Songbird Caged

by Lisa Edward

  AUBADE WAS our first port of call. I needed lingerie, and lots of it, so Cole took me to one of the most gorgeous lingerie boutiques in Paris. I walked around the little store in awe. I had always had a weakness for lingerie and shoes, and in Paris I could buy the best of both.

  Cole walked beside me, fingering the delicate lace on show and suggesting various designs. He selected the sexiest lingerie, as I’d expected he would, including some that were a bit risqué that I told myself he would never see me wear. He pulled everything from the skimpiest bras to knickers to bustier off the racks, and definitely had a soft spot for stockings and suspenders.

  When I had more in my arms than I could carry, Cole took a seat in a big comfortable armchair while I went to the fitting room.

  The sales assistant had invaluable knowledge of what would suit my body shape, and dashed in and out of the fitting room, changing sizes and designs until I had a large yes pile, and nothing in the no pile.

  When I came out, Cole was chatting to another sales assistant. She looked at me nervously as I approached, before handing him a slip of paper and disappearing into the back room.

  I looked at Cole, and rolled my eyes. Honestly, did he have to flirt with everyone who crossed his path?

  He chuckled at my eye roll, and gave me a wink. I was expecting him to say something about the phone number he’d just been passed, but he didn’t. Instead, he folded the piece of paper, and tucked it into his jeans pocket.

  I tried to ignore the knot that had formed in my stomach at his obvious flirting. Was he planning to have a night out without me, or just catch up with her while I was asleep? Still, I couldn’t say anything. I was engaged to Riley, I kept reminding myself, and Cole could see whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Whether I liked it or not.

  I went to the counter to pay for my purchases, but was told that everything had already been taken care of. I spun around to look at Cole again.

  He shrugged, and gave me a glowing smile. “Paris is my treat, and so is everything we do while we’re here.” He took my hand and led me out of the store. “Next stop, shoes,” he said, still smiling at my dumbfounded expression.

  Honestly, being with Cole was so confusing sometimes. One minute he was flying me off to Paris, then he was collecting girl’s phone numbers, but then he was paying for everything. It made my head hurt trying to keep up with him.

  Our shopping expedition was exhausting, and I laughed as I watched Cole lug all the bags up the narrow staircase to the apartment. There would still be one more thing to buy, and that was another suitcase, so we could take it all home.

  “Okay, now the fun part,” Cole said as he flopped down on the bed, and rubbed his hands together. “The fashion show.”

  I looked at him out the corner of my eye. He was already pulling out lingerie, and in particular, a gorgeous black-lace bustier with suspenders that had red ribbon trim.

  “This one first,” he said, holding it out to me. “With these.” He rifled through a bag and pulled out some stockings. “And these.” He held up a pair of black satin Christian Louboutin stilettos.

  I looked at him, expecting his serious demeanour to crack and show that he was joking, but it didn’t.

  “What?” he asked, laying back with his hands resting behind his head, ankles crossed. “If you only try on one thing for me, make it this.” He indicated with his chin towards the little pile of clothing on the bed.

  “I need knickers, or a thong, or something else to go with it.”

  “Oh, spoilsport,” he muttered teasingly, and pulled out a matching barely-there thong with a delicate lace frill around the edge.

  I hesitated. Should I put it on, or was that just asking for trouble?

  “I don’t think I can get it all on without help.”

  He went to stand, but I held my hands up.

  “And you’re not helping.”

  He gave me an exaggerated pout. “What’s the point of buying you all this sexy lingerie if I don’t get to see you in it? You’d better not wear it for Hotshot.”

  I looked at the expression that was clouding his face. The playfulness had gone. He looked upset at the thought that he had just bought it all for Riley’s benefit.

  I stood in front of him, and ran my fingers through his messy hair. “Don’t worry, it’s all ‘Cole lingerie’,” I reassured him.

  He smiled resignedly. “Maybe one day, right?”

  “Hmm, maybe.”

  The days were going by far too quickly, and we’d hardly spent any time being tourists. By the time we woke up, and lazily made our way to what had become our favourite little cafe for croissants and coffee, it was mid-morning.

  We did manage to spend most of one day roaming around the Louvre, taking in the magnificent artwork. And Cole, being Cole, combined climbing the Eiffel Tower with lunch by making a reservation at 58 Tour Eiffel, the restaurant on the first floor.

  We spent another day walking around the city, taking in the Sacre-Cour Basilica, and Cathedral de Notre Dame, before finishing at the Opera Garnier Palace, or Paris Opera House, as it’s commonly called.

  The Opera House was a magnificent sight, its sweeping staircases just as majestic as they were in my imagination. Cole spoke to one of the security guards before ushering me hastily into a roped-off area.

  “What did you say to the guard to get us in?” I whispered excitedly. There were people walking past, and we quickly ducked around a corner so we couldn’t be seen.

  “I told him my parents are patrons of the arts here in Paris. They have a permanent reservation for the box up there.” He pointed to a small box close to the stage that would seat possibly six people. “Would you like to see the view from up there?”

  He led me up a back staircase, and across a foyer before we ducked under another rope, and through a heavy red velvet curtain.

  The box had eight chairs in two rows of four, all red velvet to match the curtain that enclosed it. I went and sat in one of the seats in the front row, and leaned over the balcony. From up high, I could see the entire theatre, and all of the stage except for the very back corner.

  “This is unbelievable,” I exclaimed. “Do you come to see operas, ballets, and concerts often when you’re in Paris?”

  He shook his head as he sat beside me. “Not really. I’m usually here by myself, and I tend to spend my time in bars.”

  “If I could come here whenever I wanted,” I fantasised, “I’d spend every night here, watching anything that was playing.”

  One day I would come here to see a grand opera, but not this visit, we just didn’t have time.

  He looked at me sheepishly. “You know what I’m like. I have different priorities when I’m here on my own.”

  Hmm, I think we’ll leave it at that. Obviously there weren’t enough girls in Melbourne; he had to come to Paris to get laid, too.

  “Do you take girls to the apartment, or do the same rules apply here as back home?” I queried.

  “Same rules. You’re the only girl who’s ever seen the inside of the apartment.”

  I smiled, happy that in some way I was special, or at least different to all the other girls he knew.

  “I wonder,” Cole muttered under his breath.

  “What do you wonder?” I asked, curiously.

  He stuck his head over the balcony edge again. There was only one couple walking through the theatre, and they looked like they were about to leave.

  “Come with me.”

  He grabbed my hand and led me back out through the red velvet curtain, along another passage and down another flight of stairs. For someone who didn’t spend much time here, he sure seemed to know where he was going.

  “Wait there,” he instructed, before sticking his head around another corner.

  I waited excitedly. Where were we going?

  I couldn’t wait any longer. I tippy-toed up behind him, and tapped him on the shoulder.

  He all but jumped out of his skin and spun around, clutching his chest.


  I slapped my hand over my mouth, trying to muffle the laugh that was about to burst through. He looked at my face and started laughing, before biting his lip to shut himself up.

  He was like a mischievous little boy, and he was thoroughly gorgeous with that cheeky grin and those shining emerald eyes.

  Without thinking, I took his chin in my right hand and kissed him square on the lips. “You are adorable,” I told him, still laughing.

  He stopped smiling, his eyes sweeping over my face, from my eyes down to my lips, then back up again. “So are you,” he replied hoarsely. “So are you.”

  I bit my bottom lip, suddenly very aware that that was the first time we had ever kissed on the lips. It may have just been a quick innocent peck, but I could still taste him, still feel the warmth of his full soft lips, radiating through me.

  He watched my mouth, the corner of his twitching into an almost-smile. He stuck his head back around the corner one more time, then led me out through the wings and onto the stage.

  “Okay, Miss O’Connell, if you had only one chance to perform on this magnificent stage, what would you do?”

  The possibilities ran through my head. The size of the stage made me want to dance some unrehearsed ballet, leaping and twirling around like a little kid. But I had the wrong shoes on, and the plaster on my wrist was cumbersome. I would probably pirouette and knock myself out.

  Maybe sing? But what would I sing in the Opera Garnier Palace? Only one thing I could sing really, something from Phantom of the Opera. After all, this was the very theatre that the legend was built around.

  “I would sing, Mr Michaels. Maybe, ‘Think of Me’, one of the arias from Phantom of the Opera.”

  He swept his hand towards the front of the stage as if telling me to stand in the centre.

  I laughed. “I can’t just start singing. We’ll be thrown out.”

  “This could be your one and only chance to ever perform here, Tara. Live a little.” He nodded his head towards centre stage again. “Go on, off you go.”

  I walked to centre stage, and looked over my shoulder at him for encouragement. By the time the security guards came I would be at least halfway through the aria.

  I cleared my throat, and looked at him one more time. He moved to side of stage and leant up against the wall behind the thick curtain with his hands behind his back.

  I pictured the scene in the movie where Christine sings for the first time. It was one of my favourite scenes, and every time I watched the DVD I skipped back to it, over and over again. I closed my eyes and I was there, as Christine was.

  I started singing to the empty theatre. It didn’t matter if I was terrible. There was no one there but Cole and me, and it was a once in a lifetime experience.

  As I was singing, a few tourists walked through. Some stood and listened, others actually took a seat. I don’t know what they made of it, some strange girl standing in the middle of the stage by herself, singing her lungs out. But when the aria was over they applauded, and I took a flying leap into Cole’s waiting arms.

  I FELL back onto the bed, totally relaxed and content after spending the day roaming around Claude Monet’s garden in Giverny. We had packed a picnic lunch and set out our blanket and basket under a shady willow tree, with a perfect view of the Japanese bridge that was in so many of Monet’s paintings.

  After our quick kiss on the lips yesterday, Cole had become even more affectionate and attentive towards me. He held my hand as we strolled through the gardens, and every time I glanced in his direction, he had a look in his eyes that made me blush and turn away. As I stretched out under the old willow tree Cole sat back, resting on his hands with his legs outstretched. He patted his thighs, encouraging me to rest my head on his lap. He then stroked my hair as we watched groups of people explore.

  I knew he was still worried about me. The bruising had all but gone, the scratches healed, but he was worried about the emotional scars that would take longer to repair. I was also getting tired after doing a lot less than usual. I was someone who relished going to the gym five or six times a week for a gruelling workout, but my body was still telling me to take it easy. It needed time, and it needed plenty of rest.

  Cole looked at my face as I lay back, enjoying his tender touch. We’d had a whirlwind few days, and it was catching up with me.

  “We’d better head back soon for a little nap. We have a big night ahead of us.”

  I looked up at his cheeky grin. “What are we doing tonight?” I asked as I sat up to look him in the eye.

  He had literally thrown my rigid schedule in the trash. But somehow we had still managed to do just about everything that I wanted to do, only in Cole’s way, which was stress-free and effortless.

  He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me back so I was resting against his broad chest. “Tonight is a surprise,” he teased.

  “Can I have a little hint—please?”

  I was like a little kid, only every day with Cole was like Christmas. Every day there was another surprise, another memory that I would treasure for the rest of my life.

  “Hmm, okay. We’re going somewhere that I can see Reds taking inspiration from.”

  I didn’t know what that meant, but I was excited to find out.

  I had no idea what to wear, because Cole wouldn’t tell me where we were going. I rummaged through my suitcase, but everything I pulled out and held up to Cole he shook his head at. Finally, I had exhausted everything in my case. I threw my hands in the air and crawled back onto the bed, covering my face with the pillow.

  I felt a tap on the leg, and peaked out from under my hiding spot. Cole was holding up the black Versace dress he had bought for me that I had last seen hanging in his wardrobe.

  I squealed with delight. I didn’t realise he had packed the dress in his case, and I was so thrilled that he had. I loved the dress and it was perfect, especially as it was a Cole dress.

  “Shoes?” I enquired, raising my eyebrows.

  He pulled out my favourite red strappy sandals. “Will these do?” he asked.

  I clapped my hands together, and I went to take them from him but he pulled them away at the last minute, teasing me. “Ask nicely.” He gave me a big, cheesy grin.

  “Please may I have the shoes?”

  He shook his head stubbornly, not satisfied with my request.

  “Pretty please, Cole. May I have my favourite shoes?”

  He pondered the request, before shaking his head again, and hiding the shoes behind his back.

  I walked on my knees over to the edge of the bed where Cole was standing, and wrapped my arms around his neck.

  He gave me a wicked grin. “I’m waiting.”

  I kissed his left cheek softly. “Pretty.”

  I kissed his right cheek. “Pretty.”

  Then his forehead, holding it for a few seconds. “Pretty.”

  His nose. “Please.”

  I hovered over his mouth, feeling the magnetic pull drawing me towards his parted lips. His breathing was getting heavier as he leaned in, head slightly tilted. He dropped his hands and my shoes to his sides.

  I grabbed the shoes. “Never come between a girl and her shoes.”

  We pulled up at the Moulin Rouge just before 7:00pm. I gazed up at the famous windmill-inspired building, trying to take it all in. I had seen pictures of the place, but to be standing in front of it was something else. I had to pinch myself to ensure I wasn’t dreaming.

  I turned to Cole and squeezed his arm, unable to contain my excitement.

  He smiled back down at me. “Happy?” he asked simply.

  “Happy.” I beamed at him. One easy word was nowhere near enough to sum up the euphoria of being here in Paris, about to have dinner and take in a show at the Moulin Rouge.

  I leaned into his side. “This is on my bucket list.” I waved my hand in the air. “Tick.”

  We ate a magnificent three-course meal, then sipped on champagne while we waited for the show to start. Cole
had booked the VIP balcony so we had unobstructed views of the stage.

  As the lights dimmed and the spotlights came on, I held my breath and leaned forward just a little bit more.

  The show was breathtaking, and the costumes, amazing. This was what I wanted for Reds, a burlesque type show. Something a little less cabaret and more gritty, like in the movie Burlesque, would suit the feel of the place perfectly.

  I couldn’t cheer loud enough at the end of the two-hour show. The girls were some of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. Their grace and elegance when dressed minimally was undeniable, and their dancing skills were excellent.

  I’d gazed at Cole intermittently during the show as one act ended and another was yet to start, but for the most part I’d almost ignored him, totally enraptured by the possibility of what Reds could be.

  He was watching me with his easy, sexy smile as I sat up, clapping my right hand to my thigh.

  “What did you think?” he asked, taking in the smile that had been plastered over my face for the last two hours.

  I ran my hand through my hair. “We need to get back to the apartment so I can write all my ideas down while they’re fresh in my mind.” If I could leap over the table and hug him, I would have. Coming here had inspired me, and I was ready to start putting the show together as soon as we got back home.

  “We’re not going back yet,” he informed me. “The night’s not over.”

  We flagged a cab, and Cole asked the driver in fluent French if there were any decent salsa clubs nearby. The driver replied also in French that there were two that were both quite good, so he would take us to the closest one.

  “Where are we going?” I asked innocently.

  I still hadn’t told Cole that I could speak French, and now it almost felt too late to confess. I’d spent the last six days playing dumb whenever Cole spoke to anyone because I wanted to eavesdrop. There had been so many instances where girls had flirted with him and I was waiting to catch him out, but to his credit, he hadn’t once said anything that could be remotely misconstrued as suggestive or flirtatious.

  I was worried now that if I told him I had understood everything that had been said, he would be angry with me for lying.