was going to explode. He planned it all meticulously. They left early Friday evening on the Eurostar and arrived in Paris in glorious, warm, end-of-September weather, and took a cab to a small romantic hotel he knew on the Left Bank. They had dinner at Le Voltaire on the quai of the Seine that night, and walked along the river afterward, as the Bateaux Mouches glided by all lit up, full of tourists.
Then they went back to their room at the hotel, with a romantic four-poster bed covered in toile de Jouy fabric. He carefully undressed her like a work of art he had longed to possess since he first saw her. He made love to her tenderly, and they were both engulfed by the passion that had been growing for the last month, like a hurricane waiting to happen. The romantic little room was perfect for their first night of love. He looked at her in the moonlight and had tears in his eyes when he told her he loved her, and as she held him in her arms, she told him she loved him too, and meant it. They both had so much to give to each other. They made love again until the sun came up, and then they slept at last, in each other’s arms. They both felt as though they had come home at last.
* * *
—
When she woke up in the morning, Nigel was sitting on the bed, admiring her. He had brought her café au lait and croissants from downstairs and she smiled as she woke up.
“I must be dreaming,” she said happily.
“No, this is my dream, Coco. I’ve dreamt it all my life, and now you’re real.” It was like a fairy tale, for both of them. It was exactly what they wanted, and the place and time were perfect.
They walked past the Invalides that morning, and went to the Jeu de Paume, and then walked to the Petit Palais to see a visiting Renoir exhibit. Then they stood outside Notre Dame, looking at it with awe. It wasn’t repaired yet after the fire, and he spoke to her solemnly.
“Coco Martin, on this day I vow to love you forever.”
“I love you, Nigel,” she said softly in response. She was speaking of that moment, and made no promises for the future, because she no longer trusted the future, ever since her parents’ deaths. There was no forever. But she knew she loved him, and he believed her.
They did a little shopping after that, and went back to the hotel. He had bought a small sketch of Paris for her at one of the book stalls along the Seine as a souvenir of the time in Paris they would never forget. It was a perfect beginning for their relationship. They made love again before dinner, and ate at a small romantic restaurant, and then went back to their hotel room and made love again. He was an expert lover, but didn’t make it seem that way. His love for her was genuine, and so was their lovemaking.
They got up early the next day, and walked around the Left Bank, and at noon, with great regret, they took a cab to the train station, and took the train back to London, their hearts full of memories of the trip to Paris where their life together began.
* * *
—
Coco didn’t keep her relationship with Nigel a secret from Sam this time. She told him the day after they came back from Paris, and he was panicked. She sounded madly in love with him, and it was easy to see why. Nigel was doing everything right. It sounded like a movie or a fairy tale, but not like reality to Sam.
“Coco, wait! Slow down! Take it easy here. You’ve known the guy for a month. He takes you to parties at castles, introduces you to half of London, the fancy aristocratic half. It sounds like everyone he knows has a title, and now he takes you to Paris for a weekend, and sweeps you off your feet. Dracula would seem like Prince Charming in that scenario. He may be a wonderful guy, but let’s see a little real life here first. The ‘normal’ stuff, remember? You’ve got another exciting guy on your hands here. How does he act when he has a cold, or when you’re in a shit mood and pick a fight with him? I know you feel like a fairy princess