His To Shatter (13 page)

But instead, we broke apart. Girard looked
down at me intently, and smiled when he saw my eager and happy
expression.

“Madison,” Girard said. “I know that you’re
only in Paris for a short while longer, but I would like it very
much if you would spend that short while with me.”

“Yes,” I said, “Of course.”

He produced his phone and asked me to punch
in my number. I did so with relish, my fingers shaking on the
keypad. He tucked the gadget back into his pocket and lay a kiss
upon my cheek.

“Goodnight Madison,” he said, turning away,
“Sleep well.”

I waited until he had turned the corner
before I fell back against the entryway of my apartment. My entire
body was vibrating with sensation, with something that had to be
desire. I wrenched open the front door and flew up the flights of
stairs. As I flopped heavily down upon my bed, I knew that sleep
was not going to come anytime soon. I turned my gaze toward the
tall windows, thanking every god I could think of for bringing me
to this wonderful city. To the arms of this wonderful, miraculous
man. It was going to be an interesting couple of weeks, that much I
knew for sure.

* * * * *

Chapter Eleven

* * * * *

“How the fuck did this not come up sooner?”
Ashlee screeched at me, throwing herself down on my narrow bed. I
glanced back at her, tearing my eyes away from the careful
application of my makeup.

“I told you,” I said, “I was so caught up
with telling you guys about the interview that I just sort
of...forgot.”

“Forgot?” Dara said, wheeling around in front
of the open windows, thin cigarette hanging between her fingers.
She’s taken up smoking in Paris,
gone native
, as she would
say. “You forgot to tell us that a staggeringly gorgeous Frenchman
leapt to your defense on the subway and quite possibly saved your
life? You forgot about that?”

“I don’t understand why you guys are getting
all nuts about this,” I said calmly, brushing an even coat of
mascara onto my lashes. “It’s not like I lied to you.”

“You omitted,” Ashlee said, “That’s the same
thing. We’ve always told each other everything about our love
lives. Especially the juicy bits.”

“Well, I haven’t had many juicy bits,” I
said, “I guess I didn’t realize we had a protocol in place.”

“We’re not mad,” Dara said, taking a drag off
her cigarette, “It’s just kind of a huge deal, don’t you think?
It’s the kind of thing you share with your two best friends on the
planet.”

“I’m sorry,” I said for the umpteenth time.
“Really, I truly am. I guess it just felt so much like a dream, you
know? It felt like I had imagined the whole thing. If I could have
known...”

I shook my head, amazed. I don’t know what I
would have done if I had known the day Girard saved me that one day
we’d be reunited. The whole coincidence of running into him here in
Paris was certainly too good to be true. I was continuously worried
that I’d wake up any moment, scattering this wonderful collection
of happenstances. I had taken to pinching myself on the hour, just
to make sure that I was really awake. After all, my life had gotten
off to a rather shaky start, and my love life up to that point had
been disappointing at best, this all seemed to be more good fortune
than I deserved.

Who would have thought that I’d be thanking
my lucky stars that some drunk on the subway had harassed me? Back
when Spring had just descended upon New York City, I’d been on my
way to an interview for a Summer internship in Paris with the
international marketing firm, Corelli. Some slurring, drunk bum had
started to make a scene on the subway, and zeroed in on me as a
target. He’d gone so far as to expose himself to me, right there on
the train. Thankfully, a stranger came to my defense, and knocked
the bum out cold when he’d brandished a box cutter at me. That
stranger had turned out to be Girard, and I was convinced that I
would never set eyes on him again.

But with Girard’s help, I’d arrived to my
interview on time. Another fortuitous coincidence occurred, and I’d
ended up in the elevator with Mr. Corelli himself. My candor during
our brief conversation somehow endeared me to Mr. Corelli so much
that he personally recommended me for the internship. I shipped off
to Paris in June with Ashlee and Dara in tow. They found their own
reasons for spending the summer in the City of Lights, and I was so
glad that they had. We spent our nights and weekends immersing
ourselves in the city, and I reacquainted myself with drinking and
enjoying men on my own terms. None of that would have been possible
without Girard.

And then, a couple nights back, I’d had the
impossible good luck of meeting Girard in his own city. Dara,
Ashlee and I had been out at a new club that the entirety of Paris
was raving about. I spotted Girard’s acidic assistant Monica from
across the bar and chased her fruitlessly around the whole place.
It wasn’t until later, when we had been cornered by some cocky
young businessmen, that Girard materialized and saved me once
again. He whisked me away from the group, and I gladly
followed.

No man in my life had ever failed to
disappoint me. For a brief moment, I was afraid that Girard
wouldn’t live up to the image of him I had built up in my head. I
was so utterly wrong, thank god. As it turned out, Girard the man
was even more compelling, more attractive, and more genuine than
the hero I encountered on the subway that day.

We left the club and he brought me to a tiny
cafe, and we talked well into the night. When he walked me home to
my loft, we shared a kiss the likes of which I had never
experienced in my life. I learned, for the first time, what it was
to want a man. And that wanting had only grown.

“It totally figures,” Ashlee sighed from the
bed, “Miss Celibate lands the dreamiest guy on the planet right out
the gate. I’ve been fishing around for a keeper since I was
thirteen, and what has it gotten me?”

“A UTI or two, I’d imagine,” Dara
sniffed.

I smiled back at them fondly. They had been
utterly taken aback when Girard had whisked me away from the club,
and hurt that I never shared my story about him. But ever since we
met on our first day of undergrad, Dara, Ashlee and I could never
stay mad at each other for very long. We were too important to each
other for that. I had no support from my parents, financially or
emotionally; Dara’s mother had passed away when she was a little
girl, and her father compensated by throwing money at her; Ashlee’s
mother had been a domineering stage mom who she’d been forced to
cut out of her life. We were a bunch of misfits, in the end, but we
chose our family in each other.

“Where are you two going?” Ashlee asked,
rolling onto her stomach.

“I have no idea,” I confessed. Girard hadn’t
played any games with me once we reconnected. If he had been
anything like my one and only boyfriend Marc, he would have kept me
hanging for days, letting me wonder whether or not he would ever
call.

But Girard was a man, not some insecure boy.
After I’d given him my number, following our steamy midnight kiss,
he texted me that very same night. He wasn’t trying to jerk me
around, which I appreciated immensely. I was not the most
experienced girl in the world, when it came to romance. I’d had one
one-night stand that I regretted from the bottom of my soul, and
one relationship that had lasted a mere six months and turned me
off to men for the rest of my undergraduate career.

My blood still boiled a little whenever Marc
crossed my mind. I had been so overwhelmed by leaving my small town
of West Chester, Pennsylvania that I latched onto whatever I could
once I arrived at my little liberal arts college. One of those
things that I clung to fiercely was the first boy who happened
along. Marc had been a bony, pimply guy with absolutely no respect
for women, period. He bullied me into going out with him, despite
the fact that I wasn’t ready to be with someone romantically.

If I was honest with myself, I hadn’t even
wanted to start sleeping with him. Not really, anyway. I felt like
it was something that I should be doing by that age, and Marc only
strengthened that false conviction by insisting that I would feel
better about it once we started. He was my first, and I lost my
virginity on a crappy dorm mattress while someone blasted
SpongeBob Squarepants
in the other room.

Needless to say, I had been skeptical about
sex for a long time since. But when I thought about sex with
Girard, it was a whole other story. My body responded to the most
fleeting thought of what it would be like to go to bed with him. He
would know exactly what he was doing, I was sure of it. A man
couldn’t go through life looking like Girard without becoming an
expert lover. I tried not to imagine how many women he’d had during
his thirty-something years on the planet. None of that mattered.
What mattered was those deep, intelligent eyes; the smile that
played across his lips when he looked at me; the firm panes of his
chest beneath my hands as he kissed me in the moonlight...

“Ow!” I winced as my mascara collided with my
eyeball. I had let my fantasies get the best of me.

“Let me,” Dara said, rushing to me aid.

In no time, she and Ashlee had me all fixed
up for the day. When I told them that Girard had proposed a date,
they insisted on “styling” me. And I had to admit that they did a
fantastic job. Dara made my face up in the style of Brigitte
Bardot, with a sweeping hairstyle to match. Ashlee lent me a
gorgeous white dress that was cut in the style of the 1960’s, with
a red ribbon around the waist. I looked like I’d lived in Paris all
my life—my friends had done a fantastic job.

“Are you ready?” Ashlee asked, glee creeping
into her voice.

“I think so,” I said. My stomach was feeling
more than a little fluttery, and I definitely hadn’t been able to
have more than one cup of black coffee that morning. It occurred to
me, as I woke to Girard’s text about meeting up that day, that I
had no idea how to conduct myself on a real, grown-up date. That
night at the cafe had sort of snuck up on me, but generally
speaking, I was clueless. My dates with Marc had mainly consisted
of ordering crappy Chinese food into our dorm and making out
through episodes of
The Jersey Shore
. Not exactly my idea of
romance, in the end. Would I be able to figure out how to conduct
myself once Girard got here?

“Just relax,” Dara said supportively, “Relax
and be yourself. That’s obviously exactly what Girard wants you to
be!”

“OK,” I said, taking a deep breath. “You’re
right. I know you’re right.”

“And if he turns out to be an axe murderer or
something,” Ashlee offered, “You should always go for the nuts
first. In self defense, I mean.”

“Duly noted,” I said.

“You don’t actually think he’s an axe
murderer, do you?” Dara asked.

“Who knows?” Ashlee said. “Haven’t you ever
read
American Psycho
?”

“Well, luckily, he’s not American,” I
reminded her, “He’s quite decidedly French. I don’t remember coming
across a
French Psycho
during Contemporary American
Lit.”

“Touche,” Ashlee said.

“Oh, look!” Dara crowed, “You’re picking up
the native tongue after all! And here I thought you’d wasted your
summer away.”

“Please,” Ashlee said. “I was engaged in a
very challenging theatrical training program. You went shopping for
three months.”

“Well, we all have our strengths,” Dara said,
crossing her arms smugly.

Ashlee was about to retort when the buzzer on
my front door screeched. My heart flew up into my chest as I
realized that Girard would be waiting for me downstairs.

“There he is!” Ashlee said, peeking over the
balcony to the street below. “Dear god, that is a perfect specimen
of a man.”

“How do I look?” I asked nervously.

“Amazing,” Dara said. “Really, Madison. You
do.”

“Remember,” Ashlee said, “He may be the most
gorgeous, successful, intelligent man in the world...But to us,
he’s still not good enough for you.”

I threw my arms around them and hugged them
close. I sure had found the best family that a girl could ask for,
whether or not there was any actual blood between us. I gave them
one last squeeze and turned toward the door. My knees trembled ever
so slightly as I made my way down the stairs toward the front
door.

I tried to tell myself that this was nothing,
just a casual outing. But I couldn’t convince my heart to agree
with my mind. I knew, deep in my bones, that this was more than
just a date. That Girard was more than just some man that I had
fling with in Paris, once. I could tell that this was the beginning
of something huge in my life. Whether it would be a huge love or a
huge heartbreak was yet to be determined.

Gently, I pushed open the front door and
stepped out into the morning sunlight. The sight that greeted my
eyes nearly made me swoon right there and then. Girard was waiting
for me on the curb, dressed down as I had ever seen him. He sported
a pair of fine wool slacks and a white linen shirt, the sleeves of
which were rolled up to reveal his well-muscled forearms. His
clothing was cut perfectly to emphasize his perfectly-balanced and
toned body. Girard had the look of a man who stayed in shape by
actually being active, rather than slaving away in the gym. He
didn’t have that horrible, bulgy look that so many men got by
spending too much time doing curls in the mirror. Girard’s
attractiveness was organic, and therefore irresistible.

He smiled warmly at me as I stepped out into
the sunlight, and ran a strong hand through his close-cropped black
hair. I took two quick steps toward him and stood looking up at his
breathtaking face. He brought his lips to my cheek, brushing
against me with his just-saved skin. A little shiver of joy erupted
from the spot where his mouth had touched me. I had no idea that so
simple a gesture could ever be so arousing.