“S’okay. Keep going,” he says softly. “What do you hear?”
The woman has begun singing in French, but also not French. Nothing like the haut Parisian accented singing of Maurice Chevalier or Édith Piaf. This French is flatter. Gruffer. More humble, as Beau said.
“She’s singing,” I say.
A smile breaks over his face. “What’s she saying?”
I gape at him. “I have no idea.”
This makes Beau laugh, and I feel it under my hand on his waist. Holy God. His muscles there are lean and taut. I resist the urge to run my fingers up his side.
I focus on the song instead. “What is she saying? You tell me.”
“She’s saying,” The smile in his eyes dims just a little.“I’d like to feel like this at home.”
I suck in a breath. “What?”
“That’s the name of the song.” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “J'aimerais Sentir Comme Ca Chez Moi.I’d like to feel like this at home.”
I suddenly remember the feel of his hand on my belly that first night. Startling me. Grounding me. Touching me in a place untouchable.
I’d like to feel like this at home.
“What does she feel like? I mean—” I stop and then swallow. “What does she mean?”
Right-together-right-together.
Left-together-left-together.
Except now we are moving.Back-right. Back-right. Back-left. Back-left.Stepping counter-clockwise around the room. I’m dimly aware that Ramon and Sally are moving in a likewise rotation.
“She’s saying, roughly—” He looks down at me, and it feels like he’s looking into me. “I’ve never been loved as you love me. I’d like to feel like this at home.”
For a moment, my breath halts. The words are beautiful. Coming out of his mouth makes them even more beautiful. And the look in his eyes—
The man’s voice chimes in, and I’m immediately desperate to know his response. “What’shesaying?”
The corner of Beau’s mouth turns up, but the light of the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “He’s saying,In your arms, it’s the refuge I was looking for. I’d like this at home.”
“Oh,” I say, nearly breathless. “It’s a pretty song.”
His brows draw together just a little. “Yeah, but it’s a sad one.”
My eyes go wide. “It is? Why? Why is it a sad one?” I ask urgently. I’m instantly offended on behalf of the lovers. Why sad? Why can’t they be together and live like that?
I’ve amused him. I can tell in the way he’s trying not to smile at me. Smile for real this time.
“They say they’ve tried everything. Done everything they could,” he says, the smile fading again.“I will never have freedom. And you will not hope for me so long.”
I frown. “Well, that sucks!”
The outrage in my response makes him laugh again.
And then the song closes with the two voices singing together. And this time I recognize the words as the title.J'aimerais sentir comme ca chez moi.
“But they both still want each other!” I exclaim.
Beau chuckles. “It’s true. That’s why it’s sad.” He’s smiling, but even in the smile, I see a little sadness.
