Third Life - Noelle Adams Page 0,27
on Sunday morning—of course he does—so I can see the best pieces without being shuffled through the crowds. Since we have to get up early the next morning, we make it an early night on Saturday. After we go out for dinner, Richard has them bring champagne up to the room, and we drink it on the balcony, listening to the sounds of the street and talking about our travels, about Paris, about life.
We finish the bottle, and I wonder if I’ve ever talked so much in my entire life.
We’re done with the Louvre early the next morning, so we have brunch and then stroll leisurely through some parks and gardens before I leave to catch my flight. It’s a cool morning, but the sun is shining and it’s not uncomfortable.
It’s Paris, and it’s everything I imagined it would be.
“I’ve had an amazing time this weekend,” I say after glancing at my watch and seeing we don’t have much time left before I need to get to the airport. Richard is staying in the city on business for a couple more days.
“Me too.” He’s got one arm around me, curled loosely around my lower back.
I hesitate, wondering if I should mention that I’d be open to doing this again. If we both have a good time, and we both have the money for weekend trips like this, there’s no good reason not to have more of them.
I don’t say it, however. It feels unsafe. Like expecting more days like this with Richard might cast a damper on the rest of my life, making it feel bleaker. Less good.
And my life is good. I don’t want to become dissatisfied with it just because of a fantasy weekend (or two) with Richard.
I decide not to say anything about it. He hasn’t given me any clue about what he’s thinking regarding us getting together again. In fact, it seems like he’s purposefully avoiding the topic altogether—which gives me a clue I need. Instead, I decide I’m going to ask an entirely different question. One that’s not nearly so dangerous.
“Let me ask you one thing,” I say as I’m mentally working out how to word it.
Richard grows still. Very still. And I suddenly realize the way I transitioned has given him the wrong idea. He thinks I’m suddenly going to pry into his privacy even though I’ve never really done it before. He thinks I’m about to start crossing lines. There have always been boundaries on our relationship. I know them, and I’ve always made a point of staying far away from them. But he thinks I’m about to force an issue that hasn’t yet come up between us.
I’m not. True, I did consider it, but I made the decision not to.
Richard is a guarded man. I’ll lose the little I have of him if I push too far.
So my voice is even lighter than usual as I ask my question. “Is Steele your real last name?”
He lets out a huff of amusement. I can tell he’s relieved by the question. It is a somewhat personal question, but it’s not what he was afraid it was. I’m not asking him anything I shouldn’t. I’m not demanding more than he’s willing to give. “Why do you ask that?”
“Because I looked you up online.”
“Of course you did.”
“Don’t use that smug tone with me. You must have looked me up too since you figured out my business address to send that package to.”
“I did look you up. And naturally you’d look me up too. Anyone would. What did you find?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. Not even a website for your business. There are a lot of Richard Steeles in the US, but I could tell that they weren’t you. I did find one listing of a Richard Steele who lives in New York that I’m guessing might be you. New York was the return address on the package, and there’s nothing else at all on that particular Richard Steele—not even his age. Surely if Steele was your real last name, there would be something else to find about you online. But there’s nothing. So that’s why I asked.”
He’s smiling as he smooths down my hair and then takes a handful of it with both hands, holding it gently for a moment before he lets it slip through his fingers. “It’s not my original last name. That was one of the things I left behind when I decided to leave my hometown and my old life behind. It is