Two Years Later
James felt a mix of emotions as he glanced out the window to the sidewalk and saw her standing there, hand-in-hand with the man her own age, the man she had ultimately chosen. He couldn't blame her, it wasn't as if he had seen her after the night of his own garden party. He had intended to make amends with her, consult her father regarding engagement, and propose to her like she wanted. However, when he went to visit three days later, she, her brother and mother had all recently left and her father was on his way out. He had a last-minute, temporary assignment in Paris and would take the family there with him – they had already left.
He wanted to leap out of the car right in the middle of traffic, call out her name, but the ring around her finger he could see from where he sat told him not to and after all, he was only a block away from his destination. He found it ironic that he was on his way to have a lunch meeting with someone who wanted to send him to Paris for work and here he was, watching the young woman he lost to Paris walking along the other side of the street.
The car zipped through a traffic light and as quickly as she had left his life, she was out of his line of sight. His driver stopped outside of a restaurant on the next corner and James wrinkled his nose at the dilapidated quality of the outside.
"I hear they serve wonderful lunches," his driver said coolly, sensing James' immediate distaste.
"I hope so," James replied. "On the plus side, I'm not paying."
He stepped out of the car and headed into the small restaurant. The inside wasn't much more to look at than the outside. It was small and dark with only a few dingy windows in the corners. A delightful aroma wafted from the kitchen, however, and the few people dining were better dressed than he was.
"James!" a voice from a far table exclaimed. James met eyes with a man on the other side of the restaurant and nodded in his direction. He quickly joined him at the table and took a seat across from him.
"Are you expecting someone else?" James asked, noticing the two other empty seats at the table.
"Oh, yes," the Parisian associate replied. "I hope you don't mind. I asked Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes to attend since this assignment falls into their hands as well."
"Mr and Mrs..." James trailed off, turning his gaze towards the door as his associate did as well. James' heart leaped into his throat and he felt as if a boulder had dropped into the pit of his stomach as he saw Paul and Rose walk through the door of the restaurant.
"Ah, yes," his associate said with a smile, "here they are!"
James quickly turned away from the door and rubbed his temples over and over again, trying to hear anything except the thud-thud-thud of blood rushing through his ears.
"...Mr. Dupont," he heard his name and he hoped that it was just the first time it had been said.
"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head and lifting his head. "Trying to decide what to have for lunch."
"Oh," the associate said with a smile, "I hope no one minds, but I already took the liberty of placing an order for the table. Mrs. Rhodes, is that all right with you?"
Rose nodded dumbly, her gaze fixated on James, "Fine, thank you."
"I assume that you all have had the pleasure of meeting one another already," the associate said, oblivious to Rose's undivided attention.
"Actually..." Paul said, turning to James, "I don't believe we have met."
James silently cleared his throat and stood to his feet, his knees wobbling slightly as he did so, "James Dupont."
Paul smiled, still oblivious and introduced Rose before introducing himself. James felt his heart stop as Paul introduced Rose as his wife and noticed her pale cheeks red with embarrassment as he withdrew a seat for her next to James.
**
"I don't want to go," Rose said, standing with James at his car as she waited for Paul to emerge from the restaurant. "I lived in Paris once, I have no desire to do so again."
"It's not set in stone," James offered, a mild consolation as far as Rose was concerned. Paul had already been talking about it as if they were going to live there for the rest of their lives.
"I'm nervous about traveling to France right now," she said, wringing a handkerchief in her hands. "I don't want to go to Europe at all."
"Why didn't you contact me?" James said in a hushed voice, changing the subject quickly.
"Contact you?" she asked. "About what?"
"You just...left," he replied.
"I didn't have any other choice," she replied.
"You had plenty of choices," James snapped.
She shook her head, "Paul is wonderful. He treats me well, he's kind, he's a wonderful provider."
"He's not me."
"What did you expect me to do?" she asked. "Wait around for you? Hope that you'd have a change of heart? Hope that you wrapped the idea of you and me forever around that thick head of yours?"
"I loved you!" he exclaimed, a little too loudly. Rose's eyes widened and she swore her heart stopped for a second. She shook her head and turned towards the door.
"Too little too late," she hissed as Paul came through the door of the restaurant.
**
Rose lay back as Paul entered her slowly. She wrapped her legs around his, which he quickly kicked away. She dug her fingertips into his shoulders which he shrugged off with annoyance.
"Nice, Rose," he breathed. "Nicely."
She sighed and gently wrapped her arms around his neck. One year of marriage and she had yet to be excited about sex. She never told her husband about her first time with James and he never questioned it. The night of their wedding, he had made love to her as if she had been a virgin and he assumed that she was from the very light spotting of blood left from her menses. Since their wedding night, he had yet to make love to her in the way that she wanted. She had tried to initiate rougher sex – many, many times. She would duck under the covers and tease him with her mouth and just when he started to grow hard, he would push her away and arouse himself on his own before climbing on top of her. She'd tried climbing on top of him once or twice and each time she was met with the same response from her husband – a frustrated sigh and a stomp-stomp-stomp off to the bathroom where she'd hear the water run for two minutes and an exasperated sigh before he opened the door and rejoined her in bed.
He finished quicker than usual, and casually slipped out and away from his wife. She lay flat on her back, staring at the ceiling – not a single hair on her head displaced or a drop of sweat along her hairline. Without fail, every single time Paul finished he either rolled onto his side or retreated to the bathroom and Rose would think about her first and only time with James. At the time, it had been painful, uncomfortable and a little frightening. He had finished quickly, something she was thankful for at the time, but there was a sweetness to it in her memory. He had wanted her so badly that he held onto her as tightly as he could, actually leaving slightly reddened welts from his fingers in her hips that lingered until the next day. She wished time and time again that she'd had the opportunity to relive the experience, to sleep with him again. She was devoted to Paul as much as she could be but he always left her wishing for more – wishing for James.
"I was speaking with Mr. Dupont this afternoon," Paul called from the bathroom. How ironic, they were both thinking about James at the same moment. "He doesn't think going to Paris is a good idea at the time, given the state of European affairs."
