Page 20 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
I gasped and clapped a hand over my mouth. “God, that would never be allowed on the grave of an American President.”
Lucas shook his head. “Probably not.”
“You’re pretty good with all this history,” I said as we continued walking.
“I find it interesting.”
I elbowed him. “Especially the parts with blowjobs, I bet.” To my surprise, he blushed, and the word adorable popped into my head. “I’m serious. It’s amazing how much you know about this place.”
“I have a good memory is all.”
I sighed. “I don’t. I have to write everything down or I forget things constantly.”
He looked at me in surprise. “Really? I’d have thought you were one of those girls who always remembers everyone’s name and where you met and what they were wearing.”
“Not if I don’t write it down somewhere. There’s a reason I like lists so much—I’m not just obsessed with them for fun.”
“Fun,” he scoffed, nudging me with his shoulder. “Lists are not fun.”
I giggled and went to shove him back but he dodged it and threw his arms around me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides so I couldn’t move. “Behave, princess.” His breath tickled my neck through my hair, sending a weightless joy rushing up inside me.
“What if I don’t want to behave?”
Lucas went completely still, and for a moment I thought I might have gone too far. Change the subject.
“Hey, what’s that?” Up ahead was one of the most elaborate tombs I’d ever seen—it was almost like its own little Gothic chapel without walls. Inside the structure lay two statues in repose right next to each other, their hands steepled in prayer.
Lucas released me. “Ah. Abelard and Heloise. But that’s one I don’t know if I can tell you about.”
“Why not?” Moving closer to it, I stared at the stonework, nearly breathless at its beauty.
“Because it’s a very tragic romantic story. I’m not sure it’s advisable on this excursion.”
“No, tell me. I promise I can handle it.”
“OK. But I warned you. Ugh—” He took an elbow in the gut from me before going on. “So Abelard was a twelfth-century teacher and philosopher, and he’d heard about this brilliant young beauty named Heloise. He convinces her uncle to let him tutor her, only they don’t get much studying done.”
I put a hand on his arm. “Let me guess—more blowjobs.”
“You have a dirty mind, princess. But yes, I suppose there were blowjobs. Now don’t interrupt.”
“Sorry, go on.” I put my hands at the top of the iron fence surrounding the tomb and focused on the figures lying there, trying to ignore the way his nearness was starting to make my whole body tingle.
“They carry on a passionate, illicit love affair for a while,” Lucas went on, “long enough for Heloise to get pregnant, and it’s a big scandal because he’s so much older than she is. Anyway, the uncle finds out and tries to separate them, but they marry in secret.”
Rapt, I imagined it all as he talked—the late night tutoring sessions that ended in passionate kisses when their desire for one another became too much to bear. The secret trysts—I pictured them lying on some kind of bearskin rug in front of a fireplace, the flames casting golden light on their glistening bodies. The secret wedding ceremony, hurriedly conducted in hushed voices in a tiny chapel. “Go on,” I urged, feeling more than a little aroused myself. “Then what happened?”
“Well, it gets a bit gruesome at this point. Abelard fears for their safety because the uncle’s kind of a dick and not too happy about the marriage. So he hides Heloise in a convent and goes back to Paris alone, where he’s attacked and, uh, castrated.” Lucas shivered and adjusted the crotch of his pants.
I gasped. “No!”
“Yes. He’s so ashamed he decides he can’t face Heloise, and he becomes a monk. She’s so devastated she gives up her child, joins a convent, and becomes a nun.”
My mouth fell open. “What? They never saw each other again?”
“I don’t think so. But they wrote to each other for twenty years. And the love letters survived.”
“Love letters, really? Are they romantic?”
