Chapter 27
The vegetation outside the train window took on a Mediterranean quality with olive trees and cypresses replacing oaks and beeches.
Amanda smiled with glee. Even if the sea was still far away, just watching the landscape change from verdant to coastal desert sent positive vibes to her brain. When traveling in France, arid vistas foreshadowed good things: they meant you were moving away from the drab and humid north and approaching the sun-drenched coastline of the Midi.
In this particular instance, the arid vistas meant she and Kes were getting closer to Provence, where Kes’s little nephew would be baptized tomorrow. Tonight, Amanda was to sleep in Arles, in a guesthouse not far from the railway station, while Kes joined his family somewhere “just outside the town.”
“Where exactly are they staying?” She turned to Kes, who sat next to her on the upper deck of the TGV train.
“In a place called Fourchon.”
“Is it a village?”
He shook his head. “It’s a dedicated parking site for Gypsy caravans.”
Her eyes grew wide.
“I think the official name of the place is ‘Halting Area for Gitan Travelers,’ ” he said. “It’s only a few kilometers south of Arles off the main highway.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“Absolutely not. The clan arrived there a week ago and will stay for a month or so before they take off.”
“In their trailers?”
“We call them caravans.”
“Are you saying your folks will live in a huge parking lot on the side of a highway for a whole month?”
“A halting site. You’ll see it tomorrow. It’s one of the best here in Provence. The authorities renovated it a few years ago, and now it has electricity, showers, and even outdoor kitchens. Everything a Gitan’s heart may desire.”
“Well, thank God I’m staying in Arles,” she said. “I couldn’t survive in a place like that.”
He said nothing.
“Will there be time to go to the beach tomorrow?” she asked.
“I doubt it. My cousin Marco and I will pick you up in the morning so you can take part in the christening ceremony. It’ll be held in a small church in Arles. When it’s over, we all go to Fourchon, eat and drink ’til we’re sick, and party.”
“All night?”
He nodded. “Campfire and all.”
“Sounds fun.” She nudged him lightly. “I’m looking forward to it.”
He gave her a happy grin.
Marco was waiting for them at the Arles station, the roof of his shiny red Citroën convertible pulled back for the occasion.
The Moreno men drove Amanda to her guesthouse and lingered for a drink with her at the bar next door.
“We’ll pick you up at ten in the morning,” Marco said when they stood to leave.
“I’ll be in the lobby,” Amanda said with a polite smile.
“Don’t bother,” Kes said. “Marco means ten GST—Gitan Standard Time. It could be anywhere between ten-fifteen and eleven.”
“Oh.”
“I’ll call you when we get here.”
“OK.”
An awkward pause followed, with Amanda hesitating as to what to do next. How did you say good-bye to your lover who wasn’t your boyfriend in the presence of his relative?
Kes ended her indecision with a cheek kiss.
Marco followed suit.
“I’ll see you guys tomorrow morning, then,” Amanda said. “Sometime between ten and eleven.”
They nodded and left.
Amanda spent the rest of the evening exploring the town’s Roman ruins and reading her travel guide about its rich history. She returned to her room only when it grew too dark outside to admire ancient stones. Just as she picked up the TV remote, her phone lit up.
It was a text message from Kes.
Hey.
She smiled and tapped her reply.
Hey. Can you call me?
Not before Grandma falls asleep.
What?
Are you rooming with your grandma?
Yep. We’re separated by a partition, but it’s not soundproof.
How do you know she’s still awake?
She’s talking to my aunt.
His aunt. Of course.
What’s your aunt doing there at midnight?
“Touching base” with Grandma—gossiping.
Amanda rolled her eyes.
Ask her to leave.
I can’t. But I’ll sneak out and come to your hotel as soon as she’s gone.
What do you mean by ‘come’? You’ll borrow Marco’s car?
I can’t. Marco drove away on some business. I’ll just walk.
He no longer sounded weird. He sounded like he’d lost his mind.
You don’t mean that, I hope. It’s too far, too late, and too dark.
Doesn’t matter. I want you.
Amanda bit her lip. God knew she wanted him, too. But she didn’t like the idea of him walking in the dark through parking lots and wasteland and crossing a busy highway just so they could sleep together. There was no emergency. They’d have other nights—at least a dozen of them—before they parted ways.
Perhaps they could try something different tonight? An alternative to physical lovemaking . . .
Her fingers hovered over her phone for a moment, and then she made up her mind.
How about phone sex?
No.
That was . . . fast.
Why not?
It’s weird. And I’ve never done it before.
Neither have I, but I hear it’s fun.
She waited a couple of minutes, and when no reply came, she texted again.
Or we could have text sex instead.
???
How unsporting. But she wasn’t giving up without a fight.
What are you wearing right now?
Nothing. It’s too hot inside this f-ing caravan.
She pictured him sitting on his bed, his back against the wall, his toned legs stretched out, ankles crossed. To cool his body, he’d have bunched his blanket under his feet. And there’d be nothing—absolutely nothing—to hide the naked gorgeousness of him from a chance onlooker.
She typed frantically.
I want proof. Send me a pic.
A few seconds later, she was staring at a portrait of a muscled, smiling Gypsy god—from the waist up.
Now the bottom half.
The next photo was a close-up of his toes. She smirked at his unexpected display of modesty.
They’re sexy. And you’re chicken.
:-) What are you wearing, ma belle?
Pajama shorts.
Take them off.
She obliged and then sat back against the cushions and pulled up the first pic he’d sent her. It took her some time to type the next message as she was using only one hand.
I’m looking at your selfie and touching myself.
Close your eyes and imagine it’s me touching you.
What do you think I’m imagining, silly?
You’re driving me mad.
Good. She grinned as she typed.
Are you caressing yourself, too?
No. YOU are caressing me.
How?
With your mouth.
Am I good? Are you enjoying it, Gypsy boy?
More than words can say. I hope you’ll do it again tomorrow. IN REAL LIFE.
She put the phone on the bed next to her and applied more pressure, feeling her climax nearing. As she peaked, a new text lit up her screen.
I can’t believe I just jerked off with my grandma and aunt practically in the same room.
You think they suspect something?
They never stopped talking, so I hope not. Did you come?
She snapped a picture of her flushed face and sent it to him by way of a reply.