I’m not an idiot. I know I’ve got happy hormones whizzing around my brain courtesy of the extremely lovely sex we had just this morning but this feels like much more than a post-sex buzz, as though we’ve connected on more than just a physical level and there’s a deep peace in that connection, a sigh expelled, coming home to rest after a long journey – that kind of feeling.
Not that I’d say so to Cal. I don’t want to look like a stalkery bunny-boiler who’s already secretly planning our wedding – because I’m not. I just feel blissfully, joyfully happy to know him, to like him and to know he likes me.
I haven’t bothered with my hat and slouchy clothes today. Partly because I want to look my best for Cal but also because all that seems so unimportant right now. I’ve been hiding and living in my head for too long. Time to try living in the real world.
‘Hey, what are you thinking about?’ Cal pulls me closer as he examines the cheese on offer at one stall.
‘Thinking it’s time to stop thinking so much.’ I shrug, embarrassed. It’s been such an ingrained habit to keep everything to myself for so long. It’s going to be hard to break.
‘I agree.’ Cal grins. ‘There are so many much more exciting things we could be doing. Do you want to practice your mindfulness again?’
I told him about how easy I find it to live in the moment when we’re kissing and he’s been very obliging.
He leans in for a kiss and it quickly becomes more passionate. I automatically lean into him. When we pull apart something catches my eye and I turn to see a couple of tourists in the crowd with their phones out, filming us.
I instantly turn away, burying my head against Cal’s chest. My happiness trickles away as fast as a bath that someone has pulled the plug out of.
‘Can we go, please?’ I whisper imploringly. ‘I want to go now.’
I’m practically tugging him to follow me. It’s hard enough resisting the urge to run. It’s so crowded though with tourists and buggies and dogs that running isn’t really an option. Plus, do I really want to be filmed running away? For a moment I think Cal is going to argue but he must see the panic in my eyes because he quickly follows, his arm protectively around me.
‘It’ll be okay, JoJo.’ Cal’s voice is calm. He isn’t rattled at all. But why would he be?
‘It’ll be okay for you. The press love you.’ I try to keep the accusation out of my voice. It isn’t his fault he’s the darling of the TV cookery world. Or maybe it is. After all it’s a role he’s chosen, deliberately chosen, not accidentally fallen into.
Hot tears prick at my eyelids. It’s all I can do to blink them back and focus on not crying. The thought of my crying being videoed and trending all over social media, of Aiden and Sally watching it, makes me stiffen my spine and clench my jaw. I will not give them the satisfaction of pretending to give a fuck.
‘We were only kissing, JoJo. It’s not the end of the world.’ Cal’s tone is gentle, like he’s trying to calm me down, like I’m a nervous dog he thinks might bite him.
I don’t reply because the thought of people watching me kissing Cal is freaking me out so much I can’t breathe. This is more than a photo, people were actually filming me. The last video footage of me went viral and it was the end of my world. I lost a boyfriend, best friend, my business, my home, the respect of my family … I even had to leave my country behind. I can’t bear the thought that today might signal the end of the world, and the new home, I’ve built here in France. And I was honestly thinking being spotted wasn’t important any more? Just how delusional am I? I was just too wrapped up, too wrapped up in Cal to think straight.
I have no idea where I’ll go if I have to leave France. The thought makes me even sicker and in spite of Cal’s hand on my back I feel utterly alone.
When we get back to Les Coquelicots we go straight to Cal’s room. My pulse is beating hard, the pain in my chest tightening, rising and choking me. Cal pulls me into a hug and although my limbs are stiff and initially unyielding, I melt, my body instinctively obeying his touch in spite of my turbulent emotions.
God, I love this, feeling the warmth of his body against mine, feeling my heart rate slow in time with his, that perfect moment when our energies somehow combine to create something new – something ‘us’.
I feel like the perfection of this moment has been tarnished by the videos that have been made of us kissing, now fair game for public consumption. The ‘us’ I’ve been treasuring is now mass-market entertainment for all the people who forget that we’re real people with feelings.
There’s no reason why this should be worse than the photo they got of us in Carcassonne but this is Mirepoix, my local town, my back yard. I shop here and come here for coffee. Also, the fact that it’s video means my brain can’t help forging an emotional link to the other video …
I press my face into Cal’s warm T-shirt, inhaling his scent as though trying to imprint it onto my memory. Am I afraid I have to remember it in case its presence in my life is fleeting, about to be snatched from me?
He strokes my hair as I attempt to calm down. As usual his presence does soothe me but not totally. I can sense the storm clouds amassing around us. This hug is the calm in the eye of the storm, one brief moment of peace to drink in so I can arm myself for what comes next.
I don’t feel anywhere near ready for it. Fear has stripped me of all my new-found energy. I was supposed to be finding my strength, putting down roots, being brave.
But now I’m afraid that’s nothing more than a fairytale illusion. I’m the frightened girl I was last summer again. There’s been no growth, no change. I’m not brave.
Whatever was I thinking? Whatever did I let Cal persuade me into thinking?
‘I can’t be public property again, I can’t do this.’ I pull my head back and look up at Cal. Is it so terrible to admit that a part of me wants to sink into his arms and let him take care of me. A feminist voice inside me squeaks an objection but I so, so long to melt into Cal’s embrace, to let myself believe the lie that he can make this all okay for me, that he can make this go away. To let myself believe it just for a day, an hour, a minute …
I close my mind to the buts and the doubts and let Cal’s hands slide over my body. I let the tide of heat rise inside me, pushing down the pain and the fear, for now anyway. For one evening, one night, I’ll put my phone into airplane mode and stick my head in the sand, pretending I can actually turn off the internet. I’ll believe for just one night that Cal can make this all go away.
‘It’s okay, you’re okay. It’ll be okay.’ Cal soothes and holds me, and I so want to believe him, I do, but …
Soon my negative thoughts have been put on mute, along with my phone, and I’m simply experiencing the force of Cal’s desire, the hardness of his erection pressing into me and the heat of my body’s response to him.
The sex has an urgency, an increased passion to it, as though both of us are afraid that tonight will be about making memories. Or maybe it’s just me, and Cal is simply reacting to my urgency, to the nip of my teeth on his neck, to the progress of my lips and tongue down his naked, hairy chest to where the hair snakes down to his cock, only briefly stopping at his nipples to suck and gently tug with my teeth.
I am so hungry for him I’m ravenous, I want to kiss and lick and taste him, all of him. I want him in me, on me …
There’s a level of passion rising up inside me I didn’t even know I was capable of. Unlocked by fear perhaps? I don’t know but I’m lost in my appreciation of Cal’s body, in his innate sexiness that has driven me wild and sent me reeling since I first met him. I’m not holding back any part of myself, not this time, not if it might be our last …
I relish the sensation of his hard erection against my soft, full breasts. Knowing he’s reacting to me, that I’m giving him as much pleasure as he is to me, is intoxicating.
If relishing sex with a man I adore is wrong, if it makes me bad somehow, like so many internet trolls felt compelled to tell me, t
hen I just don’t care. This feels good, the very best kind of life-affirming good, and why on earth wouldn’t I love something this good?
I’ve never felt as full of tenderness as I do right now, taking Cal’s erection in my mouth. I’m moved by his trust in me and by the desire I have to give him the most pleasure I possibly can with a willing mouth and loving tongue.
He strokes my hair away from my face so that he can watch what I’m doing, and I know without a doubt that I love, love, love this man. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.
And the poignancy of the timing isn’t lost on me, that now I’m finally sure of it, it’s the one moment that I also know I might have to let him go, to lose all of this.
Because I can’t go back to the way things were last summer.
‘God, JoJo, I really love you,’ Cal says, moaning his appreciation as his hands tangle in my hair, stroking my head.
I let some of my hair fall in front of my face and hope he doesn’t notice the few stray tears that escape my eyes and roll down my cheeks. The true pain of loving, of loving deeply, and what the consequences could be hits me and leaves me reeling, even as he comes in my mouth and I swallow down every drop I can, wanting all of him.
I never knew loving could hurt this badly.
I wipe my eyes discreetly as Cal recovers his breathing. Sweat beads on our skin. I haven’t come yet, but I know he’ll take care of that once he’s got his second wind. Anyway, tonight isn’t about whose turn it is. It’s not about getting off.
This is so much more than that. Just like I never realised what loving deeply meant, I never realised sex could be like this. That it could be more than just physical and also that it is both utterly and completely perfect when you’re in love. Not technically perfect necessarily but perfect in a deeper, more meaningful, heart-warming way.
Right now, I’m experiencing a depth of intimacy that no magazine articles telling me how to give the perfect blowjob could possibly have prepared me for. I just wasn’t prepared for this powerful, intimate expression of sexual love or this expansion of my heart into something achingly tender. It’s a joy that’s both fragile and transformative.
And once we’ve made love again and are lying entwined, limbs and sheets tangled … That’s when the fear creeps in.
Chapter 13
‘When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about’
Haruki Murakami
From callum@callum’scook-off.com
To caitlino’[email protected]
Subject: Here’s a thing …
So, you know I’m always saying everything happens for a reason and that drives you mad because you don’t agree, but … I really do believe it Cait. I think the right people are drawn into our lives at the right time. I thought at first that I was meant to help JoJo find her feet again and move on in her life and that perhaps she was meant to teach me about not being quick to judge and not being a snob about reality TV. Now I’m starting to think that she is the one helping me and teaching me stuff, helping me to evaluate what I really want in life. She’s helped me a lot while I’ve been thinking about how to move forward. Weird, huh? I thought I needed to shut myself away from people so I could think and make a decision, but I almost shut out the woman who had something to teach me.
Did you get caught up watching Sex in the Suburbs for me? What’s your take on Aiden then?
Love to you and Bump/nephew-to-be!
‘There’s something I need to tell you, JoJo.’ Cal strokes and plays with my hair while I cuddle up, trying to ignore all the pesky niggles that are like flies buzzing angrily at my mental fly screen again.
I feel sick, my chest instantly tight. How bad can it be though? He told me he loved me. Nothing else matters.
Except I know that’s not true. The other things that matter are just on mute, along with my phone. I haven’t been able to get to sleep and neither has Cal. It could be the warm night, or it could be we don’t want to waste this time before the world bursts in again. I know I want to hold onto every minute.
‘What is it? You’re not going back to London, are you?’ I ask and try to remember to breathe.
‘No, it’s, well … it’s something I wanted you to hear directly from me, not just find out.’
‘Please just tell me. This is torture.’
‘I’ve been asked to take part in a special show being filmed here in a château near Carcassonne.’
I stiffen in his arms and squeeze my eyes shut.
‘And?’ I ask even though I know the answer.
‘It’s the Sex in the Suburbs Summer Special. I’m supposed to teach them to cook French cuisine.’
‘How long have you known?’ I try to keep my voice as calm as Cal’s but it’s difficult.
‘It’s a recent thing.’
Of course, it would be. Why didn’t I listen to the niggles? Why didn’t I see the signs?
‘Why do they want you? Why not someone French?’ I pull back from Cal and fold my arms protectively over my bare body, hugging myself. ‘I thought you hated those kind of reality shows?’
In the dim light I see Cal shrug. ‘They want me because I help bring in the ratings. And as for hating those kind of shows … well, maybe you’ve taught me not to be so judgemental.’
He’s not being arrogant about the ratings, just telling the truth. He’s hot.
He knows it.
I know it. God, do I know it.
The producers of Sex in the Suburbs know it too. They know his Gaelic charm and the piercing blue eyes that have women claiming control of the TV remote all over the UK.
But … But …
What if Annabel is right and this is a set-up? Isn’t the timing of all this a bit too neat? Cal arrives and gets into my knickers and then he gets an invite to cook for my famous ex-boyfriend’s television show. My famous ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend express a wish to have a showdown … sorry, I mean a reunion with me. Everyone gets a bit of extra publicity and everyone is happy.
Except for me. ‘Disgraced Joanna Grant’ whose story gets another airing along with those awful old pictures of me with puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks, maybe even a still from the sex tape with a blurry patch covering my crotch and nipples, as if that makes showing it okay.
‘I’ve been really stupid again, haven’t I?’ I don’t recognise my voice, maybe because my throat is constricted. My eyes burn with unshed tears of humiliation. ‘I never thought of myself as naive but clearly I’m a first-class idiot. It was all leading to this, wasn’t it? Extra publicity for your book and for Sex in the Suburbs. Extra publicity for Aiden. Did you cook this up together? Ha! “Cook”, do you see what I did there?’
‘No. Stop it, JoJo. You’re better than this.’ Cal’s tone is authoritative, commanding even. He takes hold of my shoulders and holds me firmly, waiting until I meet his eyes before he carries on. ‘That simply isn’t true so stop winding yourself up.’
I’m not convinced I am better than the dark emotion snaking through me, hissing and spitting and wanting to strike at a victim, any victim. But I feel the brakes being applied to my careering mood before I skid out of control and face the inevitable crash. My body and emotions succumb to his tone of authority, seemingly without question. I trust him at a cellular level. I meet Cal’s arresting gaze and am rocked by its intensity, by the connection, by the reminder of who Cal is.
‘Do you trust me, JoJo?’
There’s a tension in Callum’s grip that suggests he’s anxious about the answer. That small, surprising evidence of his vulnerability touches and reassures me. If he didn’t care about me then he wouldn’t be bothered about my answer. Of course, it could be just that he’s anxious his plan is in jeopardy but … I really don’t think so. Momentary freak-out aside, I really do trust him. It really could just be that Aiden and Sex in the Suburbs are cashing in on my emerging relationship with Cal, looking to see what emotional drama can be squeezed out of this
situation. I almost pity them.
Almost.
It’s the trusting Cal that scares me so much. It’s trusting people that gives them the power to hurt you. I thought I’d sworn off it as a bad habit, but bad habits are hard to shake and I am, it seems, an inherently trusting person. Even when presented with overwhelming evidence that it isn’t a safe way to live. The fly screen in my mind is dark with buzzing flies but they haven’t broken through yet.
‘JoJo?’ Cal interrupts my thoughts.
I remind myself he’s looking for a simple yes or no, not the inner workings of my mind.
‘Yes, yes, I do,’ I say firmly and unflinchingly in an attempt to make up for my slow response. ‘Sorry, I was just thinking … well, it doesn’t matter what I was thinking. It’s just hard …’
Cal leans forward and kisses me lightly on the lips with just enough sensuality to set my body humming and wanting more.
‘I can turn the gig down if you like. I haven’t signed anything yet. Would you like me to?’ Cal asks, pulling back to watch my expression.
‘Your agent wouldn’t like that.’ I frown.
‘It’s not her decision.’
I know he’s offering me a lot. The publicity from doing the special would help his career and will probably help publicise his A Taste of French Cooking book. I bet the publishers will get a book cover done and put up for pre-order to tie in with the show. That I’m tempted to take him up on the offer makes me feel guilty. I’d be hurting his career. I’d be thwarting a good chance of publicity for a project he actually cares about – his book. This is his career and if I’m any kind of friend I’ll support him in that and want the best for him. Am I a friend with benefits or a girlfriend? He said he loved me but was that just sex talk?
Jojo's French Escape Page 17
