Before I knew it, exams were over, and I’d completed my first year of University. I’m pretty sure I slept for about a week straight after my last exam, I couldn’t understand how people who did all three semesters a year did it. I was mentally and physically drained, and needed some time to recuperate.
Afterwards, however, I found I had a lot of time on my hands. I was actually tempted to get a job for a while, just to have something to do during the day, but I handed my resume around at a few places and got no bites – I suppose everyone else at Oxford had the same idea – so I quickly gave up on that plan.
Instead I spent my days online, checking Instagram and Facebook, reading about all the world events I’d missed during the month or so that I did nothing except eat, sleep and study, and all that sort of thing. I went out and rode Perdita a few times. There was a stablehand who came by every day employed by John who would saddle her up for me, and he promised to show me how to do it myself one day.
I also started spending more time with my mom. We’d go shopping in London, or just out for lunch, or to get a coffee. I wanted to make sure she was ok. I knew that Jack was telling the truth, and unfortunately, reading about domestic abusers online, I also knew that the odds he would do the same thing with his second wife as he had with his first were pretty good.
“Mom, there’s something I have to tell you,” I told her early on, just after exams had ended. I still hadn’t admitted to her that Jack and I were dating, I was pretty worried about her reaction. Most of our friends knew, now, and while Jack had severed relationships with a couple over their reaction, my two friends were fine.
“What’s that, sweetie?”
“Jack and I… well, we’re dating,” I told her. There. I had just said it. No beating around the bush, no hints, nothing.
“You’re dating? Like, a couple?”
I nodded. “Yeah. We have been for a little while now. We’re pretty happy, actually.”
“Well. I’m not sure I approve, Julianne.” My mom’s lips pursed together. “After all, I’m married to your father. I know you’re not related by blood, but you are related by marriage.”
“I know, you think it’s wrong. Can’t you just be happy for me?”
“I am happy for you sweetie, I just think you should reconsider. People will talk, you know.”
“I know. We know. We’re ok with that.”
“Well, if you’re ok with it, then I won’t stand in your way.”
“Thanks, mom.”
* * *
We continued our little chats, our talks, our coffees, but I noticed that my mom purposefully never brought up the topic of my boyfriend, of Jack. I knew that she wouldn’t say anything, but she didn’t really approve.
A part of me wondered if she was right. People would talk. I hoped that when the next semester started and people found out, it wouldn’t be too bad, but I didn’t care. I was in love.
And the love of my life was about to take me somewhere special.
Jack told me one morning in August he was going to surprise me. I was ordered to bring my passport and my purse, and that was it.
He came to pick me up in the Lambo at the very early hour of 7am, and I knew we were doing something special. Jack was never up before ten if he could avoid it, and I always made it a rule never to call him before 11, just in case. It was a Friday, and we drove through the London traffic, parking in a private garage near St Pancras station.
The next thing I knew we were lining up for the train, getting into our first class seats.
“Where are we going?” I asked, but I was pretty sure I already knew the answer, given the big Eurostar logo on the side of the train.
“To a city far more romantic than London. Don’t worry, I’ll have you back home before your bedtime.”
For two and a half hours Jack and I talked, our hands intertwined as we looked out at first the English countryside, then the darkness of the chunnel, then I got my first ever look at France. It was similar to England, but different somehow at the same time. The style of the homes were different, the terrain was flatter, it wasn’t quite as rolling, and it seemed older. Like people had been living here for a lot longer, like the buildings had a lot more to say, like the earth had held a lot more people on it.
We passed through the odd town, but slowly everything got more and more developed, until we sped into Paris.
I had purposefully skipped breakfast on the train, and seeing as it was only 10am, there was still plenty of time to eat in this city known for its food.
“Should we stop somewhere for breakfast?” I asked Jack, and he nodded.
“Yeah. We just have to take another couple of trains and then we’ll find somewhere.”
I followed Jack as we went from Gare du Nord to Louvre, taking one RER train and one metro. I didn’t pay total attention to which stations exactly, but I grew up in New York. If I could read the subway maps there, I knew I’d have no problem in Paris if I needed to.
As soon as we stepped out of the station Jack led me a few blocks away from the giant glass pyramid, and found us a cute little boulangerie, where we ordered chocolate croissants to have for breakfast.
It was hands down the greatest thing I’d ever eaten.
“We’re definitely coming back here before we go so I can stock up on these,” I declared as I savoured another bite of the melt-in-your-mouth pastry. “I can’t believe I lived so close to these things this whole time in London and have never tried one.”
Jack laughed. “Yeah, if there’s one thing the French kick our ass at, it’s cooking. And especially pastry. Whenever I come back from Paris I take one look at neenish tarts and just go “ugh, really?””
With breakfast finished, we walked hand in hand back towards the glass pyramid. The lineup was already getting pretty long, but instead of joining it, Jack led me down a set of stairs into an underground shopping mall with a food court, where we joined another, much smaller line to enter.
“This is the secret lineup most tourists either don’t know about or don’t care to find,” he told me as I put my purse through the X-ray scanner. We bought our tickets, got a map of the museum, and the next thing I knew I was in the most famous museum in the world with the best man in the world.
Jack was happy to let me lead the way.
“You know a lot more about this stuff than I do,” he told me, handing me the map. “We’re not going to get to see everything in one day, believe me. I’d just pick a wing or two for now, and then we’ll grab lunch and go up the Eiffel Tower this afternoon.”
“You’re amazing,” I replied, planting a soft kiss on Jack’s lips.
“You’re pretty good yourself,” he replied.
For two hours we went through the Italian section of the Louvre. I explained the differences between pre-Renaissance and Renaissance painting, while Jack dutifully listened. Whether or not he was just pretending to be interested I don’t think I’ll ever know, but I liked that he did at least pretend.
The highlight, of course, was the Mona Lisa. Barely more than a foot high, it’s definitely not the huge painting many people imagine. Jack pushed through the throng of people, guiding me towards the front of the groups of hundreds of people, all trying to get a glimpse of the painting that once hung on the walls of Louis XVII. With his muscles and tattoos, people always moved out of the way for him.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” I whispered, and I could feel Jack nodding as he wrapped his arms around my waist.
“It sure is. She has a pretty ethereal look about her.”
When I finally couldn’t take it anymore – my feet needed a break, and my stomach was starting to rumble – we left the Louvre. Wandering through the streets of Paris, we ended up finding a little out-of-the-way bistro filled with a number of office workers on their lunch break, and figured that was a good bet.
It turned out the expensive private school education worked out pretty well for Jack, who was able to order us lunch in – what sounded to my inexperienced ear – perfectly fluent French. We were motioned to a table in the corner by the window, which was perfect, and a few minutes later the most succulent chicken dish with gratin vegetables was brought out to us, and I was pretty sure I could live in this city for the rest of my life.
With lunch finished we took yet another train, crossing the Seine and getting on the C line of the RER before ending in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.
“Stairs, or elevator?” Jack asked.
“Are you kidding? Elevator.”
“I only ask because the line for the stairs is always about a quarter as long,” Jack told me with a grin. I struggled. I hated waiting for things, impatience, especially in lines, was one of my weaknesses.
“Fine, stairs it is,” I replied. I needed to work off those croissants and chicken anyway.
Funnily enough, the 700 steps weren’t nearly as bad as I thought they were. By the time we got up to the second floor I was barely breathing heavily, and any discomfort I felt was immediately gone when I saw the view.
The stairs took us progressively higher, to the first floor, then the second, and then there was an elevator to go all the way to the top.
Jack and I didn’t dawdle on the lower floors, and quickly lined up for the elevator. The line moved pretty quickly, and only a couple minutes later we were being whisked up hundreds of feet above Paris.
If I thought the view from the lower floors blew me away, I had no idea what was waiting up top. It felt like we could see for miles. Cars looked like toys, the people milling around in the Champs de Mars gardens in front of the tower looked like ants.
Jack came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me as we looked down at the city.
“It’s gorgeous,” I told him, leaning back against his chest. I could feel his hard pecs against the back of my head, and closed my eyes, inhaling his scent. God, I loved this man.
“Certainly is. If I’m honest, I prefer Paris to London. The people here know how to live. They have the joie de vivre as they say here.”
“I can see that, yeah. It’s really nice, for sure.”
We stayed like that, Jack holding me in his arms, I’m not sure how long for. Time had no meaning, standing up there at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Nothing else mattered, except the two of us.
After the most romantic early dinner I’d ever had, we had to get back to the train station to catch the last Eurostar back to London. I made sure to stop by another boulangerie on the way back, where Jack bought me a whole box of croissants of different flavours to take home and enjoy for breakfast over the next couple of weeks.”
“I promise I’ll bring you back here sometime soon, and we’ll stay the night,” Jack told me as we settled into our seats on the train.
“That’d be nice. Thanks for today. It was amazing. Best day of my life,” I told him, and I meant it. No one had ever taken me to Paris before, even just for the day, and it had been incredible. I couldn’t wait to go back, and I wanted to go back with Jack.
When we got back to London there was no way I wasn’t spending the night with my boyfriend. We went back to Jack’s apartment, where a little bit of kissing quickly turned into a lot more. After all, isn’t Paris known as the city of love?