No Trespassing

by KD Robichaux

  He’d camped out in front of my house for days, but being a good best friend, Erin hadn’t let him in, even though she scolded me tirelessly for turning him away, especially when I wouldn’t tell her what happened between us. Eventually, he had to move on to his next location, seeing how the production on the catacombs episode would have to be put on hold until the tunnel was repaired. But then the flowers and gifts had started showing up. Every. Single. Day. And still, I refused him.

  I hold my breath, clenching my nails into my palms, fighting the urge to run right out the door without ever looking at who Dean has brought. And right as the lights start appearing before my eyes from lack of oxygen, that’s when I hear the guest’s voice.

  “Hey, girl, heeeeeeeey!”

  I jerk in my seat, my brow furrowing, and my head snaps to the room’s entrance. And there, next to the most handsome man my eyes have ever laid eyes on, the one who made my body and soul come to life… stand Ricky and Calvin.

  I stand so abruptly my chair falls over, and the loud crash reverberates throughout the room. But I don’t have time to feel embarrassed, because my feet are moving, and before I realize I’ve even stood up, I squeal and launch myself at my two best friends I’ve never gotten to meet in person before this moment. The guys sandwich me between them, and the three of us jump up and down like a bunch of teenage girls, yelling, “Ohmygodohmygodohmygooooooooood!”

  When we finally pull back, tears are running down all our smiling faces. “What are you guys doing here?” I exclaim, holding my side that aches from all the exertion.

  “Your hunky pursuer teamed up with your girl-bestie, and we flew in to surprise you for your big day! An all-expense paid vacay to Paris? Yaaaassss!”

  I hear Erin’s heels clicking as she comes up behind me, and I spin toward her, giving her a quick hug before turning to Dean. I force myself to meet his eyes, and immediately feel an electric current zap through my every vein.

  “Thank you, Dean.” My voice comes out in a croak, so I clear my throat. “Thank you.” This time, it comes out quiet but clear, and his face softens.

  “You’re welcome, love,” he replies, his voice deep and gentle, blanketing me, wrapping me up in warmth and comfort. We stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment, no one and nothing in the entire universe existing except for the man in front of me, the one my soul is crying out for as it reaches for its other half.

  “Giiiiiiirl, I bet Beyoncé doesn’t get the Louvre all to herself! Hashtag-take-that-Kim-K!” Ricky exclaims, breaking the trance Dean put on me with those multi-colored eyes and that perfect, gentle smile he seemed to reserve just for me, not the show-stopping grin he gives everyone else.

  I smile up at Ricky, and then remember, “But I thought I heard high heels coming into the room.” I look around the three tall men, but no one is with them.

  “Psh, biotch, please. You heard my bling-for-days cowboy boots, baby,” he singsongs, and strikes a pose to show off his rhinestone-encrusted teal boots, the heel at least three inches thick. “I’ve been saving these puppies for a spesh occasion, and I read in an article on Facebook that people in Europe think everyone in America is from Texas and dress like cowboys. So I thought I’d be patriotic.”

  “I tried to tell him that not everything he reads on Facebook is true, but you know how he is,” Calvin grumbles, but his eyes are full of mirth and love for his husband.

  Sigh, hashtag-relationship-goals, I think, and then realize they’re looking at each other the way Dean, the man I fell for in the catacombs, looks at me. I could have that. I know I could. But I know myself, and I know I couldn’t handle the constant attention surrounding Dean Savageman, the celebrity.

  “Shall we?” Dean holds one hand out toward the table, and wraps his arm around me to place his other at the small of my back, sending a shockwave up my spine and down to the tips of my burgundy toenails.

  I manage to stay on my feet, even though I wobble on my strappy heels, as I loop my arm through Erin’s and we get back to our seats. As expected, Dean sits next to Mr. Watson, right across from me, and Ricky and Calvin on his other side.

  Finally, Mr. Doré enters the room, followed by a man I haven’t met. But by his expensive suit and air of intelligence, I assume this is probably someone very important.

  “Bonsoir. My name is Jean-Luc Lenoir, Chief of Louvre. Thank you for coming to my little museum for dinner tonight,” he welcomes us with a grin, and we all chuckle.

  “He speaks English so well,” Ricky points out to Calvin, but a little too loudly, and we laugh as we all hear Calvin kick him under the table. “Sorry, guys. My ears popped on the airplane, so if I start yelling at you, I promise I’m not mad.”

  Mr. Lenoir laughs lightly, and explains, “I’m fluent in English, Spanish, and Greek, and I can hold my own in Italian if they don’t speak too quickly. But thank you. You’re too kind.”

  They fill the remaining two seats at the table, and as if they’d been waiting in the shadows for their cue, four waiters appear, the original one setting glasses of wine in front of Erin and me.

  The night is passed with amazing French food, lots of laughter, stolen glances across the table—quickly darted away every time I saw Dean was staring at me, except the one time I caught him giving Nox a death glare when I laughed at something he said—and just a constant outpouring of congratulations and pride. I’d never felt more accomplished in my life. All the hard work I’d put into school, all those times I was shut down and turned away at different sites, all that disappointment… it was all worth it. I was surrounded by every friend I have in the whole world and my loving parents, having dinner with the head of the most famous museum on Earth, and it was all happening because I’d found and put together the clues to make such an amazing discovery. And what made it even better was to be sharing this night with Dean. Even if I was terrified of his lifestyle and couldn’t actually be with him, I was so happy he was here.

  When conversation died down, bellies full of French onion soup, beef burgundy, and chocolate mousse for dessert… and lots and lots of wine… Ricky and Calvin were the first to slide back from the table.

  “Best night ever, honey. But we are beat after that flight. We will see you tomorrow,” Calvin tells me, and I stand and meet him at the end of the long table to give him and Ricky hugs goodnight.

  “Where are y’all staying? Do you need a ride?” I ask, about to offer to let them ride with Erin and me in Mr. Doré’s SUV.

  “We’re staying at the same hotel as you, but we’ve got our own yummy chauffeur,” Ricky says, gesturing to the door, where a handsome bearded man wearing a black suit stands. “Apparently, it’s part of Mr. Doré’s interview process to hire only the hottest of security guys.”

  Mr. Doré clears his throat and stands, turning with a smirk. “That’s actually my husband, and yes, that was one of the stipulations on the application.”

  We all laugh, glancing to where the other Mr. Doré is now shaking his head, face blushing, with an embarrassed smile lifting the corners of his lips.

  My parents are the next to rise from the table, and then Nox and Mr. Hosea. And seeing I’m not sitting back down, Dean nudges Mr. Watson, tosses his napkin onto the table, and scoots his chair back. After hugs and kisses from my mom and dad, who exit with their own chauffeur, the rest of our group makes our way out the front door of the giant glass pyramid.

  “Shotgun!” Erin yells, skipping to the front passenger door of Mr. Doré #1’s SUV.

  “Why w—” I start to ask why she wouldn’t be sitting with me in the back, like we had been the entire time since we’d arrived in Paris, but cut myself off when I realize Mr. Watson and Dean are still with us.

  The head of security unlocks the vehicle with a remote, and without waiting, Erin opens the door and hops in, shutting it behind her, and gives me a wicked grin through the glass. I stare daggers at her and scratch the side of my nose with my middle finger.

  Mr. Doré opens the back door and gesture
s inside. When I just stare at him awkwardly, then glance between Mr. Watson and Dean, he explains, “Being head of security, I am assigned the guests of honor. Mademoiselle?” He gestures inside again, and I finally force my feet to move. I step up inside and move to the very back, to the third-row bench seat, sliding all the way to the driver side. And just like I figured he would, Dean joins me in the back, Mr. Watson choosing to sit in the middle row, in the passenger side captain’s chair.

  My heart begins to pound at Dean’s closeness. As we start our way to the hotel, it feels like someone sucked all the air out of the SUV, and I’m left taking short, quick breaths, trying desperately to get enough oxygen into my lungs. The walls of the vehicle begin closing in on me, and I feel my knees and hands start to tremble. Nonononono, not again… I can’t tell if my whimpered chant is inside my head or out loud, but just as I’m starting to get tunnel vision, everything going black around the edges, I feel an arm wrap around me like a lifeline, and Dean’s familiar scent fills my lungs, making it possible for me to finally take a breath. My body naturally melts against him, and as my vision clears and my shaking eases off, I feel tears prickle the backs of my eyes. I want to blame my weepiness on the several glasses of wine I had with dinner, but I know that’s a lie.

  God, to be in his arms again. I can feel this is where I’m meant to be. A sense of completeness washes over me, and my head lays on his shoulder of its own accord. “I’m here, love,” Dean whispers, bending his face near mine, the scruff on his chin lightly brushing my cheek.

  No one else in the car even notices anything was amiss. The three of them are having a conversation about… I don’t even know what. I can’t make myself care enough to put forth the effort to pay attention to their words. Dean doesn’t try anything else, just holds me for the rest of the car ride, and for that twenty minutes, I push out everything telling me I can’t handle being with him, and just let his presence soothe my soul. For the first time in two months, I feel like I’m home. And I know that’s weird, since I’ve been right there, hiding in my room as often as Erin would allow, but here, in Dean’s comforting embrace, my body pressed snuggly into his side, this… this is where I feel the most at home.

  I want to cry when the SUV finally comes to a stop in front of our hotel’s entrance. I’d give anything for Mr. Doré to just keep driving… drive until we run out of gas, and then fill us up and keep on going. Instead, he opens the two passenger side doors, and everyone lumbers out, Dean stopping to turn and hold out his hand to help me down. As my fingers slide against his palm, I never want to let go.

  But when I stand to my full height as I step out on the sidewalk, Erin loops her arm through mine, barely gives me time to say goodnight to the three men, and hauls me toward the elevator. “I have to pee so bad everything looks yellow,” she declares, dancing in place as the door slides open and she hustles us inside.

  I’m in a daze. All I want to do is run back into Dean’s arms and tell him I’ll be with him. But that stupid niggling voice that taunts me, reminding me of those swarming people outside the hospital doors, the pictures of him with his fans tagged on Facebook and Twitter, everything that pulls up on every social media outlet when I search #DeanSavageman, all the lewd and dirty comments people leave under his pictures… I just… I just can’t.

  The door of the elevator opens, and we step out onto our floor. Erin reaches out to press her hand against the wall, using her other one to slide off her stilettos, and lets out a relieved groan. I follow suit, my ankles practically sighing.

  “This, Em, just so you know, is better than sex,” she states, wiggling her blue-painted toes a moment before we continue down the hallway to our room.

  I snort. “Hardly.” As soon as the word is out of my mouth, my eyes go wide and I slap my hand over my mouth, risking a peek over at my best friend, who looks taken aback.

  “Excuse me?” she gasps. “What aren’t you telling me, bestie?” She almost looks hurt. “Please tell me how pulling those godforsaken four-inch torture devices off your feet isn’t better than your one and only horrifying sexual encounter.” Her arms cross over her ample chest, and she juts out a hip and starts tapping one bare foot as her heels dangle from one hand.

  Damn you, wine! Me and my big mouth. There’s no avoiding telling her everything now.

  I throw my head back and groan, looking up at the fancy light fixture attached to the ceiling. “Fine. Shit. Let’s get back to the room and I’ll confess all,” I whine.

  “You’re damn right you’re confessing all. I knew something went on in those catacombs you weren’t divulging,” she rambles, as we walk the rest of the way down the hall to our suite. I pull the key card out of my clutch and wave it in front of the electronic lock, and when the light turns green, I push down the handle and lean my weight against the door, dragging my feet, not wanting to have this conversation.

  We both toss our heels onto the floor and start stripping, ready to get out of these uncomfortable dresses and confining undergarments. When we’ve peeled off the Spanx and traded our strapless bras for comfy pajamas—mine being a mid-thigh-length tee with gauze-wrapped mummy hands covering my boobs that my mom sent me from Egypt—and Erin finally pees, we each sit on the edge of our beds, facing each other, sitting Indian-style.

  “Shoot,” Erin demands, and I take a deep breath.

  “Where do I even begin?” I grumble.

  “How about starting at the part when we went to bed that night, and I woke up to the news station reporting that your arch nemesis was trapped in the catacombs, and you were nowhere to be found in our house,” she gripes.

  So I do just that, telling her everything, in detail, from my Snapchat conversation with Ricky and Calvin, to my sneaking down into the tunnels, to yelling at Dean and making the entrance collapse, all the way up until the point where we found the clues leading us to believe the Atlantean Ring was buried in there with us.

  “And… well… somewhere along the way, I didn’t hate him anymore, and I realized he was actually this really amazing man, one who hadn’t deserved all my wrath.” I feel the corners of my lips tilting upward thinking about him. I stare out the window at our awesome view of the Eiffel Tower, but I see right through it, my mind’s eye focusing on nothing but Dean’s beautiful eyes, and that sexy smile that melts me now, rather than making me want to do him physical harm. God, how I’ve missed him.

  “Earth to Emmy! And then what happened?” Erin prompts, and my eyes meet hers and immediately tear up. I watch through my swimming vision as her face transforms from huffy to confused to understanding, as if the proverbial light bulb turned on in her pretty head. “Oh, my God, Em—”

  “Yes.” I nod frantically, and she launches herself from her bed to mine and wraps her arms around me. “It was… God, it was amazing, wonderful… like the man himself. I fell for him down there. We made love, like, literally. We created love in those catacombs. It was as if we were made for each other, and everything had led us to that exact spot at that exact time, and we were trapped down there until we figured it out. But….” My words trail off and I shake my head.

  “But what? Why are you just now telling me this? If you feel this way, why aren’t you with him right now? It’s been nearly two months, and you haven’t said a word about the man. That’s how I knew something was up. In the last two years, there has never been a single day where you didn’t make at least one snide comment about Dean Savageman, and then you guys got rescued out of there, and bam! Not a word. If you’re in love with him, why the hell have you been avoiding him?” she questions.

  “Because, Rin! You know who he is. Everyone knows who he is. He can’t walk ten feet without someone asking for an autograph and a selfie with him. You saw me on the news. Just two minutes in front of all those cameras, and I fainted, right there for the world to see. I’m way too much of an introvert for all that attention. It would never work,” I sob the last word, wishing I wasn’t so much of a loner freak so I could be with the man m
y heart aches for.

  Suddenly, Erin stiffens and gasps. “You asshole!” I turn my tear-streaked face up to look at her with confusion. “All those flowers, gifts… all the ignored phone calls. Those were from Dean! They weren’t from the museum like you said, were they?”

  I sniffle. “A couple of the phone calls were from the museum, and one from Dean’s producer, but yeah… the rest were f-from D-Dean,” I stutter through sobs, remembering all the wonderful, thoughtful things he sent me that I forced myself to ignore.

  “Bitch-move, bro,” Erin tells me, disregarding my crying. “Right now, I’m going to let you off from telling me all the good, juicy details of catacomb nookie. We’ll save that for later. Instead, it’s time we have a little talk, and if it comes to it, I’m physically going to knock some sense into you.”

  My brow furrows, nervous of what she’s about to tell me.

  “Since we were little, you’ve always hidden yourself away. You’ve been so focused on your schooling, your blog, your career, that you’ve literally had four friends your entire life, and two didn’t even really count until now, because you’d never even met them in person. I’ve been your hetero life partner since we were kids. And although I’ve loved every single second of that title, woman, we’re twenty-four. I mean, we aren’t freaking spinsters or anything, but if you’ve found this man… one you’re obviously completely head-over-heels for, then you shouldn’t let him get away just because you’re afraid of his celebrity status.” She shakes her head, letting that sink in a moment.