Chapter 34

Becka

Our week in Paris, by the time day three had rolled around, was magnificent. The condo belonging to Oliver’s friend was actually a rustic cottage on the outskirts of Paris. Each morning, I woke up in a bedroom well-lit by the rising sun, to a view of vineyards. The city was an easy drive away, and I was enjoying a blend of the rustic life along with the ability to go into the city basically any time I wanted.

“What do you want to do today?” Oliver asked, over our usual breakfast of croissants and hot chocolate. We’d also added mimosas to most of our meals, and, though I hadn’t gotten drunk yet, I had the feeling that all of the wine and champagne I was having with meals was giving me a fairly consistent blood alcohol level around the clock.

“I’d kind of like to go into Paris tonight, I think,” I said. “Tonight is their International Day of Music festival.” I had been to Paris as a teenager to study for a few months, and I’d been there during the Day of Music fest before.

It was an incredible night of music celebration; Parisians would play their instruments right in the streets, whether they were professional or not. Artists would perform in all of the available venues, and all the concerts were free. It was a great night to walk around and see the true culture of Paris.

“That sounds like a lot of fun,” Oliver agreed. “Do you want to get a hotel and stay in the city?”

“No,” I said firmly. “I definitely want to come back.” I had gotten very acclimated to and comfortable with our cottage. I felt like it was becoming home. I looked around. The living area was small and very cozy. The kitchen, living room, and dining area were all mingled together into one space, with both a front door and a back door across from one another.

There was a small bedroom and bathroom off the dining room. The upstairs was a beautiful loft and was the master suite. A small spiral staircase in the corner of the living room led to the loft. Upstairs, the loft was open, overlooking the rest of the house. A master bathroom had been built right above the downstairs bathroom and took up nearly the same amount of space as the downstairs guest room and bathroom combined. A large Jacuzzi tub was the centerpiece of the bathroom, and Oliver and I had spent a fair portion of our time enjoying it.

The king-sized bed was a four poster, with plush blankets and pillows. It was a bed fit for a king, indeed, and we had also spent a fair portion of our time enjoying that.

I blushed as I remembered the lovemaking we’d enjoyed the night before. I was still a little sore from it, as I shifted in my seat, feeling warmth spread through me. I smiled.

“What do you want to do today?” I asked.

He looked at me as though he could tell exactly where my thoughts were heading.

“You,” he said, taking a sip of his mimosa as if he had just been asked a very simple yes or no question. “I want to do you on that couch. Then I want to do you in the Jacuzzi.” He smiled at me. “Then, I want to carry you to the bed and do you there.

After that, I suspect we’ll be hungry, so I’ll cook you dinner. Raymond is out now getting groceries. After we eat, I’d like to take you out into the back yard which, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, is quite isolated, and I’d like to do you there, on a blanket on the soft lawn, while we watch the sun set.”

“Wow,” I said. “That sounds a lot better than some silly music festival,” I said, blushing and grinning at the thought of us making the beautiful cottage our sex den for the next twenty-four hours. “You win for ideas today.”

“I think your idea is a good one,” he insisted. “Let’s do that.”

I thought for a moment. The idea of going into Paris was appealing; the music festival was quite an amazing spectacle. However, the thought of not going anywhere at all, and, instead, spending the day holed up in the cottage with Oliver seemed equally appealing.

“How I can want two completely opposite things equally, I’ll never know,” I said. The weight of my words caught up with me and I glanced at Oliver to see if he’d read into it the same that I had. Fortunately, the smile and the expression in his eyes suggested that he’d not thought of Ethan in that moment in the same way I had.

“Festival tonight,” he said. “That’s final.”

I agreed, and we began to get ready. The trip into Paris proper was a little over an hour, and it was already nearly noon. The festival had already begun, as it went all day and all night, so the sooner we got there, the sooner we’d be able to enjoy all of the different types of music.

An hour later, Raymond was waiting outside the front door with our rental car in park. He opened my door for me and I stepped inside, pleased to see that he had packed us a picnic lunch and had equipped the car with a large blanket and cooler.

“Raymond, you really are a wonder,” I said.

“I’m glad you like it, Ma’am,” he said. I had insisted several times that Raymond call me Becka, not just because I liked him, but because I considered myself far too young to be called “ma’am” by anyone, least of all by someone nearly my own age. But, he had insisted, and Oliver had concurred, saying it was a measure of respect to me.

“What will you do while we’re in Paris?” I asked Raymond. Oliver slid into the seat next to me and grabbed my hand. As we drove, he ran his fingers along the top of my hand, a motion he knew both comforted me and excited me.

“I’ll probably enjoy some of the music myself, Ma’am,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road. “This is my first time in Paris, and I’m quite excited to check out the festival.”

“Raymond was actually the one who suggested Paris as our destination, much as I’d like to claim it,” Oliver said. “He said the city of lights, the city of love, was the perfect place for us to get away. I think he picked very wisely.”

“Thank you, Sir,” he said. He turned his attention back to driving, and I sat back, leaning my head against the seat and snuggling into Oliver. I napped a bit, and, before I knew it, we were in the central heart of Paris.

“Raymond is going to drop us near the Eiffel Tower,” Oliver said. “We’ll take our lunch with us, then we can go wherever we want from there.”

“That sounds like a great plan,” I said, smiling as I looked out the window. The traffic was a nightmare, and it was obvious that there was something exciting going on in town. There were people everywhere. Crowds had gathered along the sidewalks to watch the musicians perform. There was a palpable energy moving through everything, and I couldn’t wait to get out of the car and check it out.

We found a spot near to the Eiffel Tower to have our lunch. Others had the same idea, and there was a small patch of a park that had been taken over by picnickers and other people lounging around, drinking beer and listening to the echoes of music from sometimes several blocks away.

We ate our bread, meat, and olives, drank champagne, and basked in the sunshine. I looked at the Eiffel Tower and wondered how something seeming so majestic in pictures and movies could actually be so small and relatively ordinary. I smiled, thinking that it was probably because everything else in Paris was so historic, so incredibly significant, that even something as amazing as the Eiffel Tower just couldn’t stand up to the rest of the art and architecture seen all around.

I shared my thoughts with Oliver. He smiled. “This is why I love you so much,” he said. “You have a level of appreciation for both the grand and the simple. I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I never plan on letting you go.”

We cleaned up our lunch, and Oliver called Raymond back to pick up the things we didn’t want to carry around. We then began to walk around the city, hand in hand, stopping to listen to musicians who were standing, in some cases, just a few feet apart, barely a respectable distance, but as far apart as they could be given the crowds.

“There’s a concert tonight,” Oliver said. “An INXS cover band. Do you want to go? They must be really great; the amphitheater they’re playing at is huge.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun. When does it start?”

“We can start walking now,” he said, checking his watch. “The concert starts at five. It’s four now, so we should get there just before it starts.”

As we walked, we picked up a few more bites to eat. I was starting to get a little worried about my waistline, but I reminded myself that I was on vacation, and, also, that I was surely burning off far more calories at night than I normally did at home while I slept.

We walked toward the concert and, from a distance, we could hear the band warming up.

“Holy shit,” I said. “They’re really good! They sound exactly like INXS.”

Oliver agreed. “INXS was one of my absolute favorite bands. I saw them in concert a number of times growing up and each was better than the last. This group sounds pretty authentic.”

We came upon the concert. A huge mob of people stood watching the band on the stage of the outdoor amphitheater, cheering and singing along.

“Let’s get closer!” Oliver shouted, and he grabbed my hand, leading me into the crowd.

I followed him and, when the group started to get tightly packed together, I took the lead and lead him through. By the time we couldn’t go any further, we were just three rows from the stage, and we could see the band up close.

“This is awesome!” Oliver shouted over the music and the cheers of the crowd. I agreed—I felt the rush of music moving over me, the energy of the crowd, and I felt an excitement bubbling up within me that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

I was truly happy. I danced and sang, jumped up and down and chanted with the crowd. I kept an eye out—we were in the mosh pit area, and I knew that could be a dangerous place to be, at least in America.

Parisians seemed mildly more civilized, though, and the worst thing I saw was a few bottles of wine being passed overhead where Americans would normally be passing humans. At one point, Oliver grabbed one of the bottles of wine and took a sip, then handed it to me. I burst out laughing at our craziness and took a long swig. A cheer went up around me, and I blushed, then passed the bottle along.

Nearly an hour later, I was buzzing happily from wine and the music. During the slower songs, I would lean into Oliver and we would dance. During the fast songs, we would jump up and down, cheer and sing loudly. It was during the band’s rendition of ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ that I turned to lean into Oliver and, instead, found myself leaning into a complete stranger, an ugly Frenchman who leered at me. He slid his hand between my legs and pressed upward, sliding his hand against my crotch. I yelled, kicked him in the balls, and moved away in the nearest available direction.

“Oliver!” I yelled. I looked for him, but we’d gotten separated. I couldn’t see him. I waved to get the attention of Security, hoping they would be able to figure out a way to reconnect me with Oliver.

Instead, when I got the attention of one of the guards, he misunderstood me. He pulled me out of the crowd and brought me to the first aid station. I tried to explain, in my complete non-French, that I was fine, that I just needed to find my boyfriend.

I reached to my pocket to take my phone out to call Oliver; my phone was gone.

“Fuck!” I exclaimed. “Excuse me!” I called the attention of one of the first aid workers. “My phone was stolen.”

The woman nodded sympathetically, but she said nothing. I left the tent after signing some sort of paper I assumed was a release, and searched for Oliver. I knew he would be looking for me, too. I started out very hopeful, retracing my steps back to the Eiffel Tower.

But, it was dark, and it was getting harder to see. I had my backpack, but I didn’t have any francs; all I had was American dollars. I looked for a payphone. I looked for open restaurants. Everything had closed early for the festival.

Panic began to rise within me. I didn’t know the way back to the cottage. I didn’t even know the address of it in order to tell anyone. I hadn’t been paying much attention as Raymond drove us back and forth. I was scared and angry with myself.

When had I turned from an independent woman into someone who was now lost in a strange city because I didn’t think to have good resources around me? Before Oliver, I would have had money, a French dictionary, and full knowledge of the address of my accommodations.

I hopped on the Metro and traveled quickly back to the Eiffel Tower. I went to where we had picnicked. Close to tears, I realized I was lost and alone in Paris, France. I sat down on a concrete step and took stock of what I had at my disposal.

That didn’t take long; I had nothing at my disposal. My backpack contained my purse, which had a credit card, but there were no stores open where I could use it. I had searched for cabs, but they were all occupied with festival goers. I had no idea where to find a police station.

In short, I was lost, and I was fucked. I thought of Oliver, trying to call my cell phone and not getting an answer. I knew he was beside himself with worry and fear; I could feel it. My only hope was that he would know that this was where I would try to make my way back to.

I waited for what felt like hours. Finally, when I was just about to give up and begin to walk around again, though I had no idea where, I heard Oliver’s voice.

“Becka! Becka!” He ran toward me and I scrambled to my feet, not truly believing my eyes that it was really him.

“Oliver! Oh my God, Oliver, I was so scared!” I collapsed into him and he held me. We sank to the ground together as he kissed me, my mouth, cheeks, forehead, every square inch of my face.

“I lost you,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I lost you. I tried to call you a hundred times, what happened to you?”

“Someone stole my phone,” I said. I left out the man who had touched me, knowing that it would only make Oliver feel worse. “I couldn’t call you, I didn’t know where the cottage was, all I knew was to come back here, hoping you would come here too.”

There were tears streaming down my face, and I realized my adrenaline had been pushing through me full force. Now that I was in Oliver’s arms once again, the surge of energy was nauseating.

“I’m so sorry,” Oliver said. “One moment you were there, and the next you were gone. I searched, I called your name…” His voice cracked and I knew that he was about to cry. The fear had been real and strong for him too.

“I know, honey,” I said, trying to console him. “I know you were looking for me, and I knew it the whole time. I knew you wouldn’t let me go.”

He hugged me and I looked over his shoulder. Raymond stood, his eyes trained to the ground, right next to the car.

“Let’s go home,” I said. “You are my knight in shining armor.” I kept my arms around his neck as we stood up. I had no intention of ever letting him go again.

We walked slowly to the car, and Raymond opened my door. I looked up at him and, for a moment, I thought I saw his eyes shining with tears. I shook my head, my own eyes filling once again. I couldn’t imagine the time Oliver and Raymond had spent looking for me.

We drove silently back to the cottage. Once there, Raymond opened my door and escorted me out. I didn’t imagine him squeezing my hand hard as he helped me out. It was a grip of emotion and gratitude. He carried our things inside, then he left.

Oliver and I stood in the living room, holding one another. I knew that I loved him already; I wouldn’t have put up with the press, the suspension from school, all of the difficulties surrounding Neurotova, Ethan, the lies, if I didn’t love him. But, now, I knew that my love was even deeper than I’d imagined. The thought of losing him, of being without him, was more than I could bear.

That night, I showed him exactly how much I loved him.

He brought me to the bed and gently laid me down. My muscles were sore and I was exhausted, yet I stripped off all of my clothes and held my arms out to him. He quickly undressed and climbed into bed with me. He got on top of me immediately, his cock hard and ready.

He dropped his fingers between my legs and I spread myself apart for him, to show him that I was wet and ready for him. He entered me immediately, insistently, and began to thrust gently. His weight on me was reassuring and arousing, and I wrapped my legs around his hips to draw him in even closer.

We made no sound, just our breath speeding up and slowing down as we moved to our rhythms. His pubic bone rubbed against my clit, increasing my pleasure and my arousal.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered.

“I won’t let you,” I replied, and pulled him in tightly to me.

Our climaxing was slow and intentional, my orgasm deeper than any I had ever felt. When I first felt it moving in, my instinct to cry out was silenced by my desire to center all of my energy on the sensation of coming. My orgasm infiltrated every cell in my body and I cried out, the explosive energy almost too much for me to bear.

Afterward, he held me close and we fell asleep together. I listened to his breath, felt the rise and fall of his chest, and knew that everything would be okay.

***

A few days after we returned home from Paris, I got the flu. It was a strange illness; I was sick, nauseous, but not all the time. I didn’t share it with Oliver, assuming that it was just a bug from the plane or from something we’d eaten. Perhaps, even, from all of our champagne.

I called Lisa.

“Um, have you taken a pregnancy test?” she asked.

I laughed. “No,” I said, “but we’re very careful. I’m on the pill.”

“Does he wear a rubber?”

“Sometimes,” I said. “But not always. That’s why I’m on the pill.”

“You know the pill isn’t a hundred percent, right?” she asked. I sighed. This wasn’t the conversation I’d imagined having. I’d wanted to tell her all about Paris, not concentrate on the illness I’d mentioned in passing.

“Listen,” I said. “I’m not pregnant. Can you even imagine the trouble that would cause?”

Lisa stayed silent.

“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ll take a test. To prove you wrong.”

“I love when you prove me wrong,” she said. “It’s one of my favorite things on the Earth. When, exactly, are you going to prove me wrong?”

“I’ll do it tomorrow,” I snapped. “Ugh, sorry. I don’t mean to be bitchy to you. None of this is your fault.”

The truth was, when Lisa had asked about the pregnancy test, my eyes had moved to the bathroom, where I’d hidden a box of three tests at the bottom of my travel make up bag. I had purchased them the day before, when I’d realized I was late. And sick. I couldn’t be pregnant; it would only add complication to a situation that was already unspeakably complicated.

“You know I’m here for you,” Lisa said. “I only want what’s best for you.”

“I know,” I said. “I’ll take the test in the morning and I’ll call you either way.”

We talked for a few minutes more about things I’d missed while I’d been in Paris with Oliver, then agreed to talk the next day.

I’d told Lisa that I would take the test tomorrow, but I went to the bathroom and got the box out. I read through the instructions even though the test was self-explanatory. I closed my eyes. Please don’t be pregnant, I thought to myself.

I took the test, then I hid it back in my makeup bag and went to Oliver’s office. I knocked on the door.

“Hey,” I said, “are you busy?”

“Never for you, beautiful lover. Are you okay?”

“I need you to tell me what’s going on with Neurotova and with Ethan. You’ve stalled long enough.”

He sighed and leaned his chair back away from his desk, closing his eyes.

“Becka, I told you, you need to trust me.”

“You also told me it would only be a few days. Then a few days more. Now it’s been more than a few days, and I want to know what’s happening. We have a future together, I know it. But, I need to know everything that you know about these things that are impacting not just our future, but my daily life.”

He stood up and walked to me, circling his arms around me and drawing me to him. I laid my head on his chest and could feel his heart beating.

“You are entitled to know, my love, and I will tell you. Can I have two more days? Two more days and I will tell you everything from start to finish. No more stalling, no more distractions. Just the truth.”

“Do you promise?” I asked, looking up at him.

He gently touched my chin with his fingertips and kissed me lightly on the lips. “I promise.”

I smiled and nodded, then walked back to the bathroom. I stood for a few minutes looking at myself in the bathroom mirror. I didn’t feel like I looked any different than I had a few weeks ago. Maybe a little pale, but I’d just been traveling.

I reached for the test in my bag. I closed my eyes as I turned the stick over to look at the two spots on the test. One line, negative. Two lines, positive.

I opened my eyes. Two lines. I closed my eyes again.