by Hudson Lin
“Oh yeah, sure.” Marco ducked to find a ginger ale, ignoring the slight heat on his cheeks. Was it creepy of him to be thinking of Vivian like that? His colleague? Probably. What was the difference between actually grabbing a woman’s ass and imagining he wanted to do it? Clare’s voice rang loud in his head, complete with an eye roll. Consent! Yeah, that was most likely it.
He straightened with a few cans. “Here.”
“Thanks.”
Their fingers brushed as he passed the cans to her, and Marco’s cheeks grew a few degrees hotter. He'd never been quite so flustered by anyone before. He was supposed to be the smooth one, not the one floundering because he'd become so smitten. Vivian smiled at him, and he returned it so hard his cheeks hurt.
As they finished the beverage run and pushed the cart back into the galley, Vivian gave an exaggerated sigh. “Did you hear that guy in thirty-three A? He wanted a ‘sauvignon blanc from zee Bordeaux region, preferably a Château wine, si’l vous plaît.’” Vivian rolled her eyes. “No, Monsieur, we do not have a wine cellar at the back of the plane. We have red or white, and they come in tiny bottles.”
Marco laughed out loud, a little too enthusiastically, and Vivian and Clare exchanged a look. Clare glanced at him and shook her head. He was so busted.
“It's time for your break, both of you.” Clare made a shooing motion with her hands. “Get out of here.”
Marco hesitated. He’d forgotten about break and the tiny compartment they’d be sharing for the next twenty minutes. It was supposed to give them a chance to rest, but that was going to be impossible with Vivian within breathing distance.
At the very back of the plane, Marco let her climb up the narrow stairs ahead of him. Now that was a mistake. Her tightly sheathed ass was right in his face, wiggling side to side as she maneuvered her way up.
The second they made it to the top of the stairs, Vivian let out an tired groan, kicked off her shoes, and stretched. Her breasts pressed against her close-fitting vest, and her skirt rode up her thighs. Then she proceeded to take off her scarf and vest, pulling out her neatly tucked shirt before rolling onto one of the narrow bunks.
Marco stood there. He was too stunned to move.
“You're not going to lie down?” Vivian asked, voice lowered to a husk.
“Uh, yeah.” He toed off his shoes, but that was the extent of undressing he trusted himself with. Squeezing himself into the opposite bunk, he stared resolutely at the ceiling, barely inches from his nose.
“Do you think people have sex here?”
Marco snapped his head around so quickly his neck strained in protest. “What?”
“Sorry. Stupid question. Of course people are having sex in here. I guess it's more a matter of how much.” Vivian pondered the question like it was the weather. “I probably don't want to know the answer to that.”
No, she didn't. Especially not when she was lying on one of the bunks.
“Have you ever done it in here?” Vivian turned onto her side, one arm tucked under her head like she was at a slumber party.
Shit. The truth was he was always up for a good time; he rarely said no to a willing partner.
Vivian gasped, looking scandalized. “You have!”
Damn. His sexual indiscretions were the last thing he wanted to discuss with Vivian. Not that he had anything to be apologetic about. But she was giggling behind her hand, so cute he couldn’t be annoyed with her.
“It was a long time ago. When it was still kind of novel.”
“Mm.” She yawned suddenly, hilarity dissolving into exhaustion. “I don’t see the appeal. It’s cramped, not very romantic, super germ-y and gross. Why would anyone want to have sex on a plane?”
“Because that’s the whole point. It’s not where you’re supposed to have sex, so it makes it exciting.”
She was fading fast, eyes drifting shut and breathing evening out. “Still,” she mumbled, the rest of the sentence lost to sleep.
Marco shifted into a more comfortable position and tried to close his eyes too. But they kept opening of their own accord, gazing across the short distance to where Vivian napped.
He wouldn’t want to have sex with Vivian on a plane. She deserved more than that. She deserved luxury and romance. Maybe one day he could give that to her.
~~~~~
“Wow.” Vivian craned her neck back as she took in Notre-Dame de Paris, the beautiful gothic cathedral in the middle of Paris. Its twin towers soared into the sky, carved arches and intricate statues of the saints decorating the way up. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah, it is,” Marco whispered beside her.
Vivian dug her phone from her bag and pulled up the camera app. Pointing it at the cathedral, she hit play. “Hey, Dad, I’m in Paris!” She spun in a slow circle, capturing the hundreds of people milling about the square in front of the church. “I’m at Notre-Dame, you know, the one with the hunchback?”
“Hi, Vivian’s dad!” Marco poked his head into the shot.
“Oh yeah, Marco’s here too.” Vivian turned the phone. “Do you have any fun facts about Notre-Dame?”
“Actually, I do.” Marco gestured to the front of the cathedral. “As you can see, there are three doors on the front of the building, each surrounded by one of those pointy arch things.”
“Is that the technical architectural term?” Vivian asked. “Pointy arch things?”
Marco clasped his hands together in front of his chest. “Yes, it is. Don’t interrupt.” He took a few steps toward the building. “Now, if you look very carefully, you will notice that the carvings on one of the arches do not match the other two.”
“Which one?”
Marco froze and frowned in the direction of the cathedral. “I don’t remember. Maybe it’s the one on the right. But that’s beside the point. My point is that it was recycled from some other church built nearby. They decided that the original church was too small and ended up building Notre-Dame and moved the arch from the old church to this one.”
“That’s quite the upgrade.”
“It is. It’s also got the biggest organ in France.”
“Biggest organ, huh?” Vivian couldn’t help herself.
It took a second for Marco to register the innuendo, and when he did, he huffed in exaggerated exasperation.
“Sorry, it was too easy.” Vivian giggled with a giddy elation she couldn’t contain.
“Are you still recording? What’s your dad going to think?” Marco pointed to her phone.
“Oh, he doesn’t care. He’ll be snickering.” It was usually Vivian groaning at the wildly inappropriate sex jokes he made with his own daughter.
“What do I call him, by the way? Other than Vivian’s dad.”
“His name’s Tom.”
“So Uncle Tom, then.”
There was something oddly warm about Marco calling her dad Uncle Tom. Like the simple term of respect had suddenly transformed Marco from a colleague into a friend, a close friend.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
“Hey, Uncle Tom.” Marco lifted Vivian’s hand from where it had fallen to her side and directed the phone she was holding at himself. “We wish you could be here with us. It’s a little chilly in Paris today, and there’s a wind blowing through the city. But the sun is shining, and the sky is blue. We’re surrounded by this beautiful architecture, and later we’re going to get some amazing French food. We’ll be sure to document all of it for you!”
She wanted to pull Marco into a hug. It’d been her and her dad for so long. It was weird having someone else in the fold. But weird in a good way, like Marco fit without even trying.
She stopped the video and saved it before slipping her phone back into her bag.
“I forgot to ask how your dad liked the Rome videos,” Marco said as he led the way toward the River Seine.
“Oh, he loved it.” Vivian followed him down the steps to the riverside path where the crowd thinned to a few local Parisians.
“Including th
e part where I fell on my ass?” Marco chuckled, low and sensual in a way Vivian hadn’t anticipated.
“Especially that part.” She joined in the laughter. “He asked me to make sure you were okay. Lumbar injuries can be serious.”
“My ass appreciates his concern.” Marco gave it a rub, making a painful face while he was at it.
Vivian gave him a shove, and he stumbled toward the water.
“Hey! Your dad said to make sure I was okay, not push me in the water!”
Vivian rolled her eyes, shook her head, and laughed until she was a little light-headed.
“Have you ever thought about bringing your dad with you on some of your flights? Or taking him to visit random parts of the world?” Marco asked, sobering.
Vivian’s laughter faded. It’d been an old argument between them. “I’d always wanted to. But right after I became a flight attendant, my mom got sick and my dad was always busy taking care of her. She died a few years ago. Breast cancer.”
“I’m sorry.”
It was what everyone said. So much so that the words had quickly lost their meaning after the first dozen times Vivian had heard it. But when Marco said it, it felt real. She’d thought she’d already worked through the grief of losing her mom years ago, but the sincerity in Marco’s voice made an old sadness well up inside her.
“What about now?” Marco asked, his tone gentle and soft.
She sniffled and took a sip from her water bottle. “He says he’s too old to travel now.”
“Is he?”
“He’s not young. He’s in his eighties. We moved him into a seniors living community recently. They’ve got twenty-four-hour nursing care, a cafeteria for meals, and social programming for the residents. He could probably still live on his own, but he said he felt better having people around, especially since I’m out of the country so often.” She’d be lying if she denied there was a thin thread of guilt weaving through her for leaving him with strangers.
“Doesn’t mean he can’t travel. How many seniors do we have on board every day?” Marco pointed out.
“True.” She’d made the same argument before too. “But he doesn’t want to be a burden.”
Marco nodded instead of arguing like Vivian expected. Most people didn’t understand her dad’s point of view and why she’d long ago given up trying to convince him he wasn’t a burden. He moved a lot slower now, got tired easily, couldn’t handle stairs like he did before. A lot of the places he wanted to go weren’t easily accessible for seniors. They could do it, sure, but it would require more planning, more preparation. Vivian was up for it; her dad was not.
“So we’ll make videos instead,” Marco said, giving her shoulder a light bump with his own.
He said we. Like he was here to stay. Like he was a part of the family. There was so much to unpack in that one word, too much for Vivian to think about while strolling through the middle of Paris.
They left the riverside walk and headed back to the busy Paris streets. Nearby was the Louvre Museum with its glass pyramid.
“You have to do the picture where you’re squeezing the pyramid between your fingers.” Marco pushed her toward the glass structure and pulled out his phone.
“God, that’s so touristy,” Vivian complained, but she still stuck her hand out with a smile.
“Bring your fingers closer together,” Marco directed. “Okay, good, now a little higher! Too high! Lower, lower. There!”
Vivian tried not to break down into giggles as Marco bent over, leaning to one side to get the shot.
“Perfect!” he announced, jogging over to show her his phone. It was a good picture, she had to admit. The pyramid was sandwiched between her fingers, and she was giving the camera a skeptical look. Her dad was going to love it.
“Here. Send it to Uncle Tom.”
Vivian’s phone pinged with an incoming message, and when she opened it, the picture was there waiting for her. She sent it off to her dad with a quick note, and surprisingly he responded right away.
Dad: Where is the picture of you and Marco together?
“What did he say?” Marco asked, moving behind her to peer over her shoulder.
She held up the phone for him, not trusting her voice as a rush of embarrassment washed over her. Together sounded like it had an ulterior meaning.
Marco laughed. “Selfie time!” He looked at her expectantly like her dad’s question wasn’t overly presumptuous at all. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”
Guess they were doing this. Vivian navigated to the camera app and angled her arm up. Marco leaned in close, one hand on her arm, the other on her hip to steady himself against her. He put his head right next to hers, almost resting on her shoulder, and Vivian swayed back into him.
He smelled good. Some sort of cologne that made her want to turn her head and bury her nose behind his ear. She’d gotten whiffs of it here and there as they’d passed each other on the plane, but she’d never experienced such a sustained hit. God, he smelled so good.
She snapped a picture and stepped away from Marco to clear her head. He was a colleague. At most a friend. He was being nice to her, that was no reason to read too much into it.
“I have to say, we look great.” Marco brushed some nonexistent lint from his shirt and beamed at her. Vivian’s insides turned a little mushy.
She ducked her head and sent the photo off to her dad. He responded with a smiley face.
“I’m starving. Want to grab dinner?” Marco asked, and right on cue, Vivian’s stomach growled. He laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes. I know the perfect place.”
Chapter Five
Marco led Vivian across the big lawn.
“When you said dinner, I didn’t think you meant a picnic.” Vivian laughed. The sun was starting to set, but there were still plenty of people lounging around on the grass.
“French restaurants are amazing, definitely. But how many times do you get the opportunity to have a picnic under the Eiffel Tower?” Marco nodded toward the famous tower at the far end of the lawn.
“Okay, fair point. But how did you know I’d agree to it?”
They’d stopped by their hotel where a basket and a blanket had been waiting for them. Marco had taken a gamble when he arranged the little surprise with the concierge.
“I thought you were the type.” He set the basket down and unfurled the blanket.
“The type?” Vivian eyed him suspiciously.
“To be up for anything.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“To never back down from a challenge.”
She raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “That’s not always a good thing.”
“But in this case, it’s going to be amazing, Viv. Trust me.” Marco waved his arms over their setting for the evening.
Vivian stared at him for a moment, like she wasn’t sure about any of this. She opened her mouth but snapped it shut before she said anything.
“Something wrong?” Marco asked.
“No, nothing.” She grinned a little sheepishly. “Only my parents ever called me Viv.”
Oh, right. She’d mentioned that before, and Marco had completely forgotten. The nickname had slipped out without him even realizing it.
“I’m so sorry. I won’t do it again.”
She waved away the apology as she slipped off her sandals and settled onto the blanket. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
Marco warmed from the inside out, and he dropped down next to her.
He’d given some general instructions but mostly left the concierge to work his magic. No one knew how to put together a picnic like a Parisian. Pulling the basket toward him, he took out a baguette, three kinds of cheeses, two types of meats, and a boatload of fruit. Plus a bottle of rosé and a corkscrew.
“Oh my god, can you believe this spread?” Vivian picked up one of the cheeses and examined the label. “Comté. I’ve never tried this before.” She lifted it to her nose and took a sniff. “Mm, smells cheesy.”
Marco laughed. “I’d be worried if it didn’t.” He picked up another. “This is crottin de Chavignol, a goat cheese. And this is a brie. Plus some pork salami and terrine de foie gras.” He held up a jar of beige-yellow paste.
“What’s that?” Vivian took it from him to study.
“Essentially, duck paté. You’re okay with liver, right?”
She gave him an are-you-kidding-me look. “I’m Chinese. I’ll eat pretty much anything.” She plucked a grape from its stem and popped it into her mouth. “Oh God.” She groaned, putting a hand over her mouth. “It’s just a grape. How can it taste so good?”
The sound hit Marco straight in the gut. “Everything tastes better in Europe.” He popped the wine and poured them each a glass. Handing one to Vivian, he held his out for a clink. “To good food and better company.”
“Hear, hear.”
Their eyes met over their glasses. Vivian’s tongue slipped out to lick her bottom lip. He was tempted to trace the same path with his own tongue, to dip inside her mouth and capture a bit of that fruit and flower flavor from the wine. Vivian’s breath hitched, and warmth spread in Marco’s gut. He wanted to lean over, run his fingers through her hair, have her sigh against him. He yearned to hold her close and feel her body mold to his as the sun set over the Eiffel Tower above them.
“We, uh.” Vivian cleared her throat. “We should dig in.”
“Yeah.” Marco’s voice was groggy too.
He’d been right to trust the concierge with the picnic items. Everything was an explosion of flavor. They broke off bits of baguette and smothered it in the terrine. Marco sliced the salami, perfectly salty and smoky. The three cheeses complemented each other splendidly. And watching Vivian eat with her fingers was torture.
“Tell me about your parents. I’ve already told you so much about mine. Do you take them with you when you fly?” Vivian licked her thumb to clean off some stray cheese.
It took a moment for Marco to pull his thoughts together. “Uh, no.” He took a sip of his wine. “They travel plenty on their own. In fact, they’re rarely at home. I’m not even sure where they are at the moment. Last I heard was Hawaii.”
