Diana in Love (Dirty Diana #2)

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

At lunch the next day, L’Wren announces that she has decided to take our advice and surprise Kevin. “I’m taking my new Chanel bag on an impromptu trip to London! Not homework, right? But don’t have too much fun without me.” Shortly after she leaves, Alicia and I get on a Zoom call with Liam, who wants to show me a new Dirty Diana layout idea.

“This is just a beta version,” he tells us, sharing his screen.

“Okay, what am I looking at exactly?” I narrow my eyes and study the screen.

“Your work—each piece is featured here—and down below a button to click play.”

“Is it odd just to stare at one piece while we listen?” Alicia asks.

“That’s what I thought,” he says. “But I like that it’s lo fi.”

“Can it spin?”

“Have you ever visited a website?”

“I know but—what skills have we got?”

“We’ll find someone who knows Animator.”

“What’s that?”

“Not to worry, we got this,” Alicia says. “But how fancy?”

“I’m not sure. I have these four small sketches, which I plan to paint.” I run to get my sketchbook and show them what I’ve been drawing in Paris, still works in progress.

“Diana. Holy shit.” Liam approves.

“These are stunning.”

“Thanks, you two.”

“You’ll tell me which fantasy goes with which?”

I nod as Alicia asks, “Can we feature all of them?”

“Can they look like they are clipped to a bookstall?” I add. “Edges moving?”

“I like that idea,” Liam says.

“Like they’re for sale along the Seine,” murmurs Alicia.

—

In the early evening, Alicia and I decide to wander the city without a plan. We visit Bon Marché, riding the grand elevators and people watching. She catches me looking too often at my phone and I confess that Jasper had texted about a friend’s show and that it wasn’t far from where we were.

“Will Jasper be there?” she asks me.

My cheeks flush. “No. He’s in London.”

She looks at me, hardly blinking.

“Alicia, it’s his friend’s show.”

—

There are only a few other people in the art gallery, and the atmosphere is very friendly. We’re in two brightly lit rooms that had to be accessed through a loud brasserie, and the feeling is intimate.

I scan the small canvases in the front room. A woman comes from behind a desk to offer me a glass of wine and show me the paintings in the next room. How did I hear about the exhibit? I tell her that I know Jasper Green and that he had said not to miss it.

Alicia has struck up a conversation with a man named Paul who went to school in Greece and Argentina. They slip into fluent Spanish and then back to English.

Another man in a pale blue shirt approaches us. A little scar on his upper lip. “This is our artist, Frederic,” the woman says, and he, too, is happy to hear that I was sent by Jasper.

Frederic asks me what I’ve been doing in Paris, and when I describe my days, he seems unimpressed. Have I seen the Cal Tiezen exhibition around the corner? he wants to know; it’s a very tiny place, even smaller than this.

Overhearing this, another woman joins us and groans. “Not that shithead.”

“Yes, I know, Fidelle.” Frederic frowns. “Tiezen is very much not in fashion right now but the big canvases are so close, and the room is so tiny—it is worth seeing it while they are here.”

Now there are only a handful of us remaining in the gallery, and the attention turns to me and Alicia, the newest visitors to Paris. The group decides to take us for a drink nearby, to their new favorite spot.

We walk a few blocks to a small bar even though it’s begun to drizzle. It’s a narrow wood-paneled room with vinyl tables, ugly yellow lamps, and long white candles. A man brings around the house drink on a round tray, some sort of jellied liqueur with a dollop of cream.

Tinkling piano music starts up, and a rouged-cheeked, dark-haired woman is singing from one of the corners, and then she gathers force in her voice and really sings, wandering up to a small stool in front of the bar, a cigarette in her mouth.

“This is the most Parisian a night can get.” Alicia beams. But after our second round of drinks, she declares she’s beat and ready for bed. I should leave, too, but I feel a pull to stay as I am still wide awake. “See you back at the hotel?”

Fidelle and Paul and I coax the singer into a few more songs, which she obliges, smiling and clinking our short glasses, while Frederic is smoking, deep in conversation with the bartender. Behind me I hear the door scrape and suddenly there is Jasper. We all stand to greet him as he kisses Fidelle and shakes hands with Frederic and then he’s next to me.

“Found you,” he says, smiling, hands in his jeans pockets.

My heart is in my throat, my pulse pounding. Any pretending I’ve been doing that it’s okay if I don’t get to see him on this trip falls away. I’m exactly where I want to be, with exactly whom I want to be with. I break into a grin. “Found me. Having a night out in Paris.” I try to calm my sudden nerves, waving my hand around the small room and playing as if this is the most normal thing in the world, him and me, together at this bar. “I liked Frederic’s show very—”

He pulls me close and kisses my cheek. If I could wish for anything, I would stop time. Extend this moment so I can revel in it longer and revisit it years from now, still sharply in focus. The surprise of it all. The feel of his cheek against mine. The effortless stubble and tussled hair. His dimpled smile.

He takes me by the hand and leads me to the bar. We sit on two stools, our legs touching. His arm brushing against mine, both of us looking straight ahead, into the mirror behind the bar. “Good, right? Fred’s show?”

“Very.”

Jasper turns to me and exhales. “Diana in Paris…”

I shift my body to face his. “Now that you have me here…”

“I wish it weren’t so late already. I left my dinner early but you weren’t at the gallery. Then I tried the bar across the road. I wanted to surprise you.”

“You did.”

“Tell me. What have you seen so far?”

I pull a handful of postcards from my purse. “The Pompidou, the Arc de Triomphe, of course…” I can feel him looking at me. He takes one of the cards and asks the bartender for a pen. “I’ll write one for you. I think I can capture your voice.” He jots something on the card and slips it back into my purse. “I’m sure I’ll regret that later.” He grins. “What else can I show you?”

“Show me…anything new, I guess. New places and streets.”

“That is something I can do.” He lowers his voice. “God, I’m glad I found you.”

—

Jasper swings a bottle of champagne he took from the bar as we walk arm in arm through the narrow streets. Most businesses are shut up tightly for the night, but when we pass any place still open, Jasper buys me something new—an ice cream, a key chain, a peach-tinted lip balm, a lighter shaped like the Eiffel Tower—until my pockets are full of new trinkets. At one point, he stops suddenly in the middle of the road. He looks at me like he used to just before he took my picture. And then he goes silent.

My mind races. How many women has he dated since we were together? Does he often take them to Paris? Does he just want to fuck me? Does he want to marry me? What is his five-year plan? I can’t remember the last time I cared about any of these things.

I think of tense car rides to work with Oliver, bickering over something forgettable. Or the way one of us would fall into a familiar story, knowing the information felt stale and the other couldn’t care less. With Jasper, information is charged, every detail exciting. I want to know everything.

As a car approaches, I grab for his hand but he doesn’t move. “What if we tried again?” he asks me. “Do you think it’s possible?”

I don’t say anything. I don’t know. I take his other hand and this time he follows me onto the sidewalk.

“I’m so happy to see you here, Diana. You have no idea.” He closes the space between us.

As soon as his body touches mine, I’m twenty-six again. Carefree. I want to scream from the roof of my hotel, Yes! Let’s try again. Try even harder. Fuck all the heartbreak.

Without thinking, I pull him away from the streetlight and into the dark space between two buildings, a gap narrower than an alleyway. There is nothing timid about the way I kiss him, pressing him up against the brick wall, still wet with rain. His mouth meets mine with equal force. “Diana,” he says, then breaks away. He takes my face in his hands.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch a young couple hurry across the road. We’re just out of sight of everyone. Standing on my toes, I find his mouth again. He tastes like champagne and smells like the rain and we’re all over each other, hurriedly, like if we move too slowly the desire might evaporate. His hands on me feel familiar and foreign all at once. We can’t really be here, together, after so long. One of us must be dreaming. I press into him. Jasper lifts my skirt and I wrap my legs around him. My breathing quickens. I want him inside me so badly. I’ve lost control.

“Touch me,” I tell him. I lean into the wall for balance as he slides his hand between my legs. I want him to feel how excited I am. The sound of sirens in the distance. The lights of Paris above us. I feel dizzy from it all.

“Diana…I only want to be right here, with you.”

I unbutton Jasper’s jeans and take him in my hand, hard and throbbing. He moans as I glide his erection between my legs, moving back and forth until my body opens for him. He lifts me up and pushes deep inside me. My fingers are digging into his neck. I feel his open mouth on my bare shoulder.

He’s here. He’s where he should be. It’s all I can think. After all these years he feels the same. Strong and solid, gentle and assured. His breathing is ragged too. The sensation is sending us both over the edge. How could I ever have settled for less than this feeling? How could I have forgotten that he was made for me?

“Is this okay?” he asks.

I tighten my legs around him as we build a delicious rhythm. He pushes inside me so hard, moving in and out so slowly that unrecognizable sounds come from my mouth. A bliss I didn’t know I could feel.

We freeze when we hear footsteps nearby. I close my eyes and bite gently on his finger to quiet my heavy breathing. Jasper moves his body to shield mine. The footsteps pass.

“We should be in a bed,” he says.

“I couldn’t wait for a bed.”

He moves inside me and I feel him grow even harder.

“Tell me how much you missed it,” he says.

“I missed it,” I moan. “Jasper. I could stay like this forever.” I could. How different sex could be with Jasper. I couldn’t imagine dreading it, having to schedule it. All I want is for this feeling to last longer.

But for a moment, Jasper stops. He hitches me up higher on his hips and looks into my eyes. His hand, wet from pressing onto the rain-soaked wall, gently strokes my cheek. He feels it too. The intensity of being thrown back in time. Of remembering how good we can make each other feel. If we do this—if we keep going—neither of us can lie to ourselves anymore about what we’re missing when we’re apart.

“Jasper—”

The sound of a glass bottle being kicked down the street. A group of strangers laughing, their feet slapping the ground as they run. We could be caught at any moment.

“Please,” I tell him. “I need more.”

He smiles, his mouth on mine, kissing me hungrily as he pushes deeper into me. I arch my back so he can go farther. His breath against my neck. The feeling of his bare skin, of him moving inside me, faster and faster. There is no warning. An explosion of heat between my legs and he feels it too. My grip tightens on his shoulders. He kisses me as I cry out in pleasure and he comes with me.

—

We both are reeling as we walk back to my hotel. We stay quiet, silently marveling over what just happened, one of us stopping every few feet to kiss the other. It takes us fifteen minutes to walk the few short blocks back to the hotel.

At the hotel entrance he announces, “I’m walking you to the elevator.” We make it through the lobby doors, both still weak in the knees.

“What time am I picking you up tomorrow?”

“Jasper. Tomorrow’s our last day in Paris. We fly out on Saturday.”

“But what if you stayed? Just the weekend. I’m here until Monday.”

He tips my chin and kisses me gently. “I need more Diana in Paris. I have things to show you. Spend tomorrow with your friends and see them off, and then Saturday morning, you’re all mine, the entire weekend.” When I smile, he blushes. “Diana, you’ve seen everyone else’s favorite Paris but you haven’t seen mine.”

Yes. Yes, I will stay a few extra days in Paris. Yes, I will lie to Allen and tell him how close I am to getting Petra to keep her money with the firm. Yes, I will also lie to Oliver and tell him Petra’s schedule is impossible and our meeting got rescheduled and I’ll be home on Monday instead. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Jasper kisses me good night and fades away through the lobby’s revolving doors. Before I get into bed, I find the postcard he slipped into my purse and read his note:

To whom it may concern: I’ve extended my stay in Paris. Remember Jasper? Tallish. Massively charming. Great cock. Takes photos. He’s the reason. God, I love Paris. Diana x

—

I wake up to the sound of crying coming from the sitting room, the morning light bright and white across my bed. I hurry out of bed toward Alicia’s voice, soothing and calm. I find her comforting L’Wren, who is sitting on the couch in a sea of French drugstore beauty products.

“Oh no. What happened?” I join them, my hand touching L’Wren’s knee.

“Nothing. A big fat nothing happened.”

“Her night in London was a bust.”

“Kevin was on the phone the entire time. I took the first train back this morning and spent three thousand dollars on French drugstore products on my way back to the hotel. I don’t even know how I’m going to get them home.” She looks from one of us to the other, a cry hitching in her throat. “This one is really good for cellulite by the way.” She holds up a white-and-silver box.

“Did you tell Kevin how important this night was to you?”

“Yes. Between phone calls. At one point he told me to email his assistant next time I want to surprise him; he asked how I could be upset if this wasn’t on the schedule.”

“L’Wren. We gave you shaky advice—it was a lot of pressure to put on one night.”

“Oh please. It’s a symptom of a much bigger problem. A problem I’ve been too scared to face.”

“It’s time to call the veterinarian. I give you full permission.” Alicia holds her hand. “You really tried.”

L’Wren looks so vulnerable, like she’ll follow any orders she’s given. “But don’t I have to try like ten more times?”

“How long have you been trying before this night?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I stopped keeping track.”

“When was the last time you had sex?”

“Sex isn’t the problem with us. Kevin can’t seem to prioritize talking for longer than five minutes, but we know how to have good sex.”

L’Wren’s phone chimes on the table. “If it’s Kevin, I’m not responding.” When she looks at the screen, her whole face lights up. “Oh my god. It’s Miss Ginger. His office cat. Drinking from a water fountain.” L’Wren laughs into her tissue, then wipes her nose. “Arthur and I never run out of things to talk about. He’s genuinely interested when I talk.” She shows off all the recent cat pictures he’s sent.

“Okay, but for a minute let’s forget about Arthur,” I say. “Pretend he’s out of the picture. He doesn’t exist. How do you feel about Kevin? What would you miss?”

“Why are you so pro my marriage?”

“I’m not. I just…sometimes things you miss sneak up on you. So you have to throw it all in the mix, the good and the bad, and sort through. That’s what we’re here for. Use us.”

“Full disclosure,” Alicia admits. “I’m strong Team Adorable Vet at the moment.”

“You’ve never met Kevin.”

“I’m just saying, yes, let’s sort, for sure, but I’m feeling a strong bias. But yes, Diana’s right, let’s think about what you’d miss most.”

“Oh come on. If I say ‘money,’ you’ll both be turned off by me. But I like the money. We’d all be staying at a French Red Roof Inn right now if it wasn’t for Kevin.”

“I’m not judging. I appreciate this room and this robe very much. But what else?”

“It’s not just the money. It’s the ambition. His drive. I like his ambition and I’m completely repelled by it at the same time. That’s how fucked-up I am. He can’t win. So maybe this is my fault?”

“Don’t do that. He’s been neglectful and it hurts.”

“I just want to be in love again. I’ve made up too many excuses for Kevin. He’s never emotionally available. I want to feel excited to be near someone and feel like they don’t want to be anywhere else in the world either, except with me.”

Alicia grabs a fresh box of tissues from the bathroom and sits on the couch next to L’Wren, their knees touching. L’Wren leans into her. “You know, there is such a thing as too emotionally available. Sometimes I wish Nico would just leave his feelings at the door—I actually say that to myself in my head. He likes to have at least two check-ins every day. And by the way, ‘fine’ and ‘good’ are not feeling words, so there are no shortcuts.”

“That sounds kinda nice. Kevin is too checked out for a check-in. Meeting Arthur just brought it all to the surface. It’s like now I know what it’s supposed to feel like. The secret is out, you know? And I can’t imagine going back to how it felt with Kevin.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Honest answer? Run away with Arthur and move to a little island with him and Halston. You two could visit, of course. But the dreams I have about Arthur are so intense. Every time I think about him, I’m turned on. I’m not kidding, I would drink his bathwater. Every drop.”

“Hmm.” I can see Alicia trying to compute the urge without judgment. “Would you drink Kevin’s?”

L’Wren gives this serious thought. “He is very clean. So. Maybe I’d sip it.”

L’Wren’s shoulders dip and her head sinks between them. Alicia smooths her hair until she stops crying again. She really does get along with everyone, eventually.

“There is nothing worse than feeling lonely in a city where everyone around you is in love.” L’Wren groans into Alicia’s robe.

“I’m not in love,” I offer.

This gets a “ha” from them both.

“You are too.” L’Wren laughs. “You have so many feelings running through you right now you don’t know what to do with them.”

I sit on the floor at their feet and tell them about Jasper showing up at the bar last night.

“Dammit,” Alicia says, “I left too early. I knew he’d show up! Then what?”

I recount our stroll through the city and when I get to the part about the end of our walk, I pause.

“And?” Alicia asks.

And he kissed me on the cheek and we said good night… It would be so easy to end the story there.

“And I pulled him into a dark corner near the hotel and we had sex against a wall.”

For a moment, the room is quiet. L’Wren looks from Alicia to me and back to Alicia. “Is she telling the truth?”

Alicia laughs. “ Thank god I left when I did!”

“Diana!” L’Wren grabs my hand, and for a brief moment I worry a lecture is coming. “ This is what I mean—the way you feel right now. I want this. ”

Alicia and I hug L’Wren tight. “We’re going to figure it out,” I tell her. “You’re not in this alone.”

“Absolutely not alone,” Alicia agrees. “Just think, tonight we can crawl into bed and snuggle with your French beauty products. They might not even all fit in the bed.”

L’Wren laughs and blows her nose into a fresh tissue.

“But first, we’ll have our last day in Paris,” Alicia tells me. “Except for you. You should stay.”

“Neither of you will be upset if I change my ticket?”

L’Wren narrows her eyes. “As long as we can go somewhere really trendy for dinner tonight that doesn’t take reservations and we might have to wait forever.”

“Of course!”

—

For the rest of the day, Alicia and I do our best trying to cheer L’Wren up. We open every one of her beauty products and sample them on her. Then we wrestle them all into her luggage and go for an early dinner at an open-air kitchen inside the Marché des Enfants Rouge, which is every bit as packed as L’Wren predicted. And yet, she still somehow manages to get us three seats at the counter with no wait. The three of us sit in the giant market, nestled between a flower stall and a fishmonger, eating ceviche and drinking wine and none of us wanting to say goodbye.

Back in our room, I text Petra, to see if there really might be a chance of seeing her again. She responds right away to say that she is headed to Spain but that she can’t stop thinking about the website.

I poked around, through all the fantasies. You have something and I think I can help.

I make a plan to meet her when she’s back in Texas and then spend the next hour daydreaming about working with her—the idea is thrilling and maybe a little terrifying. I listen back to some of the interviews recorded over the last few months and sketch in my notebook until I fall asleep.

—

In the morning, we all wake up early. It’s time for the two of them to leave for the airport and I get a pit in my stomach, watching them pack the last of their things and missing our time together already. I kiss them both goodbye, taking in a gust of L’Wren’s perfumed air, and they are gone.

I check out of the hotel and take the metro to another part of town, quieter but still beautiful, where I have found a more affordable hotel. At the front desk, a stern-looking Frenchwoman in a paisley apron—seemingly annoyed at how early I’ve shown up—gives me a metal key with a number. I lug my suitcase up a narrow flight of stairs and hoist it onto the bed just as Jasper texts to say he’ll pick me up in an hour.

I unpack some of my things and then I take my pens and notebook to the window. The room is small, just big enough for a bed, a nightstand, and a wooden chair, which I pull up to the window’s ledge. I sketch the building across the way, and the young man in front of it, kicking the back wheel of his scooter and cursing in French. I’m still watching him when Jasper approaches, carrying a bouquet of bright pink peonies.

“Are those for me?” I call.

Jasper startles, then finds me in the window, both of us laughing. “Does that mean I’m invited up?”

At the top of the narrow stairway, he hands me the flowers and tells me he can’t come in or we’ll never leave the room. I tell him that’s fine, two of us might not fit in there anyhow.

To start, Jasper takes me to his favorite coffee spot in the third arrondissement, a café in an art gallery, with giant cloud-shaped light fixtures hanging from the ceiling and vintage camera gear for sale on the shelves.

“This looks like a place you’ve dreamt up.” I make a slow turn to study the black-and-white photographs that have been blown up and turned into wallpaper.

“Wait until you see our next spot.” He kisses me tenderly and, two coffees in hand, leads me back out the door.

For the next ten minutes we wind through a series of narrow streets, avoiding the crowds as we go. We come to an iron gate and just beyond it, a garden appears as if out of thin air. The sensation is like tripping on a gravel road only to land in a soft bed of feathers. We walk through the garden’s square, Jasper taking photos while I admire the climbing roses and overflowing flower beds. We sit on a stone bench and take in the peace and quiet.

“How did you find this place?”

“You don’t have to whisper.” He chuckles.

“That’s just my awestruck voice.” I smile. “It’s beautiful.”

We stay in the square for over an hour, sipping our coffee and sharing a banana cake, until the sun is high in the sky and both of us are flushed and sweaty.

“I don’t suppose you have a bathing suit in that purse?”

When I shake my head no, Jasper takes us to a tiny shop selling over-the-top resort wear. We pick out loud, flower-printed suits, and he directs us to the next surprise—a floating swimming pool on the Seine. The line is long and slow-moving, but neither of us minds. When we’re let in, Jasper dashes for the roof deck and secures two bright orange sun loungers. We immediately strip down to our bathing suits, both of us stealing glances at each other. I slip out of my sandals and the pool deck burns the bottoms of my feet as we pick our way through the crowd. Jasper jumps in and watches as I ease my torso into the cold water, then submerge myself completely. Underwater, I see Jasper’s legs, tanned and strong in his orange-flowered trunks. When I come up for air, he’s waiting for me. He pulls me into his arms and kisses me. We don’t say anything, just grin at each other, while all around us kids splash and moms scold and serious poolgoers attempt to do laps.

We swim to the edge and rest our elbows in front of us, legs kicking out behind as we watch a tour boat glide by on the river. Jasper’s knee brushes against mine and we move closer, desire so close to the surface for us both. We swim a few laps as if to burn off the tension. I’m aware of feeling too old for this life, too old to be so carefree. I thought it was too late for my world to expand, but now that it has, I only want it to expand further. I find Jasper’s hand and we float on our backs, squinting up at the sun in the cloudless sky.

—

With our fingers still pruned, we walk through aisles and aisles of vintage clothing at Jasper’s favorite outdoor flea market. I try on a vintage Chanel coat and Jasper buys more denim for his collection. He takes a picture of me sitting in a rattan rocking chair with big square glasses that remind me of my mother. I tell him about her love of rattan and her desperation to be famous as we sip on lemonade.

“Was it all bad?”

“Only sometimes.” I don’t want to ruin the mood. “Isn’t that everyone, though?”

Before we go back to my hotel, Jasper takes me to one more favorite spot, a speakeasy hidden behind a nondescript door I must have passed at least three times already. Inside the windowless bar, Jasper is greeted by name and we’re ushered to a booth in the back. Our waiter speaks in rapid French describing complex and well-designed drinks.

“What are you in the mood for?” Jasper asks.

Our waiter is so stern I can’t possibly utter the word margarita.

“Surprise me,” I tell him.

Jasper speaks intently to the waiter for another long moment. I recognize words like pisco and orange bitters and can hardly believe they are still talking about drinks. Twenty minutes later, I’m presented with a cloudy pink drink in a rocks glass with a papaya spear. It tastes sweet but also like chili pepper and licorice. After two drinks, we drift back to my hotel room so overcome by sun and liquor and the city that as soon as we lie on the small bed we drift off to sleep on top of the blanket, my head on Jasper’s chest.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he stirs and wakes me with a kiss. Our bodies find each other, and he enters me with ease. We stay in a dreamlike state as we make love, half asleep but acutely aware of how to please each other. The small bed creaks beneath us, and I realize our eyes are still closed. We’ve melted into each other, unable to stop. At one point I wonder if it’s really happening at all or if we’re in a delicious shared fantasy. When I come, a quiet wave rolls through me, a powerful quiver that starts in my chest and runs through my groin.

—

And then the light is coming through the windows, and Jasper apologizes; he has a meeting today that couldn’t be canceled. I should be disappointed, but I’m relieved to have the day to myself. He promises to text later with the plans for the evening party he must attend.

“Can’t wait.”

I watch from the bed as he pulls on his T-shirt. He leans over me and brushes the hair from my face. “You look so beautiful. You’re here…I’m just talking because I can’t take it in.”

I smile and kiss him goodbye. As soon as the door closes, so do my eyes. I fall into a deep sleep.

I wake up at noon and head out into the sunny street, blinking. I make my way across the road and stop at the newsagent for a Paris Match and an English paper.

I find a table on the terrace of a wide café near Les Halles. I sit under a canopy of leaves and pull out my newspaper. I order an omelet with a green salad and the waiter is kind and patient with my attempt at French. I try to focus on what I’m reading, but the cells in my skin are softly vibrating with the simple anticipation of seeing Jasper again. Of hearing his voice. My phone buzzes on the table.

There is a surprise for you back at your hotel.

Is it you?

No. I’m later. Meet at my hotel at 6? Then the party.

Perfect.

The surprise is only if you need something to wear of course. It’s black tie, at the Dial Building. Wait. Did I just ruin the surprise?

I smile and order another café noisette, which I drink while watching the terrace fill up. A man with a tiny dog is feeding crumbs to a pigeon right under the nose of the waiter, who looks irritated. I pull out a postcard for Emmy and sketch every detail for her. I pay the check and head down the block in no particular direction. Different objects fill my backdrop. A French advertisement, or the green neon cross of the pharmacy, everything is interesting, I’d like to understand everything—the pun in the perfume ad, the conversations in line behind me in the patisserie, the joke the shop clerk makes.

I make my way back to my hotel, where the lady in the paisley apron looks annoyed with me again, this time handing me a large garment bag. I thank her and carry it up the stairs, imagining Jasper and me at the party, the two of us together in a room full of strangers.

Back in the room, I unzip the bag to find three different dresses to choose from, all beautiful—one black and strapless, another metallic brocade, and my favorite one, a red silk dress with a high, delicate neckline. I toss the wardrobe bag onto the bed and notice something heavy at the bottom. It’s a white box tied with a green velvet ribbon. Inside are a pair of lacy black underwear and a sheer black bra, both more delicate than anything I’ve ever worn.

—

When I get to Jasper’s suite, the door is propped open. At first I worry I’ve entered another part of the hotel, not a private room, it’s so spacious. There’s a baby grand piano sparkling and untouched in a corner and a fully equipped bar. Speechless, I walk through to the bedroom. Jasper is propped up on the pillow already fully dressed in a black tuxedo, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his face sun-kissed from our afternoon at the pool. He scrabbles in the hotel quilt for a remote and half closes the curtains. He kisses my cheek and after we say hello I slip into the bathroom to fix my hair—it’s too much suddenly to be in the room with him. “Jasper,” I call through the open door. “Holy crap, this room.”

“I know. It was booked for me. It’s over-the-top and that’s the point, I think.”

When I enter the room again, he stands and walks toward me. He looks around, then reaches behind me and pulls an open bottle of champagne from its ice bucket. “It’s still cold. What do you think?”

“Why not?”

It feels familiar and new, his lips so full and soft against mine. My desire builds, quick and sharp—have I ever felt like this? I can’t possibly have ever felt like this and allowed myself to forget it. I am woozy and almost unsure where I am in the room. I back away and lean against the desk. It digs into my back.

Just then a bell rings.

“Thank god I ordered room service.” Jasper laughs and lurches toward the door.

I want to slide down onto the carpet, but I make my way toward the bathroom to look myself in the eye. I run the cold water over my fingers. I bend over the sink and hang my head between my arms.

Jasper raps on the door.

“Come in.”

“I brought you more champagne,” he says. When I turn to face him, he fingers the strap of my dress, feeling my new lingerie underneath. He lifts the hem of my dress, his fingers on the soft flesh of my thigh, stroking me. With his other hand, he sets the glass on the marble sink, then holds my chin. He locks eyes with me in the mirror. He gently rocks against me. He unfastens my stockings, then fingers the edges of my underwear, tugging them off and dropping them to the floor. He leans against me and closes his eyes. I can feel his heartbeat. “I don’t know if you’ll want a bite beforehand, but there’s some fruit and cheese and some sandwiches.” His fingers are light against my skin, his breath on my neck. “Sparkling water.” He slips both dress straps from my shoulders, then the straps of my bustier, exposing my nipples. “Oh. Hello.” He puts his hand over one of my breasts, his mouth over mine.

I would do anything for more of his breath on my skin, but I feel I shouldn’t move—his movements are hypnotizing us both, light and perfect. Rhythmic. He is looking down at my nipple, rolls his thumb softly around it, then he leans down again. “Okay?” he whispers, kissing me lightly on the shoulder, meeting my eye.

“Yes,” I manage to say.

He smiles and holds my gaze.

“Maybe you should go without this,” he says flatly, unclasping the bra, pulling it up over my head and tossing it on the tiled floor, “and these…”—he kicks my underwear aside—“we can come back for them later.” He pulls the straps of my dress back over my shoulders, my bare nipples erect against the silk.

He turns me around to face the mirror and grins at our reflection. “Ready when you are.”

—

The party is filled with pretty people in evening clothes. A woman with a necklace hanging backward down her long, tanned back. A man in tails smoking a long, thin cigar. We slide under the twinkling pendants and through a crush of dark-suited men into a long side room with doors open to a terrace. Who are these fine people? I wonder giddily, not wanting to talk to any of them except for Jasper. Women of all ages wear heavy makeup in unusual colors, white paint on their eyelids and dark lips, or fully glittered creams applied up to and across their eyebrows. It’s either beautiful or garish, depending on the face, but the overall effect makes this feel more like a masquerade ball than a cocktail party.

The musicians have set up in the middle of the large ceilinged entrance, with terrible acoustics, and so the music floats thinly throughout the party. I’m aware only gradually of Jasper moving us through tightly knotted groups, like bees moving flower to flower, every conversation flowing out of some center I can never find. “This is so I remember to pin down Charlie and force him to tell us what happened to Elvina—” some woman is saying to Jasper. I catch little more than a sentence’s worth of any conversation, before the rest is carried off by pure atmosphere, the ambience so thick I doubt anyone is listening to anyone.

We’re only halfway up the massive marble staircase that arcs across the center of the room before the champagne starts to get to me. My limbs are made of crumbling powder, and my feet are throbbing. I excuse myself and make my way easily back down—more than half the conversations are in English, but nobody knows me to stop and talk—and I slip outside into the courtyard. My armpits are hot, my neck is hot. I’m thinking only of taking a stroll along the stone balusters, trying to slow my breath. I take in deep gulps of air and still I feel strange and out of control. It’s its own climate out here, so dense with greenery, the fragrance completely floral. When I pass a man and a woman smoking and talking near a large flowering plant, she glances up at me. It’s too much, even her looking at me, so I pretend to answer a call.

“It’s me,” I say, some new flame crackling through my voice. I duck my head as a warm gust of air stirs the leaves. “I’m here in the gardens.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I clutch the dead phone to the side of my face and sway, looking at the moon. I could have called Alicia, or L’Wren, but I don’t want to be in conversation with anyone, I just want to stare up at the dark purple sky.

I make my way back inside and stand in a clutch of people near the entrance. From there I watch Jasper deep in conversation with someone new. He is electrically present when he looks at you, as if there is nothing and no one in the world as important as you and this conversation. The world around both of you could fall away and it wouldn’t distract him. Even now he’s up on his toes, just slightly, flexing his fingers, then contracting them into claws circling his hands at the wrist. He catches me staring and smiles. Within seconds, he’s back at my side. “One more lap,” he says. We make our way quickly through each room of the party before slipping out the door, into his car, and back to the hotel.

—

“What are you doing?” he says with a familiar smile.

“What do you mean?” I ask innocently. Then I slip my dress off and let it fall to the floor, beside my discarded lingerie. Jasper’s eyes ignite with a fire, and the space between us turns thick with desire. He leans back against the bathroom vanity, sipping on his drink.

“A bath can just be a bath,” he offers.

“True. We don’t need to have sex,” I answer as I lower myself into the hot water.

“No, we don’t need to,” he says with almost no emotion at all.

In response to the challenge, I lift my breasts just above the waterline, my nipples already erect. Jasper smiles and takes a long sip of his drink. “Jesus…” His voice is breathy, his eyes not leaving mine, his hand slowly drifting to his pants button.

I trace my fingers along my breast and then down my stomach until they disappear beneath the water. “But I don’t want this bath to just be a bath.” I tip my head back, the warm water in my hair. I could live here now. In this hotel room with Jasper. “Jasper. We could never leave.” My entire life disappears as our eyes fix on each other, a pull so strong it has lasted over a decade.

“I can stay in my corner,” he says softly. “I’m happy to just watch.”

I lift a wet arm out of the tub and beckon him close. He comes near and I sit up, unbuttoning his pants. I hear the intake of breath as I take his erection in my hand. The sound makes us both smile. I stroke him gently and he bites down on his lip. “You could stay in the corner,” I tease. I release him and lower myself into the bath, submerging my entire body. When I emerge, Jasper is holding his thick cock in his hand. Still. Waiting for me to give him permission.

I turn the faucet on and switch to the handheld spray. Then I grab hold of the side of the bath and lift my hips out of the water, pointing the rushing water between my legs, already so full with want. “It feels good.” I sigh. The combination of the pressure of the water and Jasper’s eyes on me electrifies every inch of my body.

I close my eyes and move the showerhead closer. My nipples tingle. The warm sensation between my legs spreads through me. Jasper is stroking himself now, long and slow. My need for him is almost too much to bear. I need to be filled. I want him everywhere.

“I need you,” I whisper.

Jasper strips off his clothes, then steps inside the bath. The water rises as he sits, creating a wave that nearly spills onto the floor. I turn off the sprayer and he pulls me to him, my back against his naked stomach, his erection pulsing against my skin. He kisses my neck. Our shoulders heave at the same time, our breath ragged. Then he tips my head all the way back so he can kiss me deeply, his tongue inside my mouth, his lips hot on mine. His stubble stings my cheek. I let his hands travel up to my breasts and he takes them in his hands, massaging my aching nipples. I reach my hand under the water, between his legs, and play with the head of his cock, circling it with my fingers in teasing strokes. He moans into my neck, low and guttural. And then he takes my wrist in his hand, stopping me.

“Tell me you’re mine tonight,” he says. The intensity of his voice, as if he could devour me whole, makes me quiver. Instead of answering him, I show him by tipping back to kiss him again, teasing my tongue across his lips, against his teeth, and then plunging it into his mouth.

I come up for air. “Tonight I’m yours. My body is yours.” Now I grab his hand, the one holding my wrist beneath the water. I move it between my legs, spreading them completely. His breath is heavy and deep, almost a pant. He reaches behind us and turns the tap back on, grabbing for the sprayer. He lifts my hips above the water, placing the sprayer between my legs with one hand. With the other hand, he rubs the warmest part of me, slipping a finger inside me and massaging my g-spot in small concentric circles.

I let out a low, breathy moan and arch my back higher to give him more access. “Deeper,” I beg.

Jasper pushes a second finger deeper inside me, moving in a steady rhythm. My hips rock back and forth above the waterline, my thighs tightening around his hand. The pleasure is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before—the movement of his fingers as the shower’s spray vibrates against me. Jasper is breathing hard into my neck, biting my ear, growing harder and harder against my back.

“Another,” I urge him until he opens me wide enough to have three fingers inside. I feel the walls of my vagina pulse against his fingers as he thrusts in and out and my body starts to tense. I’m heading toward my edge, my stomach tight, my hips buckling under the pressure of his touch. The bath is cooler now, the motion of Jasper’s fingers thrusting inside me creating small waves that crash over my breasts.

“I’m going to come.” It echoes through the marble bathroom, and just saying it out loud gives my body permission. The floodgates open, but before I completely give over, Jasper slips his fingers out ofme.

“Wait. I want you to come on top of me. All over me. I want to see you.”

Hearing the words coming out of his mouth makes my orgasm build faster. “Hurry.”

He quickly gets out of the tub and lies down on the marble floor; I quickly follow. I straddle his upper torso and lift my hips toward his face. I can’t move fast enough. My orgasm is impossible to slow down, so I spread myself open, inches away from his mouth, and move my fingers in and out. I cannot stop. The pleasure is so intense and fast-moving that I’m no longer in control.

“Come all over me. I want to see it.”

“Put your fingers back inside me.”

Fuck, it’s so good. I keep moving against his fingers until I feel an intense rush. I am coming. For a moment there’s a relief but before I can catch my breath the pressure builds again, even stronger. I cry out for a release.

“Oh god.” At the sound of his voice, I come again onto Jasper’s chest. He opens his mouth and pulls me to it, hoping to tasteme.

“It’s so fucking good,” he moans between my thighs.

As he sucks on me, the pressure builds again—this time my toes curl as the orgasm rolls through me harder and harder until I explode, every nerve on fire with ecstasy. I break all at once.

“Fuck…fuck…” Jasper says as his body tightens from his own orgasm. He pulls me to his chest and comes onto my stomach. He shudders against me. We are both completely spent.

I slide off him, lying beside him, trying to cool off and catch my breath, my legs quivering.

“You’re a fucking goddess. Promise me you’ll do that every day we’re together. I’m serious. Promise me.”

“I don’t know if I can ever do that again. It’s the first time it’s happened to me.” I laugh, still in disbelief that my body reacted the way it did.

“Good. Don’t do it with anyone else.”

“I won’t. Just you.” My eyelids feel suddenly very heavy and I let them close, trying to quiet the small part of me that has already started to think about making the trip home.