Chapter 6
Chapter Six
W hen I reached Pierre’s cobblestoned lane for the third time that night, it was different again. Nearly all the lights had been turned off, and there wasn’t anybody about, not even on the upper balconies. I strode up the alley, a woman on a mission.
I was drenched through.
I was seething with anger.
And I was ready to kick Pierre in the fucking balls.
At his door, I checked the handle first, but it was locked. With my fists clenched into tight clubs, I banged on his door. “Pierre,” I screamed his name, not caring if I woke the entire neighborhood. The more people who were angry at him, the better.
“Pierre. Open the goddamned door. Pierre!”
My throat burned and my fists hurt, but I kept it up.
“Pierre!”
A light split through the crack beneath his door, and I stepped back, ready to barge past him.
The door eased inwards, and I charged forward. It hit Pierre in the chest, flinging him backward. He toppled over the jumble of shoes and landed on his ass. With my heart in my throat, I raced up the stairs.
My bag was where I’d left it. I hooked it over my shoulder and spun to leave.
Pierre was there, his hands up, a pleading look on his face. “Daisy, I’m sorry.”
I pumped my fist at him. “Shut up.”
His shoulders sagged. “Daisy, please, listen to me.”
I strode forward and using my anger as a weapon, I rammed my Converse sneaker right up between his legs. Pierre doubled over, howling.
“You fucking asshole.” I shoved his shoulders and he tumbled to the floor.
I snatched up a wine bottle on the kitchen counter, unscrewed the lid and poured red wine all over his lovely white bedspread.
With a scream that burned my throat, I hurled the bottle at the wall behind the bed. It shattered into dozens of pieces, raining glass onto his pillows.
Pierre was still on the floor, cupping his balls and whimpering.
I strode to him. “You’re a filthy piece of shit. I hope you die a lonely man.” I kicked him in the thigh, and although I was sure it didn’t hurt that much, Pierre howled again.
Clutching my bag, I scrambled down the stairs. By the time I reached the bottom, he was crying.
I stepped outside, and Mrs. Bauchenne was back on her balcony wearing a dressing gown that was just a little too short. But her face was beaming. Clapping, she said, “ Bravo , ma chère .”
A smile shot across my face and I bowed. Grinning up at her, I said, “Sorry if I woke you.”
“It was worth it.” She actually did speak English. Good .
On that note, I skipped up the street, floating on an air of vindication.
But my joy was short-lived.
Nothing could undo the fact that I’d had sex with a married man. Nothing.
Every step toward the hostel was like walking through a sewer pit. I felt like shit. I probably looked like it too.
The streets were still bustling with people, mostly young twenty-somethings still high on life. I shouldn’t have been surprised. Paris was one of those cities that never slept.
The hostel appeared in the distance. The glow from the downstairs foyer confirmed that it too never slept. Aware that I must have looked like I’d wrestled with a hedge, I attempted to smooth down my frizzy hair.
I readied to make my dash across the lobby, but the second the double-glass doors slid open, I froze. Roman and four guys from our group were right there.
Fate dealt me another bitch slap, ensuring Roman glanced at the doorway at that very moment. His smile appeared and vanished in a nanosecond.
I turned to run, took six steps, and stopped. What was the point?
Seconds later, Roman was at my side, his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, what happened? Are you okay?”
A sob burst from my throat.
“Oh no, Daisy.” He hugged me to his chest.
My shoulders heaved back and forth. My eyes leaked, and my nose did too as I cried for all the horrible things I’d done.
He rubbed his hand up and down my back and whispered words that were impossible to comprehend.
Sniffling and wobbling out of control, I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stop.
“Tell me what happened? Are you okay?” His tone was soothing. His hands were comforting .
I didn't want to talk to him. Yet at the same time, I so badly wanted to tell him everything.
“Come on. Let’s sit over here.” He guided me toward a bench seat nestled between a potted bougainvillea and a mini-Eiffel Tower. We sat together, our thighs touching, and I wiped tears from my eyes and snot from my nose, trying not to think how hideous I must look.
Roman curled his arm over my shoulder and tugged me to him. He didn’t say a word.
So, we sat there. Me sniffling and carrying on, and Roman being the perfect gentleman, rubbing my shoulder and waiting. Waiting for me to calm down. Waiting for me to tell him what was wrong.
Waiting for the sun to appear over the horizon.
I lost all sense of time. Minutes ticked by—or was it hours?
Forcing myself to pull out of his embrace, I sucked in a wobbly breath, trying to calm my tumbling thoughts. “I’m sorry.” I wiped my eyes, my cheeks.
“No need to be sorry. Just tell me you are okay?”
My throat was so tight I couldn’t swallow. “I’m okay.”
He tilted his head in that way that confirmed he was trying to read my mind. In the state I was in, it’d be impossible. “Did he hurt you?”
Did he hurt me? I rolled his question around, not sure how to answer. “No. No. Well . . . yes, I guess he did. But not really. Not in a physical way.”
A frown drilled across his forehead, yet he remained silent. Roman sure was good at this stuff. If I ever met his sisters, I wouldn’t know whether to thank them or scold them for making him so perceptive.
I cleared my burning throat. “Do you remember back in Brussels, when you wanted me to go to Pierre, and you asked what was the worst thing that could happen? ”
Roman nodded, his expression growing deeper. “ Sì , you said it would be if Pierre laughed in your face and said he’d have to be totally drunk to have sex with you.”
I jerked back. “Jeez. How the hell do you remember that?”
“It was only a few weeks ago.”
“Yeah, but . . .” I huffed. “Never mind.”
His expression grew darker. “Is that what happened?”
“No. It’s way worse.” I shoved an annoying curl behind my ear. “Pierre’s married,” I blurted. The word stung like a thousand-foot wasp.
I searched his expression, waiting to see the disgust. But it didn’t appear—shock and confusion did.
“He’s married? But you said he was divorced.”
“Yes. The asshole told me he’d been divorced four times, but he neglected to mention that he’s been married five times.”
“Oh man, what an asshole.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry? What for?”
“You know . . .”
He blinked at me, torturing me with his apparent confusion, forcing me to spell it out. “I had sex with a married man, just like Caterina did.”
He half chuckled, half huffed, shaking his head. “It is nothing like what Caterina did. She knew Nate was married; she even met his wife. And she was still with me. You had no idea. This was not your fault.”
I studied his expression, trying to read his mind, hoping that he meant what he’d said and praying he’d forgive me if he didn’t.
His eyes lit up. “Don’t tell me she caught you two.”
I shook my head. “We were in the middle of . . .” I lowered my eyes. “. . . you know, stuff, when his wife came home.”
“Shit. I bet you nearly died. ”
As we sat on that bench, thighs touching, his eyes spiraling through different expressions, I told him all about Pierre shoving me outside, my clothes going over the balcony, and then me hearing them having sex.
“They had sex? While you were outside?”
“She didn’t know I was there. But when Pierre saw me peeking through the window, you know what he did?”
He shook his head, eyes bulging. “What?”
“He smiled at me. Like he was enjoying it.”
“Jesus. Cocky bastard.” Roman whistled. “So, you’re butt naked out on his balcony?—”
“Not butt naked.” I brought my feet up. “I had my shoes on.”
He burst out laughing. “Thank God.”
“I know, right?”
He bumped his shoulder to mine, and when he looked at me in that special way, like I was his favorite little sister, I knew everything was going to be okay. “What’d you do?”
As I relayed what happened, my mind replayed it like I was watching a low-budget porno in slow-mo. Pierre’s wife on her hands and knees. Him grinning at me. Me barging in naked and slapping Pierre. What I’d said to his poor wife. I felt sick to my stomach.
“You did her a favor.”
I huffed. “Maybe.”
“No maybe about it. She should be grateful.”
“Still going to hurt.”
Sorrow flashed across his eyes and vanished just as quickly. Was it possible to ever get over that kind of pain? I hoped so, for Roman’s sake. He was a good guy. He deserved to be loved.
“What happened next?”
The sadness in Roman’s eyes hurt, so I decided to play up the details of me grabbing that stupid apron. “I couldn’t believe it. My tits were hanging out. My ass was on display. His nosy neighbor will be talking about it for the rest of her life.”
Roman released another burst of laughter.
“I streaked up the street.” I began laughing, really truly laughing. “I was waving at all those people.” I imitated my waving. “They were on their balconies, looking at me.”
Wiping away happy tears, I glanced at Roman, shaking my head. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“It’s gold.” His cheeky smile was spectacular. “Wish I’d seen that.”
“Pfft, no you don’t.”
I told him the rest of the story like I was recapping a comedy skit. Although it was horrible at the time, it was fucking funny now. The more Roman chuckled, the more I played it up. When I detailed climbing that fence with my ass in the air and landing on the tomato bush, I thought he was going to pass out laughing.
With each giggle, I felt better. Like my bricks of guilt were being sprinkled with soothing fairy dust. Roman was right. What Pierre did wasn’t my fault. I was innocent.
But I’d learned my lesson. I was not having sex with another guy until I knew all about him.
I told Roman about returning to the hostel at midnight and then making the decision to go back to Pierre’s.
Roman jerked back. “You didn’t?”
I shrugged. “I had to get my bag.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
I patted the bag at my hip. “My phone was in my bag—I couldn’t.”
“Shit. I can’t believe you went back there. What happened?”
“I kicked him in the balls, of course.”
His stunning smile grew even more. “I bet that felt good. ”
Heaving out a sigh, I said, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Stifling a yawn, I suddenly felt utterly shattered. Glancing at my watch, I groaned. It was nearly three o’clock. I had to be up in three hours. “Hey, Roman.”
“Yeah.”
“Thank you for listening.”
“ Prego . Anytime, Daisy. I mean it.” He pulled me in for a hug, and when I wrapped my arms around him and listened to his beating heart, I was so content.
Best of all, I was no longer all alone.