Chapter 33 #2
There are only two other people in the section tonight, a middle-aged couple, who lift their heads and give me polite smiles as I move into the narrow stacks beside them.
It doesn’t leave a lot of room. I’m reading the back of some science-fiction book about gay androids when I realise they’ve gone and I’m alone.
I take out my phone and snap a few aesthetic photos for my Instagram account.
I’m far more active on my OnlyFans, but then, I have to be.
I don’t do nearly as much on there as I used to, but I still enjoy it, and it still pays the bills, and a jambon-buerre doesn’t pay for itself.
I’m about to take a selfie when I catch movement behind me, someone rounding into the small, narrow space.
I slip my phone into my bag and go back to scanning; doesn’t look like there’s anything new since I was in here last week.
Sliding the book I’d been skimming back into place, I turn to head out and freeze.
Every bit of blood drains from and rushes to my head simultaneously.
He’s leaning against the stacks, hands in the pockets of his dark coat, neat beard cut close, and a small, hesitant smile on his face.
“Hello, darling,” he says.
??
The bar we choose is a quiet one a few streets back from the bookstore, dimly lit and cozy.
A typical French bistro kind of bar. The waiter offers to take our jackets, but I leave mine on and Christian opts to hold onto his too, and then we’re being led to a small round table a little way into the space.
There’s banquette seating on one side, wooden chairs on the other. I take the chair.
I can’t stop staring at him, checking it’s really him, pinching the inside of my thumb, checking I’m really me.
There’d been nothing more in the bookstore except an invite from him to get a drink somewhere.
We’d made weird small talk as we walked to a place he knew, about how busy Paris was this time of year, about how pretty it was at night, about the ancient architecture.
It was bizarre. Now, here, it feels more like what I’m used to with him; low simmering desire, feral lust, deep, deep longing curling around every nerve and limb.
Christian orders a large glass of red wine, I order a beer, and we stare at each other while the waiter pours them three feet from us behind a small corner bar.
“So, why are you in Paris?” I ask.
“I’m on a sort of book tour…” He sounds embarrassed about it.
“What’s a sort of book tour?”
The soft, low laugh he lets out goes straight to my dick, same way it always did.
“It’s where you write a book and people tell you that you have to promote it but you’re quite dreadful at it.” The waiter comes and sets our drinks down and Christian reaches forward immediately to take a long sip of his wine.
“Am I in it?” I ask when we’re alone again. “Your book.”
“It would be a far better book if you were.”
“Obviously,” I say as I reach forward to lift my beer. I’m unable to take my eyes off him as I drink.
“So, you’re in art school,” he says.
“Already graduated porn school so yeah, here I am.”
He laughs that same low laugh, but his eyes go soft and tender.
“I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”
I look down at the table because my throat feels weird, like I might be about to cry. There’s a swell of something inside me, threatening to overcome, and I can’t tell if it’s nerves or desire or love or sadness.
“Um, thanks.” I shrug slightly. “It sort of happened by accident but I’m loving it, I’ve learned loads.
I’m doing fine art and design. I graduate in a few weeks, so I just have to figure out how to make a living now, which everyone here seems to think is easy enough, but they wanna work for fashion designers and museums, and I don’t really wanna do either of those so.
..” I’m rambling. I lift my beer to shut myself up.
“And you’ll go back to America after you graduate?”
I wipe my mouth. “I’m not sure. I have a gallery show in LA in a couple months. Jacob, the guy from your party, it’s his gallery. He really likes what I do. Uh, but after that I’m not sure. I love it here, but I’d like to see more of the world.”
He nods, studying me very closely. “Yes, I imagine you do.”
“So, if you’re writing books… does that mean you’re not Prime Minister?” There’s a hopeful lilt to my voice.
Another warm smile. “I’m no longer in politics at all, actually.”
I nod and take another deep pull from the bottle.
“Good. I mean, I’m glad. You didn’t seem happy doing that back then.
And you seem good now, more relaxed. Though I’m only seeing you now, here, so I don’t know, maybe you’re not relaxed writing books, either.
But if you left politics, then you had your reasons, and they’d have been good ones, so…
yeah, good. I’m glad.” Good. Glad. Glad. Good. Shut the fuck up, Thomas.
“I’ve been doing well, sweetheart.”
“Good.” Oh, for fucks sake. “So, like, did you know I was in Paris, or is this just a completely casual coincidence?”
He remembers and smiles at the reference.
“Shakespeare was a coincidence, but I knew you were in Paris, yes.”
“How?”
He gives me a blatant look. “Your social media.”
“You check my social media?” My head feels light as a balloon: from the beer, the moment, him.
“When I miss you, it helps.” I squeeze my eyes closed tight at that because I am going to fucking lose it right here in this French bistro. “Asher?” he says, sounding concerned.
“You miss me.”
“Darling, of course I do.”
When I open my eyes again, I see concern etched across his handsome face.
I don’t understand what he’s doing here, and I’m shit fucking scared to ask because what if it’s not for the reason I hope it is?
What if he misses me because he wants a quick fuck, and what if I want that as well because I miss him, and what if, because I always will, we just go back to us fucking and me being an arrangement? Would it really be that bad?
“I need some air,” I announce, standing.
Outside, I stride off towards the river that runs through the heart of Paris, not looking back.
It takes him a few minutes to catch up with me.
By the bank, I stop, staring across to the other side, to where my friends are waiting for me, to where Aksel is waiting for me—Aksel, who wants something more from me than a quick fuck.
“I’m sorry,” Christian says, which actually only pisses me off.
I turn on him. “Why are you here?”
He takes a breath and then says, seriously, “Because I miss you. Because it’s taken everything in me not to come to Paris since I learned you were here.
Because I don’t know how or even want to live another day without you.
Because when I think about the rest of my life, what I want it to look and feel like, it’s with you by my side.
” He takes a few steps toward me until he’s in my space, body heat pressed close to mine.
Like an echo of the day he said goodbye, he takes my face between his hands. “Darling, I love you.”
“Y-You love me?”
“Desperately.”
“How long?”
A quirk of his mouth as he remembers this, too. “Christ, what a stupid question… Did I truly ask you that?”
I nod. “Yeah, you did.”
“And you answered.”
“I did.”
“Then…” He thinks, all the time looking down into my eyes.
“Probably since you sneaked into the hospital. Since you told me who you were, since you spoke with that fervour in your voice about how you weren’t ashamed of who you were.
You’ve always been a wonder, Asher. The bravest person I’ve ever known.
Will you give me another chance? If you need time to think about it, I understand, and I’ll wait. I’ll wait however long I have to.
Sweetheart, there’s no one else for me—there hasn’t been anyone else since you, and if you say no now, I’m certain there will never be anyone else.
” Whatever look he sees on my face has him dropping his hands and taking a small step back.
“I’m sorry, this is too much, too soon. I should have approached this differently, slowly, taken my time.
I don’t want to rush or pressure you, and perhaps there’s someone—”
“I didn’t settle,” I cut him off. “You told me not to, and I didn’t. I waited for you, I guess.”
He blinks, looking really fucking sad. “I kept you waiting too long.”
“Yeah, you did.” I go towards him and press myself back against his body. “But there’s no one else for me either. There’s only ever been you, Ambassador.”
A beat. “Christ, that does sound quite erotic now that it isn’t my job.” He smiles, reaching out to tuck a section of hair behind my ear.
“I can make most things sound erotic - it’s a talent.” I close my eyes and lean my head against his shoulder.
“What about lubricant?”
I press my laugh into the warmth of his body, relief and happiness flooding through me. I feel like I’m inside my own head, dreaming this. When I lift my head to look at him, to check this is real, he looks happy.
“Is this real?” I ask him.
He leans in and kisses me, a soft, gentle peck on the lips. “Very real.”
I sigh as I close my eyes. “Where are you staying?”
“About three hundred feet in that direction.”
I open my eyes to see him gesture over my head. “Okay, you win. Let’s go.” I loop my hand in his and let him lead the way.