“Would you like to sit?”
“I’m good.”
“Okay.” Needing a distraction, I go to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine. “Drink?”
“No, thank you.”
He joins me in the kitchen, and his nearness sends my heartbeat into overdrive. When he’s standing next to me, he pulls me into his arms and holds me in a tight embrace.
“Please don’t.” I try to push him away, unable to look at him. My insides are torn to shreds. This is my husband, I tell myself. His embrace should be welcome, but it isn’t. Not anymore.
“Let me hold you if only for this moment,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’m so sorry, my darling.” He places a fingertip under my chin, making me look at him, his eyes pleading and full of sorrow.
“William …” Tell him about Sébastien. Tell him it’s over. “I … we need to—”
“Please come back home.”
“I don’t know if I can, William. So much has happened.”
“I know it has, but your life is back in Greenwich. With me. I need you. Don’t you see? You’re what keeps me together …” He strokes my cheek with the back of his hand. “Before you, I thought I was lost.”
“I didn’t trust love. Didn’t trust people. I was an island—an island that no one could reach. But one day, it all changed. I learned to trust. I learned to trust love, and it was because of you. I love you, Val. And without you …” He lets go of me, his hands falling down to his sides as though in surrender. “I don’t know what will become of me. Maybe my father was right about me …”
“I don’t understand. What about your father?” Every time I’ve tried to broach the subject of his childhood after reminiscing about my own, it’s like hitting a wall. He either changes the subject or quiets me with kisses, making me forget. Eventually, I learned to respect his silence hoping that one day he’d feel comfortable enough to share that part of himself with me.
“I know I never talk about him.” He pauses, measuring his next words carefully. “There’s a reason for that.” He chuckles wryly. “Let’s just say he was never going to win an award for Father of the Year.”
I knit my brows in confusion, an ominous feeling settling in the pit of my stomach. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve seen the scar on my back.”
I nod, preparing myself for what he’s about to say.
“Do you remember what I told you about it?”
“You told me your German shepherd got loose and bit your back. He took out a chunk of your skin. You ended up in the hospital for days because the wound got infected.”
“Max didn’t get loose by accident,” he says quietly, his face devoid of emotion. “I tried protecting my mother and Gwyneth from him, but it only incensed him more. The beatings got nastier, more frequent. I was really happy when he died. I hated him.”
Sorrow for them makes the strings of my heart twist and knot until they are impossible to untie.
“I drowned in hate. It festered in my blood. Something inside me changed forever. He used to say I was unworthy of being loved, and I believed him. I wore his words and hate like armor. That is until you.”
“Oh, William.” I wrap my arms around him, pulling him close to me, my heart breaking for him and the boy he used to be.
“I need you, Val. You’re the glue that keeps me together.” He returns my embrace, desperation vibrating in his hold. “I haven’t been able to think, eat, or sleep. I keep punishing myself for destroying our marriage. The one good thing in my life.”
Maybe I’ve gotten it all wrong. I’ve painted him as the villain in my story, but maybe it’s been me all along.
That’s when all the guilt comes crashing down on me. God. What have I done? I’m swallowed by it. Drowned by it. I’ve held his affair like a gun to William’s head for over a year now. And what have I been doing in the meantime? Losing my head over another man.
“I was a fucking fool to not cancel everything and come to Paris straight away. Am I too late? You keep giving me chances, and I keep fucking up, but this is the last time. If you take me back, it won’t ever happen again. It’s been hell without you.” He kisses my forehead. “I cannot lose you … I can’t,” he utters passionately. “Please forgive me, my darling.”
With each sentence he utters, a chasm grows between Sébastien and me. He drifts further and further away from me as reality settles around me.
My gaze roams over William’s dear face as memories of our lifetime together surround me, drawing me back to him. And I remember the dream—the dream we had together. The life we made flashes before my eyes. Twelve years worth. Did I really think I could walk away from him just like that?
“You know what the real wonders of life are?” I asked William as I sat astride his lap. He cupped my bare ass in his large hands and pushed me flush against his erection.
“Yes.” He leaned down, nuzzling my neck. “One of them is fucking my wife.”
I groaned, his kisses raising and tickling my skin, lighting me up like a grenade. “Do be serious.”
William chuckled and raised his head, his eyes locked with mine. Seconds passed in silence. He grew serious—thoughtful—his easy, teasing smile gone. “I don’t care for buildings and statues. They’re just things. You are my real wonder, Val. Waking up next to you and making love to you.” He rubbed his cheek against mine. “You’re everything that makes me good and worthy.”
A bomb full of memories hits me in the middle of the chest. It pierces through me and spills all the shame flowing in my veins. “We can’t go on as we are. Things need to change, William.”
“I know, my darling. Things will, you’ll see.” He showers my face with kisses. “Without you I am nothing, you hear? Nothing. I love you so damn much, Val.”
“I love you, too,” I say, but the words taste like acid on my tongue. He leans down, his mouth searching for mine, but I can’t. At the last second, I turn my face to the side and his kiss lands on my cheek.
“Everything will be all right now,” he says. “I’ll prove it to you.”
His words should be a soothing balm, but instead, they close about me like a jail.
“Let’s leave Paris.”
“What?” I blink as though waking up from a dream. “Now?”
“Yes, there’s nothing keeping us here. Let’s go home, Val,” he pleads tenderly.
But there is. There is!
I nod, a knot in the pit of my stomach, suddenly feeling like I’m going to be sick. “Okay.”
“I flew in the jet. I’m sure it can be ready in an hour. Do you need more time?”
I shake my head numbly. “I don’t need that long.”
“Do you still employ that driver?”
“Pierre? Yes. Would you like me to call him?”
“No need. Give me his number and I’ll set everything up.”
“Sure.”
In the bedroom, I toss all my things in the suitcases, a storm of clothes, bags, and shoes swirling around me. I finish packing in no time. Ready to close the door behind me, my gaze lands on the wooden owl sitting on the nightstand. I give into weakness and allow myself to think of the man expecting me tonight.
And it hurts. It hurts so much.
I want to cry, but the tears won’t come—I don’t deserve them. These are the consequences of my actions—the big fucking reality of it all. Karma has finally found me, and she is merciless in her punishment. But I knew she would eventually catch up to me and demand her payment.
Unable to look at the owl anymore, I shut the door, hearing it click behind me—the sound final—unforgiving. I take a few steps toward the living room where William and Pierre are waiting for me, but change my mind halfway there. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. Spinning on my feet, I go back inside for the wooden figure, the only thing I have left of a beautiful dream, now just a memory.
As I step outside, Sébastien’s gift in my bag, I come to the realization that pushing him out of my hea
rt would be like asking the sun to stop rising every morning—an impossibility. He’s dug himself so deep in my skin, in the marrow of my bones, that if you were to cut me open, you’d find parts of me, William, and Sébastien intertwined. But I can do one thing for my husband, and that is to never look back, putting Sébastien out of my mind. My heart screams that it’s impossible, and every part of my soul cries. However, I turn a deaf ear to it all.
I will do it for William.
“Ready?” he asks, rising from the couch.
Hollow, I nod. We make our way to the entrance. Pierre opens it for us, and we step out of the apartment. I hear him shut the door behind us, the sound like an arrow through the chest. I take one step.
Two steps.
Three steps.
“Wait. I can’t. I can’t.”
William glances back, confusion embedded in his features. “Excuse me?”
“I …” I turn on my feet. “I have to say goodbye.”
He frowns. “To whom?”
I shake my head, leaving him without an explanation. Desperation and urgency propel me to move faster. I take the stairs, climb two at a time until I get to his floor. I can’t even think what I’m going to say to him. All I know is that I need to see him one last time. Maybe try to explain.
I raise a hand and knock and knock, but there’s no answer.
Come on, Sébastien. Open the damn door.
I knock again and ring the doorbell. Come on. Again. Come on. Again. Come on. Again.
Slowly, little by little, the light goes out until there’s nothing left but darkness. Funny that, how hearts can continue to beat when they feel as though they are breaking into a thousand pieces.
I wait a minute, and another, and another. But Sébastien never comes to the door, and no magic ping of the elevator brings him to me.
My eyes blur as tears begin to fall down my cheeks and a sob is torn from my chest. I place my palm on the cool wood, leaning my head against it. “Maybe in another life we’ll meet again and get it right. But whatever happens, you will always remain my one perfect memory, my one perfect dream. I love you, my beautiful man.”
I take a moment to collect myself, wipe my tears, and go back downstairs.
William puts his cellphone away in the back pocket of his jeans when he notices me. He clears his throat. “Everything okay?”
“Sorry about that.” My gaze lands briefly on Pierre, and the sadness and understanding I see in his eyes almost undoes me. It takes every ounce of willpower I own not to fall apart. “I wanted to say goodbye to a neighbor who’s …” I suck in a breath, “who’s helped me a lot.”
“Who is it?” His frown grows deeper. “Maybe I should thank him too.”
“No, that’s okay. It’s the same lady I mentioned a while back. The one who invited me to her dinner party,” I lie, feeling like I’m going to be sick.
William seems to take my word for it, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’ll have my assistant send her an arrangement of flowers when we get home.” He takes my hand in his, and we start to move toward the elevator, leaving the apartment behind.
I’m staring out the window, watching cars become blurs of colors, when I remember Sébastien’s painting. Desperation makes me want to go back for it, but it’s too late. Leaning forward to speak to Pierre, I ask him if he can go back to the apartment tomorrow, retrieve the painting for me, and have it shipped to Greenwich.
“Of course.”
“Thank you so much,” I say, feeling an explosion of gratitude toward Pierre. “Don’t worry about the cost. I’ll transfer whatever you need to your account.”
He nods, stopping at a red light.
Then, I remember Mr. Lemaire and more guilt corrodes me.
I look at William sitting to my left. He’s on the phone with the pilot of the jet going over the details of our flight.
“Pierre, I have one last favor to ask from you,” I say quietly, leaning forward.
“Oui, madame.”
“Could you stop by Mr. Lemaire’s and explain to him that I had to go home and that I’m so sorry.”
Pierre nods, and I give him the address of the store. “Will you not be coming back to Paris?” he asks, our eyes connecting in the rearview mirror.
Deflated. Empty. Numb.
I shake my head. “No, Pierre. I don’t think I am.”
WHEN THE WHEELS OF the jet touch down on the runway of Westchester County Airport, the sun has been out for a couple of hours. I lean my head back on the leather seat and close my eyes, emotionally battered as though I had just come out of a war zone. But it’s a new day, a new beginning—a new chance to start all over again. So I pick myself up and keep going, bruises and all, Sébastien and my time in Paris locked in a corner deep in the recesses of my mind.
As the jet taxies to the terminal, I focus on the wet asphalt covered in puddles that shine with oil rainbows. The plane comes to a stop on the tarmac, and the cheery voice of the pilot announcing our arrival awakens me from my trance.
William kisses my forehead. “We’re home, my darling.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat and forcing myself to look him in the eye. “Yes, we are.”
Our home seems to have been untouched in the time I was gone. The same paintings hang on the wall. The same large columns fill the hallway leading to the grand staircase. The familiar smells of lemon and wood saturate my nose. Everything is as it should be yet nothing is the same.
William helps me out of my coat while I scan the foyer. It feels like a lifetime ago since I was last here. When his fingers brush the back of my neck, a shiver runs down my spine. I swallow, closing my eyes momentarily.
Away from Paris, reality is becoming harder to ignore. Every move made, word spoken becomes tentative. Careful. Measured. They say, Please, let me back in. Remember this—remember us. We used to love each other. We still do. You hurt me. I hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, too. Don’t give up on us.
“Val,” he whispers, tenderly wrapping his fingers around my upper arms from behind as he steps closer to me.
I suck in a ragged breath as the heat of his hands settles in my bones. Somewhere deep inside me, there’s a home built on our lives together, its walls made out of memories, love, dreams, pain, beauty, and suffering. I thought its doors were shut, but I hear him now, knocking, begging me to let him inside.
I hesitate, and William knows it.
Gently, he spins me around until we’re facing each other. I study his features. He’s William, my husband. But my treacherous heart remains quiet.
He lets go of my arms to cup my face softly between his palms. I cover his hands with mine.
“This time apart …” William leans down and kisses the crests of my cheeks, my eyebrows, my mouth. Each time his lips come into contact with me, the door rattles, shaking the foundation of the house. “I thought I lost you for good. I couldn’t breathe. My life—” His voice breaks as his touch grows more possessive, more desperate. “My life has no meaning without you.”
And then I ask the one question I told myself I wouldn’t because it might open the Pandora’s box, but I need to know. I need to hear it from him. “Why did you wait so long to come to Paris?”
William takes a breath as hesitation flashes across his eyes. “I thought about it, but then you asked for space. For time. And after all the shit I’ve put you through, I thought the least I could do was to respect your wishes. It wasn’t smart of me, but I didn’t know what else to do.” He takes my hand in his. “It hurt like hell, Val. But it taught me a very valuable lesson.”
His pull grows stronger. As I stare at the naked pain in his gaze, I want to self-flagellate, draw my own blood. I put it there. The guilt for what I’ve done to him becomes a cross I carry on my shoulders, pulling me down.
“It took me almost losing you to realize how much I need you. How much I love you.” He raises my hand to his lips, kissing it. “Some days I told myself to go anyway, to beg you to come back. Fuck th
e space you asked for. But I was afraid of what I would find.”
“What was that?”
“You. Making a life without me. I know you had every right, but it would’ve killed me. To know and see that you didn’t need me to be happy. And the thought of you moving on …” He closes his eyes briefly. “I waited day in and day out until I couldn’t anymore. I had to see you.”
I drown in remorse for that’s exactly what I was doing. Back in Paris, inebriated by Sébastien and the alluring unknown, it was easier to think that I could walk away from William. Gone was the mundane. The painful reminders. The memories. Suddenly, life was beautiful again. Everything was new. Exciting. Bright. And easy, so easy.
But away from all of it, I realize how naïve I was. Love is only part of what makes a marriage work. Marriage isn’t about keeping tabs on who’s fucked up the most. It’s about taking those mistakes and working through them. Marriage is about commitment and forgiving—truly forgiving—and not giving up.
Is it stupid to let him back in once again? I don’t know. But I can’t throw this away because of a beautiful dream. Sébastien was more than that, my heart yells, but I ignore it. I tuck that love in a place that William will never be able to reach, a place that belongs to Sébastien and Sébastien alone; a place between heaven and hell, torment and delight. I focus on William who anchors me to the present, to the now, to this life. Underneath all the hurt and disappointment, he’s still my husband and the man I fell in love with a long time ago. Besides, who am I to judge him? My hands are just as dirty as his. My aunt used to say that those who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Therefore I take my dirty stones and put them back in my pocket. I capitulate. I open the door and let him back in.
I cup William’s jaw and make him look at me as I say goodbye to my sun and beautiful dream. “It’s all in the past.”
“I will make this right, I promise,” he says earnestly before kissing me, and this time I don’t turn my face away. He erases the memory of another man’s kiss and replaces it with his. My heart shouts that this is wrong, that these aren’t the arms, the lips I want, but I ignore that voice and its pleas as I try to lose myself in the taste of his mouth. And when he reaches for me, taking my clothes off, touching every part of my body, I let him.