Page 74 of Frenched (Frenched 1)
“Yes. You’re amazing. I mean, aside from your insane drive to plan out every minute detail of your life from birth to death, you’re the most fun person I’ve ever been with. And you’re beautiful and smart and funny and Christ, you’re hot in bed.”
Oh yeah. Flattered was killing it. “And in the kitchen?”
He smiled sideways at me. “And in the kitchen. And the living room. And the shower, the villa, and the orchard.”
The orchard. Fuck. My body shivered involuntarily.
He took my hand again. “Mia, I can be my real self with you like I never have with anyone else. In every way.”
I knew exactly what he meant because I felt it too, but I wasn’t hearing what I needed to hear. To avoid pressing a hopeless point or dissolving into tears again, I made a joke. “You’re just happy I let you tie me up.”
“No, I’m not. Well, yes I am, but that’s not all I meant.” He tipped his head from side to side. “I guess I’d be lying if I said the sex had nothing to do with it—I love that you’re not scared of anything.”
“I’m not with you,” I said honestly. “Not for one minute.”
“And I love that you’re so passionate and willing and vocal about sex—I’ve never been with anyone like you who knows just what she wants and isn’t afraid to ask for it. Or take it.” He ran a hand up my leg. “Being with you is…” He shook his head. “I can’t describe it. But oh my God.”
I smiled ruefully. “Don’t worry, the sex has a lot to do with it for me, too. I think you’ve spoiled me for life.”
He squeezed my thigh. “Good.”
I lay back again, crossing my arms over my chest. Talking about sex wasn’t going to help us—we both liked it too much. The chemistry was too spectacular. “No, Lucas, it’s not good. I’m all caught up in the way I feel about you, but we want different things—maybe not sexually—but ultimately. In life. And neither of us is willing to change.” I dug my nails into my upper arms.
Tell me I’m wrong. Deny it. Please.
Lucas spoke softly. “I just don’t see why we can’t try to make this work without knowing what the end result will be. I think I could make you happy.”
My insides crumbled. God, he made this so fucking hard. “I know you could, Lucas. But I’m done with casual dating. I’m not interested in just fooling around—I need to know that we’re moving toward something. And maybe that makes me crazy, considering what I just went through, but that’s me.” My lower lip quivered and my stomach churned. “And it isn’t you.”
Say you’ll change. Say I’m worth it.
But he said nothing. A full minute ticked by with Lucas staring at his hand on my leg in silence.
“Am I wrong?” I asked softly.
He shook his head. “I don’t want to make any promises to you that I can’t keep. It wouldn’t be fair, especially after what you’ve been through.”
“Then this is what we’ll have.” I swung my legs off the chair. The deluge was coming, and I wanted to leave him so I co
uld go cry it out alone, but he caught my arm.
“Please, Mia.” His voice cracked, and it nearly shattered me. “Don’t go.”
“I have to, Lucas. I came here to get stronger, to start enjoying life on my own again. Instead I fell for you, and knowing that I have to walk away is enough to break me. Let me go, please.”
Don’t let me go. Please.
But he did.
I went upstairs, undressed, and got ready for bed. I’d like to say that I remained strong and sure of my decision, but the truth is I blubbered like a baby for the next three hours straight. Had I made a huge mistake? How could he have let me go without fighting for me? Where was he now, back at the party? My stomach heaved. I could hear the music perfectly from here through the open window. Was he dancing with some other girl? Speaking French in her ear? Would he not sleep in this bed tonight, the one I thought of as ours? Jumping up, I shut the window, closed the curtain and buried myself under the covers. I tugged at my hair and hunched up my knees, soaking the pillow with tears.
Eventually I fell asleep, because I woke up when the bedroom door creaked open. I opened one eye and watched Lucas undress, my thighs clenching tight at the sight of him removing his suit and tie. I loved his body, the sinew and lean muscle, the smooth skin, the easy way he moved. He draped his clothing over a chair, and went into the bathroom. My heart was thudding fast but I tried to feign sleep. I couldn’t handle any more talking.
The bathroom door opened and Lucas got into bed. I kept my breathing deep and even, and I lay facing away from him, my hands beneath my cheek. How is he lying? Facing me? Away from me? On his back? Is he looking at me? Will he touch me? I couldn’t even decide if I wanted him to or not.
Actually, that’s a big lie. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to be with him one more time and know for certain it was the last time. It might not do me any good—in fact, it would probably do me harm—but if he reached for me, I’d go to him.
After a few minutes of silence ticked by, I figured he’d gone to sleep and a shuddering sigh escaped me. That’s it, then. It’s over.
