Il n’y a que deux
endroits au monde où l’on puisse vivre heureux: chez soi et à Paris.
~Hemingway
CHAPTER XI
«Bienvenue à l'Hôtel de Crillon, Monsieur et Madame Grey.
And may I extend my congratulations to you both. Welcome
to Hotel de Crillon, sir, madam, » our hotel concierge greets us both in French and in
English.
“Merci beaucoup,” I respond.
“Thank
you,” Ana replies, and the middle aged, slightly balding concierge smiles at
us both professionally.
“My name is Durrant Rodell. Any of us at the concierge
desk would be more than happy to assist you to fulfill your requests. A simple
phone call is sufficient to have one of us advise you and make all kinds of
reservations for you. Theaters, concerts, museums, transportation, a French
interpreter should you wish one, a guide, a chauffeur, a coiffeur, a personal
trainer, anything you wish. As the concierges at Hotel de Crillon, we will do
our utmost to bring you the best Paris has to offer, Monsieur and Madame Grey.
This is our hotel manager in charge Mademoiselle Elisabeth
Dubois. She will escort you to your suite,” he says indicating a young woman in
crisp business suit. She blinks a couple of times, and then extends her hand in
greeting.
“Pleasure to meet you Monsieur and Madame Grey,” she says, and
Anastasia narrows her eyes. With the movements of her jaw, I can pleasantly see
that she’s gritting her teeth. She extends her hand to the hotel manager first.
“I’m Mrs. Ana Grey,” she says, then motioning towards me,
she indicates, “and this is my
husband, Mr. Grey,” she says.
“A pleasure to meet you both,” Mademoiselle Dubois
replies, and takes us to our suite. The manager's and Anastasia’s high heels
click on the checkered Italian marble floors.
“Monsieur
and Madame Grey, welcome to the Bernstein Suite,” she says opening the door
letting us in.
“This suite was named after the famous composer who was fond of
staying here. As you can see the sublime terraces offer an outstanding view of
Paris and the Eiffel Tower. I hope you have a pleasant stay at l'Hôtel de
Crillon. If there’s anything
we can do for you, please let us know,” she says and leaves the room, after her
gaze lingers on me a few seconds longer making my wife shake her head.
Anastasia stands in the middle of the living space and looks
around the room curiously. The walls are covered with ornate mahogany paneling
and it has classical paintings displaying French nobility. The décor is red and
gold soft colors, and large marble coffee table is occupying the middle of the
room. There are fresh cut pale pink roses strategically placed around the room.
“There’s a piano,” she says pointing at the wooden piano
perfectly matching the suite’s refined, elegant and romantic feel. “That there
is, Mrs. Grey,” I reply with dark eyes. “I wonder what the bedroom looks like.
Come,” I say taking her hand.
The room is quite large, about 430 square feet. But then again
the entire suite is over 2600 square feet from what the brochure had told us.
Red and gold décor continues into the bedroom. The décor is a mix of classic 17th
and 18thcentury French. The sun is setting outside, and evening
lights from the city is slowly seeping through the terrace door. Anastasia’s
eyes widen when she sees the terrace. She quickly makes her way to the double
French doors and opens them. The city is glimmering in light. Eiffel Tower is
lit up and shining in all her glory. The way the tower is warmly lit, and the
dark metal against the black of the night makes it an undeniably graceful
sight. Thousands of bright white lights are sparking all over the tower,
creating a magical scene, gracing the city of love and light with her majesty.
“This hotel...It’s like a castle Christian!” she whispers
in a hushed voice. I look at my wife unblinking.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes, I love it! It’s beautiful! Is there a particular
reason why you chose this hotel?” she asks after seeing the glimmer in my eyes.
“Actually, yes. The hotel was built by King Louis XV in
1758 as a palace, and of course, it’s built in the grandeur of the 18th century
architecture. I think a duke lived here. Then other nobles resided in the
palace until French Revolution. It was seized at the time. In fact, the
French-American treaty was signed here in 1778 which was recognizing the Act of
Independence of the United States.”
“So, you chose it for its historical significance?” she
asks me with quizzical eyes.
“Yes and no. This hotel withstood a lot of turmoil in its
long history. And look how grand it made her in the end?” I say in a sweeping
gesture. “I want that endurance for us. No matter what we live through, no
matter what difficulties we face in life, I want us to come on top, and better
than ever,” I whisper. Her lips curve in a half smile, half sadness.
“You say the most romantic things, and take my breath
away, Christian,” she whispers. “And I love you for it. And I love you for
being you, and I love you for loving me!” she says her eyes brimming, and she
reaches up, snaking her arms around my neck.
“For you Anastasia, always hearts and flowers,” I reply.
She swallows hard.
“Kiss me,” she whispers as her lips find mine. She doesn’t
have to say it twice. Our lips mold into each other as we’re consumed with
passion in the city of love and lights. Her hands travel into my hair and her
fingers tangle and pull my hair, merging us further. Her tongue parts my lips,
and forces her way into my mouth, making me gasp for more of her. I suck her
tongue, caress it with mine in a lovers’ tango in my mouth, and finally push my
tongue into her mouth. She groans, and hitches her right leg around my waist
trying to mount me.
La Vie En Rose - Louis Armstrong
“Whoa! Ana, slow down! You’re going to unman me, baby,” I
groan into her mouth.
“Please!” she begs.
“We have a dinner reservation, soon.”
“Please... I don’t care for dinner, I’m in the city of
lovers!” she insists begging in my mouth.
“You want me to take you, here? On the terrace?” I ask
incredulous.
“Please. Don’t make me beg, Christian! Because I will...
You brought me to the most romantic place on earth. I want to make love to my
husband!” she says nipping my lower lip and sucking it to soothe the slight
sting. My breath comes hissing through my teeth.
“Fuck the dinner plans! What do you want Anastasia?” I ask
with my eyes dark.
“I want you anyway I can get you...” she says giving me my
own words back.
“Have me, you shall then, baby,” I reply. “We’ll utilize
this bench,” I say pointing the bench with cream colored cushions. The sun has
completely set, and the city lights are glimmering in the distance. The terrace
is in relative darkness.
“Come,” I say my gaze darkening. I sit on the bench, and
pull her onto my lap as if she’s riding. My right hand travels up her leg and
my hand cups her sex over her lace panties. She moves her hips, pushing her sex
into my palm, and arches her back. My erection is straining against my pants,
and she’s trying to rub herself over my growing cock to get some friction. I
insert my finger into the lace of her panties and rip them freeing her sex into
my waiting fingers. She’s deliciously wet. Her skirt is pushed back up to her
thighs and the sight of her like this on my lap is intoxicating. My left hand
moves under her blouse. I slowly push it back up, and pull it off her. Her long
hair falls in waves on her nearly bare back. She arches her back and pushes her
breast closer to my face making me grin. My fingers dip into her bra pulling it
lower freeing her breast. I repeat the process with the other breast, and her
nipples stiffen with the slight evening breeze.
Anastasia shivers on my lap. My fingers skate over her breast, tantalizing her. A shiver runs through her back again and she gyrates her hips on my lap, begging for some friction. With my left hand I cup her breast, and toy with it while I capture the other one with my mouth. As my thumb circle over her nipple, my right finger mirrors the action over her clitoris. I continue to tease the other nipple with my tongue, slightly sucking, and nipping. She groans. I roll and knead her nipple between my thumb and index finger, and tug the other one between my lips. My eyes are fixed on her face. She tilts her head, eyes closed, trying to absorb all the sensation.
Anastasia shivers on my lap. My fingers skate over her breast, tantalizing her. A shiver runs through her back again and she gyrates her hips on my lap, begging for some friction. With my left hand I cup her breast, and toy with it while I capture the other one with my mouth. As my thumb circle over her nipple, my right finger mirrors the action over her clitoris. I continue to tease the other nipple with my tongue, slightly sucking, and nipping. She groans. I roll and knead her nipple between my thumb and index finger, and tug the other one between my lips. My eyes are fixed on her face. She tilts her head, eyes closed, trying to absorb all the sensation.
I flick her nipple with my tongue, and briefly letting go
of it I whisper to her: “eyes open, baby. I want to see you get undone...” I
murmur in a husky voice.
“Husband! Take me please,” she begs.
“All in good time baby. First I want to get you all good
and soft, and ready to take me all the way in,” I reply. My lips travel to the
base of her breast nipping and sucking, making strategic stops. I capture her
other nipple while I squeeze her delectable derriere with my other hand, I run
soft, delicious circles over them. Her right nipple is now between my lips, I
slightly nip it, and just then lifting her skirt, I land a spanking on her ass,
making her arch her back even in a exquisite curve and toss her nipple further
into my mouth and dip my finger into her sex at the same time.
“Christian! I need you now!” she begs further. I unzip my
pants quickly and my erection springs free. I lift her buttocks off my lap, and
slowly place her over my aching cock and slowly bury it all the way down into
her greedy sex. My cock fills, and stretches her to the max. She sits on me,
balls deep and without moving her up, I swivel my hip as I keep her stationary,
then I slowly lift her up. As she comes down on my cock rather hungrily, I push
up and impale her deep. She meets me thrust for thrust.
“Ahhh!” she groans. Then her lips find mine. I pull and
tease her nipples with one hand while I guide her buttocks with the other, and
our lips are locks in a passionate love making.
“Suck me!” she groans into my mouth. She’s becoming quite
the demanding Madame, of late! I grin at her hunger for me. She rides high on
my cock, tilts her head back as my lips slide down to her chin, and neck then
down to her breast, sucking forcefully, and I pull the other nipple between my
thumb and finger elongating it. She gyrates her hips, speeds up her movements,
and her sex starts contracting, squeezing deliciously inside, trying to pull my
cock in deeper, milk it for all I’ve got, stroking, and teasing. When I take a
deep pull on her right nipple, her sex squeezes my cock hard, stroking it, and
she comes loudly in waves. As she pushes her nipple further in my mouth, her
left arm leans back, holding onto my leg tight, riding me like a bronco, and
it’s my undoing seeing her unravel in my mouth, and riding my cock hard with
her sex. I come in thick spurts into her. As I thrust into her two more times,
she finally collapses onto me, her arms wrapped around my neck and I tenderly
kiss her.
When
I move her off my cock, semen runs down her leg, and she bites her lip. A blush
runs her cheeks Marking her that way and her lip biting is a very heady
combination for me. I swoop her off the floor, holding her in my arms without
even bothering to zip up and carry her into the en suite bathroom.
“Bath time,” I say. And this time, I want to enjoy my wife
in the tub.
****❦ ♡ ❧*****
My hands seek for her in the bed. As my hand reach for the dent on the
pillow her had created, I feel the cold there, and her absence wakes me up
immediately. I only feel secure when she’s in the bed with me; only feel
comfort when my arms and legs are draped around her upon waking up. She is my
comfort zone; my safe place, and the main source of my anxiety. I quickly find
a robe, and put it on and go out to look for her. She’s not in the living room,
or the dining room.
Did she go out without telling me? Anxiety rises in my, but I decide to check the terrace and that’s where I find her. Wrapped in a bathrobe, perched on a patio chair, gazing into the city of love.
“Hi,” whisper slowly as to not to scare her. She turns around and looks at me with her big blue eyes.
“Hi, Christian!” she says turning her head to
me smiling; but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. Is she worried about
something?
“What are you doing out here?” I ask,
unblinking. But she answers me with a question.
“Do you know what are my top ten favorite
movies?” she asks still looking ahead. I shake my head without breaking my
gaze, and answer a soft, "No."
“One of them is ‘Sabrina.’ Not the newer one,
but the one with Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. Have you ever seen it?”
she asks in a distant voice.
“I don’t believe so. What is it about?” I ask
trying to hide my rising anxiety.
“There is a girl named Sabrina Fairchild who
lives over the garage at the Larrabee's palatial Long Island estate. She has a
crush on David, who is the young Larrabee heir and a playboy. She grows up
watching their lavish parties and balls the family throws from a nearby tree.
Her father is British and is the chauffeur of the family. When he discovers her
crush on David, he disapproves because they’re not of the same stock, and packs
her off to Paris so she can learn to cook like her mother who died a long time
ago. She goes off to Paris for a couple of years. She can’t cook, but she
learns elegance, sophistication and charm which turn out to be her thing. She
comes back home with a chic haircut, a smart suit making her look very grown
up, and a French poodle. She looks so stunning and David is taken by her.
Her father tells Sabrina...” she says and
pauses, her eyes fixed on the Eiffel Tower, " 'he’s still David Larrabee,
and you’re still the chauffeur’s daughter. And you’re still reaching for the
moon.' To which she responds, ‘no, father. The moon is reaching for me.’ But
his family is bent out of shape with this attraction because they want him to
marry a nice rich girl so the wealth of the families merge. David has an older
brother Linus – a Yale graduate,” she says looking at me, “who also realizes
what a radiant creature Sabrina has become. But of course, Linus and his
hardliner father will do anything to end the romance and Linus decides to get
Sabrina out of the way so his brother can marry the rich girl.”
“What an ass!” I reply. She smiles a little,
and continues with the story.
“Linus
manipulates Sabrina throughout. He essentially becomes Sabrina’s chaperon and
his feelings begins to change all around. The moment Linus begins to realize he
is in love with Sabrina, his success feels hollow and so does his life as a
result. You know the old adage, love conquers all. Linus sends her off to
Paris, and he’s supposed to be coming along, but of course he doesn't. His
initial goal was just to get rid of her, and then he has a change of heart...he
follows her, goes after her. And the rest is history. Paris is their savior,”
she says and shrugs.
“Ana, what made you think of this movie?” I
ask cautiously.
“Can’t you see?” she asks.
“No, I can’t. What is it am I supposed to be
seeing?”
“I’m Sabrina
in a way. You brought me to this beautiful city, to this opulence,” she says
gesturing around. “I might as well be your chauffer’s daughter. I have nothing,
and yet you... you still wanted me. You love me... And I’m completely, utterly,
and helplessly in love with you, Christian Grey! I don’t know what I would do
if you didn't want me. If you didn't love me or stopped loving me, I would
simply die,” she says, her eyes misting and looks up at me.
“Baby! Why...” I say, but don’t get a chance
to finish my sentence. Anastasia hurls herself at me, and our lips meet. When
we stop kissing, we’re both breathless.
“None of this 'I may not want you' nonsense,
anymore! There is no one else I would ever, could ever want besides you! You’re
the one for me Ana. Don’t you see that baby? This is our honeymoon. What
brought this on?” I ask.
“Just the overwhelming extravagance, my
unbelievably handsome, loving husband... I just felt unworthy of you all of a
sudden. It’s still like a dream to me. I’m so scared that I will wake up and
you will disappear. I love you so much, it scares me, Christian,” she says her
eyes brimming; her thoughts mirroring mine.
“I love you more than you can ever imagine,
Ana. Now, let’s go have breakfast, and then you and I will explore the city of
love,” I say smiling pulling her in my embrace.
*****❦ ♡ ❧*****
“What will we see first?” she asks excitedly as we are being driven in
the car. We are in a Mercedes SUV. Taylor is in the front sitting next to one of
our French security details Philippe. Gaston, his twin brother is already on
location, doing a sweep. I hold Anastasia’s hand in mine, and look at her.
My answer to her question may be unoriginal but it’s completely
truthful, “The Eiffel Tower.”
“Not the Louvre, or Champs-Elysées, or Arch de Triomphe or Notre Dame or
Versailles Palace?” she asks grinning.
“We will see those as well, but I want to show you what inspired me in
college. The Eiffel tower helped me understand the principle of unity; because
it has a masterful combination of industry and grace. That’s why I made sure
that industrial elegance and curves were incorporated in the Grey House. Beauty
of the curved line can balance the cold rigidity of metal. And of course the
view from atop is to die for!”
“Do we have a guide?” she asks.
“Of course,” I reply smiling.
“But you seem to know Paris so well. Why the guide?”
“So, I can observe my wife enjoying herself in this magical city,” I
reply truthfully.
When we arrive at the Eiffel Tower, Gaston is waiting with our middle
aged guide. He’s a man in his 50s. He’s wearing business casual. He’s not a
very tall man, in fact slightly shorter than Anastasia. He has a warm demeanor
and a knowledgeable presence. He smiles warmly and professionally giving both
of us an equal amount of his attention.
“Bonjour Monsieur et Madame Grey! How do you do? I am Jaques Painlevé. I will be your
guide this morning.”
“Thank you,” we both say at the same time.
“Allow me to introduce you one of the most
recognizable structures in the world; the Eiffel Tower. She is 324 meters tall
and it is about 1,063 feet in your measurements. It was completed at the end of
the 19th century and became the tallest structure in the world at that
time, and it was until 1930 when the Americans built the Chrysler Building. The
man behind the tower was Gustave Eiffel, and it was built for the World
Exhibition in 1889. She held in the celebration of the French Revolution in
1789. Did you know that while the Eiffel Tower is a steel structure, and weighs
approximately 10,000 tons, it actually has a relatively low density, weighing
less than a cylinder of air occupying the same dimensions as the tower?” he
asks and looks over his rather large eye glasses that were left over from 1980s
for an effect. Anastasia gets curious and asks:
"How could 10,000 tons of steel weigh
less than a cylinder of air occupying the same dimensions as the tower?”
Painlevé’s eyes light up like a student who studied hard for an test and the
question he was hoping was asked is in the exam.
“Ah, the Madame is interested in the
sciences!" he gushes rubbing his hands together. "It shall be my
happy duty to educate you on the topic. The metal structure combined with the
non-metal components of the tower weigh approximately 10,000 pounds. 7,300 tons
of it is metal. If you were to melt down all the metal, it would fill the 125
square base to a depth of only 6 centimeters which is about 2.36 inches
assuming a density of the metal to be 7.8 tons per cubic meter. The tower has a
mass less than the mass of the air contained in a cylinder of the same
dimensions that is 324 meters high and 88.3 meters in radius. The weight of the
tower is 10,100 tons compared to 10,265 tons of air,” he says grinning to have
explained it to its scientific specifications.
Anastasia turns her back to him and looks up at me as her eyes lit
up and she's stifling her giggles.
“What?” I whisper quizzical.
“He’s just like an older, much shorter and
French Sheldon Cooper,” she says smiling.
“Who is Sheldon Cooper? An ex-boyfriend of
yours from your Physics class?” I whisper through gritted teeth.
“No, silly!” she giggles more. Monsieur
Painlevé blinks and looks quizzical without knowing what we are whispering
about. I shake my head. “She’s just making an observation,” I say for his
benefit, and he smiles politely in response. Then I turn my back to the guide,
look down at Anastasia and ask her:
“Ana, you’re driving me crazy! Who the hell
is Sheldon Cooper?” I ask my gaze fixed on her darkly. She smiles and answers.
“Hold on to your hair Mr. Grey. No one you
should be worried about. He’s a character from a TV show called ‘The Big Bang
Theory’. He’s a geeky theoretical physicist who is always very egotistical and he
often brags about his smarts, totally lacks social skills, weary of germs, and
physical contact, introverted, and always makes an observation or makes a
statement that no one understands or even cares for that matter, like, ‘What
part of an inverse tangent approaching an asymptote don’t you
understand?’" she says imitating a masculine voice.
"When our guide inserted the math facts
of the tower, I thought he reminded me of Sheldon’s character, and I was
right," she shrugs, but my gaze gets darker on her. She frowns, "And,
for heaven’s sake, stop looking at me like that!” she hisses scolding me.
“Can’t I make an observation without you getting jealous of a fictional
character?” she murmurs and I sigh.
“Please remember that I only have one type;
and that’s Christian Grey,” she whispers. I hold her hand tightly and turn to
our guide. Motioning him to go on.
“Behold the beauty that is Paris,” says
Monsieur Painlevé. He talks about the history, and the people involved in
creating this masterpiece. Then he leaves us to ourselves to enjoy the
spectacular view Paris from third floor of the tower. Once our tour is over, we
eat lunch at the Le Jules Verne’s Restaurant located on the tower’s second
level. The place is booked weeks in advance at times which is why our
reservation has been made before we arrived in Paris. It has a great wine
selection, and exceptional French cuisine.
But the highlight of the day is the
Versailles. Painlevé meets us at Chateau de
Versailles.
“Bienvenue sur le château de Versailles," he says. “The Château de Versailles is a rags to riches story among
Baroque architecture,” explains Monsieur Painlevé as his eyebrows steeple, and
he pushes his glasses back up on his nose once again.
“The palace and the surrounding gardens are
spectacular and exquisite in detail; but it stood in the middle of a field
which once was neglected. The inspiration of these gardens came from the
Italian renaissance, but of course Italians would have never reached that
opulence or magnificence as the French would,” he adds proudly.
Anastasia clears her throat. “Mr. Painlevé, don’t you think that statement is a little racist?” she asks.
Anastasia clears her throat. “Mr. Painlevé, don’t you think that statement is a little racist?” she asks.
He blinks at her as if she started speaking
in pig Latin. “Not unless it’s the truth Madame. Truth cannot be construed as
racist, which by the way is a very American expression. It’s not perceived
as such here. Even Italians know that. You know how the saying goes, Madame.
Heaven is where the police are British, the cooks are French,” he says proudly,
“the mechanics are German, the lovers are Italian –of course I dare say that
French make better lovers than Italians, but I digress- and it’s all organized
by the Swiss. Hell is where the police are German, cooks are English, the
mechanics are French, the lovers are Swiss and it’s all organized by the Italians,”
he says.
“I’m quite sure Italians make great cooks as
well,” challenges Anastasia.
“Oh, that’s debatable Madame. What do they
have? Pizza and pasta… I can’t think of anything else.”
“I love pizza and pasta,” replies Anastasia
completely amused teasing the hell out of this man who takes her jokes
seriously.
“Mon Dieu! Monsieur Grey! You must immediately introduce the young lady
to real food. She has been deprived!”
“I was told that Italians taught French how to cook. Was I misinformed?”
Anastasia asks innocently, and Painlevé’s
hand immediately goes up to his mouth to stifle a gasp. I squeeze Anastasia’s
hand to remind her to slow down to save the poor man from having a heart attack
and protect the Gaelic and American relationships. Taylor is trying very hard
to hide his grin as the French security twins are looking impassive.
“I would say you were grossly, egregiously misinformed Madame! French
cuisine is famous for its sauces, bread, cheese and wines. I shall immediately refer you and Monsieur
Grey to some French restaurants where you can experience the true magnificence
of the French cookery,” he says fervently.
“What do you think about the Greek food?” Anastasia asks, changing
directions.
He sighs, “Greeks are such a great civilization. To be fair ma’am, they
gave us democracy, science, and little cubes of charred meat that taste like
sweat. It is a known fact that French cookery is superior over all of the
cuisines in the world.”
Anastasia’s eyes first go wide with his answer, shocked, but also dance with mischief as if she’s having great fun
while starting World Kitchen Wars I. It’s time to stop her.
“As enticing as the culinary discussion you two are having, I’d like to
see the grandeur of this French architecture,” I say pointedly. I pull
Anastasia’s hand and she’s flush on my side.
“What’s gotten into you? You were about to give that poor man a coronary
and perhaps start the World Kitchen Wars I,” I state in a slow,
forbidding voice into her ear.
“I don’t
know what’s wrong with me, either,” she says biting her lip. “I feel like a
troublemaker. I just couldn't stop,” she whispers back. I narrow my eyes on
her.
"Maybe you need to be spanked, Mrs. Grey,” I whisper into her ear,
and hear, rather than see her hitching breath.
“I’ve been a bad girl. Perhaps a punishment is in order, Mr. Grey,” she
whispers in a husky voice, flushing.
By the time we get inside the castle, Anastasia’s amazed with all the
opulent, gilt splendor of the eighteenth century palace, and she utters, “I am
completely in love with Versailles!” utterly taken by her surroundings, and it
is apparent that she's all forgiven by our tour guide.
After our guide gives us a tour of the Palace, he bids us his adieu
before leaving us to wander through the place on our own. He shakes Anastasia’s
hand, then shakes mine saying, “you have in your possession a very outspoken, a
very passionate spouse, sir. I congratulate you! She must have French in her
ancestry. I am therefore honored to meet you both,” he says and takes his
leave. I am completely baffled and taken aback how Anastasia affects the other
people.
“Come, Mrs. Grey, let me show you what other megalomaniacs do for the
women they love,” I say darkly and take her into the Hall of Mirrors. The early
afternoon light floods through the windows to the west, lighting up the mirrors
that line the east wall and illuminating the gold leaf décor and the enormous
crystal chandeliers. Anastasia is completely mesmerized, as if she’s in a
spectacular dream from which she doesn’t want to wake up.
“Yes, it is interesting to see what becomes of a despotic megalomaniac
who isolates himself in such splendor,” she murmurs as I’m standing by her
side. She’s trying to get a rise out of me on top of what she has done to poor
Monsieur Painlevé.
I gaze down at her cocking my head to one side. “Your point, Mrs. Grey?” I ask with humor.
I gaze down at her cocking my head to one side. “Your point, Mrs. Grey?” I ask with humor.
“Oh, merely making an observation, Mr. Grey,”
she says waving her hand airily at the surroundings. I smirk at her response
following her to the center of the room where she stands and gawks at the view.
There’s something amazing in this picture. The view of the spectacular gardens
glimmer in the mirrors, but then also my stunning wife’s image is reflected
back on every single mirror. I gaze at her boldly, darkly, salaciously. She’s
completely, incredibly and utterly beautiful, especially with the way the light
is accentuating her chestnut hair.
“I would build this for you,” I whisper.
“Just to see the way the light burnishes your hair, right here, right now,” I
say in a low, husky voice as I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You look
like an angel,” a mischievous angel, but an angel nonetheless. I kiss her right
below her earlobe, and taking her hand I murmur, “We despots do that for the
women we love." She flushes, still shy when she receives a compliment. I
follow her through the room, and when she turns back to me with desire in her
eyes, I hold her face gently in my hands, and kiss her with all I’ve got, our
embrace reflected in every single mirror like Rodin’s “The Kiss” statue.
When we break our kiss, she whispers, “You’re very brazen Mr. Grey.”
I smile at her salaciously and admiringly.
“We’re in the city of love, in a palace built on a piece of neglected land
which used to be a small hunting lodge, but Louis XIV restructured the location
into an icon of absolute power and timeless domination – sort of like my less
than humble beginnings,” I say shrugging.
“And what you are now…” she adds. I smile at
her but my smile doesn’t reach my eyes. My gaze is focused on her. “Did you
know that there are 357 mirrors, 17 glass doors, marble walls, chandeliers, and
splendid paintings in the ceiling: it creates a heavenly splendor which of course was the Sun King’s intent
here. But you Ana, standing here... you are like the brightest shining jewel of
all. The sight of you in here, looking at me like this...with love and
admiration is a sight simply breathtaking in its majesty. I’m simply awed, Ana.
You do that to me,” I whisper softly. She swallows hard, and her arms snake
around my neck.
“Take me back to the hotel, or find a private
room in this palace, I don’t care which. Right now, I’d be completely happy if
you just took me down here,” she whispers wanton.
“Mrs. Grey, you've become completely insatiable. What have I created here?”
I reply with a grin.
“Would you have me any other way, Mr. Grey?”
she asks smiling.
“I’ll have you any way I can, baby… Any
possible way I can. Come, let’s go,” I say and we take off to the Hotel de
Crillon.
*****❦ ♡ ❧*****
“Where are we going today?” she asks
excitedly after breakfast.
“It’s a surprise,” I grin.
She groans in response. “Baby, this is a
remarkable city with so much to do. You can spend a lifetime here and still not
have seen or experienced everything. Ernest Hemingway lived in Paris, and he
said, ‘If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then
wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is
movable feast.’ That single sentence captures everything about Paris. I want
this to be an experience you will never forget. He also said, ‘Il n’y a que deux endroits au monde où l’on
puisse vivre heureux: chez soi et à Paris.’
“ I say in French slowly. She looks at me enamored. Her chest is rising up and
down quickly to accommodate her rising passion. She’s flushed. She gazes at me
darkly as she walks around the table to stand before me:
“I have no idea what you said,
but it sounded so hot, I feel like hurling myself at you!” she whispers
licentiously.
“I said that ‘there are only two
places in the world where we can live happy: at home and in Paris.’ I was
quoting Hemingway. But once you are bitten by the love of Paris, there’s just
no cure for it. You’re in love with this city for life,” I say grinning, and
turning my chair towards her direction so she can sit on my lap, cowgirl style.
She wraps her arms around me, and we are lost in our kiss, until Taylor
discreetly comes in and clears his throat.
*****❦ ♡ ❧*****
“Musée
du Louvre is one of the greatest museums in the world,” I explain Anastasia.
“What?
Are we not utilizing Monsieur Painlevé’s mean guiding skills?” she asks smiling, batting her eyelashes
innocently.
“Why luckily, Mr. Grey?” she asks narrowing
her eyes.
“Let’s just say that, it turns me on; makes
me feel alive.”
“It’s not fair, you know!” she whispers.
“What’s not fair?” I ask.
“That you turn me on in an overly crowded,
one of the world’s biggest, most famous museums, leaving me hot and bothered!”
she says slowly exhaling, trying to calm herself down. I grin wide, and feel so much alive and in
love with my wife.
“Let me show you some of my favorite exhibits
here,” I say and pull her in the direction of the Department of Greek, Etruscan
and Roman Antiquities: Hellenistic Art. I bring her in front of the statue of
Aphrodite.
“Venus de Milo,” she whispers.
“Yes. According to the Greek mythology,
Aphrodite is the Greek goddess and sexual rapture. She was born from the foam
of the sea in Cyprus. She, as you can see has supernatural beauty. Zeus was
afraid that the male gods would fight over her, creating problems. So he
married her to Hephaestus, the dour and ugly god of fire and smithing. He was
overjoyed at being married to the goddess of beauty and he forged beautiful
jewelry, and a cestus, a girdle for her. But of course that just made her more
irresistible to men. The cestus was recognized as a symbol for its magical powers to
compel love, strengthen her potent sexual attractiveness. She was unhappy, of
course, for having married someone without her will, and soon took companionship
from other gods and even mortals. She was a lover of Ares, the god of war;
Adonis, the god of beauty and desire, and also Anchises who was seduced by
Aphrodite and was a mortal lover of the goddess.
She was also believed to be the cause of the
Trojan War after making Paris fall in love with Helene. Her seductions and
temptations were a constant source of pleasure and danger both for Gods and
mortals who fell under her captivating spell. They were robbed of their wits,
and enticed into actions they would not normally take. She was a combination of
pleasure and danger. Aphrodite was not bad. She was just in love with love. She
was incredibly passionate with love and a helpless romantic. Look at her face…”I point.
“It’s timeless and emotionless. Her elongated
silhouette is very sensual, realistic yet other worldly. Even though the
sculptor was seeking to create the divine beauty,” I say walking around the
statue, and pointing at her, “this timeless masterpiece created a fine answer
to the eternal quest for beauty we all have. The result is this goddess of love
and beauty, born out of the foam of the sea.”
She looks at the statue carefully, jealously.
“You are my Aphrodite, Anastasia.
You’re the timeless love and beauty that belongs to me. You’re the
masterpiece…” I say to her reverentially.
“It’s simple. We can all appreciate the
female form. We love to look whether in marble or oils or satin or film. Beauty
is pleasing to the eye. A masterpiece of God’s creation, and we like to see the
reflection of it in captivated forms such as these…” I explain.
She nods, and smiles.
“I am in total awe of your knowledge, and
your confidence, and your Adonic beauty, Christian.”
“Adonic beauty?” I ask grinning.
“I like that title, Mrs. Grey. I like it a
lot.”
*****❦ ♡ ❧*****
“Mr. and
Mrs. Grey! It is a pleasure to have you on board of the Fair Lady. My name is
Nicholas Perri; I’m a former captain myself, but now the shore manager to the
Fair Lady. This is Captain David Madison,” he indicates a lean blonde man with
a crisp Captain’s uniform who extends and shakes my hand firmly, then shakes
Anastasia’s hand, saying, “ma’am.”
“And this
here is your First Mate of the Fair Lady, Alain Benoît,”
he indicates a dark haired, tall young man about my age, who smiles
brightly, and proffers his hand first to Anastasia, and croons:
“Enchantée Mademoiselle, welcome aboard,” he says
professionally, but I don’t miss the slight gleam in his eyes; he’s taken by my
wife. Sure enough he takes Anastasia’s hand, and kisses the back of it.
My eyes are fixed on him. I bet
you are delighted! He purposefully calls her Miss. I make sure he know that
she’s Mrs. Grey, my wife.
“Elle est Madame Grey. Ma femme!
Je suis M. Grey. Son mari!” I wedge
myself between his arm and my wife’s hand.
“Je
m’excuse, Monsieur Grey,” fucker apologizes, and adds, “Je suis heureux de vous rencontrer. Bienvenue à bord.” Sure you
do! Bastard!
“Moi aussi.”I say as my gaze is firmly fixed on him. Then I turn to
the shore manager, and indicating a private corner, I say, “A word, Mr. Perri.”
“Please, call me Nick, Mr. Grey.”
I give a slight, imperceptible nod to Taylor, who leads
Anastasia away to distract her by saying, “this way Mrs. Grey.” Anastasia looks
confused, but follows Taylor. When Perri and I walk about twenty feet away from
the Captain and the First Mate, I turn the full intensity of my gaze on the
shore manager:
“I don’t want Benoît on the ship during our
stay. I’d like you to appoint another First Mate for this week.”
“I beg your pardon Mr. Grey?
Has he offended you in any way? I assure you sir; his show of manners is purely
French and not outside of the norm here.”
“Don’t assume to give me a
lesson on social norms; I know the customs having lived in France myself. I’m
paying €63,000 for the charter of this vessel for the week not to mention added
expenses which will grow well over €100,000.
I want a different First Mate that my wife and I can be comfortable of being
around.”
“Very
well, sir. We will send another First Mate replacing Mr. Benoît. Is
there anything else I can assist you with?”
“Yes,” I say smiling having
resolved the problem. “What year was the ship built?”
He smiles in response. “She was
built in 1928 sir, but refitted in 2005 and 2006. It took about 2 years to
complete the project. She’s an English vessel, sir,” he adds proudly.
“The workmanship is exquisite,”
I say assessing the vessel. “What is her length? I’m assuming it’s about 120
feet long...” I say.
“Very close sir! Her length is
121 feet and the beam is 20.3 feet and her draft is 10 feet sir.”
“What sort of engines does she have?”
“We have two 230 horse power
Gardner sir which permits 10.5 knots of speed.”
“Impressive. Size of the crew?”
“Six, sir.”
“What sort of water-sports do
you accommodate from the boat?”
“If I may make an observation,
sir, you know your ships very well. You’re asking all the right questions.
Well, we have a 5.2 meter Boston Whaler tender with 130 horsepower engine, 4
meter Avon tender with 40 horsepower engine, and two Laser sailing dinghies,
two canoes, water skis and tow, snorkeling gear, and diving gear, sir, should
you wish to take advantage of them.”
“We will. What sort of
communications and entertainment facilities do you have on board?”
He grins in response. “You’d be pleased to know that we have Satcom and cellular communication facilities, sir. We also have Wi-Fi internet access, comprehensive audio-visual systems, satellite TV, and iPod docking stations throughout the boat, Mr. Grey. Allow me to take you and Mrs. Grey around for a tour, sir!” he says indicating with his hand, ahead, and I nod.
I walk towards my wife taking
her hand, and tour the Fair Lady which will accommodate us for the last week of
our honeymoon.
*****❦ ♡ ❧*****
John Berger
L’Americain de Paris,
c’est ce que l’Amerique a fait de mieux. (The American in Paris is the best American).
F.
Scott Fitzgerald
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Next update: January 25th - Friday. I have a translation project to finish. Thank you for your patience.
