Chapter 9

Becka

Oliver may have had a plan; I trusted that much. However, as the days stretched on that we stayed in his house, I grew restless and bored. At least I was getting some work done; Oliver had several mergers in the making and I was busy for a few hours a day with email communications and setting up scheduled meetings for Oliver, both in person and on the phone. But, though some parts of my days were busy, more of the day I wandered around the house bored out of my mind. I wasn’t a tv person, and, though I tried to get into the soaps and court tv, they drove me nuts. I read the few books Oliver had on his shelves that were of interest to me… and then I read the ones that weren’t. It wasn’t just that I couldn’t return to my own home because the media had camped outside my building like it was the night before Springsteen tickets went on sale. The media were also flocking to as close to Oliver’s house as they were allowed to get.

He had a fenced in property, of course, gated far at the perimeter of his lawn. I could have gone outside, at least, but for the photographers’ telephoto lenses that would have taken pictures of me that looked as though they were standing an inch from me.

Every night I watched the news, waiting for a bigger story, something to come along that would make the business with Oliver and Neurotova disappear. One night, about a week after Lisa had dropped me off at Oliver’s house and we’d had that argument, what I considered to be our first fight, I turned to him after the news ended. That night’s story had featured two reporters, one outside my apartment and one outside his house, recording “live and on location.” What were they reporting? Absolutely nothing. They were rehashing the same commentary and discussions, the same business about Neurotova that had been cycling through the news since the first day. They had nothing to report since we were in hiding. I wondered briefly where Ethan was; I hadn’t gotten so much as a text from him.

“It’s been a week,” I said. “How much longer are you going to let them keep us prisoners in your home?”

He looked at me. “How long am I going to do that? What do you mean?”

“You said you have a plan,” I said. “A week ago, you said you had a plan that would end this. Yet here we are, still trapped like rats in an expensive cage.” I was trying to stay calm. I didn’t want another fight; I just wanted some answers. Yet I found myself getting both angry and anxious at the same time as the feelings of claustrophobia moved through me.

Oliver’s eyes clouded over. “You said you would trust me.”

“I said that a week ago!” I exclaimed. “And you promised!” I took a deep breath. I sounded like a teenager talking to her father, the exact opposite of how I wanted to come across. “Honey,” I said, trying to be calm. “I just don’t know how much longer I can do this. I’m not used to this lifestyle, all of this attention, in the same way you are. Up until a few months ago, the most attention I received ever was when I was guest lecturing in a class. Now, I’m on the damn news every night. I’m sorry, but that’s exceptionally stressful for me. And you know that.”

Oliver’s face softened. “I do know that.” He moved toward me and put his arm around me, drawing my head to his chest. I leaned in, feeling comforted by his touch and his presence. At least he hadn’t disappeared during the week. That was an improvement. He stroked my hair and I snuggled in deeper to his chest. “I know it’s been hard for you, Becka, and the only thing I can promise you is that I do know what I’m doing. There’s a lot of history here, a lot of details that I haven’t been able to share, for one reason or another. You’ve been so patient and understanding,” at this, he moved his hand to my cheek. Its warmth surged through me and I felt a wave of desire for him.

“I don’t want our life to be like this,” I said. “I don’t care about money, fancy things, any of that. I just want you.”

He leaned down and kissed me, lifting my chin with his fingertip. I felt tears poking at my eyes, but I blinked them back. I hated to cry, and I had done it enough in front of him to last a lifetime.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Let’s go to bed and have make up sex.”

I looked up at him. “But we didn’t have a fight,” I said.

“Details…” he whispered, and he kissed me again.

He led me upstairs, a path that once upon a time had been unknown to me which I could now walk with my eyes shut. In the bedroom, a room I now considered to be ‘ours,’ he leaned in and kissed me again. I put my arms around him, drawing him to me. His hands circled my waist and I stretched tall, onto my tip toes, to kiss him.

“You are so gorgeous,” he said. “So sexy.” He took off my shirt, a long sleeved, loose top that he had bought for me, and brought me to him once again. My breasts pressed against him and I could feel my nipples hardening to his touch. He pulled away and nuzzled his face between my breasts, holding one in each hand and pressing them together. He ran his thumbs across my nipples and I shivered. “So gorgeous,” he said again, and he took my hand and led me to the bed.

He took off his shirt and I pulled off my black yoga pants. I was wearing panties only, and I saw him scan my body from top to bottom, smiling. He was aroused; I could see it. I smiled and turned, giving him a view of the curve of my waist and hips as well as my ass. His smile broadened.

“So sexy,” he said again, and he took off his jeans. His boxers tented around his erection and I smiled, licking my lips.

“Speaking of sexy,” I said playfully as I walked toward him. I dropped to my knees on the plush carpet and put my hands on his waist, teasing him by putting my mouth centimeters from the rise of his boxers. I felt the heat emanating from his body and smiled. He groaned softly, and I could feel him resisting the urge to grab the back of my head and pull me to him. Instead, he flexed his hands and put them on my shoulders. I smiled up at him, teasing.

“Anxious?” I asked sweetly. I didn’t intend to torture him for very long, but I was enjoying myself.

“Horny,” he groaned back. I watched his cock pulse against his boxers, its head exploring, wondering what the holdup was. I pulled his boxers down and his cock lengthened in front of me. I took his balls in one hand, holding the soft sack of skin, stretched with his arousal, and his cock in my mouth. I began to suck his head, swirling my tongue around first slowly, then picking up speed as I reached my other hand up to grip his shaft. I began to stroke him as I simultaneously licked and sucked him, feeling his pre cum on my tongue. It tasted salty; my mouth watered for more. I licked the underside of his shaft, feeling him harden even further. He groaned and put his hands on the back of my head, moved my mouth in a rhythm that suited him. I pressed my warm palm against his balls, and he exploded into my mouth. He held me in place and moved his cock in and out as he came, pressing toward the back of my throat.

When he finished, he pulled back and sat on the bed. I dropped back onto my heels and looked at him, enjoying the dreamy expression on his face.

“That was fucking incredible,” he said. “You’re amazing. You really are. Come here.” He held his hand out to me and I stood, walking over to him. He drew me to him, my belly against his mouth. He kissed my stomach, letting his tongue trail down to my hips. I crawled onto the bed and laid on my back. He moved between my legs and began to kiss my inner thighs, small kisses that lingered, his breath warm on my skin. I sighed happily, feeling his lips teasing against my flesh, sending tingling sensations through my entire body. He moved upward and spread my labia with his fingers, moving his tongue inside me. I let my legs fall open wider, inviting him in. He looked up at me and I smiled. He buried his face in me, letting his tongue swirl around my clit. I felt it hardening under the motions of his tongue and lips. He slid a finger into my vagina, then another, and a third. The sensation of fullness as he gave full attention to my clit was magical. I groaned and pressed into him.

He knew exactly what to do to meet my arousal head on and satisfy it. As he pulled my legs over his shoulders and moved his hands to my hips, he buried himself deeper into me, until I felt as though he was making contact with every wet, aroused cell in my body. My orgasm thundered through me and I gasped, then cried out at its intensity. Oliver stayed with me, continuing to stimulate me until a second orgasm replaced the first. I felt my orgasm in my fingertips and toes and everywhere in between. When the third came upon me, I shuddered and held on to Oliver’s hands, stabilizing myself with my legs against his back. When my multiple orgasm concluded, I was a sweaty, shaking mess and Oliver slowly pulled back from me, then laid beside me and stroked my hair as I slowly came down.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

“I hate you, too,” he said, grinning.

As I drifted off to sleep, I thought about my life with Oliver. Nothing complex or philosophical; I thought only of the fact that I was with a man who could give me multiple orgasms at the drop of a hat. Who knew my body nearly better than I did, and who was willing to go to whatever lengths were necessary to completely satisfy me. I smiled. That was a rare man.

I felt conflicted. Would I have put up with the back and forth from Oliver, with the danger, with the constant stress, if he wasn’t such a fulfilling lover and partner? Would I have put up with those things from anyone? I didn’t know. What I did know, as I watched Oliver sleeping, his breath smooth, his chest rising and falling, was that I couldn’t imagine my life without him anymore. But, as I thought about everything that I had lost: my apartment, my job, my dissertation… I wondered… what kind of a life did I have with him?

***

“Wake up, sleepy head!” I heard Oliver’s voice come through my dreamless sleep from a distance. It took me a few moments, still, to open my eyes. In spite of my initial falling asleep the night before, I had woken up a few times and it had, ultimately, taken me quite a while to finally find sleep for the night.

“I don’t wanna,” I said. I did smell coffee, though, so I lifted my head and looked at him. Next to me was a tray holding a steaming mug of coffee with a cup of milk and a saucer of sugar cubes. “Except maybe I should have some coffee,” I said. “Possibly.”

It was then that I looked at him standing next to the bed. He was grinning, a wide smile stretched across his face, and, in his right hand, he held my suitcase.

“What are you doing with that?” I asked.

“Getting it out for you. You should get up soon. Our plane leaves in just a few hours.”

That got my attention, and I sat up in bed. “Plane?”

Oliver had whisked me away on vacation before, to Italy, and I’d thought it was a one time thing. Apparently, he’s though it worked well enough the first time.

“I thought about what you said last night,” he said, “and I feel like you have put up with quite a lot from me, both with Neurotova and with dealing with my ridiculous brother.” At this, his voice changed to a bitter tone and his eyes narrowed. “I forget that you’re not used to being in the public eye. In short, I forget that this is hard on you, sometimes. Harder on you that it is on me, and it’s been pretty stressful for me.”

I smiled at his understanding. It was amazing what a good night’s sleep could do.

“After you fell asleep last night, I booked us a flight to Paris. I have a friend who lives in a small suburb of the city who travels extensively. A quick phone call to him, and he gave us his condo for the week.” He continued to grin, incredibly proud of his thoughtfulness.

As touched as I was, a week away from home right now didn’t sound like a good idea. “I love that you did that for me,” I said carefully, “but I don’t really think we should leave your house right now. I mean, how are we even going to get to the airport?”

“Let me worry about that,” Oliver said confidently. “You worry about which dresses you’re going to wear and how you’re going to pack all of your shoes into a suitcase.”

I sighed. “Oliver, I really don’t—”

“Becka,” he said, sitting down on the bed beside me, the smile disappearing from his face. “I really want to do this for you. I took what you said last night to heart. You’re absolutely right. Now, let me try to make it up to you.” He took my hand in his and lightly kissed it. “You were so happy when we traveled before. I can tell you enjoy it and that you love being in places where you can move freely without being worried about being photographed, or…” he paused. “Or, running into people you don’t want to run into.”

Ethan. Loud and clear. Though I was continually drawn to Ethan, Oliver was right. In fact, even the mention of him indirectly sent my body into a confused mix of arousal and anger.

“I just think that maybe right now is a time we should be staying closer to home,” I said.

“There will be plenty of time for that. Imagine being in Paris tonight, having dinner in a French café, with not a care in the world about sitting outside in the open.”

I had to admit, that was an appealing thought. I thought about having a few days to move in freedom, anywhere. It didn’t need to be Paris, though, of course, if he wanted to take me to Paris that would probably be okay, I supposed.

“That sounds kind of nice,” I admitted.

His grin returned. “Then pack your bag. I’ll send for Raymond. He’ll bring the car around and I’ll show you how we’re going to get out of here.”

I spent the next hour packing and getting ready to go. I called Lisa to let her know. She was, of course, insanely jealous, in spite of the fact that she agreed I was in desperate need of some new surroundings for a while.

“Is there any news on the college front? Any word about you being able to return to your dissertation?” she asked, worry in her voice.

“Not yet. I have a meeting with Dr. Evans in a few weeks. My original suspension was temporary, and our meeting is right at what’s supposed to be the end of the suspension. She said that she’ll know more then. She’s on my side,” I explained, “as much as she can be. My hope is that she’s been trying to explain to the powers that be at the college that I’m not the enemy here.”

“You’re a victim just as much as anyone else,” Lisa agreed.

“Yep,” I said. “It’s just a matter of making the college see that, too.”

I hung up the phone after we talked for a few more minutes, and I finished packing. I showered, dried my hair, applied my make up, then put my hair dryer and make up into my suitcase. I had opted to wear a dress to travel in. I knew the flight would be long and the last thing I wanted to have on was constricting clothing. The dress I put on was a floor length, dark red tank dress. It was one of my favorites and Oliver’s as well.

He walked into the bedroom and whistled lowly when he saw me.

“You look gorgeous,” he said. “I love that dress on you. It highlights your beautiful red lips.” He walked over and brushed his finger tip across my mouth, then he leaned in and kissed me softly.

“Is everything set with Raymond?” I asked. “How are you going to get us out of here?”

“It’s a little extreme,” he said, his face flushing. “But, desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“What are you planning?” I asked.

“You’ll see. I’m not going to tell you because, odds are, you’re going to try to stop me.” He smiled. “I don’t want you to stop me.”

I shook my head. “It’s not illegal, is it?”

“Nah,” Oliver said. “There’s been enough of that.”

I nodded. “I’ll say.”

We brought our things downstairs where Raymond was waiting. He greeted me with a friendly smile, then nodded businesslike at Oliver.

“Everything is all set,” Raymond said. “The car is in place, the drone is active, and our car is running and ready to go.”

“Drone?” I asked, looking at Oliver.

“Not yet, dear,” he said. “The car we’re taking is parked behind the kitchen. Let’s go—that way, we’ll be able to watch everything as it unfolds.”

I shook my head but said nothing. Clearly, Oliver and Raymond had a plan to get us out of the house without being spotted by the press, which had been camped outside the front gate around the clock. I was anxious to see if it would work.

We walked out the back door, and, to my surprise, a limo was parked right on the lawn. It was a small, private limo, not one of Oliver’s regular cars. I nodded approvingly; the press had memorized all of Oliver’s cars and would know immediately if one was in motion. Raymond packed our bags, then opened the door and escorted me in.

“Comfortable, ma’am?” he asked.

I smiled. “Comfortable and curious,” I said. He let a larger than normal smile slip. I liked Raymond. He was relatively new to Oliver’s team, but so far he had proven to be incredibly loyal and resourceful, especially with everything that had been going on lately. I wondered how much of Oliver’s plan, the one he wasn’t telling me about, had Raymond’s influence.

Raymond took the wheel and slowly pulled the car around to the side of the house. Just as I began to see the throng of reporters, he stopped. He took out his phone and began to push buttons on the screen.

“All ready, Sir?” he asked.

“Ready,” Oliver said, and squeezed my hand. “Hold on,” he said to me.

All of a sudden, there was a large booming sound, a sound that reminded me of train cars crashing together. The reporters all looked to their right, startled, then began to titter amongst themselves.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Just wait,” Oliver said.

Another boom sounded, and this time there was a crackle like fireworks immediately following. Someone shouted, and all of the reporters began to run toward the sounds.

“Go!” Oliver said, and Raymond gunned the engine, driving across the lawn and through a side gate I had never seen before. The gate opened and closed, and we were on the road, driving in the opposite direction of the reporters.

I twisted around to look in the rear window of the limo. “What the hell?” I asked. All I could see was a black mass of metal that looked like it had once been a car, smoke rising from it, and the reporters tripping over themselves to get as close as they could without injury.

“Raymond decided that the only way for us to get out of the house unnoticed was to create a diversion,” Oliver explained, smiling. He clapped Raymond on the shoulder. “Splendid job, my man; it worked perfectly!”

Raymond let a small smile slip toward Oliver. “My pleasure, Sir. I’m proud to be of service.”

“What was the diversion? You didn’t cause an accident, did you?” I continued to look back at the plumes of smoke rising into the sky.

“Kind of, but not really,” Oliver explained. “Raymond took an exact copy of one of my more recognizable cars, the Lexus, and parked it behind some trees a mile down the road. We used a drone packed with fireworks, set the car to start and drive based on commands from Raymond’s phone, and, when we were ready, we had the drone connect with the car.” Oliver clapped his hands together. “I can’t believe it worked!”

“You two are like Mission Impossible come to life,” I said, shaking my head. I realized my hands were shaking, too; my anxiety had been high over leaving the house. I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes.

“You look like you need a drink,” Oliver said. He leaned over and grabbed a bottle of champagne. He uncorked it and poured me a flute, then handed it to me. I sipped it gratefully, feeling the bubbles move through my mouth and down my throat.

I sighed in relief. We were on our way

***

I didn’t know that Raymond was also coming to Paris with us, but, once I found out, I was grateful. That meant that I’d have another familiar face in a strange city, and it meant that I could have more of Oliver to myself as we would have Raymond to run errands for us and handle some of Oliver’s business elements.

Our plane landed without incident, and Raymond, who had been sitting in coach, took off to collect our luggage and get the car. We took our time as we moved through the airport.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. I was, so we stopped at a restaurant in the airport and had a bite to eat.

“We should grab something for Raymond, too,” I said.

“He can eat later,” Oliver said. He squeezed my hand across the table, his eyes crinkling with affection. “I love that you’re so compassionate and caring. You’re the most thoughtful woman I’ve ever met.”

“He’s going to be hungry,” I pointed out.

“I’ve taken care of Raymond,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about him or about anything else now that we’re here in Paris. I want this week to be calm and relaxing for you. The only thing I want you to worry about,” he dropped his voice to a low rumble, “is how many orgasms your body can handle back to back.”

“Oliver!” I exclaimed, looking around to see who was in ear shot. Fortunately, there didn’t appear to be any other Americans around us that could have heard him. Still, I felt a blush rise in my cheeks.

“Becka!” he mimicked me, squeezing my hands and laughing. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you too, you goofball,” I said, rolling my eyes.

***

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 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 that 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.