Chapter Thirteen
Over the next few days, Benoit and I slept together many more times.
Every night in either his room or mine, and once during the day after an argument about who should call the office.
It had been both exhilarating and unseemly.
A blissful stretch of days focused on only his body and mine. Sex. Who would have guessed.
One night, after we’d finished and were catching our breath, he propped himself up on an elbow to face me. “I don’t want one of us to quit if the other one gets the job.”
“What?”
“Remember? We agreed that if one of us got promoted over the other, then the one who didn’t get it had to leave.”
Of course I remembered. “Why? Do you know something?”
“No. No. I’m just enjoying working together so much that I don’t want a silly agreement to be taken seriously.”
I didn’t want to talk about work. As close as we had gotten so many times during that handful of days, we hadn’t talked much about what we were doing or what it meant, professionally and certainly not personally.
It was as if the future didn’t exist. As if nothing mattered outside the two of us when we were in the throes of it.
And we were so often in the throes that conversations about problems were easy to put off and ignore. I wanted to continue ignoring it now.
I rolled onto my side so we were lying face to face. Under the blankets, I found his chest and placed my hand over it.
“Fine. You don’t have to leave L’Entreprise when I get the promotion.” Honestly, if I got the promotion, I wouldn’t have any trouble being his boss. I learned in his bed just how easy he was to tell what to do. No trouble at all.
“But what if I get it? You won’t leave?”
I would never have any credibility if I were having a relationship with my boss. That was if I managed to hold onto the rage that would surely result from him being picked over me. I would never be able to work with him again, let alone be in the same building.
I moved my hand down his stomach and scooted closer. He hardened as I stroked him, ending that conversation before I had to answer. When I stretched to kiss him, the topic was forgotten. Or at least we stopped talking about it.
And, fine, I must admit that part of the reason we hadn’t talked about work and what would happen when we got back to Paris was that I intentionally kept him from bringing it up. Instead of arguing, I distracted him with sexual acts. Instead of talking, I dove headlong into the other thing.
That part was fabulous. He worshipped me unabashedly and with enthusiasm, always kissing and petting and marveling at me in bed. And then he suppressed all of that bubbling heat into little more than glances when we were with Apolline or out working.
The closeness happened every time. It was different each time and not always so intense, but it was there.
The becoming vulnerable. The full show. Allowing him to see.
I was still not used to this. While I enjoyed it, it also scared me.
It was a dangerous feeling. Something that could destroy me if I let it, and so I was determined not to.
We would stop as soon as the trip was over.
Everything would be different back in Paris. Vacation would be over.
Cabourg was a temporary detour from the usual way of things. Back at home, back at work, there was no way I could continue sleeping with him. The fact that our jobs were still at risk only made this more so.
To be honest, the only regret I had in those frolicking days at the hotel was not sleeping with him sooner. I had wasted so much time and mental energy trying not to give in to this man, when I could have been enjoying myself with him the whole time.
Sex also kept me from thinking about the fact that I hadn’t heard from Charlotte or Nadine.
Nadine and I had parted on decent, though tenuous terms, much of which depended on Charlotte.
There had been plenty of time for my letters to reach them and for them to respond, unless they were not responding.
Or unless they weren’t sure what to say, what to decide about me.
I desperately wanted reconciliation, but every time there were no messages from Charlotte, I had to confront the possibility that she might not forgive me.
And if I wasn’t able to reconcile with my friends, then what kind of person did that make me?
I was sure not a good one. Cold was my first thought.
Sleeping with Benoit did not make me feel cold. Quite the opposite. Again, the perfect distraction.
Two nights before our scheduled departure, Apolline, Benoit, and I were having dinner at our usual table.
Work had gone well over the trip. Surprisingly well.
Benoit and I had each filed the same amount of stories.
And the way we’d collaborated on them all had made everything we sent back to Paris much stronger and better to read.
We worked together like a team. And we had nearly finished the job.
When we were done talking over what we had left to do, Apolline excused herself and went up to bed.
This had become my favorite part of the day, when all the work was done, and we were finally alone.
I wanted to climb across the table and into his lap.
Imagining this, the satisfying way I would fit straddling him, the feel of his dinner jacket under my hands and the awareness I’d surely experience of the hard body underneath all those clothes.
It was such a strong, compelling vision that I gulped down the rest of my wine.
I waggled my eyebrows at Benoit. “Are you ready for bed as well?”
He bit his lip. “Can we have one more drink before heading up?”
“Of course,” I said.
“I’ve enjoyed these past few days, Vanessa.” He smiled harmlessly. Something was bothering him.
“I have enjoyed them as well.”
“I am glad to hear that. Because I want us to continue enjoying ourselves, each other, when we go back to Paris.”
“That would be nice, but it’s not possible. You live with your family, and I’m not allowed overnight guests. Where would we even go?”
He held up a hand to stop me. “I’m not talking about that.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“Vanessa, darling. I want to come to your home and present myself to the woman in charge there, who in this situation acts as a guardian on those kinds of matters, right? And I want to present myself as a suitor.”
“What?”
“I will bring flowers and send letters and romance you, Vanessa. That is what I want.”
“Flowers? That’s ridiculous, and you know it.”
He slumped like I’d hit him. “Why?”
“Because we are enjoying each other on this trip because this is not real life. It’s the beach. It’s a strange blip in time in which our interests aligned. Going back to Paris, back to everyday life, our interests don’t align there. This won’t work in Paris.”
“No, perhaps creeping from hotel room to hotel room won’t work in Paris.
But we are good together, Vanessa, and no amount of time with you feels like enough.
And that’s not going to change no matter where we are.
For me, this is not a blip in time, but a beginning of something that could be life-changing for both of us. ”
I sat there listening to him say all these decidedly wonderful things that I had not considered.
The idea of him arriving at 77 Rue de Fortuny with a bouquet of flowers and kissing the hand of Madame Tremblay was both intriguing and unthinkable.
“I’m not so sure I’m looking for life-changing, Benoit. ”
He sighed but didn’t say anything. He sipped his drink, and then he reached across the table and took my hand.
He held it there for a long time, looking at me so intensely and sorrowfully that I had to avert my gaze.
His hand was big and warm. I’d grown accustomed to the feel of it, but still every time he touched me it was a thrill.
Then he pulled his hand away and swallowed the last of his drink.
“If you’ll excuse me, Vanessa, I believe I’ll turn in early tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast as usual.”
“Wait. What?”
“I’m off to bed.”
“Well, do you want company?”
“No. I don’t. And I think it’s best that we end that part of our relationship.”
“You’re breaking up with me?”
He looked so hurt. “Vanessa, you can hardly call it that.”
“We have two more days before we have to go back to Paris.” He wasn’t making any sense.
“For someone who is so observant, Vanessa, you are being frustratingly obtuse.” Anger tinged his voice. He leaned in close and said, “I am not comfortable with the arrangement you’re proposing. You’re using me for sex, and it doesn’t feel good.”
My breath hitched. “I thought we were using each other.”
“I told you that first night that there may come a time when I asked you for more. This was it, Vanessa. And you have declined.”
“You’re right. I have.” I don’t know why I said this. Even as the words left my mouth, I recognized how indignant and selfish I sounded. My behavior was poor; but I’d said it anyway. There was venom in me that escaped sometimes even when I didn’t want to be so harsh.
“And I misjudged you, for which I am very sorry.” There was a pained crease in his brow when he stood, nodded, and walked away that I very much regretted.
I sat there dazed for a minute. Then I got up to follow him.
But when I reached the lobby, he was speaking with the concierge at the front desk.
I hesitated because the affair had to end.
We couldn’t carry on; this was what had to happen.
Wavering would only weaken my stance. Some distance was perhaps called for, an evening apart, time to sort out my feelings.
We could talk about it more in the morning.
I lit the lamp and undressed and curled into bed. It would do me good to spend a night alone. Everything was fine. We still had two days. This wasn’t really over.
But then it was over, because the next morning he was gone.