66. Chapter 66 Margot
Chapter sixty-six
For weeks, my shadow has followed me around, navigating Paris as well as I do, a reminder of how much time he and Ledger spent fucking around Europe.
A carousel of pictures flashes through my head, the memory of seeing them for the first time clear as day.
I eventually stopped crying every time my brother would post a picture boasting the beautiful women he and Jack were always around, but it never stopped hurting. It still hurts now. Everything hurts.
I didn’t just lose one man. I inadvertently lost both Jacks in my life, and the hole left behind is twofold as well.
Every day, my will to keep him at a distance wavers, my traitorous body coveting his touch.
My traitorous heart longs for its mate. I’ve tried to deter him, but nothing I do seems to even slow him down.
Not until tonight. I know he’s been watching.
I’ve felt his eyes on me all night, and I can feel them now, as Michel leads me from the car to my apartment.
Tonight isn’t purely to shake my stalker.
It’s in part for my own benefit. I held off for a while after returning to Paris before running back into the arms of my old friend and lover.
Even now, I have to convince myself this isn’t cheating, but I have to fill this void.
And a sexy Frenchman I know will be a good, safe time just may be the answer to all my problems.
As soon as we’re inside, I make quick work of closing the curtains before practically jumping Michel.
“Cheri, slow down, we have all night. Plus, I want to take in as much of you as I can in this little pink dress. You’re a vision, mon amour, more beautiful than any Parisian spring I’ve seen before. ”
I honestly forgot he’d never seen me wearing my signature color.
In all the time I was here, I avoided it, trying to distance myself from that girl I’d left behind.
Trying to distance myself from the man I left behind as well.
But the more I tried removing Jack from my life, the more I lost myself.
This time, I refuse to become a shell of myself even if I have to live with a piece of Jack slowly burning a hole in my heart, killing me from the inside out.
“Michel, please,” I beg, looking up into his eyes. They don’t bring me to my knees like the blue ones I love so much, but there’s a familiarity there that calms my nerves. “I need a distraction. Please.”
He stares down at me, searching for an explanation I’m not ready to give, before conceding. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close. His embrace isn’t passionate, nor does it send shock waves through my body, but I relax into his arms, just relieved to have someone hold me.
“How do you want me, mon amour?”
With my eyes closed in an attempt to conjure up a fantasy, all I can see is my love …my Jackie … fuck! Visions of our time together flood my mind, bringing up memory after memory of each orgasm he’s given me both as my Sir and as my Jack. Hundreds at this point.
“Margot? Cheri?”
“Just get me out of my head, however you can,” I say, hoping he didn’t notice the flash of disappointment on my face when I opened my eyes to find him standing there and not the only man who’s ever succeeded at my request.
Michel removes his tie as he walks me to my room, proceeding to gently place my hands on a poster at the foot of the bed and blindfolding me.
He slowly unzips my sleeveless dress, letting it fall to the floor in a puddle beneath my feet and leaving me in a matching set of floral lingerie from our spring collection.
He’s never been a very vocal lover, or at least not like Jack, constantly whispering praises into my ears.
I’m able to imagine anyone leaving chaste kisses from the small of my back to my neck.
Except there isn’t enough need behind the way his lips meet my skin.
There isn’t a fire that burns into my soul with every touch of his fingertips.
The flush that spreads across my skin encourages his perusal of my pleasure, but it’s not from desire. Sweat glistens across my skin as a panic attack threatens to ruin this moment. If I could just stop comparing him to Jack.
On second thought, maybe I have this all wrong. Maybe thinking about Jack is exactly what could help you.
I try with all my might to welcome those memories of orgasms past back into my mind, but I can’t quite conjure them. Because even with the blindfold, everything is wrong.
“Mmm, mon amour,” Michel says, licking his way up my neck.
Mon amour. Not my love, not my princess, not baby girl. Mon amour.
I’m already at risk of losing my dinner when he moves his lips to mine, but I’m done from the moment I open my mouth. I run to the bathroom, ripping off the makeshift blindfold in the process, before spilling my guts into the toilet.
“Margot, are you okay?” Michel asks, holding my hair back with one hand and rubbing my arm with the other as I continue throwing up more than I ever have in my life. And God, I’m so undeserving of his kindness.
The moment I’m finished, I turn around in his arms and finally let myself break, sobbing as I fall to the floor, bringing him down with me. “I’m so, so sorry, Michel. I can’t do this. I thought I could, but…but I...”
“You belong to someone else. I know, mon amour.”
“You know? How do you know?” I ask, pulling away to look in his eyes.
“I know because I tried to make you mine years ago, cheri. You are a treasure, Margot Sinclair, but try as I may, you’ve never been mon trezor .” He pauses to wipe a tear falling down my face, smiling softly. “Tell me about him, belle. And why on earth you’re here and not with the man you love.”
All it takes is a sniffly head nod before Michel scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the bed, leaving me there momentarily to grab a wet towel for my face, a bottle of water, and my favorite blanket.
Climbing in beside me, he adjusts me so that I’m bundled in my blanket, then holds me as I spill my heart out for the first time in my life.
Starting from my very first memory and ending with the perpetual shadow I’ve had as of late.
For hours, this beautiful, successful, kind man caresses me while I blabber on and on about another asshole, not once showing any signs of annoyance. He’s always been like this with me, always there when I need him, but never pressing me for more than I’m willing to give.
“God, why could it not have been you, Michel? Why can’t it be you now? ” I ask as tears fall from my eyes yet again tonight.
He squeezes me a little tighter before placing a chaste kiss on my covered shoulder. “Oh, don’t I wish it could be. But it seems the heavens had someone else in mind for you, mon amour.”
Oh and don’t I know it. I’ve only spent my entire life knowing there would never be another man for me. Even when I didn’t allow myself to voice the thought in my mind, my very essence called to him. Well, fuck the heavens.
“No, it’s over. I can’t be with him, but it seems the heavens have cursed us both because I can’t be with anyone else either.”
“Yes, you can, cheri. You have to.” He’s brushing my hair now, and I realize he’s been doing it for a while. “He’s your Heathcliff.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your Heathcliff. He’s from Wuthering Heights .”
“I know my Bronte, Michel,” I say, cutting him off with more attitude than intended. “I’m sorry, but what do you mean he’s my Heathcliff?”
It’s been years since I’ve read any classics, especially since Sloane and I started a little smutty book club, but I remember the story fairly well.
Sure, Jack and I grew up together, and sure, we had a strong connection as children, but that’s where our similarities stop.
He is most definitely in the same social class through his own parentage, so he would’ve been raised alongside us regardless.
And God only knows, neither of my brothers resented him.
Henry never had reason, and there were moments after they left for college that I thought perhaps he and Ledger were a closeted couple, given how codependent they became on each other.
My furrowed brows must convince Michel to proceed. “Whatever souls are made of, yours and his are the same.”
“Oh.” Well, yeah. I guess that’s another pretty significant similarity.
“Men are idiots. Take your time but hear him out. If I’m being honest with you, I’m not sure I wouldn’t do the same thing just to have a piece of you again. I’ve half a mind to whisk you away right now.”
I turn in his arms, slapping his arm lightly as my tears dry. “Stop it, you would not!” I say, laughing for the first time tonight. “But seriously, how do I ever trust him again?”
“You will just have to learn, mon cheri, but you have to forgive him. There’s no reason to live a half life when you can grow old with the man picked out for you by the stars. Believe me, few are so lucky.”
Michel lays my head gently against his chest and snuggles me in his arms, and I let him, soaking in the night together, both of us knowing it’ll be the last time.
When a tear leaves my eye this time, it’s not for Jack.
It seems the heavens not only gifted me a man crafted for my very soul but also sent a guardian angel to guide me back to him when I lost my way. And I’m going to miss my angel greatly.
I wake up the following morning and wiggle out of the wrong arms to look at my phone that’s been dinging like crazy. Well, it’s midafternoon, but regardless...
Sinclair Fam:
LJ IS COMING
“Ohmygod! Michel, wake up! LJ is coming. I have to go!”
Michel gets up immediately, helping grab my things and throwing them in a bag as I rush to get ready.
I quickly get dressed in a sweat set before combing through my hair and throwing it up into a clip, all the while trying to text Mom, Sloane, Ledger, and Henry individually as well as the family group chat to get a gauge of how much time we have and coordinate travel.
Which unfortunately involves me sharing a private jet back to the States with Jack.
You can do this, Margot. This is for LJ.
You don’t have to talk to him, you don’t even have to look at him.
By the time all the details are ironed out, the car Michel called for me waits by the street, and the bag he packed for me sits by the door.
“Come on, cheri,” he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders, the other carrying my things, and leading me down the stairs.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go with you?” he asks when we reach the car, putting my luggage in the trunk before coming to open the door for me.
“No, no, that won’t be necessary. Just lock up here before you go?”
We both freeze, knowing this is our final goodbye. Finally, I jump into his arms, tears falling down my face. “I’m going to miss you, Michel. So, so much.”
His arms are still wrapped tight around my waist where he caught me, and when he looks into my eyes, I see tears in his as well.
“I’ll miss you more, mon amour. Promise me, Margot.
Promise me you’ll forgive him. Promise me you won’t waste any more time.
It’s the only way I can let you go. The only way I can say goodbye is knowing that you’re happy. ”
“I promise.” With one last hug, I let him go, allowing him to help me into the back seat before closing the door.
“Pinky promise,” I whisper to myself as the car takes me home.