,” she says as he takes the keys.
I shake my head, quickly correcting her. “Oh, no. We’re just friends.”
“Oh!” She places a hand over the heart of her chest. “My apologies, madame!”
“No worries at all.”
We turn for the elevator. As we wait, Max asks in a low tone, “You just had to say that?”
I look up, pretending I don’t know what he’s talking about. “Say what?”
“You know what you said.”
The elevator chimes. We enter but I keep my lips sealed. I can’t believe this. All because Max said he didn’t want to fuck me, I’m being immature about it?
I mean, not wanting him to fuck me was what I wanted, but knowing that he actually feels that way… well, it changes things. All this time I thought… hell, I don’t know what I assumed.
I’m so stupid. I want him to want me even though I won’t let him have me. It’s more than stupid; it’s mean.
Once we’re out of the elevator, we walk down the corridor, our shoes clicking along the marble floors, us… quiet as hell. Our rooms are right beside each other.
I take my key and stick it into the lock, turning the doorknob and giving Max a swift glance before walking in. He does the same, but doesn’t say anything. He just walks in, allowing his door to shut behind him.
I shut mine as well, locking it and stepping in with a sigh. The room is fresh, the sunlight bright and rich, bathing my skin in light as I walk towards the open window.
The spring wind feels nice, blowing through my tresses. But what’s even better? Right across from us, only miles away, is the Eiffel tower.
Max.
He did this.
He requested these rooms specifically. He knew I’d want to wake up to this view every morning.
I smile—smile because I can’t really be upset with him. I can’t be mad that he wanted to bring me here to have a good time. I can’t be angry that he considers me more of a friend now than he does a lover or anything more.
Why would I even expect that? Why would I want to put myself through such heartache, or worse, put him through it? What in the hell is going on with me?
His heart was in a good place when he decided to bring me here. A clean place. Let’s keep it that way. Let’s not expect more to come out of this. Friends are what we are. Nothing more.
Once I’m out of Paris I will be back at home with John and Max will be back in Wilmington, running his nightclubs and selling his paintings to the museum. It will be just like it was before. The way it should be.
I turn around, admiring the fluffy white and gold sheets and pillows, the white calla lilies in a vase on top of the nightstand beside the large canopy bed. I run my fingers across the sheer white curtain. It’s beautiful, way better than I imagined.
“So what do you think?”
A deep voice sounds behind me and I gasp, whirling around and facing Max. He stands in front of an open door, leaning a shoulder against the wall, fingers in his pockets.
“What in the hell?” I walk towards him, looking through the door. In there is a room identical to mine. I then look up at him, narrowing my eyes.
“I said we had two different rooms. I never said they weren’t connected.”
“I’m locking the door,” I inform him, walking to my bed and sitting.
“Do as you please.” He dangles the key in his hand, “though I have a key.”
Ahh. There it is. The flirting. The temptation… wait. Why am I glad it’s back? Am I really that desperate to play this hard-to-get game? Stop it, Shannon!
“Then I’ll take your key.”
He sits beside me, quiet for a moment. “I know why you said what you did to the woman at the counter.”
“What are y
ou talking about?”
“The ‘we’re just friends’ thing.”
“Yeah, because we are.”
“Maybe.” His lips press. “But you had a reason to want to correct her. Normally you shrug shit like that off.”
“Oh, God. Here you go with your interrogating.”
“No… I know why you did it. I thought about it and I get it now. It’s because I said I didn’t want to fuck you.” My heart drops to my stomach. I avoid his eyes, but I can’t ignore my sweaty palms. “Right?”
“Wrong.”
He laughs and I whip my head to look up. “You can’t lie to me.”
“You’re wrong,” I tell him. “Why would I be upset about that? I don’t want you to want to… fuck me.”
“You don’t?” He cocks a brow, awaiting a response.
“No, Max, I don’t. Why would I want that?”
“You always used to want me to fuck you.”
I spewed a laugh, standing from the bed to get rid of some proximity, dilute the chemistry. “You are so full of yourself. I guess some things will never change, huh?”
“Don’t worry,” he stands, stretching a little as he walks back to the door, “I won’t bring it up again. I didn’t mean it in that way, though. I would love to have the chance to fuck you again, claim you, stake you and make you mine—” His eyes turn hot like lava, smoldering, making me feel the heat deep in my core. I don’t blink. I can’t look away “—but, as you say, we’re just friends plus you’re married. The decision isn’t mine. If you come to me, I won’t deny you. But if you don’t, I won’t ask. I’ll just let it be, and we’ll stay friends. Nothing awkward, right?”
“Right,” I breathe.
“Okay.” He clasps his hands together. “Cool.” A knock sounds on his door and he looks back. “That’s probably our bags. I’m gonna hit the shower and I’ll be back to see what you want to eat. I’m fucking starving.”
I nod as he walks through the door, shutting it behind him. When I hear him answer, I rush to the door he walked through, locking it and pressing my hands against it, in disbelief at how flustered I became only seconds ago.
He didn’t even touch me. He was nowhere near me… but his words. My God, his words. “What is wrong with you, Shannon?” I scold myself.
A knock sounds on my door next and I go for it, collecting my bags and tipping the bellman.
Then, I dig through one of them, pulling out my cellphone and giving John a quick text. Things are supposed to feel better now that I’m actually here, but that’s not the case. They feel worse. Ten times worse.
Something might happen… something I probably won’t be able to control. This trip… it was bad idea coming here alone with Maximilian Grant.
This was wrong but it’s already too late. I’m here… and I have to deal with him and the unwanted temptation for the next three days.
God help me.
My phone buzzes when I’m out of the shower and getting dressed.
John is calling. My heart jumps to my throat. I’m still not ready to talk to him. I don’t know what to say.
But he is my husband. I have to be honest.
“John!” I answer.
“No,” he mutters. “Don’t John me. What the hell are you thinking, Shannon? Paris? Fucking Paris? I leave you for a few days and you do something as crazy as that? Don’t tell me Sonny got into your head!”
“No, John. This was my decision. I wanted to come here.”
“What? Why?” His voice breaks. “Why couldn’t you just wait until I got back?”
“John, baby, I know you’re upset,” I murmur, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But I am fine and like I told you, Dr. Barad said it was okay.”
“I know. I called him and had a few choice words,” he grumbles. “I’m cancelling Vegas and flying out there. I should be there with you.”
“No,” I retort quickly. “Just… just stay there, John. Stop worrying about me, babe. Please. I’m not even staying long. I will be back before you leave Vegas. Since your stay has extended, it will be like I never even left.”
He grumbles something on his end, and then he sighs. “I can’t believe this.”
“Do you trust me?” I ask.
“What?”
“Do you trust me, John?”
“Of course I trust you. It’s Sonny I don’t trust. I know she’s your sister but she pushes you too close to the edge sometimes.”
“I know… but she’ll be on her best behavior, I swear. She knows better.” Funny, how I can easily replace the “she” with “he.”
He groans. “I don’t know—”
“You worry about cooking, okay? I’m going to be in the room most of the time anyway. I’ll watch the cook-off and I’ll root for you, and you’ll feel it. You’ll know I’m watching and you’ll be so proud of yourself while you do it.”
He’s quiet, but I know he’s taking in what I’m putting out.
“I have never been more proud of you, baby. I still can’t believe you’re my husband,” I tease.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t try and get all sweet on me. I’m upset about this, Shannon. You knew how I would react. You knew I would have told you not to go if I’d had the chance to answer my calls. Shit. I should have been around my phone more.”
“I know you would have… but I’m glad you didn’t.”
“What?”
“I have to live too, John. Plus, you know how badly I’ve wanted to come to Paris. I will never get this chance again. Dr. Barad said it’s better to go now than later because later could be too late.”
“I know,” he sighs. “Just wish I could share this moment with you.”
I smile, warmth seeping to my belly.
“Be safe, Shannon. Seriously. I don’t know what the hell I’ll do if something happens to you and I’m not close by. It’ll kill me.”
“I know. And I will be careful because I don’t need anything killing my husband too.”
He chuckles, well, fights his chuckle.
“I love you, John.”
“I love you too, Strange Girl. God, you really are strange,” he laughs.
“Oh, hush.” I giggle. “Make sure you let me know what the official time of the cook off will be. I don’t want to miss a minute of it.”
“I will text you the time. I’ll call you every chance I get. All right?”
“Okay,” I whisper. Someone pounds on the door, startling me, and I look up towards it, thinning my eyes because I know exactly who it is.
“Open up, Shakes! I’m hungry!”
“What is that?” John asks. “Is someone knocking?”
“I think it’s just the person with my bags. It’s fancy here. They take your bags at the door and bring them up.”
“Sound nice,” he murmurs, delight in his voice.
I stand up from the bed. “Well, call me later. Okay? Gotta get the door.”
“Yeah. I will. Be safe. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I hang up, immediately thinning my eyes at the door when I’m in the clear. “I’m not hungry right now!” I shout.
“You have to eat,” Max says, exasperated with me already. “Come on. There’s a bakery right downstairs. They’ve been rated five stars. You’ll love it. My treat.”
I climb off of the bed, going to the door and pulling it open. Max steps back, unprepared to see me at the door so quickly.
He looks me over in my jeans and yellow tank. My damp hair is brushed down, my bangs swooped behind my ear. “I was thinking we could go do some shopping.”
He grins. “Damn. I wanted to surprise you with the shopping.”
“What do you mean?”
“There’s something I wanna show you at the mall… but it’ll be after we eat. So I guess you have no choice but to come, huh?”
“What is it?” I ask, knowing damn well he’s not going to respond.
With a smirk, he turns and starts to walk away, leaving me scrambling for my jetpack, my key
and cellphone, and slipping into my white Nike’s.
I lock my door and then catch up with him at the elevator.
“Fine. Just a quick bite. I’m really not that hungry.”
“My bite won’t be quick. I could eat a cow right now. That’s how hungry I am.” He clasps his hands together. “Should’ve eaten the meal I was given on the plane, huh?” He looks down, watching as I slide my things into the side pocket of my bag. I struggle with my phone and he helps me. “Talked to John?”
“Yes. He cooks soon.”
As we step into the elevator, I can’t help but feel guilty. God, I’m such a liar. I should have just told John the truth. I should have just confessed.
When we’re inside the cart, Max is looking at me, a slight frown on his face. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell him. I thought you would—I mean I didn’t want you to but… I just thought…”
“Why? So he can bail on the competition and become my bounty hunter?” I shake my head, waving a hand. “I don’t think so.”
“Hey,” he lifts his hands in the air, shoulders hunched, “no judgment here. I’m just saying I’m surprised, is all.”
“Well don’t be,” I finally say as we exit the elevator, “I’ll tell him eventually. It just can’t be right now. He needs to focus… and I need this trip.”
Max looks me over, scrutinizing me without even knowing it, making me feel ten times worse about being here in France.
A place I’ve wanted to visit since I was sixteen years old.
* * *
It was a hot day in Charlotte. Hotter than the usual.
The sun was blazing, no wind around for anyone to cool themselves with. All they had was the pool.
It was great to me. I loved a hot summer day.
My hair was pulled up into a bun, a round pair of sunglasses on my face. I had my favorite blue bikini on and a traveler’s magazine in my hands as I lay on the lounge chair. The magazine was mainly about France. Specifically, Paris.
Max climbed out of the pool and came my way, dripping with water. Picking up his towel, he wiped most of it away, his chest and abs flexing as he moved.
I glanced at him and he was already looking at me.
“What’s that?” he asked.
I lowered the magazine. “Paris,” I breathed.
Infinity: Based on a True Story Page 18