Love Me in the Dark

by Mia Asher

  “I’ve changed my mind, William.” The grandmother watched me approvingly, a curious light in her eyes. “I like her. She’s got spirit. You’ve done well for yourself, my darling boy.”

  “I know,” William said, taking my hand. “Now if you’ll excuse us.”

  I followed him silently inside the house. He guided us to a bedroom on the second floor and shut the door behind us. Before I knew what was happening, my back was flat against the wall and his lips were devouring mine. When we came up for air, he cupped my face gently in his hands. “I love you, Val.”

  “What?” I asked weakly. “What did you say?”

  “I love you.”

  A sob escaped my lips as I grabbed him by the shirt and began to cry on his chest. “I-I thought you we-were going to break up with me,” I cried. He laughed throatily making me punch him in the arm. “It’s not funny you big brute of a man.”

  “I love you, my crazy, wild, beautiful Valentina.” William wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in for a hug that left me breathless, and kissed my tears away one by one. “Will you marry me?”

  My heart stopped beating as a starburst of emotions exploded inside me. Happiness. Awe. Disbelief. Love. “But what about your family? They won’t be happy with this.”

  “I don’t care about them.”

  “I don’t know, William. I don’t fit in your world. We’re too different.”

  “How?”

  “Look at you … Look at me.”

  “I am looking at you. Trust me, darling. You’re all I see, all I want. Do you love me, Valentina?”

  I kissed his chest, right where his heart was. “Of course, I do.”

  He kissed me thoroughly, making me forget about all of the reasons why it wouldn’t work. “Then say yes, Valentina. I won’t let anyone ever hurt you.”

  “Promise me?” I hated the fear I heard in my voice, but I couldn’t believe this was actually happening to me.

  “Yes, my love. I promise.”

  Many years later, he broke the one promise that mattered to me the most.

  I toss and turn, burying my head under the pillow, but it won’t work. I can still hear the music coming from the apartment above me. I reach for my phone on the nightstand and peek at the time. It’s past eleven, for goodness sake. Groaning, I lie back down and stare at the ceiling as I consider calling the police. However, I dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes. I wouldn’t even know what number to call. I close my eyes while covering my ears as a poor excuse to tune out all the noise. And like the pillow, it doesn’t help at all.

  Wide awake now, I give up all pretenses of sleep and spend the next few minutes watching the vibrations of the bass shake the crystal chandelier. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

  Enough.

  I shove the duvet to the side, get out of bed, grab my cashmere cardigan, and go in search of whoever is blasting the music, ready to give them a piece of my mind. I don’t even care that I barely know enough French to order food, let alone make a complaint to a neighbor. I’m sure I’ll manage. The musique is too fucking loud, vous understand? I’m angry. Tired. And completely sober.

  I skip the elevator, going for the stairs instead, and I am now standing outside the offending apartment. I pull my cardigan tighter around me as though it is armor and I am off to war. Lifting a hand, I knock a little too forcibly. For the few moments it takes the person to open the door, I try to picture who it could be on the other side. Maybe it’s a kid having a party while his parents are away or an older person who can’t hear too well. With that thought in mind, I mellow down a little.

  The last person I expect to open the door is Sébastien. I swallow hard, my eyes widening. A very naked Sébastien. My God, you’re beautiful.

  He smirks cockily, trying not to laugh. “Thank you.”

  Oh, God. Please don’t let me have said that out loud. Please. Please. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  Figures.

  I clear my throat uncomfortably, changing the subject. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

  His gaze along with mine slides down his naked torso, following the exposed muscles of his solid chest. Streaks of paint in different colors cover his right pectoral and some of the grooves of his six-pack. He’s breathtaking. Blushing as though I’m showering in fire, I bite my lip and ball my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching out and tracing the perfect, deeply carved V between his hip bones or the happy trail disappearing under the waistband of his jeans. Everything about him from his gorgeous arms to the perfect thick grooves and muscles of his golden chest screams man, man, man. All fucking man. Forget about fallen angels. He’s the King of the Underworld showing you how magnificent, how exquisite it would be to sin with him. An image flashes in my mind of me on my knees, a willing slave at his feet, while my mouth, my tongue, my fingers explore every wicked part of him. I catch the direction my thoughts are going and blush even more.

  Smiling a slow, intoxicating smile, his eyes come back to meet mine. “Yes, it appears that I’m not.” He places his forearm on the door, lazily leaning on it. “May I help you with something, Valentina?”

  The way he says my name sends a delicious chill running down my spine. I suck in a breath, shaking my head. Get your act together, woman. What are you? Seventeen?

  “I can’t sleep.”

  He leans forward ever so slightly, and I swear I can feel the heat emanating from his body. “I can think of a few very entertaining ways to help you with that,” he says, his voice inviting, his gaze flat out wicked.

  “Yes, I mean,” I stammer, cursing my clumsiness. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. Your music. It’s keeping me awake. I was wondering if you could turn it down a little, please.”

  “It depends.”

  I frown. “On what?”

  He licks his lips. “What you’re willing to give me in exchange.”

  I raise my eyebrows as my heart skips a beat. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He leans forward until his lips are close to my mouth. Until his sweet breath that smells like wine and cigarettes kisses my lips. “Not when it comes to you.”

  At that exact moment, we both hear a woman say, “Bonsoir, Sébastien.”

  I take a step back, shivering as Sébastien focuses his attention on the neighbor. “Bonsoir, Marion. Vous passez une bonne soirée?”

  As the woman replies to Sébastien, he places his hand on the small of my back, the contact electrifying, and pulls me toward him. “Come with me,” he whispers in my ear.

  He addresses his neighbor once again, saying something that makes her laugh as he guides us both inside his apartment.

  “Better wait in here or she’ll be inviting herself for a nightcap,” he adds as an explanation, smirking. When he leans forward, I think he’s going to touch me. I suck in my breath and shrink back. Instead, he reaches for the handle and closes the door behind me not once coming into contact with me. “Don’t be afraid of me, Valentina,” he whispers huskily close to my ear, sending a shiver running down my spine.

  I cross my arms, pulling the cardigan tighter about me. “I’m not.”

  The infuriating man smirks knowingly in return. I run a hand through my hair, thinking of a different topic, when I spot a painting hanging over his fireplace. “I haven’t had a chance to properly thank you for your gift, so thank you. Why didn’t you tell me it was you who painted it?”

  “Didn’t think it was important. Besides, now you know,” he adds dismissively.

  I disagree with him, but I drop the subject, an instinct telling me that he doesn’t want to talk about it. With nothing else to discuss my mind yells at me to get out of here and go back to the safety of my apartment, but his warning about the neighbor stops me in my tracks. Seems like I’m stuck for the time being.

  As a distraction, I stare nervously at everything but the man standing in front of me. His walls full of paintings. A welcoming livi
ng room. The kitchen to the left. The leather jacket that I recognize from yesterday thrown carelessly over the couch. The place looks warm, inviting, and lived in. It’s all for nothing, though. A losing battle. Because every atom in my body is aware of him, attuned to him. I know when he rubs his face with his hands. I can smell the cigarette he just smoked. I can almost feel the sigh escaping his lips against my skin.

  Meanwhile, time is taking its sweet slow ass time. Seconds seem like minutes and minutes seem like hours. When I’ve had enough, I break the silence. Well, technically speaking, both of us do. At the same time. Figures. Why not make this more uncomfortable than it already is.

  “Would you like to—”

  “I better—”

  I bite my lip, fighting a smile from escaping. “You go first.”

  “No, you go ahead. What were you going to say?”

  “I better go. It’s getting late. Your turn. What were you going to say?”

  A rueful smile touches his lips. “Nothing of importance. I’ll take care of the music.”

  Music? What music? “Thank you.” I reach for the handle and open the door, suddenly feeling like a deflating balloon because he didn’t … Didn’t what? Ask me to stay? I shake my head. Sleep. Yes, that’s what I need. Stepping out, I glance over my shoulder. “Good night.”

  “My offer still stands, by the way.”

  I stop walking and turn around to face him once more. “What offer?” I frown.

  “That little problem about your sleep,” he says, grinning wide like a little boy in a toy store.

  “Good night, Sébastien.” I roll my eyes, which makes him laugh. “Also, put a shirt on, won’t you?”

  A chuckle rumbles out. “Bonne nuit, Valentina.”

  On my way back to the apartment, I lift a hand to trace my lips and realize that I’m smiling.

  WILLIAM IS ON TOP of me as we make out on my bed, the room in complete darkness. I can’t see his face, but I can taste his saliva as his tongue wars with mine. His body melting with mine.

  In the stillness of the night, my heart beats only for him and for the pleasure he brings me with his generous touch. Our heavy breathing and the rustling of our clothes break the silence surrounding us. His large frame weighs me down, holding me hostage to the sweet manipulation of my body, and I don’t care. I love it all: the pressure, the hardness, the contact, the burn from within, and the yearning for more. He knows exactly how to touch me, how to tear aching moans from my chest as he laughs in my ear.

  His lips are sucking on my neck as he dips his hand inside my underwear, spreading me open, his fingers rubbing me awake. His invasion grows faster, harder, yet it’s not enough. I begin to fuck myself against his fingers now deep inside me, grinding myself against them. Begging him with my body to never stop. I want him to ease the ache between my legs yet continue to torment me. The precision with which he strokes me and plays with my clit makes me lose control.

  The roots of my hair are wet with sweat. My breasts in my hands, rubbing myself. The smell of sex around us. Trembling, my moans are getting louder and louder as he drives me closer to sweet oblivion. His mouth on mine, kissing me with such starvation it feels as though he’s sucking all the oxygen out of my lungs. His lips fuck me kiss by kiss as his hand fucks me thrust by thrust, rendering my mind and body useless. And all I can do, all I’m capable of, is to feel. Feel. Feel. Feel. Nothing but feel. Lust flows freely in my veins. Need making me spread my legs wider for him, wantonly offering myself to him. Welcoming him, begging him to take me. And he takes me so damn good. Open mouthed, our tongues tangle becoming one. I hold his wide shoulders slippery from sweat as he loses all restraint, finger fucking me to heaven. And then I come apart, my body shattering on the white sheets of our bed.

  Seconds pass by as our breathing slows down. In the darkness, William’s features remain hidden, but I can feel his weight pressing me down.

  I sigh contentedly. “Mmm …”

  He laughs in my ear, his hot breath tickling my neck.

  “Valentina …” he whispers roughly, but the voice doesn’t belong to William. It’s Sebastien’s voice that wakes me up from my dream, plunging me straight into reality.

  Opening my eyes, I look around me, half fearing, half expecting to find Sébastien lying down on the bed next to me. Total silence and an empty room greet my eyes. Breathing heavily, shame spreads like black ink in my chest because for one moment, one weak second, before I woke up, I wished it were not a dream.

  I SPEND MY MORNING in Champs-Élysées. My French still sucks, but at least I can find my way without the help of a map or Pierre. I explore its stores and museums. Fall in love with the city and its magical je ne se quois. I stop at a charming bakery and have pistachio and vanilla macarons for lunch because why not. Life is too short to spend it hungry.

  When I finally make it to the Arc de Triomphe, I brave the crowds of tourists like me, climbing all the way to the top. Upon reaching it, I gasp as my eyes take in the view of the whole city. There are tree-lined boulevards to my left and to my right. The Eiffel Tower stands outrageously tall and proud like a queen holding court amongst its subjects.

  There’s so much beauty around me that I didn’t see before. And it’s funny because, before this trip, all my memories of Paris were about William.

  I close my eyes, enjoying the strong wind whipping my face. Five years ago, William brought me to Paris as a surprise after we’d got into a huge fight. We left New York with the ugly memory of it still ringing in our ears and resentment in our chests. However as soon as we arrived here, away from our problems, stripped from everyday life and everything that came with it, we were swept away by the magic the city had to offer. We weren’t William and Valentina anymore. We were just two old lovers rediscovering one another once again.

  I saw the city through William’s eyes, and it was enough. We went to the places he wanted to visit, ate the food he liked to eat, drank the wine he enjoyed, admired art he wished to see. I was happy because he was happy. Because I got to spend time with him. Time that was already rare, and, therefore, precious to me.

  By then, longer hours at work and weekly business trips kept him away from me. Sometimes days would pass, and the only interaction we would share was a quick morning kiss and goodbye or a rushed call between meetings. I found ways to keep myself busy, to fill the void his absence created. Spin classes. Luncheons. Organizing benefits. I learned about wife bonuses over high-priced salads. I shopped for things I didn’t need nor want, filling our house that felt more like a luxurious jail than a home. It was all a glittery front.

  I knew I was very lucky. I had a roof over my head. A handsome husband. More money than I could ever spend in a lifetime. But did it matter when all I wanted was him?

  Sometimes late at night, alone and tipsy with a glass of wine in hand while sneaking a cigarette on the balcony, I would wonder where I’d be had I not married William. What would my life be like if I hadn’t called him? Maybe I would have run away with that guy from my Lit class. It wasn’t disloyalty. It was curiosity. Loneliness. Melancholy. And maybe too much wine. I would laugh then, but it would come out more like a sob, the pain too close to the surface and impossible to hide.

  I started avoiding Sailor too. Sailor with the husband who had a 9 to 5 job that didn’t pay him well enough. Sailor with the husband who adored her and their two young daughters. Sailor who always looked like a lovely mess with black bags under her eyes, traces of baby food dried on her inexpensive sweater, yet couldn’t be happier or more in love. I fooled myself into thinking that we were drifting apart because our worlds were too different and we didn’t have anything in common anymore.

  But the truth is that I am jealous of her. So very jealous. I want what she has. I envy her small home with the ever-present smell of apple pie and vanilla. I want William to be there for me as Tucker is there for her, to look at me as he looks at her.

  When I watched her feeding their daughter with her own body in the shab
by living room as my empty hands felt my empty womb, the despair, the envy bordering on dislike, maybe even the hate I felt, became increasingly harder to hide or to ignore. I would go home and wait on the bed with the lights turned off for William to arrive. And when he finally walked through the doors of our bedroom, he’d kiss me on the cheek as he told me that he was exhausted. He’d ask me about my day without really caring what I had to say, thoughts of a shower and sleep already occupying his mind. And while he removed his tie, I would bring up the same topic I always did after visiting Sailor.

  William, baby … I want to start a family.

  His hand would freeze as his eyes met mine. Again, Val? We’ve spoken about this before. We’re young. We have a lifetime ahead of us. Why not wait a little longer? Enjoy each other.

  But I don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve waited long enough.

  Right now is not the best time, my love.

  When will be the best time for you, William? It seems like it never is.

  He would sigh, shaking his head. I can’t do this now. I’ve had a long day. Let’s talk about it tomorrow.

  Yet tomorrow would never come. And the subject would be dropped like always. Maybe I should have seen it then. The first signs that all was not well, the small cracks that would eventually become fractures separating us. But I chose to live in the dark, because the dark was safe and it hid the truth and gave me temporary happiness.

  I open my eyes, taking a deep breath. Paris looks very different to me now as I relearn it without William by my side. A little voice inside my head tells me that maybe it’s not the city I’m relearning, but myself.