Chapter 10
Manille pushesopen the bar door, glances inside for the others. When she sees them, she takes our arms and leads us toward them. The strobe lights nearly blind me, and the music echoes loudly from numerous speakers situated in all corners of the room. Corentin steps forward timidly, clearly uncomfortable in a place that”s far too eccentric for him.
“Damn, girls! You”re so hot!” exclaims a voice almost muffled by Rihanna”s.
My friends and I turn to face Manille”s cousin Dakota. She”s dressed in a short, tight purple dress with a plunging neckline that”s sure to catch anyone”s eye. With her golden blonde hair and blue eyes, there”s no denying how stunning she is! My roommate throws herself into her arms and leaves a red mark on her cheek, much to Dakota”s dismay.
“Manille,” she pleases herself. “You are the worst.”
“I couldn”t resist, your beauty called to me.”
She smiles and hugs us.
Corentin approaches Dakota and offers her a cordial handshake as her gaze catches fire on the lawyer. My eyebrows furrow of their own accord, while a twinge of guilt makes itself felt.
It”s a strange feeling.
I quickly pull myself together. “Corentin, meet Dakota, Manille”s cousin.”
“Are you the Iceman?”
We turn to Manille, whose cheeks are turning red with shame. Only she could say such things. Corentin, on the other hand, takes no offense.
“True, but don”t worry, I”m not cold.”
“I”m delighted to hear it,” she exclaims, her cheekbones lifted enticingly.
Dakota”s eyes are sparkling. She”s clearly under his spell, and for some reason, it annoys me. I should be happy she likes Corentin, so much the better. Maybe he”s interested too. Dakota opens her mouth but is stopped by a tall Black man who now puts his forearm around her shoulders. With his fleshy lips, he kisses the top of her head and then raises his brown gaze. The moment he catches sight of Corentin, his attitude changes completely.
“Coren, my love baby!” he exclaims teasingly.
He lets go of his partner and rushes over to Corentin to give him a hug. The girls and I remain silent, not knowing what to say or do.
What”s going on?
It”s the first time I”ve seen my neighbor so close to someone other than myself. I hadn”t met any of his gang, so I”d assumed he didn”t have any. As I observe him returning the hug, I realize how wrong I was.
What more are you hiding from me, dear lawyer?
The man detaches himself from my friend, who seems amused by the man’s behavior.
“Can I ask what”s going on here?” Dakota finally asks.
Her irises flicker between the two boys while mine remain fixed on my neighbor.
“It”s Corentin, Nolas”s lawyer. Dude, what are you doing here? I thought you hated going out.”
With a hand on his shoulder, he doesn”t let go of his sneer as he questions my neighbor unabashedly.
“That”s still the case, but hey, I was invited.”
“I do it all the time, but you consistently refuse.”
“You”re not Florence.”
At these words, the man turns to me. “Florence! You mean the Florence?” His eyes widen as he meets mine. “At last I meet you! I”m Jason.”
“Hi, Jason!”
He offers me a curtsy, brings my hand to his lips to place a light kiss on it. I glance at the girls, amused. Dakota, for her part, raises her eyebrows, surely used to his jokes. Of the four of us, I”m the only one who doesn”t know Jason and the famous Nolas.
Jason stands up, locking his eyes with mine. “I”m going to need mouth-to-mouth because I drowned in your gaze.”
I chuckle under the back of my hand, finding her old-fashioned attitude truly hilarious. The girls laugh and even Corentin, with laughing eyes, purses his lips to suppress a smile.
“You”re a real comedian,” I scoff after calming down.
“I”m not a comedian, darling. In fact, I?—”
Corentin finally intervenes, not giving him time to finish his sentence. “Hands off, Jason! I know exactly what you”re getting at, and I don”t like it one bit,” says my neighbor.
The dark-haired man raises his hands in surrender.
“Don”t worry, man, I value my life. No one”s allowed near precious Florence, we”re aware of that. But you didn”t mention she was so cute,” he says, licking his lips.
I roll my eyes. Except I don”t have time to say anything, as Manille grabs Jason”s shoulder.
“All right, Don Juan, calm your testosterone. You look like a pervert, stop scaring women.”
“I”m being charming. Isn”t right, Coren?”
He doesn”t bother to answer, and then the waiter appears to place glasses on the counter.
“Jason will bring the glasses instead,” Dakota subtly orders.
“I”m not going to carry everything myself?”
“We”re going to help you. Corentin, will you join us?” asks Charlotte.
He turns to me, hesitant. My encouraging smile finally makes him nod. Manille doesn”t let anyone reply and shoves the glasses into everyone”s hands, telling them with an unequivocal gesture to go ahead. I”m left alone with Dakota, who decides to have another drink.
“Didn”t you already take your order?”
“I do, but I like to start slowly with a glass of juice.”
I nod and start to leave when she exclaims. “Beautiful!”
I turn to her, my face quizzical, without saying a word.
“Corentin! Manille didn”t tell me he was so sexy!”
Corentin is attractive, I can”t deny it. He may be my friend, but I”ve already caught myself shamelessly detailing him in spite of myself. I find it challenging to describe people”s appearances directly; it”s not my preference. Instead, I often draw comparisons with celebrities. However, when it comes to Corentin, it”s different. He”s incomparable. There”s no one else like him; he”s one of a kind.
“I guess she didn”t think it was important.”
Her eyes wide, bites her lip with amusement. “Is he seeing anyone?”
For some reason, her question irritates me.
“No, he doesn”t have anyone,” I answer, in a much colder voice than I would have liked.
She nods, ignoring my icy tone.
“A guy so hot doesn”t stay alone long. Maybe he”ll go home with someone tonight.”
A silence settles in and for some reason my heart tingles unpleasantly at her words.
“Or he can have fun without going home with anyone,” I reply, annoyed. “Shall we sit down?”
Dakota”s brows knit together, her lips pressed into a thin line as she guides me to the other side of the room, her gaze lingering on me with suspicion. In our mad dash across the middle of the dance floor, I fail to see the step leading up to the rest area, where tables and benches are laid out, and narrowly miss ending up on all fours in the air. When we finally reach our reserved area, my gaze immediately falls on Corentin, who”s chatting with other men our age.
“My loves, here we come,” Dakota shouts to her band of friends.
She quickly introduces us, and we take our places beside them. While the boys stand in a corner, preoccupied with a discussion that”s way over our heads, the girls take me aside. Feeling a bit uneasy, I follow their conversation sparingly, and when they leave to get more drinks, I find myself in the arms of Jessie, Dakota”s best friend and Jason”s sister.
“I”m sorry about my brother. He”s not a bad guy, but all he knows how to do is act like a jerk. That”s his new goal, and I think he”s going to hook up.”
Jason hears her and gives her the finger in response. They start bickering, which leaves room for Manille and Charlotte to come and settle in next to me.
“Florence, when was the last time you got laid?”
I”m so taken aback by Manille”s question, almost choking on the sweet liquid. Charlotte gives her a dark glare to express her disagreement.
“Are you out of your mind? Can you not think about your ass for once?”
“You”ve got to be kidding. You say I”m some obsessed freak like Jason.”
The man concerned lets out a “Fuck off”, but Manille ignores him and continues the conversation.
“So my Florence, Auntie Manille is waiting for the juicy news.”
I didn”t think she”d be so forthright, and it takes me several minutes to consider the answer lying in the back of my foggy memories. The appalling realization makes me frown.
“Four years.”
“I knew the last time I had slept with a man was quite a while ago, but I hadn”t realized it was so long ago.”
“Damn, I was wrong to such an extent,” she declares, still shocked by my embarrassing confession.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, confused.
“Between you and Corentin, I thought—” She makes explicit signs with her fingers and wiggles her eyebrows to accompany her more than dubious words. “You know what I mean. Anyway, I assumed there was a little something between you two.”
“Didn”t we already talk about this?”
“Yes, but I thought you didn”t want anything serious with him. Not as if there was truly nothing.”
I roll my eyes in annoyance. Why does everyone imagine that?
“We”re friends! Don”t tell me you”re one of those narrow-minded people who don”t believe in boy-girl friendship?”
Her eyebrows frown, carving a deep furrow in her forehead, and her lips form a thin line. “I believe in it, but if I had a buddy like Corentin, I”d have cracked a long time ago, that”s for sure. I prefer better friendships or serious relationships. Have you ever thought about it?”
“No thanks,” I cut her off, outraged. “He”s my best friend, basta.”
I take small sips of my strawberry mojito and dodge her attention, praying she understands the subject is closed. Fortunately, Charlotte takes control of the conversation and the girls and I talk about anything and everything, while Manille stuffs her face. She rests her head on my shoulder, letting out a little burp.
“Flo, I think you need to get laid tonight. Four years! Can you believe it? It”s an awfully long time.”
She falls silent, taking another sip of her beer, now surveying each attractive individual at the bar.
“Oh!” she exclaims. “Check out the guy on the left over there, he”s not bad.”
We decide to nickname the man she”s spotted Bernard. According to my friend, who doesn”t know him from Adam or Eve, Bernard”s story is simple: he hasn”t slept with a woman in three months, which - again according to Manille- is a scandal. In his improvised scenario, Bernard and I meet like this: I go to get a drink when Bernard approaches me and spills his glass on my dress.
“Annoy me in order to accost me? That”s a lousy way to pick me up.”
“It annoys you because you”re aware beforehand, but in the moment, you”d remain calm and assure her accidents happen, it”s no big deal. I know you, Florence.”
What”s worse is Manille is correct, and she”s aware of it. Her expression conveys a sense of triumph, as if saying, ”See, I told you so,” before continuing with her captivating story.
“From then on, he tries to seduce you, and even with the stain on your dress, you”re willing to give him a chance. You get home together and go to his place. He kisses you, but suddenly stops and rushes off to a nearby room. You wait patiently and make yourself comfortable, but time passes slowly, and he doesn”t come back. Why doesn”t he come back? Because he”s in the toilet, having diarrhea! End of story!” laughs Manille.
I stare at her for long seconds, dazed, then burst out laughing in my turn, unable to shake off this mental image. We”re folded in half, under the astonished gazes of the others, who have no idea what”s going on.
I dry a tear from the corner of my eye as we all calm down and breathe again. I was expecting a lot, but clearly not this mood-breaking ending.
“Manille, I don”t think it could work out between Bernard and me,” I confided with a false air of sorry.
She strokes my hair in comfort, her lips pursed to contain her mocking smile.
“Don”t worry, you”ll find something better next time.”
We start laughing again, like the little girls we allow ourselves to be for an evening.
Damn, I love this woman!
My container empty, I glance at Corentin and his whisky and coke. Seeing him drink with relish, I”m tempted to try it too. As if my friend could read my mind, he slides his glass right under my nose.
In the space of a few seconds, I thank him with a smile, take a big gulp of his drink, then grimace in disgust. His green irises sparkle with amusement.
“By the way, you promised to tell me why we”re here.”
I slap my hand to my forehead and gasp in exasperation. I”ve almost forgotten the reason for our celebration. I squirm and settle back into my seat, excited to tell him.
“My boss announced she”s going to give me more opportunities soon; I”m finally going to plan a wedding!” I exclaimed happily.
“And we”re going to work together! I”m so excited at the idea of doing this with you!”
“It”s incredible, Florence! I”ll buy the next round,” exclaims Charlotte.
Everyone congratulates me, then Nolas suggests we have some more drinks to celebrate. Corentin says nothing, but I can catch a glimmer of pride in his eyes before he traps me in his huge arms and places a kiss on the top of my head.
My girlfriends grab my arms the second Corentin lets go.
“We”ve got to go dancing,” begins a tipsy Manille.
“You know what? Why not,” I reply, wearing a huge smile.
I”m not much of a dancer, but I need to have some fun tonight so, hand in hand, we take to the dance floor. My wrists crossed around Manille”s neck, we sway to Britney Spears. With the girls, we dance in all directions, forgetting everything and enjoying the moment. Tonight, I put all my problems aside. All I can think about is enjoying my friends and this timeless moment.
“My feet hurt like hell. I shouldn”t have worn these unlucky heels,” confides one of my friends after a good half-hour on the runway.
That leaves Manille and me. Charlotte is in Jason”s arms. The two of them are dancing together, which brings a smile to my face. Proves when he”s not opening his mouth, he knows how to be charming.
“Take a break and come back later.”
Manille nods and leaves. I find myself alone in a crowd of strangers. I hesitate to join her, but finally decide to do so. I turn back but stop as two reassuring green beads pierce me. I signal Corentin to come over, but he shakes his head.
“What a killjoy!” I mutter to myself.
His expression leaves no doubt that he”s caught on to my grumbling. I chuckle at his mockingly stern face, then plead with him, wearing a sheepish expression. I detect the hesitation in his eyes, and I”m certain he”ll give in soon. And right on cue, Corentin seamlessly navigates through the dancers to join me, appearing utterly relaxed.
“I hate dancing, I don”t even know how to do it,” he grumbles once he”s by my side.
I giggle in spite of myself, or rather in spite of him. He”s about to position me there, offended by my attitude, but I don”t perceive it this way. To avert it, I employ an infallible technique. Stealthily, I give his cheek a quick kiss.
“One dance, please,” I beg in a whisper.
His eyes lock onto mine, intense and dangerous.
“If it makes you happy, go ahead,” he concedes with a tired sigh.
He places his hands on my sides and follows my movements as I press my frail body against his much more robust one. The warmth emanating from his skin warms mine in a fraction of a second, intoxicating me with a sense of security and absolute well-being. His breath sends a wave of uncontrollable shivers down my spine, leaving me reeling.
That”s a new one. When did I become so sensitive?
I don”t have time to recover from this strange sensation as his fingers run along my hips to bring me closer against his pelvis. My body responds instinctively and clings to him. My breathing quickens, but not as much as my frantic heartbeat.
I should be leading him, showing him how it”s done, but I have nothing to teach him, because we”re already in perfect symbiosis, far beyond what was intended. I should, however, take things in hand as my conscience cries out, but I”m incapable of doing so. My palpitant and my brain have joined forces to thwart any attempt to break the most intimate moment we”ve both shared.
I”m trying to convince myself we”re dancing, and there”s nothing wrong with it, but for some reason, I can”t stop my fingers from sliding down his arms and wrapping around the back of his neck. I know I”m playing a dangerous game, but I can”t help it.
My fingernails glide across his remarkably soft scalp. The sensations on my skin signal the onset of navigating troubled waters, with the prospect of a challenging, if not impossible, retreat. Corentin”s hands then settle on my shoulder, freeing the few hair found a place there. A sigh of pleasure escapes me as he buries his face in my neck for a fervent kiss.
My senses go on alert, reminding me things have gone too far, and I might regret it, but no matter, I cling to him as if he were my lifeline. It”s more than my heart can bear. Fortunately, or unfortunately—I can”t decide—Bernard jostles Corentin and spills the contents of his glass all over his shirt. My eyes crinkle in surprise and incomprehension. I watch their exchange without saying a word, completely stunned.
“I”m sorry, I wasn”t paying attention,” stammers the famous Bernard.
“Don”t worry, accidents happen,” retorts my friend.
But what”s going on? Does Manille have a gift for prediction?
I”m grateful to Bernard who saved me from a situation I probably couldn”t have handled on my own. If things had gone further, I”m not sure I could have faced myself in the mirror one day. Corentin is my friend. My best friend! And nothing more. Bernard walks away without further ceremony, and I”m stunned by the atmosphere between my neighbor and me as our little bubble has literally burst. I dare not meet his gaze for fear of seeing regret or, worse, disgust at the thought of slipping with a girl like me.
But what”s wrong with me? Needing a logical reason to justify what happened, I blame it all on the intoxication. I convince my brain the alcohol flowing in our veins guided all our movements. It”s the only explanation for our sudden attraction to each other and the ensuing torrid tension.
You”re going to lose him if you keep playing the teaser, my conscience whispers. Wasn”t losing your father enough?
No, I haven”t forgotten! That”s why I”m so scared. Perhaps I”ve misread all that”s unfolded lately, maybe I”ve misconstrued his expression, thinking he desired me in a different way. Like my father, he”ll let me down. He”ll have nothing but contempt for me because I”m a girl who doesn”t understand anything about love, completely incapable of identifying her own feelings.
The possibility of losing him terrifies me, my brain goes all over the place as my memories mix with the present and I know now it”s all my fault. I thought my father loved me, but it was only in my head. I was nothing to him. A mistake made his life miserable.
“Florence.” Corentin”s voice resonates like a distant, disordered echo in my mind. I don”t move a muscle, my doubts resounding again. He seems to notice my distress and puts his hand on my shoulder. The warmth of his touch soothes my troubled heart as he lifts his fingers to my chin, gently guiding my gaze toward him.
Everything stops. Time, noise, and even the pain in my chest. All that remains is him, me, and the gentleness in his eyes reassuring me, making the harmful thoughts built up disappear.
“I”m here, I”m not going anywhere, not without you,” he whispers in my ear as he strokes my hair.
“Thank you,” I breathed out in reply.
He smiles at me, then tightens his lips in less than five seconds, appearing remorseful.
“Well—I still have to go somewhere I can”t take you.”
I stare at him, confused, my heart ready to start racing again when, still close to me, his breath caressing my lobe, I perceive his mocking glare.
“I have to go to the toilet, but I won”t be long,” he promises mischievously.
I nod, then watch him weave his way through the crowd. I take a deep breath to pull myself together after so many conflicting emotions. I”m here to celebrate the start of my career as a wedding planner, I mustn”t forget it. This is my evening, and I intend to enjoy myself. It”s what we agreed on, and I”ll keep my word. I then sway from left to right to the rhythm of the drumming music. To forget everything and enjoy the moment—my moment. However, my body paralyzes when I see it.
It can”t be! This is a nightmare!
It may have been ten years ago, but I can recognize it in a second. My old man is here. I”d hoped he would have stayed in Lyon like my mother, but he preferred the bright lights of the capital.
I”ve got to get out of here, I begged inwardly, despairing.
I can”t move, unable to turn my eyes from him. My body abandons me and, despite the commotion around me, I can only see him. His head shaved; the neon lights of the club illuminate his ebony skin. His eyes are hidden by his trusty dark glasses, and I”m sure if I get any closer, he”ll smell of his cheap cologne.
Don”t let it destroy you. Not yet.
I want to escape. Run as far away from his presence as possible, but I”m incapable of it. Why does he still have the same influence over me even after all these years? I”m no longer the little girl he used to hurt with his words. I feel bile creeping up my now dry throat, my whole body trembles with dread.
I close my eyes, clenching my fists and jaw. Fear washes over me—no, it”s more than fear, it”s sheer terror. Desperately, I attempt to shift my thoughts, to envision myself in a different place, with someone else. My mind wanders to Corentin, recalling our shared moments, but even recalling fails to quell the rising panic.
Do something! My conscience is screaming at me. Don”t stand there like an idiot!
Suddenly, his face turns toward me and his eyebrows furrow. Breathing hard, I force myself to turn around. I meet a torso and gaze up at Corentin, whose expression turns stern upon seeing me.
“Florence, what?—”
I don”t let him finish his sentence and take refuge in his arms. Corentin holds me firmly against his chest. My vision blurs, the air around me becomes sparse and much more stifling as I assimilate what has happened. My breathing is rapid, and my limbs shake even harder.
Calm down, my conscience tells me. It”s over, everything”s fine.
I try to take another breath to calm the rhythm of my heart, which is dancing a frantic waltz in my ribcage, to no avail. The walls are slowly closing in on me, and I feel as if I”m trapped in a cage, waiting for my last breath.
The shadows of my past, the mockery, and the disgust from the one I saw as my role model materialize before me. It”s a faceless, translucent silhouette. I could slide my hand through it to make it go away, but I know it will come back, like tonight. It won”t let go of me. It”s my burden, the weight of my guilt. The reasons I can”t meet my mother”s gaze without feeling regret and shame. It”s also why I fear losing Corentin, Manille, and Charlotte at the slightest misstep. I”m stuck with the ghost of my past until the end of my days, and there”s nothing I can do about it.
“I want to go home,” I sobbed.
I can barely stand on my legs, the tension in my chest is so oppressive. A salty drop slides down the corner of my mouth, quickly joined by a dozen others. I cling to Corentin”s arm to keep from collapsing and press my nails into his flesh to make sure he”s there, not one of my hallucinations.
“I—I need air,” I manage to pronounce, not without difficulty.
With a worried expression on his face, Corentin puts his arm around my waist and leads me as quickly as possible toward the exit of the bar. I”m slumped over him as I start to lose my footing completely.
Outside, the fresh, humid air hits me hard, bringing me back to reality. The wind, scented with our intertwined perfumes, caresses my skin and hair. I let myself slide against the Parisian asphalt, taking advantage of the starless night to recharge my batteries.
I experience panic attacks occasionally, but this marks the first occurrence in a public setting. It began when he projected his shame onto me, triggering a sudden shift in my life, with stress and fear steadily intensifying. I hid it from my mother. We were already in a complicated situation, and there was no need to add another layer with my problems. And then, over time, I learned to control them with cleaning.
Silent tears continue to make their way down my cheeks. Corentin”s warm hand rests on my skin with great delicacy and welcome gentleness. His thumbs are busy drying my salty pearls while his gaze is lost in mine.
“I”m sorry,” he breathes, devastated. “I shouldn”t have been so close to you. Forgive me if I”ve made you feel uncomfortable.”
My heart takes an uppercut. He thinks it”s his fault? I can”t believe he could imagine he”s the cause of my condition. He”s been anything but disrespectful to me. Corentin takes the time to listen to my needs and desires, without ever judging me. I open my mouth to challenge him. To tell him he”s in no way responsible for what happened. But I can”t. The words stick in the back of my throat.
“Florence? What the hell happened?”
We both turn to Charlotte and Manille. They approach me, their faces drawn with worry.
“I”ll get our things and we”ll go home,” he replies in a sad, almost guilty tone.
I have enough time to see the veil of guilt covering his emerald eyes before he disappears into the flow of people.