Go: A Surrender (18 page)

The busboy came and dropped off bread and butter and I saw
him steal a glance at the pictures. I wondered if he guessed it was me in them.
Or assumed we were just some dirty couple looking at artsy porn. Then he
vanished again.

“Anne gave these to you,” I said, and it was not really a question.

Jack nodded.

“Do you hate them?”

“You know,” he said, “I don’t. I…” He paused a moment,
gathering his thoughts. “I look at them, and even though I know it’s you in
them, it feels like such a different version of the you I know… it doesn’t
bother me.”

“But in the moment, it did.”

“I suppose so. I mean, yes. But when I look at these that
almost seems silly.”

“Not silly.”

“You
were
attracted to Valerie.”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“You wanted her to fuck you.”

I nodded. I realized I wasn’t sure if he knew that she had.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, almost as if I’d said it
aloud.

“What do you mean,” I asked quietly, apprehensive.

“I mean… I’d forgotten the difference.”

“The difference.” It was like we were back to our first ever
conversation—he reading my mind; me echoing him, lost.

“I know I talked about it but I’d forgotten it myself. Sex
with someone who adores you. It’s different.”

“Yes,” I breathed, and reached for his hand, and squeezed
it. He’d been right that first night: I hadn’t ever experienced it. Not as an
adult, knowing anything about anything. And now I had, and it wasn’t like
anything else. It was like light and solid at the same time. It felt sure like
nothing in my life had ever felt sure. It was like a comfortable thing you could
wear, always.

We sat quietly, hands joined, until the waiter came with two
orders of
moules frites
and we let go of each other and faced the table to
attend to our hunger. The broth was light and creamy and tasted like the ocean;
a splash of Pernod gave it a liquorice fragrance just like that tawny hillside
on the coast of Spain.

After a few moments of eating ravenously, Jack paused.

“Anne was quite taken with you, you know.”

“Oh?”

“She said she thought she could help you find work.”

“Really?”

“She has all kinds of art world connections. Said she
thought she could find a conservator who might take you on as an assistant.”

I was dumbfounded. Could my life really be changing this
fast?

“You might have to consider another move, of course.”

“Oh.”

“Possibly to London, though she knows people elsewhere in Europe, too, I believe. At this point, you’ve demonstrated the ability to pack light.”

For the first time since setting it alight, I wondered what
had happened to my car. Then instantly forgot it again.

“Where would you be?” I asked, not wanting to be far from
him—certainly not halfway across the world.

“Wherever you need me,” he replied. “I travel so much
anyway. You’ll be my home base, then. Wherever you are, I’ll come back to.”

Of all the moments we’d had so far, this one felt the most
like a dream. And I did—I honestly pinched myself, just under the table, where
Jack couldn’t see.

But I didn’t wake up. Jack was still there. Our meal was
still before us. Our lives.

“Jack,” I said wonderingly, “Can I ask you something? It
might sound stupid.”

“No, it won’t,” he said. “Anything.”

I took a deep breath. Considered not asking. But had to.

And so I did. “Why me?”

He looked surprised. Smiled. Cocked his head.

“Why you? I don’t know. You’re sexy, you’re kind, you’re
smart. You’re honest.”

“But lots of women are all those things.”

“Maybe fewer than you’d think.”

“Still, plenty.”

Jack shrugged.

“What’s that shrug mean?”

“It means, ‘why
not
you’? If it could be any of those
women, why not you? You want me to tell you you’re marked, some sort of goddess
walking among us?”

“Maybe,” I admitted. It was silly, but I suppose I did want
it. I sipped my champagne.

“Okay then, you’re a goddess.” There was humor in his tone.

“You don’t mean that.”

“Not the way you want me to, it’s true. But I do mean it.
Sylvie, you’re everything I want.
And
you love me. Why should I look
further than that?”

“Because that’s what people do.”

“Not me,” he said. “I know enough to know everything you
want doesn’t come along nearly as often as everyone’s convinced they deserve.
It happened once before, and I blew it. I’m not letting it slip away again.”

I moved my chair over beside his and leaned my head against
his shoulder. He put his arm around me.

“Is that a good enough explanation?” Then he added, smiling
down at me, “I also have to admire how much you straight-up enjoy fucking.”

I grinned, a little guiltily. “I do,” I said, “I’m sorry.”

“Never be sorry for that,” he said, deadly serious. “I meant
it when I said I admired it—you
ought
to enjoy it. I’m glad to be able
to enjoy it with you.”

He was perfect, just perfect. I turned my head to look up
into his eyes. “You’re amazing,” I said.

“And so are you,” said Jack, “and I promise, I’ll do
everything in my power to make sure you are happy, and cared for, and
fulfilled.”

And now he bent his face to mine and kissed me again,
softly, slowly… perfectly.

When we broke the kiss he reached for the champagne and
refilled my glass, and then lifted his glass to mine, and we toasted, and then
we each took a sip, and then he kissed me again, and I thought of how lovely it
would be when we piled into some crisp, cool hotel bed in just a little while,
giddy and pleasantly light from the champagne, full and yet hungry for each other.

“Jack?” I said, as a delightful, wicked thought came to
mind.

“Yes?” he replied, eyebrows lifted, seeming to know what I
said next would be some kind of mischief. “Uh oh… I’ve fallen in love with
trouble, haven’t I?”

“Maybe,” I agreed, still grinning.

“Well,” he said, “Spit it out.”

“I’ve still never fucked a virgin.”

And for that, he shook his head bemusedly, then kissed me
again.

the
end.