Page 70 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
Glancing down, I smiled. “I can see that.”
“So you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong?”
I love you. That’s what’s wrong.
I shook my head. “Nope. Because it doesn’t matter. What matters is enjoying this moment here with you.”
He tackled me, throwing me onto my back and lying above me. “I am enjoying this moment. But I’d enjoy it even more with my pants off.”
I smiled at his insatiable desire. “You’re a fiend, you know. And I think we’re visible from the house.”
“Totally visible.” But he lowered his lips and kissed me, opening his mouth over mine and meeting my tongue with his.
I wrapped my arms around him, kissing him back with a desperation he must have sensed but didn’t question out loud. God, how could he be so nonchalant about this whole thing? I felt like my world was going to split apart in four days, and nothing seemed to bother him about goodbye. I was envious of his ability to be so fulfilled by the present that the future, even the near future, didn’t affect him.
Because he knows, Mia. He knows what this is and he’s never pretended it was anything else. Get that into your head and keep it there.
Lucas picked up his head and traced my mouth with one finger. “I love your lips, have I told you that? But before I decide my family won’t care if they see a show out here, we better go in and start getting ready for the party.”
“OK.”
That’s it. Agreeable. Game for anything. Just here for a good time.
As we walked back to the house, I carried the picnic basket with both hands—maybe it was silly, but I didn’t want Lucas to hold one. Those were the kinds of things that had to stop. And when we returned to Paris, I had to stay in my own hotel room at night. Hell, maybe I should even spend the days on my own too. I had to get used to being without him.
Because even though he wasn’t the type to worry about the future, I was. That hadn’t changed. As much fun as I was having with Lucas, I was still the same person underneath—and just like Jessica, I wanted things in my life that he couldn’t give. Comparing myself to her sucked, but I knew where she was coming from. I was twenty-seven already. I’d be twenty-eight in the fall. Maybe it was dumb to put a timeline on my life, but that’s the way I was. And if he hadn’t been willing to change for a woman he’d loved for three years, he wasn’t going to change for me. I wasn’t that stupid.
I just hoped I could find someone else I had such great chemistry with, someone who wanted to make that promise to me. And let me tie him up and suck him off before kneeling over his face.
I felt like laughing and crying at the same time. My eyes started to fill again and I had to look at the ground and blink furiously to get the tears to go away.
Lucas opened the back door for me and smiled as I passed through it, but his face still wore a worried expression. I’d have to do a better acting job if I wanted to convince him that everything was fine.
Upstairs in the shower, I made myself a list.
Instructions For the Night
1) No affectionate gestures that say “relationship potential.” This includes hand-holding, hair touching, forehead kissing.
2) No fantasizing about a future with him, especially anything related to engagements or weddings.
3) No tears, frowny faces, or admitting what’s wrong. If he asks, you continue to say nothing or, if necessary, lie and say it’s the wedding thing after all.
4) DO NOT make any plans for when you get back to Paris. If he tries, you grit your teeth, summon your willpower, and suggest maybe spending some time on your own. List some attractions at super-high heights you want to see.
5) No more sex.
Actually, I didn’t really put that one on there.
Ain’t nobody got that kind of willpower.
Gilles and Lisette’s engagement party was the kind of event I wish I’d planned. In fact, I took a ton of photographs during the evening and got excited when I thought about showing them to Coco. In my head, I made a list of the possible venues where an outdoor Provençal-style wedding might be possible, although recreating the look and fe
el of this place would be a challenge. The colors, the light, the scents, the textures, the tastes…they were all so particular to this part of the world. But there were things I could imitate—the tables for four with wide easy chairs, the antique lace tablecloths, the lavender and wildflowers on the tables.
It occupied me for much of the night, which was good. I needed something to take my mind off Lucas, whose appearance in a wheat-colored summer suit, light blue shirt and THE TIE rivaled the scenery. His shave was clean tonight, and I fought the urge to rub my cheek against his jaw many times. And the urge to lick it. Yeah, I had that one too.
I kept up a stream of bubbly chatter about my job to avoid breaking down, and he listened with interest, never complaining when I wandered off with my camera. But the I’m Totally Fine, Really I Am act was taking everything out of me—I was exhausted by the time everyone sat down for dinner, unsure of how long I could keep up the pretense.
