by K. C. Crowne
“So is there anything new to report? Or did you just tour dull museums all day?”
“The museums aren’t dull,” I said, falling backward onto the bed. I pulled the hair tie from my hair and let it fall free around me. “But we didn’t go to the museums anyway. We visited Montmarte and walked the stairs to the Sacre Couer.”
“Oh, that sounds nice,” she said. “And what else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, you’re being way too vague. Something happened, didn’t it?”
Sighing, I spat it out, speaking the words quickly. Again, I was hoping maybe she’d not hear them clearly. “Well, he kissed me--”
But again, she squealed, this time even louder than before. Then she started laughing. “I scared the cat that time,” she said.
“I bet you did. I bet your neighbors aren’t too happy with you either,” I laughed.
“He kissed you! As in, kissed you for real or just on the cheek?”
“No, it was a real kiss,” I said. “Tongue and all.”
“Wow, Hope. This is even better than I imagined for you.”
“What?” I said, rolling over. “We haven’t slept together yet, so why--”
“Yet,” she said, a teasing tone to her voice. “See, even you know it’s inevitable.”
She was right. I had said yet. Why did I put it that way? Did I think it was inevitable that I’d end up in Colin’s bed before our time was up? Or maybe it was wishful thinking.
00000000
“The hotel concierge couldn’t say enough about this place,” Colin said, as we settled in a corner booth at what appeared to be a very high-end restaurant.
I kept my mouth shut but couldn’t stop looking around. Everyone was dressed in formal attire. Men wore suits, as did Colin, with ties and jackets. The women were in designer gowns with diamonds the size of my head. Everything was so sparkly it made me a little self-conscious. Even the decor had a bit of glimmer to it, from the soft lighting to the water feature that greeted us as soon as we stepped inside.
I’d been speechless since then and found it hard to think of something to say. Colin shot me an odd look.
“You okay? You haven’t said a word since we got in here,” he said. He looked around, as if trying to figure out what was wrong with me. He didn’t get it. For someone like him, it was probably a normal restaurant. But for me, well, it was probably the most expensive place I’d ever been in.
And I was depressingly underdressed. I was wearing a cute dress, but it was nothing compared to the designer gowns on display around me. I felt like I stuck out like a clown at a wedding. My makeup was light and tasteful, and I had thought that I looked pretty damn good. I had second thoughts though when I saw all the other women around me who looked like supermodels with personal stylist.
“Hope?” Colin said, pulling me back into the moment.
I shook my head and focused on the man sitting across from me. He fit in so well in his designer suit and his gorgeous good looks. No one would question why someone like him would be there. If he noticed how unfit I was for the venue, it didn’t show on his face. I appreciated that more than words could ever convey.
I cleared my throat and managed to speak at last. “Yeah, sorry. This place is just more upscale than I thought. I’m not really dressed properly, I’m afraid.”
I’d picked out a black halter-style dress, one that hugged my curves and showed off my legs and cleavage. It was a cottony-material and fairly casual. It had a pink bow around the waist, cinching it in and giving me the perfect hourglass figure. I thought I’d looked hot upon leaving the room. Hell, I still looked hot, I just didn’t fit into such a fancy place.
Colin looked at me, confusion in his eyes. “You look amazing, Hope.”
His gaze moved from my eyes down to my cleavage, but only for a second. He caught himself and fixed his gaze back to my face.
“Thank you,” I said, my cheeks turning bright pink, almost the same color as my bow,. “I just feel a little out of place. Not that I haven’t visited high-end restaurants, but this is a whole other level.”
Before Colin could respond, our server stopped by the table. He was an older man with what appeared to be a permanent scowl on his face. He took one look at me, and in a very thick French accent, said, “You are from America, yes?”
He handed us the menus without another word. Colin, however, stopped him before he turned and walked away.
“Excuse me? What’s that supposed mean?” he asked. His voice was firm, but polite.
The server, who’s name tag identified him as Philip, smirked. “We have certain standards at this establishment. A dress code, if you will.”
“And do we not meet these standards?” Colin asked.
Philip took one look at me and cringed. “Technically, yes.”
“Then there’s no reason for you to be an ass toward my friend here,” Colin said. His jaw was clenched tight, and his fists were now balled up on the table.
“Colin, it’s fine,” I said.
“No, it’s not fine,” Colin said. He removed his napkin from his lap and stood up. “I’d like to speak with a manager.”
“I am the manager,” Philip said snidely.
“Then I’d like to speak with your boss, whoever that might be.”
Philip sighed dramatically, muttering something under his breath in French. Colin sat back down, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.”
“We’re not in America, Colin,” I said softly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
“Well, just that French customer service is known to be lacking, especially when it comes to wait staff. It’s a well-known fact.”
“He didn’t have to talk to you like that,” Colin said.
No, he didn’t, I thought to myself. But the fact that he did wasn’t really a surprise to me considering the type of place we were in. In an American restaurant, yes, talking to a manager or boss might get you somewhere. I was doubtful we’d have much like there.
People were already staring at us, and considering what I did for a living, the last thing I wanted was to create a scene. If it got out that we’d had an altercation in a restaurant, and it was attached to my name, it would make it for me to seem objective in my story.
“Can we just go somewhere else?” I asked.
Colin sighed and looked annoyed, but not at me. He shot a dirty look across the restaurant, toward Philip, who was not talking to his boss. He was helping another table, and would you believe it, he had a smile on his snooty little face.
“Of course, anything you like, Hope. I just wanted you to have a nice time,” he said.
Reaching across the table, I took his hands in mine, giving them a firm squeeze.
“I am having a nice time, Colin,” I said. “I don’t need fancy, overpriced food and drinks to have fun. Let’s find someplace a little more relaxed.”
He glanced over at Philip who gave us the stink eye from across the room before turning and walking to a table nearby. He cheerfully greeted the other couple, who were impeccably dressed, mind you, all the while ignoring us.
“Sounds like a plan,” Colin said, tossing his napkin down on the table.
We hadn’t even had a chance to order drinks or get any bread, so we simply walked out of the restaurant. People stared, some whispered underneath their breath, but I didn’t pay them any attention. We’d escape and find somewhere less pretentious.
Once we were outside on the street once more, I couldn’t contain the laugher. I giggled, shaking my head as Colin stared at me like I’d gone mad.
“What was so funny?”
“That entire experience was so stereotypically French, I don’t think I can even write about it. People wouldn’t believe me,” I said. “It’s a straight-up cliché, and it happened to us.”
“Apparently some stereotypes hold a little bit of truth.”
His face was more relaxed now, and he no longer looked ready to burst a blood vessel. He chuckl
ed along with me, seemingly just as amused I was about the entire ordeal after the fact.
“So where should we go now? It’s getting pretty late,” I said.
We hadn’t gone far from the hotel. The cafe inside it was closed, so we really couldn’t just go back. At the end of the street, there was an English-style pub, but that was it as far as I could tell.
Colin gave me a mysterious look, and his smile grew. His eyes were filled with something I couldn’t make out, but it was hot as well.
“I have an idea. I mean, if you want to follow, that is,” he said.
“Sure,” I said. “I’m pretty much up for anything.”
“Anything?” he said, cocking his eyebrows.
“Pretty much anything, yes,” I said.
“Good, come with me.”
Colin grabbed my hand and whisked me back into the hotel. And there we were, standing in front of the elevators once more. This time, he didn’t hesitate to push the button for the second floor.
“What are we--”
“Room service,” he said. “That way we don’t have to worry about jackass waiters ruining our fun.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the words never came out. I didn’t want to protest. But going back to his room? Was I ready for that, I wondered?
I didn’t have much time to decide, though. The elevator doors opened, we stepped inside, and before I knew it, were stepping out onto the second floor and into his room.
Hope
His room looked much like mine did except for the decidedly male scent of his cologne and his clothes being neatly hung in the closet while mine were spilling out of the suitcase on the floor. The room had a small table and chairs, –and we looked over the menus for room service.
“I’m not sure why we hadn’t thought of this sooner,” I said, feeling like I might starve to death if I didn’t eat something soon. “Everything sounds delicious.”
And expensive. Possibly more expensive than the fancy place we’d just left, but we really didn’t have much of a choice if we wanted to eat.
Colin put in the order, then asked, “Do you mind if I change into something more comfortable?”
“Go for it,” I said. My words sounded confident, but on the inside, I was a mess. The very idea of him getting comfortable and what that might mean, sent my nerves into a tailspin.
He slipped into the bathroom to change, much to my chagrin, and by the time he came back out, there was a knock at the door.
“Is the food here already?” I asked.
“Doubt it,” Colin said. “Probably just the champagne and strawberries.”
He went to the door dressed in a fitted t-shirt and jeans, and sure enough, there was a tray with a bottle of champagne, two flutes, and a heaping bowl of berries. With a side of melted chocolate.
My mouth was already watering. My sugar had started to drop down and I could feel myself feeling a little woozy. So upon seeing the pile of fruit, I was incredibly thankful.
“Figured if we’re in Paris, we need to sample the local champagne,” he said. “And the berries just sounded good.”
“A man after my own heart,” I said.
Colin picked up a plump, red strawberry and tore of the green ends. I thought it was for himself, but instead, he held it out to me, rubbing it against my lips. I bit into it, closing my eyes as the juices filled my mouth.
“Oh my God, that’s amazing,” I said.
Everything tasted a million times better when my sugar was low, but it had to be more than that. It had to be the most delicious strawberry I’d ever tasted.
I finished it off, and Colin seemed pleased with himself.
“Would you like a glass of champagne?” he asked.
“Uh, yes, please,” I said. “If I ever turn down champagne, please, check my vitals.”
He chuckled and poured us each a glass. He handed me mine, and I took a sip, savoring the bubbles on my tongue. It was sweet, but not overly so. He’d chosen well. I sat back and enjoyed the flavors that played on my taste buds, wondering just where the night was going to take us.
“Ah, I almost forgot,” he said, walking over to the windows and pulling back the drapes.
The City of Lights really came alive at night, and the view from his room was beautiful and picturesque. In the distance, I caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower.
“Figured we should bring a little Paris into our date.”
Our date. I knew that’s what we were doing but it sounded so formal when he put it that way. Almost like it was a real date, not just two people getting together out of necessity.
He came back to the table and we sipped champagne while enjoying the view of the city. He surprised me by asking me more personal questions this time. It wasn’t just the superficial, “what’s your favorite color” sort of questions. I wasn’t sure what prompted the shift, but he wasn’t backing away from truly getting to know me.
“Have you always loved traveling?” he asked.
I nodded. “Ever since I was a little girl, I’d wanted to see the world,” I said. “My parents didn’t really do vacations, they couldn’t really afford it with all my medical bills and stuff.”
That caused him to perk up. “Medical bills? Were you sick as a child?”
I wasn’t why I decided to be so open in answering his questions -- maybe it was the champagne giving me a little fortitude -- but I was feeling safe there with him.
“I have Type-1 diabetes,” I said softly, taking a sip from my flute. “I was diagnosed as a little girl.”
Many people, upon hearing the diagnosis, jumped straight for to apology. Then, in the next breath, they’d usually ask me if I should be eating or drinking whatever it was I was currently consuming. Others were surprised and tell me they had no idea, because I looked too healthy to be diabetic. Most people assumed all diabetics were overweight and that it was brought upon by their diet. It was true in some cases, but not entirely true in all cases. Most people though, really didn’t understand diabetes and made all kinds of wrong assumptions about it right off the bat.
But not Colin.
“I see. That must have been tough growing up,” he said.
I shrugged, averting my gaze. “Honestly, it’s just who I am. I’m so used to it, I don’t even think twice about it most days. Other people seem to worry more than I do.”
“So you have your blood sugar under control, I assume?”
I nodded. “Oh yes. For the most part, I’m doing really well. Haven’t had any issues in a while.”
“That’s good to hear,” he said.
Usually people asked me all kinds of personal questions; how I got the disease, if there’s a cure, if it could kill me one day. It was their morbid curiosity, I was sure. But again, Colin didn’t ask inane questions like that.
He treated it like just another part of me, which I appreciated. We moved on fairly quickly, talking about some of my past trips. He talked a little about medical school and why he’d chosen his career in medicine. I was surprised to learn that it was because his mother battled with health issues, and watching her struggle made him want to do something about it. That answer, above all else, made my heart swell.
“Many go into it for the money, but that never really phased me,” he said finishing off his first glass of champagne. “It was more about finding ways to improve people’s lives, to hopefully find cures -- or at least treatments -- for issues affecting women.”
“Women? You don’t treat men?” I asked.
Before he could answer, there was another knock at the door. He smiled widely, avoiding my question and tipping me a wink as he stood up.
“Food’s here,” he said with a grin.
“Saved by the bell,” I replied. “For now.”
I dropped it though. Mainly because I knew that getting to know each other on an intimately personal level was dangerous. I had no reason to know his deepest, darkest secrets, or even about his personal life. We had only a few more days together, and the
n, that would be that. We’d likely never see each other again.
It was tempting to ask him where he was from, hopeful that maybe we’d be able to meet up once we were both back in the United States, but I didn’t have the best feeling about that conversation. Maybe it was better than he remained a mystery. After all, once the curtains were drawn back, Colin would become a real man -- one with faults, someone who might not be as perfect as he seemed to be in the moment -- and this week was all about romance and fantasies. So why tempt fate and ruin it?
The waiter left the cart in the middle of the room and after tipping him, Colin brought over the tray of food. It smelled amazing and my stomach growled loudly. I was ready to dig in. He’d ordered a steak, not surprisingly, with bacon wrapped asparagus and some fancy-looking potatoes. A typical American dish if I’d ever seen one.
Not wanting the usual, I’d gone for the coq au vin because when in Rome, or in my case, Paris, and all that. Part of the charm of traveling was trying the local fare. I might not have liked everything I’d tried, but I knew I couldn’t go wrong with chicken in red wine.
“Looks delicious,” he said.
“Yes, it does. Probably better than anything we’d get at that fancy-pants place down the street,” I said.
He chuckled. “You’re probably right, but even so, I like this much better.”
“Me too,” I admitted. “It’s much more relaxed and intimate.”
“Will it help you with your article though? I mean, we’re still in Paris, but we’re in the hotel room, does that count?”
I take a bite of the delicious chicken, closing my eyes as I let the flavors wash over my tongue. Lardons, or as Americans call it, bacon, and mushrooms and garlic. I really, really couldn’t go wrong with coq au vin in my opinion.
“I think my readers will appreciate that there’s still romance to be had even without leaving the hotel room,” I said. I widened my eyes for dramatic effect, trying to be silly. “I mean, think about all the romantic possibilities in a hotel room, am I right?”
Colin didn’t laugh. Instead, he stared at me from across the table with a hunger in his eyes. A hunger that couldn’t be sated with food.