36. Rule #36 True love is selfless.
Matis
“Bonjour, Monsieur Moreau,” the attendant at the front desk greets me. “She’s in the garden playing chess.”
I pause, my feet halting on the path toward her room. “In the garden?”
“Yes, I thought you knew.”
My brow furrows even more, and when the phone at the front desk rings, her attention is averted. So I pass by the desk to the garden in search of my mother.
When I turn the corner on the stone path, I hear a familiar voice, so I pause my steps. Hiding behind a large oak tree, I listen to Amelia cheerfully talking to my mother.
“Did he ever tell you about the time we visited him in the Riviera and all he had was this tiny Italian car, so we had to pile into it like clowns?”
I smile at the memory, chuckling at the vision of Amelia pressed up against the ceiling of the back seat on her mother’s lap.
“Then he let me and Julian drive it because we asked, and we ended up popping the tires and throwing off the alignment. I could tell he was upset, but he never said anything.”
There is no response from my mother, although I knew there wouldn’t be. So Amelia continues.
“He means well, doesn’t he?” I hear the pieces on the board moving, and I’m not sure if it’s my mother or Amelia playing.
Or both. “He’d give a stranger the shoes off his feet, but sometimes I worry that he doesn’t ever do enough for himself.
He loves with his whole heart. You know that, don’t you? You raised him.”
My smile fades as I listen. I have a feeling I know where this is going.
“I really wish he’d take this job because I know he’d be so good at it. And he’d be happy doing what he loves again.” Her voice takes on a quiet glumness. “But at the same time, you know…I’d miss him so much.”
Just hearing her say that makes my chest ache and soar at the same time. I want to know Amelia would miss me, but I hate the idea of her in any pain.
And what I truly grasp from this conversation is just how much I love her. And not only for how beautiful and brilliant and funny she is but for how she sees me. How she makes me feel.
Amelia sees something in me I don’t. She reads me better than anyone, and at the end of the day, she makes me want to be the best version of myself. No one in all my years has ever had that effect on me.
“I don’t know,” she mumbles as a chess piece moves again. “I have no one else to really talk to about this. If you have any wisdom or advice to impart, I would greatly appreciate it.”
Of course, my mother stays quiet. Closing my eyes, I imagine what she would advise if she could still reach herself inside her mind. Without a doubt, she’d have a mouthful to contribute. The fiery, brilliant woman that she was, she’d hold Amelia’s hand, and she’d tell her…
That sometimes love comes with pain. True love is selfless, and showing love in its realest form often means letting them go and doing what is best for them rather than keeping them close.
I can almost hear her saying it.
Amelia carries on the one-sided conversation with my mother, changing the subject to something more lighthearted and innocent. Just as she mentions the weather, I emerge from behind the tree and walk toward them, unnoticed.
“Who’s winning?” I ask.
Amelia’s head pops up and her eyes brighten at the sight of me. As she straightens, putting her hands in her lap, she sends me a tight smile.
“I hope you don’t mind me coming. I was in the area, so I thought I’d just stop by for a game.”
I glance down at the board and see the pieces in all the wrong places and realize it’s not really a game at all. My mother lifts her hand and moves her queen forward.
“I love that you came,” I say as I take the seat next to her on the bench. Leaning over, I press my lips to the side of her head. “Comment vas-tu aujourd’hui, Maman?” I ask, placing my hand on my mother’s.
She lifts her gaze and stares through me. Pain lances my heart because even now after all this time, a part of me expects her to look into my eyes and see me. I still expect the woman I know to be behind that empty gaze. But she’s not.
“The nurse mentioned that she’s been more active lately. That she loves being in the garden. I think our visits help.” Amelia seems so hopeful as she stares across the table, giving my mother a soft smile that she doesn’t return.
“Then we’ll just have to visit more,” I reply.
The conversation they had about London and the job prospect lingers in the air, but no one acknowledges it.
Instead, the three of us play another game of chess, enjoying the beautiful day together…while we have it.
The Place du Tertre is bustling today. Amelia stays close to my side as we stroll through the crowd, glancing at the artists doing their portraits on rickety stands with fingers covered in charcoal and paint.
I want to hold her hand. If we were anywhere else in the world, I’d reach down and link my fingers with hers, but we can’t. This is too close to the club. Too close to where our friends often meander. Anyone could be around this corner, and we’ve already been caught by too many.
Eventually, we stop, watching a young woman sketch a portrait with a thick piece of charcoal. It’s incredible to witness her at work, seeing how deftly she adds detail to the eyelashes and freckles without making a single mistake.
This is what I love about Paris. The artistry here is like nowhere else in the world. As we stand to the side and watch, Amelia’s knuckles delicately brush mine. I press back against hers as if I’m sending a message.
The artist turns to see us watching and gives me a coy smile. “Monsieur?” she asks, gesturing toward the stool, offering me a portrait.
Amelia glances up at me in question.
“Pas aujourd’hui, merci,” I reply with a wave of my hands.
“Vous avez un très beau visage, très expressif,” the woman presses, complimenting me on my handsome face.
I chuckle to myself, and suddenly Amelia grips my hand.
“C’est gentil, mais non merci.” I refuse again, thanking her for her kindness.
“You should do it,” Amelia interrupts.
My brow furrows as I glance down at her. “What? No.”
“She likes you,” Amelia urges.
I wave my hand politely at the artist again before I gently tug Amelia away. We weave into the moving crowd meandering around the square as I glance at her skeptically.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
Amelia seems nervous. She’s practically chewing on her bottom lip. “She was flirting with you.”
“She was trying to sell me a portrait.”
“Yes, but she liked you,” she replies without looking in my eyes.
“So…why would you want me to get a portrait by her?”
Amelia stops near the intersection of two cobblestone streets. As I pull her away from the streets’ edge where cars are known to take corners blindly, I hold her in front of me and wait for her response.
“I can’t explain it,” she says. “It doesn’t bother me when people flirt with you. In fact, I kinda wanted to see her flirt more.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Doesn’t make sense to me either, but I was thinking about what we talked about before…”
She’s approaching a topic delicately. I can tell by the way she glances around to be sure no one else can hear us.
“What did we talk about?” I ask, tugging her closer. Suddenly, I don’t care if people find us here. I’m too intrigued by what is on her mind.
“You know…me watching you.” Her innocent blue eyes lift to my face. “With someone else.”
“I don’t want to be with anyone else.”
“Someday, you will. Someday, you might miss being with others at the club. But if you…let me watch.”
“Amelia,” I mutter, one hand pressed against her lower back to keep her face close to mine. “Are you saying this because you think it’s what I want or are you saying this is what you want?”
She chews on her lips some more. “If I had…some reassurance that you’re really mine, some…promise, then I think I’d like it very much.”
“Some promise?”
“Never mind,” she mutters, turning her back and walking away down the hilly cobblestone streets.
Rushing after her, I capture her arm carefully and urge her to stop. “Amelia, wait.”
She stops with reluctance, and when she looks up at me, she seems uncomfortable and regretful.
“What promise do you want, mon trésor? I am yours. Have I not forsaken every other relationship in my life for you? Just being with you breaks every rule I’ve ever been given. Would you like me to get on my knee right here? Because I will.”
Her eyes widen and she grips my arms tightly. “No, God, that’s not what I meant.”
“Then what do you mean?”
Letting out a huff, she braces herself. “I mean…that I think I would like to see you with others because you’re mine. Because I know other people can have a taste, but I get to keep you.”
Finally, a smile stretches across my face. “You do get to keep me.”
“Am I a weirdo?” she asks, and it makes me laugh.
“Amelia,” I say delicately. “I was always the man couples used in this scenario. No, I don’t think you’re weird. Not at all.”
She screws up her mouth, looking nervous, and I try to see things from her perspective, realizing what immense trust she must have in me to even ask for what she is asking for.
“Listen, Trouble,” I say as I place my hands warmly on her arms. “I see that in your mind, you want this control, and being a voyeur gives you that control. And while I don’t crave anyone else’s touch more than yours, I am not so naive and narrow-minded that I am not open to playing with others for the sake of sexuality. ”
Her lips press together as she fights a smile.
“Really?”
“Oui, mon amour. But we will need some rules in place.”
“Of course,” she replies eagerly.
“You and I will choose together who it is who can touch me.”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“And the only things that will touch my dick are hands and mouths, nothing else. I want only you for everything past that, understand?”
A soft look of adoration fills her eyes as she leans into me. “Matis…” she whispers.
“Yes, Trouble?”
“You are perfect, you know that?”
A laugh spills from my throat. “I am far from perfect.”
“You are letting me explore something without making me feel wrong or stupid for it. While somehow making it very romantic. So yes…you are perfect.”
“One more thing, mon trésor,” I mumble, pressing my lips to her nose.
“What is it?”
“I understand why it is you like to stand aside and watch. I know it comes from more than just desire but also need. But…do not hide behind this need—this voyeurism. You are capable of coming out from behind that wall, my love. There is nothing wrong with watching…and there is nothing wrong with joining.”
As she watches me, I see the realization dawn in her eyes. Silently, she nods.
Instead of holding my hand, she links her arm through mine, and we continue on our aimless stroll through Montmartre.
I glance sideways at her, and I feel a moment of pride in my chest. Proud that this incredible woman is, in some way, mine. This woman who is not afraid to ask for what she wants. Unafraid to own these desires. Confident enough with me that she doesn’t hesitate to make her wishes known.
Doing this will not only let Amelia explore her desires in a nonjudgmental way, but it will also strengthen our relationship. Because no matter what I do with anyone else, I will always come back to her.