“I know. She’s like a praying mantis. But instead of killing them after sex, she kills their marriages.”
“Well, they kind of deserve it,” I point out. “The cheating bastards.”
“Yeah, but they also have families, and she doesn’t seem to care about that.”
“True. At least there are no kids in this case.”
“There’s a reason why she is the way she is,” he explains. “Her dad cheated on her mom too, and destroyed their family. What shereally needsis a very good therapist.”
I feel bad for Nicole. I can relate. My dad was a cheating asshole too. I know it’s the reason why I’m so afraid of relationships. I’m afraid of getting hurt like my mother did. “I think weallneed therapists.”
He laughs. “Ain’t that the truth?”
He shoots me a wink, and it makes me blush again. “You still owe me a date,” he says. “When can I cash in?”
Before I have time to answer him, Mom swoops back in. “The toilets are so small and quaint,” she says as she settles back down at the table. “Pretty flowers everywhere.”
“Well, we are in Paris,” Matt says and lifts his glass of wine. Wine with crêpes in the afternoon — only in Paris.
I’m wearing nothing but an oversized sleeping shirt, and hoping Oscar will notice. But he doesn’t. He must really be into this Sophie girl. Who could blame him? She’s beautiful, sexy, French and young, everything a man could want. I’m not usually the jealous type, but just thinking about her makes me want to crawl out of my skin, and go live another life, one without Oscar and Sophie.
Oscar is getting dressed. He’s selected the slim fit grey khakis for tonight — my favorite. Every time he wears those, I just want to rip them off him. And he knows it too. I bet he’s wearing them on purpose to irritate me. Or perhaps, he just wants Sophie to rip them off.
I can’t stand it. Jealousy is a very annoying emotion.
“So you really like that Sophie girl,” I say. I am so transparent and shameless.
He turns and smiles at me. “I do.”
“So… you and her. Did you… yet?” I ask casually, but I’m dying inside. I’m dying to know. I know I’ll be crushed if he says yes.
He turns to me again, still shirtless. That boxer’s body will be the end of me. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
I pout. “You’re not going to tell me?” I ask. “You kind of need to, Oscar. Since we’re also sleeping together. You know that’s the rule.”
It is the rule. I’m not making this up. Part of our arrangement is that we tell each other if new sexual partners are in the mix. It’s for health reasons. And so far, neither one of us has ventured outside our arrangement. In over three years!
He closes the distance between us, and sits next to me on the big fluffy bed. “We haven’t,” he tells me. “We’ve only fooled around, but I can’t tell you that won’t change tonight, or tomorrow.”
My heart sinks. “Well, you are free to do what you want to do.” I look him straight in the eye. “And so am I. Just be safe.”
“I know,” he says, and bounces off the bed. End of discussion. I study the curve of his back as he slips his shirt on.
Sigh.
Well, as much as I’ve wanted to avoid this night, it’s coming soon and I need to face it head on. The rehearsal dinner is something I was originally looking forward to — Mark has reserved a private room in the dining room of the very luxurious Hotel Plaza Athénée, as well as a large private suite for the evening following. I’ve been Googling the venue and counting the days; luxury, spectacular views, and delicious food.
Yet now, I really wish I didn’t have to go. I wish it could go by without me having to live through it — maybe I should drink myself into a stupor. First, I’ll have to suffer the sight of Oscar and Sophie, rubbing their new found attraction in my face. And second, if all goes well, I’ll have to witness my mom’s heart being shattered in an instant, the moment she finally catches Mark in the act and realizes what a slime ball he really is.
I rummage through my clothes, hung in the lovely antique armoire in our room. Oscar is long gone, and it’s just me, standing in front of the tall freestanding mirror. I lay the sheer pink chiffon dress against my chest — the color suits my fair complexion and long dark hair. I’ve also packed crushed pink velvet heels with a black ankle ribbon accent. Both bought at Forever 21 — it’s all I can afford. That, and thrift store finds. I miss the days when I lived with my mom, and I didn’t need to worry about things like rent, car expenses, and insurance. Not to mention, the small fortune I spend at Whole Foods.
I decide to wear my hair in a casual loose bun, and apply a smoky eye and nude lips. I’m happy with the final results. I debate whether to put on mascara or not — there will probably be crying tonight.
A ding on my phone startles me. I’m disappointed when I realize it’s not Oscar. It’s Matt.
Can I pick you up? Can we go to the plaza together?
Hell, yes. There’s no way I’m walking all the way over there in these shoes, and getting a taxi in Paris is a nightmare.
