Oh. Oh, God, the stupidMichelangelo Matrix.He took that seriously? That’s…
The smile on my face breaks into a laugh before I can stop it.
“What?” Cal says.
“Nothing,” I say quickly, and put a hand to his cheek. “Nothing, nothing. You’re right. I did.” I sigh and drop my head on his shoulder. “And?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Now Cal seems self-conscious. “It was kind of ridiculous, right? That the Garden of Eden was under the Eiffel Tower all along?”
“Eh, I mean…” I consider. “Things hide in plain sight, do they not?”
“You’re right,” Cal agrees—too fast. “Did you like it?”
“Did I like it,” I repeat, staring idly at the roses on my dresser. They’re starting to crinkle and fade—still beautiful, in a way. But a bit sad. “Personally, I found it much more contrived that Fabienne was the illegitimate great-great-great-granddaughter of Gustave Eiffel. And the love scenes with her and Montgomery…”
I wrinkle my nose—the author certainly had no compunctions taking full paragraphs to describe his heroine’s “too-full lips” and “pert” (gag) breasts—but Cal blushes. I press my lips together, trying not to smile.
“Oh, you liked those?” I tease. “You have a thing for beautiful Frenchwomen and hunky American scholars?”
“No,” Cal says honestly.
“Ah,” I say. “So it’s just theEiffel Towerthat gets you going, then?”
Cal blinks. Poor thing. Here I am thinking I’m the inept, awkward, inexperienced one, and yet even my terrible innuendo is flying entirely over his head.
“Gwenna, I love you.”
I’m surprised to hear it—surprised but pleased, actually. Very pleased. I melt a little against him. “Cal.”
“I do,” he says. “Is that okay?”
Is it okay.Dear God. “Of course,” I say. “Why wouldn’t it be? I love you too.”
How simple it is to say that when you mean it, I think.And how easy to mean it with someone like him.
We lie in silence a moment.
“What about Lanz?” I ask.
“Oh. Yeah.” Cal swallows. “Him too.” He rolls over a bit, his eyes searching mine, like he needs permission. Affirmation that such a thing is possible.
Sure, I think.Ask me, a two-way split’s nothing.Out loud, all I say is, “Did you study Latin ever?"
Cal lifts a hand, does a littleeh, kindamotion. "Only the requirement. I wasn't really any good. Why?"
"There's this word," I say. "Altus. An adjective. Ring any bells?"
Cal strokes his jaw. "Um. Tall? Maybe?"
"Sort of. It meansdeep, orhigh." I extricate myself from his arms so I can lie on my side and face him. "Like, the idea was, they had just this one word that meanta great distance from the baseline.So the top of a mountain would bealtus.But so would the bottom of the ocean. They wouldn't understand those as different concepts, necessarily. If that makes sense."
Cal thinks a moment. "Yeah."
Ugh, I think with a cringe, why do I get on thesetangents.But Cal is too polite, I guess, to interrupt me. Or maybe he's actually intrigued. "So, I guess what I'm getting at is," I finish, "I think of you like that. How you feel. Just, profound. Extensive. And in a way that doesn't...cancel itself out. You know?"
I have no idea why I thought this was a good way to explain my reasoning. I have no idea if this even makessense.But it seems to placate Cal--no, to calm him, practically. His body relaxes next to mine on the mattress.
"Does Lanzknow, dare I ask?"
