66. Roman
Two days after visiting the archbishop, Steven and I flew to France.
During dinner on the plane, Steven explained that he’d secured a small building in the village of Chatoise, for me to stay in for however long it took to win back Isabel. The place used to belong to a shoemaker, who was approaching his 80’s and wanted a cottage in the countryside, which he now had.
“The place is small, it’s not luxurious but it is directly across from the convent,” Steven said between bites of fillet mignon. “But as Mother Clara said, exercise restraint. Blundering in there declaring yourself a free man and ready to pick up where you left off is probably not the best approach.”
“Right,” I said. “So this Mother Clara…wasn’t she Marie’s best friend way back?”
“Yes, she’s Mother Superior now. She doesn’t enforce the normal restrictions you find in a convent, and the whole business is a very relaxed affair. Still, there are rules to follow and I would encourage you to observe them and not to cross any lines.”
“I take it Isabel doesn’t know I’m coming?”
“Mother Clara and I have decided it’s best she doesn’t know ahead of time. We all know Isabel’s pride sometimes gets in the way, and who knows how she’d react to this. It’s better you just show up.”
“You and Mother Clara seem to get along very well.”
Steven sat back in his seat, a placid smile in place. “We got to know each other while I made sure Isabel was safely settled in Chatoise. Clara’s the one who told me about Isabel’s father. Formidable woman. Great sense of humor. She has a fondness for good whiskey, stimulating conversation and clove cigarettes.”
I discarded the rest of my dinner and nursed a glass of red wine. “What is it with you and these unavailable women, Steven?”
It was more an observation than a question, and Steven smirked. “If I ever find the answer to that, you’ll be the first to know. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll turn in until we land. Something tells me the next few days are going to require all my stamina.”
The Gulfstream landed just after two in the morning, at a rural airport in the French countryside. A shitty rental car waited on the tarmac. I smiled, my memory dragged back 14 years to when Steven hauled me from the Swiss chalet after my sex education with Eva, the Swiss Splendor. “You couldn’t find a bigger piece of shit than this for us to drive?”
Steven chuckled. “No, I couldn’t. Or we’d be driving it.”
I didn’t expect Chatoise to be a booming metropolis, but the whole town could probably fit inside the Belmont Manor estate. Dappled moonlight illuminated the narrow cobblestone roads and ancient buildings. To anyone else, this was just another quaint place in the French countryside. But to me it was home to the woman who held my heart in her hands.
Exercise restraint, Steven said. And that was what I planned to do, approaching the nymph with the reverence she deserved. I’d had so long to think about what I wanted to say, but I ultimately gave up on the structured approach, realizing the words would come to me when we were face to face.
My accommodation was no bigger than a shoe box, and perfectly comfortable. One might even call it charming. The abbey sat mere yards across the cobblestone road, and was much smaller and more ancient than I’d expected. Knowing I was so close to Isabel made my pulse thunder.
Steven moved beside me. “If you look across from here, you can see into the abbey’s kitchen. Isabel spends most of her time there. Her cell is above the kitchen.”
“Cell!?” I asked, and yes, I was a little triggered about my honey badger’s living conditions.
“Relax, it’s what they call the rooms where the nuns sleep… Before I go, there’s some bread, cheese and butter, and you’ll find some wine and water in the fridge. I’ll be in the place next door. Get a few hours’ rest, so you don’t look like the living dead when Isabel sees you for the first time in three months.”
Of course, the moment he left I rushed to the nearest window and peered out at the abbey. Moonlight painted restless shadows on the walls, and—at 3.30 am—I didn’t expect to see anyone up and about. It took extreme willpower not to throw pebbles at Isabel’s window. That and Steven’s words still echoing in my ears.
Exercise restraint.
My body clock was working against me, and sleep wasn’t an option at this point. I turned my attention to the bread on the small kitchen table, and wondered if the nypmh was responsible for baking it. I decided to go all French and do the bread-cheese-and-wine thing while I kept my moonlight vigil.
I’d barely buttered my first piece of bread when the light in Isabel’s window went on. Heart in my throat, I switched off my light and peeked through a slit in the curtain. But all I could see was the nymph’s shadow getting dressed. I was stalking a shadow. This was a new low for me.
Minutes later the kitchen light went on, and since the cobblestone road that separated the abbey from my place was only a few yards wide, I had a front-row view into the kitchen. And for the first time in three long months, I laid eyes on Isabel.
Something intricate stirred in my chest as all those feelings I’d tried to bury shook off the dust and prepared to show themselves again.
But I had to say, to my surprise, the nymph looked nothing like I expected. I imagined her to be delicate, pale and devastated. What I saw was a glowing siren with rosy cheeks, who looked like she’d been living her best life.
So yes, I was surprised. How was I going to convince this radiant creature that her happiness was with me and not here in this godforsaken town that gifted her that glow and those rosy cheeks?
The effort I put into not rushing out the door and into that kitchen was immense.
She laid out what seemed like a mountain of dough, cutting smaller pieces off, kneading the pieces into balls and lining them up on a table that stretched from one end of the kitchen to the other. Her actions were fluid, and never wavered. It was mesmerizing to watch. Or maybe I was just a man enchanted.
Suddenly the nymph became very still, her hands coming to rest on the table. As if she was trying to determine whether someone might be watching her. Her gaze traveled through the window…and then she looked straight at me. Not that she’d be able to see anything, but it was unnerving nonetheless.
There was a moment where she seemed to store the feeling for later, but then she seemed to decide fuck it, now was the time to investigate. She disappeared from my sight. Seconds later she wrenched open the kitchen door, looking for whatever had sparked her sixth sense.
I didn’t allow myself so much as a breath.
In the glimmer of predawn light, she looked even more exquisite, the cold breeze stealing the puffs of fog that escaped her lips.
I entertained the idea of simply opening the door and meeting the nymph, despite Steven’s warning. It made sense to take it slow but this was ridiculous, she was standing right in front of me. Why waste any more time? Before common sense could prevail, I raked a hand through my hair, donned a charming smile, and opened my door.
Her gaze slammed into me, and the tempest in those emerald green eyes whirled around the chambers of my heart. But there was no way to miss the soft involuntary moan fleeing her lips.
Time stood still.
“It is you,” she whispered, her raspy voice dancing on the breeze and right into my veins.
“Isabel,” I said. “My sweet.”
Now granted, the flash of annoyance in her eyes and the bitterness tugging at the corners of her mouth might have been an indication that this reunion wasn’t going as I’d hoped. And my worst fear was confirmed when the nymph took a couple of steps back into the kitchen and shut the door in my face. A second later she closed the blinds on the kitchen window, my viewing pleasure be damned.
A brutal silence descended. Then a rooster crowed somewhere and I buried my face in my hands.
“That went well,” Steven said, stepping from the shadows.
I groaned with frustration. “Where the hell did you come from?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he said. “Thought I’d take a stroll through town. And then I walked in on this delightful little scene.”
My gaze involuntarily shifted to the blind-covered window. Should I simply go in and tell Isabel I’d resigned, and take it from there? And it was like the nymph could hear my thoughts, because the next thing I heard was her deadbolting the kitchen door.
Steven moved to his place next to mine. “This isn’t going to happen overnight. Get some sleep, Roman.”
So it was going to be harder than I thought. But fine, for Isabel I was willing to go the end of the world, barefoot over red hot coals and broken glass. But it would be nice if I didn’t have to go to such extremes.
My heart was still in overdrive, and despite the acrimonious meeting, my body responded to the nymph’s close proximity just the way you’d expect it would.
I retreated into my shoebox for a very cold shower. It being winter, the water was subzero, and still my cock refused to stand down. As if hyper-aware of the nymph’s whereabouts. And since she was close, so very close, it seemed eager to show her how much it missed her. Hard as I tried, my hand was no substitute for Isabel’s touch, not even close.
All I had left for now was tending my emotional wounds and opening a bottle of wine.