His To Shatter (20 page)

“Come on,” Girard said, lowering himself into
the tub. I happily stepped in after him. The water was scalding
hot, but it felt so good on my sore body. It was a satisfying
soreness, earned from a satisfying activity, but the relief of it
was sweet, as well. Girard lay his hands on my shoulders and began
to rub them. I nearly became one with the water, he had me melting
so. His strong fingers dug into the knots in my shoulders, filling
me with the deepest sort of painful bliss.

“So much tension...” he said.

“I believe it,” I said. “I don’t have a very
stress free life.”

“I could give you one,” he said, kneading the
tightness between my shoulder blades. “If you lived here with me,
you’d never have to worry about anything ever again.”

“And what about my life in New York?” I said.
“My school, my friends, my career?”

“Study in France, make friends in France,
build you career in France,” he suggested. “Easy.”

“Not so easy,” I said. “Not at all.”

“I know,” he said sadly, “I just don’t want
you to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave,” I said. “But what
can we do?”

He was silent for a long moment, and I lost
myself in his deep touch, the way his fingers were releasing years
of strain and tension as if it were nothing. I leaned back against
him, and felt something press against my back. My eyes shot
open—was he really ready again?

“Sorry,” he said, “I can’t help it.”

“I don’t mind,” I said.

His hands left my shoulders and slid around
my body. They wrapped around my tender breasts, his fingers
brushing against my nipples. He pulled me to the side of the
tub—there was a seat in the wall, and we sank down onto it
together. My back to his chest, I closed my thighs around the shaft
of his member. He groaned, his groin still sensitive after what had
transpired downstairs.

“Can I slide down onto you?” I asked, as he
kneaded my breasts.

“Yes,” he said, “Do it.”

I raised myself on his lap and slowly lowered
myself onto his cock. We moaned in unison as he pressed up into me.
The warmth of the bath surrounded us as he rocked gently against
me. We took our time, had no aim other than to enjoy each other.
His hands left my breasts and found their way down. I groaned as he
began to rub that spot, sending sparks of pleasure out through my
entire body. The deep press of him, coupled with the quick, precise
flicks of his fingers...it was going to send me over the edge
again.

I braced myself on the edge of the tub as the
pressure grew and grew. Girard rubbed me fast and hard, and in a
moment, I was lost again, swept up in a powerful, shaking orgasm. I
trembled on him, folding into his body. He caught me in his arms
and held me there as I came. He slowed his rocking, and I realized
that he wasn’t going to come. He’d only been interested in my
pleasure. I turned to look at him, astounded. I didn’t even know
that men were capable of that. He pulled me to sitting on his lap
like a child might. I settled down on his knee and threw my arms
around his shoulders. Girard was smiling at me, pleased with
himself. I had to admit, he had every reason to be.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “Maybe
you should go back to New York.”

“What?” I said, hurt by his sudden
reversal.

“For now, I mean,” he went on quickly. “It
seems like the right thing, don’t you think?”

“I...well...” I sputtered. I wanted to go
back to New York, sure, but I wanted him to want me in Paris, with
him. “I guess so.”

“Madison,” Girard said, looking into my eyes,
“I have an idea.”

“Do tell,” I said.

“Well, I’m sure this is rather clear to you
by now, but,” he took a deep breath, “I love you, Madison.”

I stared at him, my eyes wide. For a second,
I didn’t even process what he’d said. But I felt it, felt the
sentiment land and resonate through me.

“I love you too,” I told him, and knew
instantly that truer words had never been spoken.

“I’m so glad,” he smiled, “Because if you
didn’t, you’d probably never agree to marry me.”

“Huh?” I said, already reeling with his
confession of love.

“Well, I love you and you love me. We should
get married.”

“Girard,” I said, “Are you proposing to
me?”

“I am,” he said, pulling me against him.

“Oh...” I breathed, stunned into
wordlessness.

“So,” he said, “What do you say?”

“What do you mean, what do I say?” I cried, a
wide smile breaking across my face. “Yes! Of course, yes.”

“Not so fast,” he said, “This marriage would
be conditional on your being absolutely, one hundred percent
faithful to me. I mean it. No other man, not ever. One instance of
infidelity, and it’s all over.”

“Well...duh!” I cried inelegantly.

We wrapped our arms around each other, our
laughter echoing against the tile walls and bouncing back at us. I
hadn’t even given myself time to think about my answer—it had just
been there, waiting to be said. I’d deal with my confusion and the
terror at having made a huge commitment some other time. Then,
there was only Girard, his body, his arms, his tender eyes and his
heart that beat for me. It was all I wanted in the world.

“We can pick out a ring tomorrow,” he said
into my hair. “I hope you don’t mind.”

I splashed some water at him, bringing on a
fresh wave of laughter. The last twenty four hours had been the
most exciting and trying of my entire life, and I had the feeling
that things were only going to get more wild. But as long as Girard
was there beside me, I didn’t much care what came my way.

* * * * *

Chapter Seventeen

* * * * *

“What. Is. That,” Ashlee said.

I smiled at my friends across the cafe table.
Their eyes were locked resolutely on the rock glimmering on my ring
finger. I’d gone a little overboard in my selection of the
engagement ring. The piece was a princess cut diamond with a fine
filigree setting.

“Surprise,” I said with a laugh.

“He asked you to marry him?” Dara
breathed.

“Last night,” I said, “I had no idea it was
going to happen. I don’t even think he knew it was going to
happen.”

“Jesus Christ, Maddie,” Ashlee said, “We told
you to hear the guy out, not spend your entire life with him.”

“Aren’t you guys happy for me?” I asked, a
little hurt by their lack of enthusiasm.

“We are,” Ashlee said, “But Maddie...have you
thought this whole thing through?”

“Of course,” I said, though it was something
of a half-truth. In the moment, I really hadn’t weighed the
question at all. I was reeling from Girard’s lovemaking, caught up
in a thousand conflicting emotions...I’d simply gone with my gut
instinct. But it felt like the most honest decision I had ever made
in my life, and the two people who knew me best didn’t seem to want
to get behind me on it.

“Madison,” Dara said, “Not twenty four hours
ago, you were convinced that he wanted nothing to do with you.”

“I know, but really I had it all wrong!” I
said.

“Yeah, you told us,” Ashlee said, “I just
feel like maybe now is not the best time to be making a big
decision like this. I mean, look around. This is the most romantic
place in the world. And Girard is a hot, rich, sex machine. Your
judgment might be just a little clouded, don’t you think?”

“No, Ashlee, I don’t think,” I said harshly.
“In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever acted impulsively? Or
irrationally, even? I don’t let myself get swept up in things. Not
ever.”

“You haven’t in the past,” Dara said, “But I
think this is the first time you’ve ever been in love with someone.
Am I right?”

“Maybe,” I said, “But so what?”

“So it’s a whole different story when you
love someone,” Ashlee said, “It does things to you. It can even
blind you.”

“I don’t understand this at all,” I said, “I
called you two here to tell you my amazing news, to ask you to help
me plan, to be with me through it, and all you have for me is
disapproval? What are you afraid of, exactly? If anything, I’d be
the one accused of using Girard in this relationship. What ulterior
motive could he possibly have in mind?”

“I don’t know,” Dara said, “Just...be
careful.”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, “I’m used to
taking care of myself.”

I left a few notes of currency and walked
away from the table. If Ashlee and Dara were going to be
unreasonable, I didn’t have to stick around and deal with it. I
strode away from the cafe just as Girard’s town car rounded the
corner. He’d been waiting for me so that we could pick out a new
dress together, to replace the one he had destroyed during his
lustful conquest. The car stopped beside the curb and I opened the
door myself, well aware of the fact that Ashlee and Dara were
watching from afar. Girard was waiting for me inside the car, and
noted my furrowed brow.

“What happened?” he asked, “Weren’t they
pleased?”

“They’re just overprotective,” I said. “Let’s
not talk about it, OK?”

“OK,” Girard agreed, pulling me by the hand
to come closer. “I have a few excellent boutiques lined up for us
to look at.”

“I honestly won’t know the difference between
dresses,” I reminded him, “It’s not really my think to get super
excited about clothes.”

“Fair enough,” Girard said, “I’ll just have
to pick it out for you.”

“Taking control, eh?” I winked.

“You bet,” he smiled.

* * *

The rest of the week with Girard flew by. I
moved my few belongings to his town house so that we could spend
every waking moment together. There were times that he had to
excuse himself for work obligations, but apart from those
stretches, we had our blissful solitude.

Our joint solitude had been breached once
with another unexpected visit from Monica. She’d walked in, caught
the sunlight glinting off my ring, and turned to stone in the
foyer. Girard was about to tell her the story of our engagement,
but she’d turned on her heel and stalked back out, slamming the
door so hard behind her that the chandelier rattled dangerously. I
took it as a sign that she wasn’t very pleased with our engagement,
but what did she matter to us?

The day of my flight back to New York came
far too soon. Girard drove me to the airport, and even gave Dara
and Ashlee a lift as a gesture of good faith. They’d given us a
moment alone before the final boarding call, and it was nearly
impossible to release Girard from my embrace.

“Don’t worry,” he cooed, “I’ll be there in a
couple of weeks, back by your side.”

“I know,” I said, “I didn’t think it would be
this hard to say goodbye.”

“It’s not goodbye,” he reminded me, “It’s
‘see you soon’.”

I gave him a deep kiss and hurried onto the
plane. I didn’t look back, knowing that it would be too hard to see
him fade into the distance. I found my seat on the plane next to my
friends and stowed my luggage. Absentmindedly, I pulled out my
phone to check for messages one last time. I smiled to see that
there was an email to me from Girard.

I opened the email and frowned at the
greeting. “Hey Mason,” it read. Girard must have sent me an email
intended for someone else by mistake. I was about to shut off my
phone when the rest of the message flitted across my
consciousness.

“Hey Mason,” it read, “Looks like I found a
way to take care of that pesky American citizenship. It’s not
ideal, but it’ll do for now. Details to follow — G”.

“Miss?” said a voice above me. “Miss you’ll
have to turn off your cell phone. Are...are you OK?”

But her words were drowned out by the
pounding in my ears. Hot, salty tears rolled down my cheeks,
splattering against the offending message. Everything I’d invested
so much faith in fell away from me, and I realized what a fool I’d
been. He’d tricked me. That son of a bitch had tricked me. And even
worse...I’d fallen for it.

The engine began to rumble beneath us, and
the plane sped down the runway. I glanced through the airplane
window and caught a final sight of Girard—framed in the airport
window, waving to me.

That fucker.

* * * * *

Chapter Eighteen

* * * * *

The entire journey back to New York swam by
in a haze of sorrow and shock. From the moment I last glimpsed
Girard waving goodbye to me from the Paris airport to the moment my
head hit the pillow back in my old Lower East Side apartment, I
can’t remember anything clearly. I all but blacked out on the
plane—immune to attempts by my friends to draw me out of my
silence. I didn’t cry, that much I know to be true. I was beyond
the point where tears could come close to expressing my anguish, my
shame. And all this over a stupid email.

The words that Girard had accidentally sent
to my inbox ran ceaselessly through my mind:
Looks like I found
a way to take care of that pesky American citizenship. It’s not
ideal, but it’ll do for now
. And every time that those two
sentences wormed through my thoughts, they stung with equal
measure. Repetition did not dull the cutting shame that I felt, the
utter humiliation at having acted like such a romantic, blithering
idiot. All my life, I’d been so careful to stay one step ahead of
the men who might hurt me. But this time, I’d practically laid the
trap myself. All Girard had to do was wait for me to fall right
into the palm of his hand.

What truly hurt, what really had me feeling
despondent, was that I hadn’t seen this coming at all. From the
moment I ran into Girard at that nightclub in Paris, reuniting with
each other had seemed for the world like a dream. That’s not to say
that I wasn’t suspicious, that I didn’t question the validity of
our relationship to death and back. I spent long hours during the
precious time we’d shared together going through every reason why
Girard couldn’t possibly want me. I knew that I was ten years his
junior, that people would think I was a gold digger, that he was
far more attractive than I was, and that I had nothing to offer him
in terms of social or professional merit.