It’s Saturday night, three a.m. Rather, it’s Sunday morning.

Conlon has just left my place. He’s beginning to remind me of Cinderella, the way he disappears at the wee small hours of the night, like he’ll turn into a pumpkin if he stays.

But I’m not complaining.

I’ve now been in Paris for almost two weeks, and I’ve seen him every day since my arrival. Every day he’s come to me somewhere, taken me out, brought me home to bed. Together we’ve wandered through the Pantheon, the Musée d’Orsay, the Picasso museum. He’s taken me clothes shopping in the Opera district.

In all that time, I’ve never once been to his place, and he’s never spent a full night with me. He’s come close, but never does he allow himself to fully commit to sleep when we’re together; ironically, he hasn’t really slept with me since that first night on the plane.

We haven’t discussed a future together. Instead, we’ve learned to live in the present.

It’s hard for me, of course. Every day I work at reminding myself that if this is all we’ll ever have together, it’s enough. The truth is, I’m happy. My confusion is gone, and I know what I want. I want Conlon for as long as I can have him. And to his credit, he’s given himself to me as much as I could have hoped for.

Today is the day when we’re supposed to head to Versailles. He said he’s going to swing by and pick me up at noon, and he says he has a surprise in store for me when we get there.

“Wear a dress,” he insisted. “Something loose-fitting. No bra, if you can possibly muster it.”

The very words made me horny as hell. He wants to have easy access to me in Versailles, one of the most crowded tourist sights in all of France. What on earth can he have planned for us?

As I drift off, my mind races with possibilities.

* * *

When I wake up at ten, I throw on a light blue cotton dress with a fitted waist and a built-in halter bra to support the girls. The skirt’s full and gathered, a sort of 1950s style with multiple layers. Easy access, but still a little bit of a tease.

As I pick out a pair of new Parisian panties I decide not to wear them, instead tossing them into the bottom of my purse just in case I decide I need them later. Today’s the day to go commando.

Conlon is right on time, standing in front of my building at precisely noon, and I’m showered, fed and raring to go.

“You look good enough to eat,” he says, kissing me on the cheek. “I didn’t want to come up because I was a little worried that we’d never leave.”

“Smart thinking.”

He takes me over the the Saint Michel metro station, where he hands me a pre-purchased ticket.

“This train is special,” he tells me. “I could’ve had a car drive us, but I wanted you to have the full Versailles experience. You’ll see what I mean in a minute.”

When the train pulls up we hop on, and immediately I understand. The walls and ceiling are covered in images from Versailles: topiaries cut to look like orbs standing on stalks. The ceiling is lined with ivy trailing along a long trestle. Statues of ornate vases, naked men and ladies greet my eyes as I peer at the spaces between seats.

More Parisian magic.

“This is amazing,” I say, reaching for the seat in front of us as I turn and take in every inch of the car’s interior. We’ve got the whole thing to ourselves, which seems a little odd, but I suppose all the tourists have already made their way to the chateau.

“I thought you’d like it,” Conlon replies, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me to him. “There’s more, of course.”

“Of course. I was looking Versailles up—the gardens are enormous,” I reply. “Everything there is enormous.”

“Yes, it’s true; there’s a lot of walking to do. There are a few bits I’d really like to show you, so I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes.”

Fortunately I am; I threw on some comfy flats for the day.

We arrive about half an hour later, after spending a frustrated few minutes with our hands all over one another. That’s one thing about having a finite love affair; there’s no tiring of arousing each other. I’m in a constant state of flux between wanting to have sex with Conlon and having just finished having sex with Conlon. If I were to count, I’d estimate that we’ve now made love upwards of forty times in just under two weeks. Don’t ask me how my lady bits are managing to hold up, but they are.

The palace itself is a bit of a walk from the train, and Conlon holds my hand as we make our way towards its gates. He’s wearing a well-fitting t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans that hug his body in all the right ways. I realize as we walk that I’m standing up straighter than I used to, looking around at the tourists wandering about as though to say, “Do you see my guy? He’s the most gorgeous man on the planet. And yes, we’re totally doing it.”

Okay, that’s a little superficial. The truth is that most of my emotional energy is focused on the fact that the feeling of happiness that hit me days ago hasn’t deserted me yet. I’m still in that amazing mindset, still ecstatic that this is my temporary life. No, I haven’t done a lot of writing, either of the book that I set out to write or of Conlon’s memoir. But damn, the research has been a hell of a lot of fun.

Today is research, too, at least in a way. I figure that Versailles is at the top of the list for romantic places to see with a lover, just below the Eiffel Tower, which I’ve promised myself I’ll only see with Conlon. We still have time, after all.

As we head towards the palace, I expect to be surrounded by throngs of tourists. But instead of increasing in number, they actually seem to be disappearing. A few are leaving, but none whatsoever are heading in the same direction as we are.

“Are you sure it’s still open?” I ask, turning to Conlon, a sense of disappointment almost quashing my joy.

“It’s open, at least to us,” he assures me, but he doesn’t expand on his odd wording.

A black and gold iron fence stands before us, but its gate is open. As we walk through, a man in some sort of military-looking uniform closes it behind us.

Ahead is the palace, a beautiful building made of limestone interspersed with tall, arching windows and decorated in lavish stone carvings befitting royalty. The Louvre was once a palace, too, but it’s understated in contrast to the gold highlights that adorn this place.

“I guess everyone’s inside,” I say as Conlon glances at his watch.

“One p.m.,” he says. “Perfect.” Again, he fails to expand on the thought. Instead, he puts an arm around my waist and leads me inside. As we walk through a large set of doors, a man nods at him.

“Monsieur Davies, Mademoiselle Stevenson,” he says, “Bienvenue.”

“Merci,” replies Conlon.

Okay, what the hell is going on?

Not another soul is in the place, and Conlon slowly starts walking through as if there’s nothing strange about this at all.

“What did you do?” I ask quietly.

“Me? I didn’t do anything,” he replies, trying to throw me that innocent expression that he’s so bad at.

“No? So where are all the people?”

“I guess they got bored and left.”

“Pfft. You lie.”

We walk through the galleries, looking at paintings and suits of armour, taking our time as we slip through the bedrooms of kings, queens and duchesses. Never once does Conlon explain what’s happened, or why we seem to have the entire palace of Versailles to ourselves.

After a while he turns to me. “This place is nice,” he says, “but it’s the gardens that I really love. Shall we?”

I nod, still wondering what he’s up to, and he guides me outside.

I’ve seen photos of the gardens before, but nothing quite prepared me for them. A perfectly manicured vista unfolds before us as we step outside; trees trimmed like a series of identical upside-down cones. Statues that look like they were just crafted by Michelangelo yesterday.

In the far distance a long, rectangular pool of water awaits us.

“Let’s head towards the lake,” says Conlon, taking my hand once again. As we walk, he begins to talk.

“When I was a child my parents saved up for a few years and brought us to France,” he tells me. “We came to Versailles, which is paradise for young boys. Galen and I ran about these gardens, joking with one another about how one day we’d be rich and own a place like this.”

“Okay, Conlon,” I chuckle, “you’re not telling me you’ve somehow bought fucking Versailles.”

“Oh, hell no. It’s not for sale. I did, however, manage to buy a day and a night at Versailles for myself and a special guest. They’re renovating a wing and I thought they might like a little contribution to the project.”

“Oh my God. How much did that cost?”

Conlon stops in his tracks and turns my way. “That’s not important,” he says, cupping my cheeks in his hands and kissing me gently. “Nothing is important today except for you and me.”

My heart grows four sizes with those words of his. It was already threatening to explode out of my chest, but now it’s throbbing, reminding me how much I’ve grown to adore this man.

He guides me towards the lake, our pace slow, relaxed as we enjoy the sensation of one another’s touch. This day is perfect already, and it’s really just begun.

Before we get to our destination though, Conlon takes my hand and guides me to the right, into a sort of high-walled hedge maze. “I want to show you something,” he says. “This was our favourite bit.”

We walk down a long, pebbled pathway, green walls surrounding us on either side, before Conlon turns us to the right again, then the left, guiding me to a sort of hidden dead end.

I look around, marvelling at how much work must go into maintaining these perfectly groomed, massive hedges.

“It’s so beautiful,” I say, turning around slowly.

“Yes, it is.”

He’s backed away and when I turn to him I see that he’s staring at me, that gorgeous hungry look set into his eyes. He licks and bites his lower lip slowly before stepping towards me. Without a word he pulls my dress’s straps down, exposing my breasts to the warmth of the summer sun.

He slips onto his knees despite the pebbles underfoot, greedily ensnaring a nipple between his lips. I let out a sigh loud enough to frighten a flock of birds into flight.

Conlon’s left hand slips down, pushing my skirt upwards, and finds my naked sex. He lets out a moan that tells me that he’s very pleased at my lack of panties.

“Adriana,” he says, pulling away from my breast long enough to look up at my face. “How did you end up so perfect?”

“Genetics,” I tell him.

Playfully he pulls my skirt over his head and presses his lips into my pussy, his tongue seeking out the magical spot as his hands grasp my ass. I part my legs, pulling my feet apart to give him access, and wonder what the chances are of someone coming around the corner to see me standing with my tits out, a man’s face shoved into my naughty bits.

Then again, I’d be fine with it. Legend has it that King Louis was pretty promiscuous; he had sex with all sorts of women, probably in this very place. We’re only abiding by royal tradition.

“Conlon,” I moan, turning to look about, “there’s a stone bench behind me.”

“Yes, there is,” he replies between licks.

I pull away and flit over to it, parting my legs and pulling my dress up to my waist to show him my very aroused pussy. And he’s on his knees again, lapping at me even as he pulls at the button on his jeans and splits them open.

A moment later he’s deep inside me, my back pressed against the beautiful cold surface of the bench. Conlon’s mouth is on mine, seeking my tongue, devouring me, wanting me, needing me as much as I need him.

A shudder of sadness overtakes me, but only for a second. Sadness that this second in time will never repeat itself. That this splendid feeling will wane. It’s the first time in a long time that it’s hit me: Conlon and I will have to say good-bye, and soon.

No. I will not feel sad for something that hasn’t occurred yet. I will embrace the sensation of perfection that this day is giving me. I wrap my arms around him and pull his broad chest into mine as he thrusts deep inside me over and over again, his breath hard in my ear.

“I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to go back to New York.” I mouth the words silently, afraid to say them out loud. Afraid of what it would do to our remaining days. But I needed to say it, somehow. I needed to let the words free.

He explodes inside me, his cock pulsing hot seed into my core, and his rigid body relaxes onto mine. His lips are on my neck, kissing me gently.

“You didn’t come,” he says quietly. It’s true; it’s the first time we’ve made love and I haven’t.

“It’s okay,” I tell him. “I’m sure I can count on you to have another go later.”

He pushes himself up on his muscular arms and smiles down at me, his dark hair framing his gorgeous face so that he looks funnily young and innocent. “Count on it,” he says. “I want to have you in every corner of this place. We have hours here yet.”

“Good,” I reply. It’s all I can muster. I want to say so much more, but I know it would be a terrible idea. I know it would complicate things, and no doubt ruin this spectacular day of ours.

We lie on that bench for several minutes before he rises to his feet, pulling his pants back up. I reach for my purse and extract the pair of clean panties, pulling them on.

“Clever minx, flying free like that,” he says admiringly. “I’ve never been so fucking aroused in all my life.”

“Me neither,” I confess.

We spend the next few hours wandering. Conlon takes me rowing in a white wooden boat on the lake in the late afternoon, before guiding me to a large open area near the castle itself. There, someone has miraculously set up a small table, complete with white tablecloth and candlelight meal of trout and some mysterious pasta dish, as well as a bottle of expensive-looking champagne. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was about to propose to me.

In the near distance, the moon reflects in a still pool, which springs to life as we’re sitting there. One of Versailles’ many fountains, turned on for our pleasure.

“What’s all this?” I ask.

“Just a little something I whipped up,” he replies. “Nothing special.”

“Nothing special?”

“Nothing like as special as you.” He takes my hand and pulls it to his lips. “There’s more,” he adds. “I should probably tell you that we’ll be sleeping in the King’s bed tonight.”

“Really?” I ask, baffled.

He nods. “Paid a little extra for that. Technically, they’re not using his mattress. It’s pretty old. Still…”

I laugh. “You’re spoiling me. Ruining me. You realize this has already been the greatest day of my entire life.” Then it hits me. “Does this actually mean you’re not going to get up and leave me at three in the morning?”

He nods his head, his eyes locked on mine. “I won’t leave. I promise.”

Overhead, fireworks explode in a massive display of colour and splendour, almost like they were timed to coincide with those words from Conlon’s lips. I want to look up, to take the sight in. But it’s this sight, the one of the man I adore, that I want to remember in ten, twenty years. His gorgeous face, smiling at me.

In this moment, Conlon looks as happy as I feel.