Authors: Eve Kaye
“Annika, good morning,” I said in syrupy sweet voice. A voice that did its best to annoy the fuck out of her.
She grimaced.
“Not even,” she said. “Never mind.”
I lay there, trying not to look away. Shame burned in my chest. Fucking Jake like that was wrong. I knew that. I wasn’t messed up or anything.
Annika was messed up. She was big time messed up. Probably because of her superficial, supermodel job. I wondered if the job made her a shallow, stuck up bitch. Or if she was already that way and chose a job that fit. Models and actors were the two most vain jobs in the entire universe. They all thought they were God’s gift to everything.
I knew that was a generalization, but Annika fit it perfectly. She was the reason people used stereotypes. She had no idea how special Jake was.
I did though.
And she blew her chance, fair and square. It was my turn. She needed to accept it and get on with her plastic smile life.
“Julia,” she said, “I don’t know what the hell is going on with you and Jacob.”
She looked me up and down with a snarl of distaste. My skin crawled. I looked away, feeling inferior and small.
“But I want you to know, just between us girls, that he is mine. I know what he needs. What his mind needs. What his body needs.”
“You don’t know jack shit,” I said.
Her eyes flared with rage.
Oh crap. I shouldn’t have said that. It just came out.
“I know more about him than you’re teenage cunt will ever know.”
I wouldn’t bet on that. I almost said it.
She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head up.
“Owww,” I said.
I tried to grab her hand to make her stop, but she jerked and the pain made my eyes water. I froze. Maybe playing dead was the safest escape.
She looked perfectly willing to yank a fist-size chunk of hair out of my head.
“What do you want,” I said.
Her eyes brightened.
“Good,” she said, “I have your attention.”
She lowered her face to mine, until our noses almost touched.
“Stay the fuck away from Jacob,” she said. “That’s your one and only courtesy warning. Get in the way, and I’ll fucking destroy you.”
I wanted to fight, with words, with fists. Something. But the sharp pain of having half my hair ripped out kept me still.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “He brought me along for a graduation gift. That’s all.”
She slammed my head back against the headboard.
The room faded for an instant as my brain settled in my skull.
“You’re not in my league,” she said, “and you’re not in his either. You never will be.”
Tears streamed down my face. From the pain. From the shock. From this evil bitch accosting me. I hated her for seeing me so weak. For making me so weak.
I hated myself for thinking she was right.
Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out of her coat pocket and her eyes registered shock. For no more than an instant. But it was there.
“Work call,” she said, “excuse me a moment.” Her words dripped with insincerity.
She walked around the corner, into my bathroom and closed the door.
What the hell was she doing? Did I invite her in? Did I invite her to use my bathroom?
She thought she owned the world. That everything within reach was hers. Everyone in her life probably made that pretty real. Everyone but Jake. He dumped her. And she couldn’t let it go. He was probably the first thing in her life that didn’t roll over and beg for a belly scratch.
That bitch. She needed a muzzle.
Low murmurs came through the bathroom door.
I tip-toed over and listened.
“I don’t care. Jesus Charles, do you want your wife to find out?”
It was quiet for a minute.
“Okay, yes. Tonight. Calm down. That little falafel hole in the wall in Le Marais? You really know how to woo a girl. I’m late. I have to go.”
What was that all about?
I ran back to my bed and slipped under the sheets just as the bathroom door opened.
Annika walked back in.
“Work call,” she said.
Work call my ass. I didn’t respond.
“Stay out my way, Julia,” she said as she turned to leave. She paused at the door.
“Have a fun time in Paris,” she said, “I imagine it’s the first time you’ve traveled farther than your own backyard.”
“Annika,” I said, tapping my hairline. “I think you’ve got something in your hair.”
Her hand leapt to her forehead. She rubbed at it and looked at her fingers.
“Oh,” I said, “my mistake.”
Her gaze hardened and she studied me for a moment.
I kept my best, sweet, innocent girl face on.
“Don’t fuck with me,” she said and departed.
I jumped up and slammed my bedroom door shut.
So she wanted war, huh?
Fine.
Jake was worth whatever it took.
Jake and I walked toward the Louvre. Toward the giant glass pyramid. It was seriously huge. Not like Egypt pyramids huge. But huge compared to any other kind of pyramid. And the Egyptian ones weren’t made of glass.
The plaza was bordered on three sides by buildings that stood several stories tall. They had an ornate flair that guaranteed some French king made them. Or had them made, just like that Rodin guy.
A throng of people filled the plaza. We shouldn’t have come at ten on a Sunday morning. A line snaked out the entrance and zigzagged through an endless length of rope that kept the crowd organized and moving.
Barely moving.
Great. It was going to be hours.
Jake stood next to me. A couple feet away next to me.
He looked gorgeous. As usual. A dark grey sweater clung to his six-foot plus frame. The hard lines of his chest and arms hinted at through the tight weave. Snug black jeans hugged his to-die-for ass and lean legs. His bright blue eyes mirrored the sky above.
He was devastatingly hot. It wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t trying to make my mouth water. To make my pussy wet. He just did. That’s who he was. He made me crazy.
I tried to do the same for him.
I wore a baby blue dress. I hoped it would remind him of my pajamas from that morning. Tight around the top and loose around the bottom. I didn’t have a bra on. The snug, stretchy top made it unnecessary. Debatably unnecessary. Okay, still necessary but whatever.
The hem at my knees left a good length of leg to show below.
It wasn’t over the top. I wasn’t a slut and I didn’t dress like one. It was sexy though. I hoped it was. Slim black boots and a quintessentially Parisian scarf (black too) wrapped around my shoulders. I swear you’d think they handed out scarves at the airport. Like leis in Hawaii.
Jake hadn’t so much as copped a lingering look all morning. Not good.
He hadn’t said more than absolutely necessary either. Not when we stopped at my favorite bakery for a pain au chocolat. Not when Antonio dropped us off at Tuileries Gardens. Not as we wandered through the lush grounds.
He kept his distance. A clear couple of feet between us. An impregnable wall of regret and anger. But I’d push through that wall, just as he pushed through the walls inside me. Twice now.
Third time was the charm, right?
Still, a third time didn’t look likely at the moment.
He was pissed. Or embarrassed. Or disgusted. Something.
He followed as I wound through through the fountains and smaller pyramids. It was breathtaking. Something about the juxtaposition of the ultra-modern glass pyramids next to the almost floral architecture of the surrounding buildings just worked. You didn’t think it would. It did though. After taking it in, I wandered back to the end of the line, not happy about the thousand people who had also chosen to visit today.
“How long do you think the wait is,” I said. As much to get him talking as to find out.
He scanned the crowd, all the way over the to the entrance at the base of the pyramid.
“For these people,” he said, “at least two hours.”
“That’s horrible,” I said. “Wait, what do you mean these people?”
“Are you ready to go in?” he said.
“Am I standing at the end of a terrifyingly long line?”
It was a joke. It should’ve got a grin, a chuckle, an arched brow. It got nothing.
“Follow me,” he said.
He turned without so much as a nod for confirmation and took off. I followed as fast as my high-heel boots allowed. Rather, as fast as my inept sense of balance in high-heel boots allowed. We walked out an archway and ended up on Rivoli. He ducked down an escalator into what looked like a shopping mall. Le Carrousel du Louvre. Sure, I liked to shop. Don’t get me wrong. Loved to shop was more accurate. Especially in Paris.
I caught up with him as we descended into a large underground mall.
“Could we maybe go shopping after the Louvre,” I said.
“Follow me, oh ye of little faith,” he said.
It might have been funny, if things weren’t so not funny between us.
He led us to a large open atrium. A huge inverted glass pyramid descended from the ceiling. It was like a mirror image of the bigger one above. It swept down and ended in a point a few feet above the white marble floor. Sitting on the floor below was a much smaller stone pyramid. Their points lined up and were separated by a space smaller than my head.
It was otherworldly, feeling both ancient and futuristic. And feeling oddly out of place too with the Apple Store right next to it.
Weird.
I stacked my fists in the empty space between the two points. Tried to connect them and draw out the ancient energy. Or something. I moved my fists up and down, bounced them against the top and bottom pyramid. A smile broke out across my face. This was cool. Totally weird and unexpected. And cool. I turned to see Jake watching me. The hint of a grin peeked out.
That was the Jake I loved.
Did I just say that?
Think that?
Whatever. It was wonderful to see the black clouds above his head part, just a sliver.
“Stick your head in there,” he said. “They say the pyramids will zap energy into your brain. Make you a superhero like Wolverine.”
I considered for a moment.
“No thanks,” I said. “Dealing with
more
body hair isn’t on my Christmas list.”
He laughed.
“Practical,” he said. “Still. Consider the super strength and super healing.”
Super healing.
That’s what we needed.
“Easy for a guy to say. But I’ll think about it,” I said.
He led us to a small entrance to the museum. There was another line of tourists waiting to get inside. This line was way shorter than the one outside. Like twenty minutes wait shorter.
Jake strolled by the line as if it didn’t exist. He approached an official looking man in a black suit with a walkie talkie in one hand. They shook hands and exchanged words before I caught up.
“Mr. MacCormack tells me this is your first visit to the Louvre,” the man said.
“Yes, it is. I’ve wanted to visit forever, but it wasn’t possible. Until Ja-err, Mr. MacCormack made it happen.”
He smiled and nodded.
“Mr. MacCormack makes a great many things possible,” he said. “Why, I remember a time that Mr. MacCormack pulled—“
“No time for stories today, Donatien,” Jake said. “We don’t want to deprive Julia of the Louvre’s treasures another moment, do we?”
“But of course, Monsieur,” he said. He gestured through a side security gate. “Sil vous plait.”
Jake clearly wasn’t one for lines. Must have been a billionaire thing. Not the wanting to avoid them. Nobody likes long lines. But the always getting to skip them everywhere. That was definitely not something I was used to.
We glided through security and landed in the main lobby. Jake turned in a circle, taking in the huge spiral staircase that led back up to street level, the south, west, north, and east wings that each held a country’s worth of priceless art.
It was overwhelming, but Jake just breathed it in like he was finally home.
I showed Jake the map I picked up on the way in. “Where do we begin? I’m lost already,” I said.
Jake laughed. A quiet laugh, but some of the tension bled away.
“Remember, I’m the tour guide,” he said as he took the map and dropped it on a stack nearby. “One afternoon isn’t nearly enough. But I can show you a few things that can’t be missed.”
I knew he could. I knew from the first minute we met. I knew it on top of the Eiffel Tower last night.
I giggled and tried to take his arm. He flinched back a little, but smiled.
“Follow me,” he said.
I’d follow him anywhere.
We spent hours wandering the long halls. At some point, your brain gets desensitized to all the amazing, priceless art on display. It’s just too much. I wasn’t there yet, but I could feel the dull daze edging in. Plus, I was getting hungry and knew it would be a long trek back to the closest cafe.
Jake was still going strong. Every portrait a fresh breath. Every sculpture an inspiration. His wonder warmed him to the world, and to me. He led with expert ease through the various galleries. Pausing at innumerable pieces that he deemed especially important. And always with an interesting story about the piece or its maker. He either worked here on the weekends or had a deep appreciation for the art on display.
I doubted the weekend job.
We somehow ended up in the Michelangelo Gallery and just when I thought I’d totally reached my fill, a sculpture of unearthly beauty appeared. It rocked me to the core. Nearly brought me to tears.
Jake came to a stop in silent reverence.
“One of my favorites,” he said in a soft voice. “Now more than ever.”
What did that mean?
The alcove itself was beautiful. Brown, red, and cream marble tiles fit together in complex square patterns. A huge slab marble base held two figures above, locked in tender embrace.