I didn’t know what had happened, but everything was in full-swing already. My guests were taking their private planes to Paris. The venues for both the wedding and the reception were booked. I’d told the most expensive baker in all of Paris to make us a luxurious cake, and I’d booked the best caterer in town. If I was going to get married again—even if it was a rather “false” marriage—I was going to do it well. At least, I was going to get really drunk on expensive alcohol in the process.
After an entire day of phone calls, of picking out my tuxedo and ringing for an emergency dress for Gigi, I glanced at the clock and realized we’d be married within a day from now. I turned to Margot, shaking my head. “Can you believe it?”
She didn’t answer. She shifted on the couch, trying to dive into a book. Her eyes weren’t moving across the page. She looked a million miles away.
I sat beside her, wishing I could comfort her somehow. To tell her everything was going to be all right. I placed my large hand on her slim thigh, feeling the softness of the skin. She twitched slightly, like a rabbit, but didn’t force me to move my hand away.
“Do you want to go somewhere?” I asked. The words surprised me. “You know. Somewhere we can talk?”
“Where would we go?” Her words were soft.
“To dinner, maybe?” I realized my stomach was completely empty, feeling like a gaping hole in my body. I skipped lunch.
“With Gigi?” she asked.
“Just the two of us,” I returned. “So we can talk about tomorrow. Or not talk about tomorrow, for the first time all day. Whatever you want.”
She smirked slightly, glancing at Gigi in the corner. “I’m the only babysitter she has.”
“I know a few people.” I dialed my private driver’s twenty-something year old daughter, who had babysat for me often before Margot had been around. She agreed to the job, saying she could be there in forty-five minutes. With a shrug, I stood and said, “It’s taken care of. Get dressed. We’re going somewhere fancy.”
Margot gave no indication that she was excited, that she wanted to be out with me. Dressed in a stunning red dress, one that brought out the new tan she’d gotten from a long day spent at the palace gardens with Gigi, she walked beside me, clinging to her purse. I spoke grandly, filling the space between us and hoping that, eventually, she’d find the words to join me.
“I assume you’ll like the caterer,” I was saying. “He’s this remarkable guy, grew up in Italy before going to New York. As you know, everyone ends up in New York at some point. He said he learned all he could there before coming to Paris and unlearning almost all of it. He said that Parisian kitchens are a strange mix of heaven and hell. He can’t see his way out of it. How could it be better? How could it be worse?”
She laughed lightly, giving me her first smile of the day. I turned her left, down a small alleyway, and bounded us directly into the new restaurant. The maître d’ recognized me right away, bowing his head and taking my hand.
“Monsieur,” he said, his voice soft and lilting. “I will clear a table for you and yours immediately.”
Margot turned her head, hating to see “lesser” people knocked from their table for us. I’d grown accustomed to it, forcing myself not to give it too much thought. But Margot bit her lip, wishing it would stop. I was sure, in this moment, she would call the whole wedding thing off.
“Right this way.”
We followed the maître d’ back into the depths of the restaurant, to a single, circular table, lit with a candle. We sat across from each other, not speaking, while the maître d’ poured us two glasses of wine, recommending various dishes on the menu. Never one to be impolite, Margot thanked him for everything—in French. “Merci pour tout,” she whispered.
“You’re really coming into your French,” I told her, feeling suddenly anxious. How could I make things right between us? “And Gigi, I mean, she’s almost natural at this point.”
She brightened at the mention of Gigi. “I’d do anything to be a kid, living in Paris,” she said. “She lives the most magical life.”
“You can live it with her. After the wedding, if you want, you can hire another nanny to help out. You can take classes in French, art, whatever you want. You can dig into this city, too,” I said, promising her the world.
“I think I’d miss the long days with Gigi,” Margot said.
My heart hammered. Had anyone ever been so thoughtful?
The cheese platter came, with five variations: blue, goat, soft and hard, along with another we couldn’t quite place. A strange mix between soft and hard, which became gooey and delightful in your mouth.
“When I was growing up, all we cared to eat was string cheese,” she laughed, layering a bit of cheese over some bread. “I’ve really forgotten my roots.”
“Did you tell your parents about the wedding?” I asked her.
“They’ll see it in the tabloids, I guess,” she said, after a pause. “I don’t need them there. As far as I’m concerned, they’re a million lifetimes away from me. Although I do sometimes miss them. Miss my old self. I gave up on her so quickly.”
She trailed off, blinking her wide, brown eyes. Feeling endeared, I brought my hand across the table and held onto her small wrist. She didn’t move away.
“I remember feeling I lost myself, too,” I told her. “Right after becoming famous, I fell into the party life. I started dating famous people. I had people following me around with cameras.”
“Did you ever get your old self back?” she asked.
Nobody had ever asked me this before. I turned my eyes skyward, tracing the past fifteen years of my life. Although I still had friends from “before,” they’d grown up with me—with Marcus equaling my arrogance, and my money-flow.
“I don’t really know,” I answered honestly.
Just as she had at the bar, Margot seemed to pulsate with fear. She drank quickly, probably forcing herself to feel comfortable. Within the hour, she was giggling at my jokes again, although she ate sparingly. She complained of an upset stomach. Of not feeling like herself.
After dinner, she turned toward the house. I gestured to the river, saying, “Why not take a night walk? We have the babysitter for another hour or two.”
Margot hesitated, trying to read my face. She strung her arm through mine, nodding slowly. “All right. If you really think…”
When we reached the river, we were perfectly in stride, working as one. With a jolt of my heart, I told myself that I couldn’t have picked a better life partner. Even if we weren’t in love. Even if love was besides the point.
Notre Dame was brightly lit, reflecting into the water below. Lovers sat outside it, their legs extended over the water and their laughter echoing against the high stone walls above the Seine. We sat with them, our shoes wavering over the top just the same. We allowed silence to fall. I took her hand, fearful, for a brief moment, that she would fall in. I didn’t know why.
“I just always imagined my wedding to be something special,” she finally said, her voice far away.
I didn’t speak for a long time. Clenching her hand, I gave her a long nod. “What did you imagine it to be?”
“I wanted love,” she whispered. “I didn’t want to marry anyone unless I loved them. Unless he was my first. Of course, the dress, the cake, the guests—that was all involved, as well. Although I’m sure I imagined it in some backyard in Michigan, somewhere.”
In the moonlight, Margot was one of the most beautiful creatures I’d ever seen. Her brown hair hung in curls around her thin face. Her eyes glittered in the moonlight. They ached with their desire for love.
Why couldn’t I give it to her?
I so wanted to. In that moment, I wanted to give her the world. After a long pause, I pushed forward and caught her lower lip. I kissed her, long and slow and deep. I felt the pleasure of it murmuring in my stomach, my groin. My cock pressed up against my pant leg, growing insistent. Reminding me that, all along, I’d wanted to take Margot home with me. I’d wanted to take her so that she forgot her own name, and forget about
the complications.
She responded. She kissed me with unquestioned joy. Her eyes were closed. Her tongue traced mine, raced over my teeth. She wanted to swallow me whole, I could feel it. Wrapping my arms around her, I brought her closer to me, inhaling the flowery scent of her hair, moving my lips past her cheeks, her ear, down her neck and toward the soft skin of her upper chest. She moaned, telling me that this was right. This was what she wanted. How could she refuse me?
Minutes ticked on. We were just kids, making out in front of the cathedral—wanting the other more than we could say out loud. Stopping for a brief moment, gasping for air, I gazed into her eyes, wanting nothing more than to strip her down, to see her for the first time. To touch her in spots nobody else had touched. I stood, helping her up with me, and hailed the first cab I could. We didn’t speak. Our bodies were purposeful, gearing up for our night together.
In the back of the cab, she held onto me, kissing my cheek, my neck, inhaling me. She was no longer virginal in my eyes. We’d been through too much.
Upstairs, in the apartment, I paid the babysitter. Gigi’s bedroom door was closed, the light was off. She was sound asleep. I turned to Margot, my heart ramming in my chest, and brought my hands to her dress. I undid the zipper at the back purposefully, easing all the way down to her thighs. The dress fell open, revealing her gleaming skin below. Her belly was flat, with a bit of muscle tone. Her breasts were round and milky and smooth beneath a lace bra. She blushed as I looked over her, taking her in. Then, she shrugged the dress to the ground and stood in just her underwear, waiting.
She was giving herself to me.
I brought my hands to her shoulders and kissed her slowly while she gave into my touch. Her back arched. I unhooked the bra, letting it fall and feeling her nipples thrust out against me. In response, she began to unbutton my shirt. She had no skill, had clearly never undressed another man before. She fumbled, but I let her do it—slowly, learning, finding her way. She revealed my muscled chest below, the dark curly hair, and brought her hands over it hungrily. She looked like she wanted to memorize my every line. After a pause, she stripped the shirt from my shoulders. We stood one foot apart, our torsos completely naked, our groins crying out for one another. I thought, for a moment, that I should ask her. Was this what she really wanted? Was this okay? But I held my tongue, wanting to let our bodies do the talking.
Lifting her, I brought her tenderly onto the counter. Above, a light rain had begun to patter on the slanted roof windows, bringing music to our lovemaking. As I kissed her neck, then her chest, then her torso, I brought her underwear down her thighs, tossing it to the ground. I looked at her, really looked at her, and spread her legs wide to see her perfect, peach lips between. They glistened as she grew wet. Her eyes were round, orb-like, inhaling me. She wasn’t sure what I was going to do next.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I whispered.
I brought my hand between her legs, rubbing at the top, finding the nub of her clit. It was wet, soft and swollen, and I swept my fingers up and down it, finding a rhythm. She closed her eyes. Her breath caught in her throat and her lips grew lax and parted.
She was completely at my mercy now.
She wasn’t sure what to do with me, in response. She shoved my boxers down from my cock, revealing it in its total, immense girth. It was thick and veiny, with a bit of cum already lining the tip. She gaped at it, then reached up, touching it. Following some kind of instinct, she began to give me a hand job, easing up and down with a tender motion. It was so sweet, so smooth, so slow, it nearly drove me wild.
“A bit faster,” I told her, whispering into her ear. “Mmm. Yes.”
She followed my lead, gliding up and down my cock and feeling at the balls beneath with her other hand. I continued to trace her clit and the wet darkness between. I inhaled her breasts, kissing the nipples and striding over them with my tongue.
I wasn’t sure she could handle me. She was so small and frightened. But she gazed up at me and nodded, exactly once, telling me what she needed. With a small thrust, I pushed my cock against the wet slit between her thighs. Slowly, inch by inch, I pushed inside her, gliding my cock against the softness within. My brain went absolutely wild. And she, unable to compare this feeling to anything else, let out a cry of pleasure and of pain.
Holding onto her perfect ass, I fucked her on top of the counter, starting slow and easy and then pushing her hard. She clung to my shoulders, kissing the muscles and crying out in shock and alarm. She didn’t want me to stop. She told me not to stop. Hell, I don’t think she could have let me stop if she wanted to. With our bodies thrusting into one another, we were one unit, exhausted and sweating and gasping. My brain had taken on a life of its own, doing anything my cock wanted. I bent her over further, allowing me to penetrate deeper. She could hardly handle it.
After a while, I lifted her into my arms. Keeping my cock inside her perfect slit, I carried her into my bedroom and lay beside her on the bed. As I fucked her slower, easing in and out, I lifted myself up higher and placed my finger against her clit and focused on bringing her to orgasm. She began to moan. Her fingernails dug into my flesh, and then I could feel her muscles pulsing deep within her, against my cock. And soon, I was thrust into an orgasm as well—cumming deep against the softness of her G-spot, falling into wave after wave of pleasure.
We lay, gasping, in one another’s arms in the minutes after. She blinked at me, confused, as if she’d never seen me before in her life. I knew I’d taken her virginity. I didn’t want to spoil this hour with talk. So we cuddled close beneath the sheets, unable to read each other’s thoughts. And soon, I found myself falling into a deep, wonderful sleep.