It's 7:35 PM and here I come walking on the tips of my toes, robbed of breath, and small beads of sweat on my forehead. With no time to change, I threw a knit cardigan over my black, bodycon dress. Using its sleeve, I tap away the obvious attempt of punctuality and spoil myself with a long, time-consuming breath. Yes, Susan. I know I'm out of shape.
Waiting for me in my driveway stands Marcel, arms locked across his Rolling Stones t-shirt as his back leans against his... truck? Curiosity takes my strides prisoner, slowing me down to take in the glistening, black vehicle. When did this happen?
As the space between Marcel and I shrinks, his arms unfold, preparing to empty my hand of my rollaway bag. I take this time to steal the hug I wanted earlier.
My accost comes as a lighthearted tease. "Haven't you had enough of me for one day?"
As Marcel's arm snakes around my waist, I draw a breath, giving him room for a tighter constriction. Sadly, the way Marcel is set up, he's a very gentle guy. The only pressure he applies is when his fingers catch my waist.
When I lose my grip on my bag, it nearly hits my leg. When I catch it, I also catch sight of my wedding ring. Being the klutz that I am, Marcel takes my bag before anything else happens. As I catch sight of his band, I pull my hand away to scratch my nose.
"You're a little overdressed, yeah?" Marcel's smile pushes me further into my guilt as he heads to the trunk.
Once my thoughts start to spin, they weigh. Even my mini dress calls me out, but not for long until I remember Marcel's question has yet to be answered. I'm not going to the Met Gala. My outfit isn't loud. I put on trainers to dress it down. Trainers? Oh God. I've been in London for too long. SNEAKERS! Not only didn't I have time for a wardrobe change, but I didn't have time to throw my hair into a ponytail. It will go up within the next 2 minutes.
"I was short on time. Where are we going?"
"Let this one be a surprise." He sits my suitcase in the trunk, then taps a button for it to close. "When necessary, I'm going to cover your eyes and make you wear headphones."
I don't know man. The way it rolls off his tongue makes it sound like a form of bondage.
"I'm nervous."
"But also excited." He taps me under my chin then spins on the heels of his favorite Converses. "You'll see."
Marcel opens my door, allowing me to be welcomed by the scent of the brand new truck. I was actually looking forward to a Tom Ford cologne, but I'm not complaining.
Before I can strap in, he opens the door wider and steps closer to make sure the message resonates. "It'll be worth it."
What Marcel? I know you're up to no good.
"Hmph."
"Mark my words."
The setting sun possesses his cool-tone, green eyes while a soft beam sits on his handsome smile. Nearly crossing my legs, I catch myself by slowly dragging my sneaker along the mat. Realizing my faults, I revert back to my sassy ways, hoping to bring his.
"You're just going to whisk me off in the middle of the night?" In hopes of getting the pest away from me, my hand bounces off of Marcel's built chest.
A victorious smirk plays on his lips, undisturbed by our grown distance.
Wait... wait... wait! Did I just get read and not realize it? Get back here and let me try again.
Taking my loss, I fidget in the seat as he shuts my door. Dragging a breath to fill my frustrated cheeks, I menacingly watch the annoyance make his quest of the driver's seat.
Why does he feel so aware of my untold tales? Someone, throw a bag over me.
When Marcel swings his door open, he goes on to answer a question I forgot I asked. "Angel, it's not even eight o' clock yet. The sun is barely down." He jabs his thumb towards the windshield and the colorful, yet dimming sky.
"Just get in the car." To be stubborn, I cross my arms and legs – this time with aggravation and impatience. At the sound of his snicker, my eyes take me on a spin. "We haven't even made it out of the driveway and you're already starting." My obstinate streak continues as my eyes peer over, only reaching his lap as I ask, "Where did this truck come from?"
"I got it a week ago. Y'like?"
"I do." I shift my eyes back towards my window, until Marcel pokes my side, sending a wave through my locked body.
'Thank you. M'glad you like it." A proud smile blankets his face as he starts up his new toy.
The airport was nothing less than entertaining. My anxiety nearly defeated me and ruined Marcel's surprise. I was required to wear a blindfold before we arrived at our gate. So I wouldn't come across any conversation about the destination, I had to wear headphones. Once in the clouds, I wasn't allowed to let up the blind on my window.
I'm being kidnapped. Send help!
"This... is intense," My uncertainty weaves through the slow-passing comment.
"Trust me."
I purse my lips together, subject to his thrill for being one step ahead. "Hmm..."
Marcel's arms spread and shoulders rise into a still shrug. "You must trust me in order to get this far." After dropping his shoulders, he tilts his head, pursing his lips as well. "I got you on a plane blindfolded."
"Maybe I'm just stupid."
"You're up for another adventure. You're probably yearning for one."
"A little bit. Thank God my friends have lives and I don't."
What seems to be a gentle smile, passes Marcel's face as his eyes trace my facial features. His scoff snatches his eyes away from me and down into his lap. What's so funny? Is there something on my face?
Sighing, Marcel sets his elbows on the armrest as his thumb gingerly supports his tilted head. As he outlines his left brow with a lenient finger, his orbs drop to my sneakers and the crinkles by his eyes begin to soften. His eyes methodically trail up my body at an unhurried rate. Can he see my heart beating its way out of my chest as I brace myself for our gaze to meet again? When we do engage, his eyes are hooded as the innocent smile pulls again at his mouth.
"Look at what I've done to you, poppet."
Oops, there goes a sock.
The British endearment catches me by surprise. Before it can spill on to my face, I bite the inside of my lip to collect my scrambled thoughts. The relaxed haze in Marcel's eyes doesn't help the process, but I still manage to warn him,
"You better stop while you're ahead."
"Not a chance." He deadpans.
Through all of his shenanigans, Marcel got me to the room without ruining the surprise.
I must say, "I'm impressed."
As Marcel pulls my rollaway luggage into our suite, I follow closely behind, now, searching for a clue of my whereabouts. "Stop, Angel." He leaves my suitcase to approach me, smirk pleased by my curiosity, but also happy I haven't found anything.
"I'm not doing this again." I refuse.
"I won't make you. Which room do you want?"
"Surprise me."
"Well, I'm trying, but you're trying to ruin shit." He mumbles, sending me small daggers as he turns the corner for a room on the left. Usually, I take the room on the right. Marcel, what are you doing? I quicken my trail after he leaves my sight. In the selected room, Marcel stands at the window grinning from ear to ear.
Tentatively, I step into the bedroom suite. Pulling his lips into his mouth, Marcel's eyes drop to my feet again only to pull them up my body. His smile pacifies as if his mind went elsewhere for a second. I only come to a halt when I witness his once firm fist loosen around the curtains stowed behind his back. I grow more anxious when I see his grip tighten more than its previous hold.
"Ready?" He asks. I look back down on his hand, but he had already snuck it further behind his back. "Have a seat."
"You're making me nervous."
"Don't I always?"
Compliance is my answer as I sit on the edge of the bed with my legs crossed and hands meekly in my lap.
"Huh?" He huffs, leaning forward a bit.
"Yes? I mean–" I shake my head after mixing up the questions in my head. I become more confused than impatient. "No?"
"Are you ready?" He chuckles through my uncertainties.
My alert stare flickers to the closed curtains. "Yes."
"Really, really?"
"Marcel, please," I beg for him to stop this torture.
"Oooooo." He flinches, backing into the curtains after the whiny request.
Marcel's recovery includes him humming with pleasure and creating a contrast between his white teeth and rosy pink bottom lip. Forward as always, a proud smile breaks above the bitten lip. My stomach turns to knots while a tingle wisps up my spine. Maybe that's just my common sense leaving my body. It's the pasta.
As Marcel's voice returns to him, I'm not prepared for the suggestive message and tone. "Keep that up and you can have whatever you want."
I suppose all of my common sense hadn't deserted me, because I muster, "I want you to open the curtains."
"What?" He leans forward for me to say the magic words. "Hurry. Time is almost up." He checks his watch. I check mine too. It's 10:02 PM.
Giving in, I entreat, "Marcel, please."
"Close your eyes."
"What?" I sigh, which earns the arch his semi-tamed brow. I close my eyes and cover them with my hands. Finally, I hear the curtains opening.
"Keep them closed."
"I am." I swing my feet back and forth anticipating the big reveal.
"Okay, Angel. Open your eyes."
As I unveil, I'm quickly welcomed by the gold, sparkling beauty. I shield my mouth as my legs stop working – now swaying from pure inertia. Feeling a hiccup caught in my throat, I use my other hand to overlap.
I check on Marcel. His excitement is evident as he bounces on his toes. The wonder of MY world becomes blurry, but I refuse to drop a tear under Marcel's wishes.
"Come ooooon." Marcel moans, his heavy accent dramatically drawing out each letter. He drops his contained composure and lowers his camera as he frees his vexation. "Girl, what I tell you about this?"
Marcel heads over, but before he can reach my crybaby ass, I pounce, clashing my body against his and locking my arms around his neck. I don't realize how hard I hit him until his grunt hits my ear.
Knowing he wants an answer, but also knowing my throat can't produce, I groan snuggling into him. I also groan because I can't hug him any tighter without breaking him.
"I can live with this; not the tears." Marcel wraps his arms around my waist as his chuckle reprieves mine.
"Thank you for bringing me here." I rub my eyes, voice coming just above a whisper. The wrought-iron lattice continues to glisten and light up my glossy eyes. "Oh, it's beautiful." I catch a sob before it can escape my mouth.
"Yes, she is." His directed remark catches me off guard, flustering me more than I already am.
Peering up to him, Marcel's hooded eyes appraise my unguarded attendance. My overflowing heart has no room for the guilt that once trespassed earlier. So, without remorse, I crane my neck toward the side of his face. Before my lips can reach his cheek, Marcel smiles, eyes lowering, anticipating the sweet and thankful gesture.
As my chest rests against his, I'm pleased to know the touch steals an obliged huff, in which, he tries to disguise as a chuckle. I melt into him; my head reposing on his shoulder as I secure my tight detain around him.
You're well aware that I have a hard time reading Marcel. I might have made him blush a couple of times. I may have hatched him in my arms a few more, but I've never had the liberty of an extended visit.
Tonight, I can't stray from him. And I'm glad because I felt the hidden effect I have on him. His heart races a million miles a minute and the longer I sojourn, the faster it goes. Not wanting to make him sick, my hold loosens, striving to relax him, but the tips of his fingers lightly press into my waist, asking me to stay.
"Thank you, Marcel."
His still expression reminds me that he doesn't cope well with evident emotion. I know my mascara has run. Wanting to clean up my damp face, I try swiping under my eyes. Marcel beats me to it – using his knuckles to rid me of my fallen tears.
"Welcome to Paris, Angel."