His To Shatter

by Haley Pearce

  I waited until he had turned the corner before I fell back against the entryway of my apartment. My entire body was vibrating with sensation, with something that had to be desire. I wrenched open the front door and flew up the flights of stairs. As I flopped heavily down upon my bed, I knew that sleep was not going to come anytime soon. I turned my gaze toward the tall windows, thanking every god I could think of for bringing me to this wonderful city. To the arms of this wonderful, miraculous man. It was going to be an interesting couple of weeks, that much I knew for sure.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Eleven

  * * * * *

  “How the fuck did this not come up sooner?” Ashlee screeched at me, throwing herself down on my narrow bed. I glanced back at her, tearing my eyes away from the careful application of my makeup.

  “I told you,” I said, “I was so caught up with telling you guys about the interview that I just sort of...forgot.”

  “Forgot?” Dara said, wheeling around in front of the open windows, thin cigarette hanging between her fingers. She’s taken up smoking in Paris, gone native, as she would say. “You forgot to tell us that a staggeringly gorgeous Frenchman leapt to your defense on the subway and quite possibly saved your life? You forgot about that?”

  “I don’t understand why you guys are getting all nuts about this,” I said calmly, brushing an even coat of mascara onto my lashes. “It’s not like I lied to you.”

  “You omitted,” Ashlee said, “That’s the same thing. We’ve always told each other everything about our love lives. Especially the juicy bits.”

  “Well, I haven’t had many juicy bits,” I said, “I guess I didn’t realize we had a protocol in place.”

  “We’re not mad,” Dara said, taking a drag off her cigarette, “It’s just kind of a huge deal, don’t you think? It’s the kind of thing you share with your two best friends on the planet.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said for the umpteenth time. “Really, I truly am. I guess it just felt so much like a dream, you know? It felt like I had imagined the whole thing. If I could have known...”

  I shook my head, amazed. I don’t know what I would have done if I had known the day Girard saved me that one day we’d be reunited. The whole coincidence of running into him here in Paris was certainly too good to be true. I was continuously worried that I’d wake up any moment, scattering this wonderful collection of happenstances. I had taken to pinching myself on the hour, just to make sure that I was really awake. After all, my life had gotten off to a rather shaky start, and my love life up to that point had been disappointing at best, this all seemed to be more good fortune than I deserved.

  Who would have thought that I’d be thanking my lucky stars that some drunk on the subway had harassed me? Back when Spring had just descended upon New York City, I’d been on my way to an interview for a Summer internship in Paris with the international marketing firm, Corelli. Some slurring, drunk bum had started to make a scene on the subway, and zeroed in on me as a target. He’d gone so far as to expose himself to me, right there on the train. Thankfully, a stranger came to my defense, and knocked the bum out cold when he’d brandished a box cutter at me. That stranger had turned out to be Girard, and I was convinced that I would never set eyes on him again.

  But with Girard’s help, I’d arrived to my interview on time. Another fortuitous coincidence occurred, and I’d ended up in the elevator with Mr. Corelli himself. My candor during our brief conversation somehow endeared me to Mr. Corelli so much that he personally recommended me for the internship. I shipped off to Paris in June with Ashlee and Dara in tow. They found their own reasons for spending the summer in the City of Lights, and I was so glad that they had. We spent our nights and weekends immersing ourselves in the city, and I reacquainted myself with drinking and enjoying men on my own terms. None of that would have been possible without Girard.

  And then, a couple nights back, I’d had the impossible good luck of meeting Girard in his own city. Dara, Ashlee and I had been out at a new club that the entirety of Paris was raving about. I spotted Girard’s acidic assistant Monica from across the bar and chased her fruitlessly around the whole place. It wasn’t until later, when we had been cornered by some cocky young businessmen, that Girard materialized and saved me once again. He whisked me away from the group, and I gladly followed.

  No man in my life had ever failed to disappoint me. For a brief moment, I was afraid that Girard wouldn’t live up to the image of him I had built up in my head. I was so utterly wrong, thank god. As it turned out, Girard the man was even more compelling, more attractive, and more genuine than the hero I encountered on the subway that day.

  We left the club and he brought me to a tiny cafe, and we talked well into the night. When he walked me home to my loft, we shared a kiss the likes of which I had never experienced in my life. I learned, for the first time, what it was to want a man. And that wanting had only grown.

  “It totally figures,” Ashlee sighed from the bed, “Miss Celibate lands the dreamiest guy on the planet right out the gate. I’ve been fishing around for a keeper since I was thirteen, and what has it gotten me?”

  “A UTI or two, I’d imagine,” Dara sniffed.

  I smiled back at them fondly. They had been utterly taken aback when Girard had whisked me away from the club, and hurt that I never shared my story about him. But ever since we met on our first day of undergrad, Dara, Ashlee and I could never stay mad at each other for very long. We were too important to each other for that. I had no support from my parents, financially or emotionally; Dara’s mother had passed away when she was a little girl, and her father compensated by throwing money at her; Ashlee’s mother had been a domineering stage mom who she’d been forced to cut out of her life. We were a bunch of misfits, in the end, but we chose our family in each other.

  “Where are you two going?” Ashlee asked, rolling onto her stomach.

  “I have no idea,” I confessed. Girard hadn’t played any games with me once we reconnected. If he had been anything like my one and only boyfriend Marc, he would have kept me hanging for days, letting me wonder whether or not he would ever call.

  But Girard was a man, not some insecure boy. After I’d given him my number, following our steamy midnight kiss, he texted me that very same night. He wasn’t trying to jerk me around, which I appreciated immensely. I was not the most experienced girl in the world, when it came to romance. I’d had one one-night stand that I regretted from the bottom of my soul, and one relationship that had lasted a mere six months and turned me off to men for the rest of my undergraduate career.

  My blood still boiled a little whenever Marc crossed my mind. I had been so overwhelmed by leaving my small town of West Chester, Pennsylvania that I latched onto whatever I could once I arrived at my little liberal arts college. One of those things that I clung to fiercely was the first boy who happened along. Marc had been a bony, pimply guy with absolutely no respect for women, period. He bullied me into going out with him, despite the fact that I wasn’t ready to be with someone romantically.

  If I was honest with myself, I hadn’t even wanted to start sleeping with him. Not really, anyway. I felt like it was something that I should be doing by that age, and Marc only strengthened that false conviction by insisting that I would feel better about it once we started. He was my first, and I lost my virginity on a crappy dorm mattress while someone blasted SpongeBob Squarepants in the other room.

  Needless to say, I had been skeptical about sex for a long time since. But when I thought about sex with Girard, it was a whole other story. My body responded to the most fleeting thought of what it would be like to go to bed with him. He would know exactly what he was doing, I was sure of it. A man couldn’t go through life looking like Girard without becoming an expert lover. I tried not to imagine how many women he’d had during his thirty-something years on the planet. None of that mattered. What mattered was those deep, intelligent eyes; the smile that played across his lips when he looked at me
; the firm panes of his chest beneath my hands as he kissed me in the moonlight...

  “Ow!” I winced as my mascara collided with my eyeball. I had let my fantasies get the best of me.

  “Let me,” Dara said, rushing to me aid.

  In no time, she and Ashlee had me all fixed up for the day. When I told them that Girard had proposed a date, they insisted on “styling” me. And I had to admit that they did a fantastic job. Dara made my face up in the style of Brigitte Bardot, with a sweeping hairstyle to match. Ashlee lent me a gorgeous white dress that was cut in the style of the 1960’s, with a red ribbon around the waist. I looked like I’d lived in Paris all my life—my friends had done a fantastic job.

  “Are you ready?” Ashlee asked, glee creeping into her voice.

  “I think so,” I said. My stomach was feeling more than a little fluttery, and I definitely hadn’t been able to have more than one cup of black coffee that morning. It occurred to me, as I woke to Girard’s text about meeting up that day, that I had no idea how to conduct myself on a real, grown-up date. That night at the cafe had sort of snuck up on me, but generally speaking, I was clueless. My dates with Marc had mainly consisted of ordering crappy Chinese food into our dorm and making out through episodes of The Jersey Shore. Not exactly my idea of romance, in the end. Would I be able to figure out how to conduct myself once Girard got here?

  “Just relax,” Dara said supportively, “Relax and be yourself. That’s obviously exactly what Girard wants you to be!”

  “OK,” I said, taking a deep breath. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”

  “And if he turns out to be an axe murderer or something,” Ashlee offered, “You should always go for the nuts first. In self defense, I mean.”

  “Duly noted,” I said.

  “You don’t actually think he’s an axe murderer, do you?” Dara asked.

  “Who knows?” Ashlee said. “Haven’t you ever read American Psycho?”

  “Well, luckily, he’s not American,” I reminded her, “He’s quite decidedly French. I don’t remember coming across a French Psycho during Contemporary American Lit.”

  “Touche,” Ashlee said.

  “Oh, look!” Dara crowed, “You’re picking up the native tongue after all! And here I thought you’d wasted your summer away.”

  “Please,” Ashlee said. “I was engaged in a very challenging theatrical training program. You went shopping for three months.”

  “Well, we all have our strengths,” Dara said, crossing her arms smugly.

  Ashlee was about to retort when the buzzer on my front door screeched. My heart flew up into my chest as I realized that Girard would be waiting for me downstairs.

  “There he is!” Ashlee said, peeking over the balcony to the street below. “Dear god, that is a perfect specimen of a man.”

  “How do I look?” I asked nervously.

  “Amazing,” Dara said. “Really, Madison. You do.”

  “Remember,” Ashlee said, “He may be the most gorgeous, successful, intelligent man in the world...But to us, he’s still not good enough for you.”

  I threw my arms around them and hugged them close. I sure had found the best family that a girl could ask for, whether or not there was any actual blood between us. I gave them one last squeeze and turned toward the door. My knees trembled ever so slightly as I made my way down the stairs toward the front door.

  I tried to tell myself that this was nothing, just a casual outing. But I couldn’t convince my heart to agree with my mind. I knew, deep in my bones, that this was more than just a date. That Girard was more than just some man that I had fling with in Paris, once. I could tell that this was the beginning of something huge in my life. Whether it would be a huge love or a huge heartbreak was yet to be determined.

  Gently, I pushed open the front door and stepped out into the morning sunlight. The sight that greeted my eyes nearly made me swoon right there and then. Girard was waiting for me on the curb, dressed down as I had ever seen him. He sported a pair of fine wool slacks and a white linen shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up to reveal his well-muscled forearms. His clothing was cut perfectly to emphasize his perfectly-balanced and toned body. Girard had the look of a man who stayed in shape by actually being active, rather than slaving away in the gym. He didn’t have that horrible, bulgy look that so many men got by spending too much time doing curls in the mirror. Girard’s attractiveness was organic, and therefore irresistible.

  He smiled warmly at me as I stepped out into the sunlight, and ran a strong hand through his close-cropped black hair. I took two quick steps toward him and stood looking up at his breathtaking face. He brought his lips to my cheek, brushing against me with his just-saved skin. A little shiver of joy erupted from the spot where his mouth had touched me. I had no idea that so simple a gesture could ever be so arousing.

  “Good morning, Madison,” he said, offering his arm to me once more.

  “Good morning, Girard,” I replied, taking his arm with pleasure. If anyone else were to attempt such a gesture, it would have seemed foolish and pretentious. But nothing this man did came across as anything other than the exact right action for the moment. He had an air of such easy authority, such utter control over himself and his surroundings, that you couldn’t help but trust him.

  “Are those your friends?” he asked politely, glancing up at the balcony.

  I looked up and saw Dara and Ashlee’s faces trained eagerly on us down below. I scowled up at them, and tried to wave them away. But they were too busy gawking unabashedly—it wouldn’t have surprised me to see that they had brought popcorn for the occasion.

  “You show our Madison a good time,” Dara said chidingly to Girard.

  “But not too good,” Ashlee put in, waving her finger at us.

  “Are you finished?” I said, blushing. My friends giggled and ducked back inside, and Girard let out a little chuckle.

  “They care about you a great deal,” he said as we began to walk away from my loft.

  “It’s true,” I said, letting him lead the way. “We really do watch out for each other.”

  “You don’t strike me as a girl who needs watching out for,” Girard said.

  “No?” I asked, slightly put-out. I’d like to think of myself as a girl that he could watch out for, if it suited him.

  “No,” he said, “But that doesn’t mean that you couldn’t benefit from it.”

  “I’m sure that I could. Benefit from it, I mean,” I said as bravely as I could. “A little guidance, you know. I’m still pretty young, after all.”

  “How old are you, Madison?” Girard asked.

  “Twenty three,” I responded.

  “Twenty three...” he repeated, “By the time I was twenty three I’d been shipped off to Bosnia.”

  “Oh...” I said. Somehow, that made me feel even younger than I was. I’d had a difficult childhood, to be sure, with an abusive father and a spineless mother—but I got the sense that Girard knew suffering a lot more intimately than I did. “Did you always want to be in the Foreign Legion?” I asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

  Girard smiled faintly, as if remembering something sweet. “No,” he said, “No, I had other plans. Other ambitions.”

  “Can I ask what they were?” I said.

  “You can ask me anything,” Girard said, placing his hand on mine where it rested on his sleeve. “I just hope you won’t think it foolish.”

  “I seriously doubt that I will,” I said.

  “Very well,” Girard said, drawing in a deep breath, “The truth is that, as a boy, I wanted to become a concert pianist.”

  I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, stunned. That was certainly not what I had expected him to say. On top of everything else, this man was an artist? “Do you play?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Girard smiled, “Very well, I am told.”

  “What stopped you from pursuing your dream?” I asked.

  “Life has a way of interfering with
dreams,” Girard said sadly, “As it did with mine. I was nineteen years old when my father was diagnosed with cancer. I was halfway through my time at conservatory, where I was studying classical piano on a full scholarship. But my mother needed help, financially. And struggling musicians aren’t exactly the most helpful sons in the world, in that respect. So, I dropped out of conservatory and enlisted. The wages I earned from my service, and the bonuses I received along the way, went right back to my parents. We spent a fortune on treatment for my father, but even all the money in the world won’t keep a man alive when he’s meant to pass on.

  When my father died, I had already been in the military for three years. They needed me there, in command, and I needed to keep making enough money to support my mother. So I stayed, and did tours all around the world. The Congo, Rwanda, Kosovo...”

  “But you left eventually,” I said. “Why?”

  “It wasn’t my choice,” Girard said, “I was injured.”

  “Oh my god,” I said, tightening my grip on his arm unconsciously, “I’m so sorry, Girard.”

  “It’s OK now,” he said. “I was shot in Sarajevo while tending to a fallen civilian. A young girl. Some insurgents came upon us as I was helping her. They killed her first, and forced me to watch...at the time I couldn’t tell whether I had gotten off easy with just a bullet wound, or if it would have been better if they finished me.”

  My throat thickened into a tearful knot as I watched Girard’s face cloud over. I couldn’t imagine the horrors he must have seen in those war torn places. It seemed such a tragedy that so wonderful a man should have been subjected to all that. I found myself wishing that I could have been there, somehow. That I could have comforted him, nursed him back to health when he came home.

  “But, yes, I was discharged with full honors. The money I had saved up from my wages I invested in the dot com market. And one thing led to another...” he waved his hand, indicating a whole slew of investments and financial genius that I couldn’t begin to comprehend. “And here we are,” he said, a smile on his face.