Olivier brings me even closer, his body wrapped around the back of mine.His chin rests on my shoulder and he whispers, “Yes, most of the day.I’ll be stuck behind the bar.What are you doing today?”
Still tired, jet lag has finally set in.I guess I’ve been living off adrenaline and giddiness.My limbs feel heavy, my eyelids even heavier.I don’t bother opening them, not worried about the time or schedule or anything else.Everything feels too good right now to ruin it with reality, time, or morning afters.“If I leave bed today, I want to go to the Sacré-Coeur and maybe hit the flea market.”
“Every tour guide tells you those are must-sees.”He laughs.“I will take you somewhere tonight.Somewhere the guidebooks don’t send you.”
That opens my eyes.Turning in his arms, I ask, “Really?”
He pushes some strands of my messy hair out of my eyes.The act so kind and caring, a lot like the way he’s looking at me now.He says, “Oui.”
Just as I begin to smile, he kisses me, making me forget all about heavy limbs and exhaustion.Our bodies begin to move, the closeness encouraging urges and longings that feel unsatisfied.Within minutes he’s filling me—body and soul.His hand slips between us and his fingers find that spot that confirms my body belongs to Olivier DeMarche and I don’t seem to have a say in the matter.He knows just how to make me beg for more and love harder.My ecstasy drives his and he comes with me.
Olivier leaves me witha warning of staying away from Stefan and a reminder that he’ll meet me on the steps of the Sacré-Coeur at six this evening.I go back to sleep, needing it.
I wake up around one in the afternoon.Feeling lethargic, it takes me an hour to bathe and style my hair.Feeling fresher and ready for my date...I mean day, I dress with care and put on makeup.Feeling pretty in Paris is so not underrated.This vacation is the best ever.But I only have two days left, so I need to make the most of them.
Stefan is not around when I leave, though he doesn’t scare me as much as he probably should.I can take care of myself when needed.My build may be slight, but I’m strong.All of those P.E.credits have paid off.But I’m still glad I don’t see him.His lecherous ways are gross to witness when I’m just passing through the lobby.
With my museum pass in hand, I try the subway again.I find the right station to exit and end up exactly where I wanted to be.Two hours is spent at the Pompidou enjoying everything from an oversized pencil to literature.Immersing myself in this museum as much as possible has been fun, but I don’t relate to the art as much.I think I’m more the classical kind of gal.It’s always good to expand the horizons though.
Knowing I have to go from the 4tharrondissemont to the 18thto meet Olivier means I need to get moving.
I arrive at the Sacré-Coeur just before six, finding a place halfway up the stairs to sit and wait.Pulling my purse from my shoulder I set it on my lap and look out over the city.This is the highest point in Paris and my heart begins to race at the reality that I’m here, in this place that I’ve dreamed about for what feels like my entire life.I hope my feet never touch the ground.I love living a dream.
It feels cooler today, so I tighten my coat at the waist and lean back.Glancing at my watch often, I see the minutes ticking by too slowly.I’m anxious and want to see Olivier again.The top of the hour comes and goes and the next time I look at my watch it’s fifteen after...thirty after...forty-five minutes after...
At seven, I sigh, then stand up and stretch while scanning the staircase and then the other one across the grass.I don’t see anyone who even remotely looks like Olivier.I’m sure he just got hung up at work, though I’m starting to feel abandoned.I change spots, moving lower, closer to the main sidewalk at the base of the hill and wait.
By eight, I get up, pull my purse over my head, adjusting it across my body before walking down the steps and heading toward the street of shops ahead.Disappointment fills my chest.Tears well, but don’t fall.I search the street as I walk hoping to see him, hear my name being called, or find the answer that will explain why I was just stood up.None of those happen and I’m left to return to the hostel alone.
Trying to hold my head up, the hurt I’m feeling sits squarely on my shoulders and I struggle to move past the negative thoughts that fill my head.Instead of going back to that depressing room, I stop into a restaurant, getting a table inside for one.I’m placed in the back corner and given a view of a bistro full of couples—young and old—in love.The French are definitely not shy about showing their affection in public.Is everyone in this city in love?
I drop the cloth napkin to my lap, annoyed.When the waiter comes to my table, I order a Niçoise salad and a glass of wine.The wine is delivered promptly.It must be obvious that I need a drink.There is no small talk with the waiter.He’s just as anxious to move to the next table as I am to forget about how I wasted my time today.
Up ahead, an attractive man sitting alone at the bar catches my eye just as I catch his.He smiles.But I look down, not wanting the attention tonight.Maybe everything went wrong in Paris when I started being more concerned about Olivier than the reason I came here in the first place.I never expected to meet someone.But with the romantic movies of the past and the legends of how romantic this city is, I might have been gullible to the first charming guy with an accent.I’m a fool.
My salad is delivered with no words and I’m left alone to eat.I don’t hurry, but I kind of want to.I should enjoy these moments, pretend I never met Olivier, like he never stood me up, like I never started to fall for him.Like the redhead from the other night, I now understand her anger and her pain.It makes me wonder if he stood her up as well.
With two glasses of wine and a large salad filling my belly, I leave the bistro and all the lovebirds behind and go back to my room.Surprisingly, I’m back quicker than expected.When I walk through the door, Stefan is there...naturally, and with a new girl.A blonde who looks to be much older than him is sitting on the couch and I begin to think about all the action that couch has seen.I’m also very glad I’ve never sat down on it.I’m too tired...or deflated to converse with anyone.I let out a sigh of relief when the door closes behind me.
Four flights up, I hear music coming from our room as I approach.I take a deep breath, trying to push down my hurt as I open the door.Olivier jumps to his feet.“Kandace, where have you been?”Worry punctuates each word.
“Where haveIbeen?”I ask rhetorically, shutting the door behind me.“I sat at the Sacré-Coeur for two hours by myself.Did you think about checking there?”
“Je suis désolé,” he says, tentatively stepping closer.“I’m sorry.”
I set my purse on top of my suitcase and turn my back to him, not really wanting to hear his apologies.“It doesn’t matter now.What’s done is done.”
Warm hands cover my shoulders and his body presses to my back.Whispering this time, he repeats, “Je suis désolé, Rayon de Soleil Américaine.”Pushing my hair to the side, he places a soft kiss on my neck.
I turn back around.“You left me.You left me sitting there by myself for hours, Olivier.”
“I tried to explain to my manager, but we were short waiters.I went as soon as I left work, but you were nowhere to be found.I searched the nearby streets, then caught a taxi back here hoping to find you.”
“You found me too late.”
“Non!”he speaks with authority, taking my cheeks between his hands.“Don’t speak of such things.Je t’adore.”
I drop my gaze away, absorbing his words and the need he seems to feel for me.“I adore you, but you hurt me, so I shouldn’t.”
