by Roya Carmen
One Week in Paris
Roya Carmen
One Week in Paris
Roya Carmen
One Week in Paris © Roya Carmen, 2019
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. Copyright property of the author. No part of this content may be reproduced or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without prior written permission from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters and locations are either the product of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales, is purely coincidental.
Cover design and formatting: Calico Images
Editing: Emily Keel
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Created with Vellum
Contents
Blurb
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Part II
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Part III
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
A note from the author:
About the Author
Also by Roya Carmen
The Ground Rules - Excerpt - Chapter One
Acknowledgements
To all those who have ever felt less than. Remember that you are not alone.
Blurb
Kayla Wilson has her life together. For the most part. She has work she loves, great friends, and a friends-with-benefits arrangement which suits her just fine — she’s not interested in anything more. Although Oscar is sexy, fun and sweet, he’s way too immature to be taken seriously. The amazing sex is all she needs.
And her mother is getting married. In Paris!
Everything is roses until Kayla realizes that her mother’s fiancé is her old high school nemesis’ father. Looks like the boy who made her teenage life hell is about to become her stepbrother.
Matt Moore is as beautiful, rich and cocky as ever. And so is his father, Mark. Can she trust either of them? Will Matt bring out all her insecurities again? Will Mark hurt her mother? Is her mother making the biggest mistake of her life?
With Oscar’s and her friend Corrie’s help, Kayla is determined to break up the wedding.
Will she succeed or fail gloriously? Who will be hurt along the way? And who will she come to truly know and love in the end?
The third novel in the One Week series, One Week in Paris explores the bonds of friendship and family, painful pasts, and the beautiful city of Paris.
Author’s note: One Week in Paris contains explicit scenes and some coarse language — for adult audiences. The book can be read as a standalone, but if you plan to read the whole series, it is best to do so in chronological order to avoid spoilers.
Part I
1
“AND GET THIS,” Danielle says. “This one’s a firefighter.”
I run my hands down the curves of her lower back, just the way she likes it. Many of my clients prefer the gentler touch, but Danielle likes it hard. “Wow, that’s pretty hot,” I quip. “In more ways than one.”
She laughs. “Yeah, it’d be hot if she weren’t married.”
She’s entertaining me with the wild tales of her younger sister’s life again. Her sister, Annabelle, is a thirty-nine year old married mother of two who just happens to be a sex addict.
“They usually do it in the back of her Escalade, because this guy’s apartment is apparently a pigsty.”
“How old is this guy?” I ask. I can’t help it… I really get into her stories.
“Young,” she says. “Mid-twenties… body to die for. He was in one of those calendars for charity… Mister August. Annabelle gave me a copy. I can’t wait for August.”
“And her husband has no clue?” I ask, baffled.
“No, Jerry is a workaholic. He’s too busy to notice, and her kids are too small to know what’s going on either.”
I think about the kids. This is entertaining as all hell, but I’m sure it will eventually all blow up in their faces, and the kids are going to be the most affected. It breaks my heart. I wonder why Danielle doesn’t try to help her sister. I know if it were my sister, I’d do something about it. But Danielle seems content to just watch the show. I suspect that she secretly enjoys her sister’s antics because her own life is pretty tame in comparison. She’s an empty-nester whose kids have both recently moved away for college. I also wonder if she secretly wants her sister’s ‘perfect’ life to blow up. She’s always going on about how pretty, skinny and rich her sister is — I sense a little jealousy.
The thing is, I’m not just a massage therapist, I’m also a therapist, but a lot cheaper.
I steam some towels, and adjust the aromatherapy diffuser — the patchouli scent is a little strong. “Well, hopefully he never clues in."
“Oh, I’m sure he will. She’s even had men in her own bed.”
My mouth drops. I don’t know her sister but I don’t like her much. I generally try not to judge, but I can’t help it. I know it’s a mental addiction. And I know all too well about addictions and cravings. Mine just aren’t about sex. Although, I won’t lie… I do like sex, as much as the next gal.
I lay the hot towel carefully on her back. “Not too hot?” I ask before rubbing the grape seed oil off her body.
She moans. “No, perfect.”
I love bringing pleasure to my clients. Although Danielle’s life seems pretty sweet, many of my clients work hard, and if I can make their lives blissful, even for just an hour a month, then I’m doing something worthwhile.
“I’m not boring you, am I?” she asks.
I smile. “Never. Actually, I love your sister’s stories.” To be honest, Oscar and I live vicariously through her. Our lives are very boring.
She laughs. “So, you and Oscar… no progress? Still just friends with benefits?”
I sigh. “Well, you know how I feel about relationships—”
“I know, I know… your parents had a horrible marriage, your deadbeat dad left your family, and your sister’s just gone through a divorce,” she says. “But that Oscar seems like such a sweet guy, and he’s a hottie too.”
I smile. We ran into Danielle once when we were out to dinner. “I should have never introduced you two,” I tease.
“Trust me,” she goes on. “Marriage is a great thing. Robert and I have been together for twenty-six years and he and the kids are the best things that have ever happened to me.”
“Well, I can’t wait to tell Oscar all about the latest Danielle dr
ama,” I tell her, attempting to change the subject.
I lift the sheet and turn my head away. “Now I’ll have you turn over,” I say. “You know the drill.”
She settles comfortably on her back. “She was telling me how this guy’s into anal. These young kids today…”
Oh my…
“So is your sister into that too?” I ask. I’m shameless. There’s no denying it. If my mother could see me now, she’d be appalled. But in my defense, I’m just digging up more dirt to share with Oscar. He’s going to love this.
“Oh, she’s into it,” she says. “All that butt play stuff, and anal beads. I personally was never into that.”
“Well, it’s not for everyone,” I say. The conversation has suddenly turned awkward, for me anyway. I’m rubbing her feet, and staring at her pretty painted pink toes. “So, uh, how are the kids doing at college?” I ask, not so subtly changing the subject.
She tells me all about what Emily and Eric are up to, and I do my job. Before long, the conversation shifts back to Annabelle, and how she’s had a pregnancy scare again, and I get lost in the story. Next thing you know, I check the clock and realize I’ve gone over my allotted time.
“Oh crap!”
“What?!” she asks, alarmed.
“Oh, it’s just… I’ve gone over my time, and I have a yoga class to teach.”
“Oh, so sorry. I was distracting you with all my stories.”
I swiftly grab another hot towel from the steamer. “It’s not your fault,” I tell her, and quickly wipe the oil off her arms. “I’m sorry to end this session so abruptly.”
“No problem.” She looks up at the clock on the wall. “Hey, I got an extra five minutes. I’m happy.”
Lust
There are three all-powerful evils: lust, anger and greed. – Tulsi Das
Lust is a funny little thing. So strong and powerful. It makes you do crazy things. It is probably one of the most powerful emotions out there. Stronger than love, even. Strong enough to make the weak risk their life’s stability, and the stability of those around them. Lust feels good, but it can also sting. Once it has a hold of you, you can’t escape. You’re caught in its wicked grip.
A man might love his wife and children, but when he meets a beautiful, intoxicating woman, he might be willing to take the risk of jeopardizing his family. For what? Five minutes of passion? One night?
I’m fascinated by Danielle’s sister, Annabelle. What would it feel like to be consumed by lust? To be addicted to it? Is the pull as strong as heroin, or alcohol? Does the body itch for it? For that forbidden touch. Why would a woman who has it all, risk it all? It’s unfathomable to me.
I’ve experienced lust quite a few times in my life, the eager need to pleasure and be pleasured, the itch to explore, the shot of adrenaline from a lover’s touch. But I’ve never been so consumed by it that it’s made me do questionable things, or risk something, or hurt those around me.
Is lust a selfish emotion? Of course it is. It’s all about one’s self, about wanting to be desired, wanting to be adored. There is no more self-serving emotion out there.
What will happen when Annabelle’s bubble bursts? Will her actions destroy her family? Will the consequences of her addiction affect her children for years to come? Like my father’s actions affect me, still to this day.
I would like to believe that I’m in control of my emotions, and that I could never let lust lead me astray. But as humans, as mere mortals, none of us are truly safe from our emotions. One never knows how one might react in a certain situation.
Lust is an emotion, therefore it does not follow logic, or common sense. It’s wild and unpredictable. And that’s what’s so damn scary about it.
The heel of my boot breaks off as I attempt to run to my car. I curse, and limp all the way to my old Dodge minivan, a hand-me-down from Danielle — she sold it to me for a thousand dollars. It was all I could afford. “That’s what happens when you buy cheap boots, I guess,” I complain to myself, out loud.
The man who is about to hop in the SUV next to my car gives me a strange look. I ignore him — I can talk to myself if I want to.
Bugger off, buddy.
I’m really upset about the boots, over-the-knee boots I love wearing with leggings. Unfortunately, new boots are not in the budget.
To top it off, my car is covered in snow. I reach for the door handle and it sticks. The door won’t open — it’s frozen shut. This always happens when it’s really cold out. “You can’t do this to me. Not now. Please open,” I plead as I feverishly tug at the handle. Finally, it gives. I breathe in a sigh of relief. I stick my key into the ignition, and the engine stalls. This also happens when it’s cold. “Just great! I’ll never make it now.” I give it two more tries, and thankfully, the third time’s a charm.
I reach for my car brush, and wipe off the snow from my windows. February is such a dreary, miserable month. If anyone is happy-go-lucky and zen, it’s me, but even I have a hard time with February. And then there’s the whole Valentine thing. Ugh… It sucks when you don’t have a boyfriend. I wonder if I should get something for Oscar. I wonder if he’ll get me something. It’ll be very awkward if he gets me something, and I have nothing for him. That’s it… I’m going to get him something, and keep it under my bed in case he gets me something too. What should I get him?
Things Oscar loves: coffee, sweets, boxing, comedy, weird clothing, his cat, and vintage porn. Where does one even get vintage porn? And when did this friends-with-benefits situation get so complicated?
I’m still limping when I run into the gym. As I dash to the change room, I can see the yoga studio full of people waiting for me. Damn you, Annabelle, and your promiscuous ways. This is all your fault. I feel bad — these people have lives and schedules, and their time is just as precious as mine. I think I set a record for fastest outfit change. I’ve put on my tank top backwards but hopefully no one will notice.
I push the door open, completely flustered. “I’m so sorry, everyone. My car was covered in snow and wouldn’t start.” Everyone who lives in Vermont can relate — it’s an excellent excuse. Of course I don’t mention that I was also held captive in juicy sordid tales of infidelity.
I don’t notice him until I get to the front of the class. He’s grinning broadly, as always. He has the biggest smile you’ll ever see. He also has a big nose, huge brown eyes, and crazy hair. He has the kind of face that people don’t forget, a unique look. He’s taken off his hipster glasses for the class and is wearing the most embarrassing Richard Simmons inspired outfit. The man is wearing a loose pink tank top, short shorts, and neon yellow leg warmers, for crying out loud.
He likes the attention. He likes to inspire laughs. He has no shame. When God made Oscar Cohen, he forgot to insert the inhibition chip.
I can’t help but laugh. He’s actually garnered quite a few stares from the ladies surrounding him — he loves it. A few of my regulars have seen him before, and know what to expect. He will make a complete mockery of my class, but the ladies seem to love it, so I don’t complain too much.
And I will teach the whole class with a huge smile on.
2
WE START OFF WITH some Tai Chi stretches. Oscar winks at Irma as he reaches in her direction. Irma is about eighty and has three cats — that’s all I know. She smiles wide.
Next, we’re into sun salutations, and everyone is down with their butts up in the air as I demonstrate downward dog. Oscar wiggles his butt in an exaggerated motion and Irma laughs.
When we’re into the strength exercises, Oscar does his best Zoolander impression, and I roll my eyes, trying to ignore him. When we move into balance poses, he’s hard to miss as he’s the one toppling over repeatedly.
He’s serious when it comes to abs and core work. While all the ladies in the class struggle with this part, Oscar kills it. He’s solid as steel. When he’s not here, stepping on my last nerve, he’s at the boxing ring.
We finish with more stretchi
ng exercises, and finally, ten minutes of meditation. Oscar always chooses happy baby pose — he lies on his back, grips his feet with his hands and smiles at the ceiling like an idiot. I’m surprised he doesn’t actually coo. I complain, but it always does make me laugh.
Everyone exits the room after meditation. A few thank me, a few wish me a good weekend, and Oscar lingers behind. Another good class.
I swipe a towel across my forehead. “Don’t you have better things to do than hang out with old ladies?”
He laughs. “I have the day off, and there are a lot of hotties in your class.”
He’s not wrong. The class is a mix of old and young, all shapes and sizes.
He inches closer, towering over me as he wraps an arm around my waist. It’s just the two of us in the dark studio. It’s quiet — the music has been turned off. “What are you up to now?” he asks with that familiar twinkle in his eye.
I smile. “FYI… it’s impossible to turn me on when you’re dressed like Richard Simmons.”
