Chapter Twenty-Three

I’d have never thought the day would come that I was relieved to leave Chicago and return to Paris, but the sneaking around and secrecy grated on my nerve. After our quickie in the guardhouse, Anna and I had only managed to meet for sex one more time. Two rushed fucks in two months. A dismal quote. I missed touching Anna whenever I wanted, at least in the safety of our apartment. I missed spending time with her. While we were careful not to act as a couple in public in Paris, we could still be much closer than we could ever risk in Chicago.

When we landed, I could already feel a huge weight lifting off my shoulders.

“This feels like coming home,” Anna said on our ride back to the apartment in our car. I touched her thigh and squeezed. In a weird way, it did. Chicago was still my home and would always be, but it also felt like a prison right now. Anna linked our fingers.

Dad had warned me to be careful before I left. He didn’t know about Anna and me, but he suspected something. Holding hands in broad daylight probably wasn’t being careful, even if an ocean stretched between us and the watchful eyes of the Outfit.

I squeezed her hand. We needed to be careful. There was no doubt about it. But returning to Paris had made me realize again that our togetherness was limited. I wanted to enjoy the time we had. Paris allowed me to do that, and forget about Clifford.

We sat in our favorite breakfast spot, a small café around the corner from our apartment. We had breakfast here every Sunday and spent hours people-watching.

The owners thought we were a couple. We never corrected them and eventually we started holding hands, like we did now. We’d grown careless over time, or maybe it was just that keeping a professional distance became more difficult over the years.

“I thought we could spend a few weeks in Provence this summer,” Anna said one Sunday morning in early May.

“Won’t we have to return to Chicago?”

As the first summer, Anna and I had returned to Chicago last summer as well, and I assumed it would be the case this summer too.

“It’s our last summer in France,” she said softly, her eyes strangely wistful.

Our last summer here. It hit me suddenly. Anna would be graduating next February and afterward we were expected to return to Chicago indefinitely. Fuck. I’d tried to ignore the truth, but now it glared back at me.

“It is.”

“I asked my parents if I could spend at least part of it traveling through France and they agreed. We have the first three weeks of July.”

“A last summer of freedom before you marry Clifford next October.”

Anna’s expression twisted with shock. Had she really thought I didn’t know? I hadn’t mentioned it because I didn’t want to think about it. The idea that I’d have to give up Anna soon felt like a burning arrow in my chest.

“My parents think we shouldn’t wait much longer.”

I nodded. That Dante had allowed Anna to study abroad and that she was marrying an Outsider were already bitter pills to swallow for the conservatives in the Outfit. Anna would be twenty-two next September. Time to marry in our world.

Anna glanced down at our linked hands then back up at my face. I tried to keep my expression calm, even if I felt anything but. Our time was running out and for the first time, I could practically see the sand grains trickling away in the hourglass.

“It’s still more than one year,” she said.

“Is it? How long do you want to keep us going? Have you decided on a date yet?”

Maybe I should man up and stop what we had. But I didn’t want to. Instead I waited for Anna to end things. It was her commitment to Clifford that would determine our end after all.

She hesitated, then looked away. “We don’t have to end things…”

Surprise washed through me, then triumph. Then I realized she didn’t mean it in the way I thought. “You want us to keep fucking even when you’re married to Clifford.”

Anna grimaced, then quickly shook her head. “We can’t. I… I hate that we have to talk about this. I don’t want to think about it.”

But eventually we would have to face the truth. I wondered if she’d ever considered telling her parents about us. If she’d ever considered breaking things off with Clifford while she’d lain in my arms at night, or while we’d shared a good laugh. I had spent hours awake at night imagining a future with Anna.

Anna leaned forward, her eyes pleading. “Let’s pretend I’m not marrying. Let’s just enjoy our time together. Okay?”

I took a deep breath, then nodded.

For Anna, I’d do it. I couldn’t let her go yet. Not yet.

The human brain is a powerful tool. I managed to pretend like Anna had asked me to, and so we kept enjoying our days until the summer almost like a couple.

When the first day of the summer holidays rolled around, Anna and I both briefly descended into wistfulness.

Luckily the next day, we took a plane down to Marseille for our trip to the Provence. Right when we landed, Anna and I held hands. It felt natural.

The sun was shining brightly as we headed for the rental car station at the airport.

Once we’d filled out all the paperwork and Anna had received the keys, she headed for a tiny blue Fiat Cinquecento Cabrio.

“Please tell me that isn’t our vehicle.” I couldn’t call that thing car. It would be an insult to my Camaro and every other car with a little pride.

Anna rolled her eyes as she rounded the car as if it was a cute puppy. “It’s perfect.” She beamed. Fuck. I could live with that Matchbox car if it made Anna smile like that.

“I’m driving!” Anna shouted before I could head for the driver’s side. I sank down on the passenger seat, watching with amusement how Anna inspected the gearshift of the Fiat. I was used to driving gear shift, but Anna had never done it. She hadn’t driven much at all in the last two and a half years. If we went anywhere by car in Paris, I always drove.

Seeing my expression, hers filled with determination.

And eventually she managed to get the engine running and we pulled out of the parking lot. Anna let out a delighted laugh. “This will be a magical trip.”

I chuckled and relaxed in the seat. Anna pressed the button that opened the top of the car. Her hair blew around her head wildly and she laughed again.

I reached inside her purse and grabbed a scrunchie. Anna gave me a grateful smile as I put her hair in a messy ponytail while she steered the car onto a narrow coastal road.

“I love it when you do that.”

Usually I only ever held her hair back when she blew me but this felt nice too. I loved the feeling of her silky hair between my fingers. “I just don’t want to drop off the cliff because your hair impairs your vision.”

I couldn’t see her eyes because of her huge sunglasses but I knew she was rolling her eyes.

“Don’t be grumpy. This will be the summer of our life.”

I knew I’d always remember this summer. The first summer Anna really felt like my woman…

… and the last.

We rented a tiny baby blue Fiat Cinquecento and rode the winding streets of the southern Provence with it until we reached our final goal, a small beach town, a former fishing village, between Nizza and Antibes. The town had two beaches, one easily accessible beach close to the promenade, and another one which could only be reached by boat or by climbing down a narrow, steep staircase that was beaten into the cliffs more than a century ago.

Santino carried our backpack as we clambered down the staircase. We could have easily afforded to rent a boat or even a yacht to reach the beach. Money was hardly an issue, but during our entire time in Paris, apart from the central and expensive apartment, Santino and I had tried to live a basic life, like a student like myself would.

I enjoyed the simplicity of it and it made me appreciate the little things all the more. I knew Santino hadn’t expected me to be able to live without luxuries. Despite it being only ten in the morning, the beach was already beginning to fill up with visitors. Some only came down for a few spectacular photos for Instagram but others spread out their towels or even beach tents.

Santino and I settled on towels close to the cliffs on the right. Because this part of the beach was still in the shadows, it wasn’t as populated as the rest and so Santino and I could enjoy a touch of privacy.

I got out of my beach slip then began to unhook my bikini top.

“What are you doing?” Santino growled.

“I’m doing what many French girls do when they go to the beach, I’m flashing my boobs.”

Santino glanced around. Women of every age sunned topless. A couple of girls even played ping pong, their perky breasts bobbing up and down with every jump.

“I’m not sure I like other men staring at your boobs.”

I laughed and stretched out on the towel. “You’ll survive.”

I ignored the little voice that said he’d soon enough have to share me with Clifford. It wasn’t welcome right now.

“Seeing you half naked like that makes me regret my choice of shorts.”

Santino wore tight short pants that accentuated his muscled ass and his impressive junk, which was growing. He sat down close to me with a look I knew too well.

I grinned. Then my eyes registered a couple on the beach that was kissing really passionately, she actually lying on top of him. And another couple in the ocean was definitely getting it on.

Santino followed my gaze, a smirk twisting his face. “I’m really starting to love France.”

“Only took you two and a half years,” I teased.

He stretched out beside me, his head propped up on his palm. His smile promised trouble. I rolled on my side. “What?”

He scooted closer and kissed me, slow, but with purpose. I knew this kiss. My eyes fluttered, handing myself over to the sensation. Kissing Santino always gave me life. After a while, my nipples puckered and wetness gathered between my legs.

Santino pulled back slightly, his eyes trailing over my attention-seeking nipples. “Seeing them and not being able to suck them is torture.”

I bit my lip, the idea of Santino’s hot mouth around my sensitive flesh only increasing my need. I glanced along the beach to see if anyone was watching, but people were busy with themselves.

Santino scooted even closer then slid his hand between my legs, at first only resting it on my inner thigh. Then his thumb grazed my slit over the fabric and his lips claimed mine once more. While his tongue teased my mouth his thumb graced me lightly. The simple touch and his kiss with the added thrill of being in a public place soon had me sopping wet.

My breathing grew deeper and faster. Our kiss intensified, and the static between us raised goose bumps all over my body. Santino’s finger didn’t speed up but he increased the pressure.

“I need more,” I whispered against his lips. “I need you.”

Santino nodded then pulled away and closed his eyes briefly while he tried to position his erection so it wasn’t as obvious. “Let’s go into the water.”

I grinned and sat up. Before I stood, I quickly checked that my bikini bottoms didn’t show any hints of what we’d been up to. Santino rose to his feet. If you looked at his crotch, it was still obvious that our kiss hadn’t been innocent. It was a good thing that we were at the fringes of the beach.

We went into the water and Santino immediately pulled me against him. I slung my legs around his middle, then lowered myself until I could feel his erection press against me. I moaned, already so ready for him. Santino reached between us, fumbling a bit before he shoved my bikini aside and his tip pressed against my opening. I lowered myself without hesitation. As his cock stretched me, my body began to shake. Santino immediately captured my lips, swallowing my moan as I came around his cock. He pushed me down until he was sheathed all the way inside of me.

“That was quick,” he growled, his lips tracing my throat.

“I was already well-prepped.”

“Hmm.” He lightly bit down on my shoulder. He felt impossibly hot inside of me, maybe because of the cold of the surrounding ocean.

Santino lowered us even deeper into the water so only our heads peeked out and I began to rotate my hips slowly. Soon Santino panted against my lips. I loved the taste of salt on his skin, the sound of the waves and seagulls, the bright sunshine.

Santino and I looked into each other’s eyes as our bodies moved slowly together. Every stroke of Santino inside of me let the fire in my belly burn brighter. The world around us became a blur of sounds and glittering sunlight.

This time I came even harder and Santino swallowed my moans even as his own body convulsed with climax and he released into me. I closed my eyes, my sensitive inner walls sending new waves of pleasure through me as Santino came inside of me.

I wrapped my arms around his neck even tighter and put my head down on his shoulder. “I want this moment to last forever.”

“It would lose meaning and intensity if it did,” Santino murmured, stroking my spine.

I nodded, because that too was true. I wanted more moments like this, not relive the same moment over again, but eventually that was all I’d have.

I swallowed the sadness. We still had three weeks of vacation and then six more months in Paris before our time was up. We needed to make the most of it, soak up every moment of laughter and lust and joy.

We strode along the promenade, our arms brushing on occasion from walking so close. Suddenly, Santino’s fingers brushed mine and when I didn’t pull away he linked our hands and we kept walking like that. Apart from holding hands under the table in a restaurant on occasion or in the safe dark of a movie theater, we’d never risked it in public, not even thousands of miles away from home.

My eyes stung and my heart filled with a sort of fulfillment I couldn’t explain. After a while I risked a glance up but Santino was wearing sunglasses and his face was the usual vigilante mask. He squeezed my hand briefly and I stifled a smile, then just enjoyed walking by his side with his hand in mine. This felt good, too good, but I didn’t want fear of the future to ruin the moment. I wanted to live in the moment. This moment belonged to us, only us.

We settled at a small fish restaurant with a view of the small fishing harbor for dinner.

The waiter motioned at Santino’s cell phone on the tabletop. “Do you want me to take a photo of you?”

Santino and I exchanged a look, uncertainty filling the air between us. I wanted to say yes, wanted to capture this moment in a picture so I could look at it in the future and remind myself of the utter happiness I’d felt. But a picture meant proof. Proof that could ruin both our lives. Proof of the thing without a name that was between us.

“No, thank you,” I said, my voice a little rough.

The waiter seemed taken aback and gave Santino an encouraging smile. He probably thought our relationship was in trouble, that we’d had a fight. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Neither had we a relationship, nor had we fought in a while.

The waiter returned with a bottle of white wine that would go well with our meal and filled our glasses very generously.

I thanked him but was glad when he disappeared. “You know what I just realized?”

Santino shook his head with a look that gave me chills.

“We haven’t fought in a while. We’re getting along really well.”

We still exchanged our banter, especially when we were horny because it was our favorite foreplay, but a real fight? That hadn’t happened in many months. We enjoyed being together.

“We’ve become a good team.”

Team. We both knew we were more than that, but couldn’t admit to it because it couldn’t be.

“Especially between the sheets,” I added because this was safer terrain.