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“You are getting better already. Shall we?” I stand, offering her my elbow, which she takes gently. The valet has brought my car around, and I hold the door as Autumn gets in. Pulling away from the curb, I ask, “Can I show you something?”
“Is it your dick?” Her tone is teasing, but she lowers her chin, glaring at me from beneath her lashes.
“If you’d like. But I was thinking Paris would be more appropriate.” I chuckle lightly, though, “Is that what American men are like? Dinner and dick?”
She rolls her eyes, “If only. They’re a million times worse. They’ll send you a message on a dating app in the middle of the night that’s basically ‘wanna fuck?’ and if you don’t respond near instantly with pictures of your already spread legs, they move on to the next match. And if you do respond, you go into it knowing it’s just to get him off. Most of the guys don’t care about whether or not you do or if they’re even capable of it. It’s all selfish, instant gratification with no follow-up.”
I look over at her, horrified. “That is not dating. That is not even fucking. That is...épouvantable.” When she lifts her brows, I remember my English, “Appalling.”
She shrugs and confides, “That’s why I don’t date much.”
“You deserve to be pursued, your body cherished, and your mind celebrated. When we fuck, my sole desire will be to make you come until you are fully satisfied, physically and mentally. I promise this.”
“Holy shit,” she whispers. “Maybe you can show me your dick. Like pull over or something. Or is sex in public a felony in Paris?” She looks gobsmacked, her face vacant but her eyes glassy and full of desire.
I reach over, placing my hand at the back of her neck and threading my fingers through the locks there. “It is illegal, unfortunately. But perhaps soon, in a place more private,” I suggest. “First, Paris.”
I lean over, giving her a kiss, so quick she doesn’t get a chance to pucker, before returning my eyes to the nearly deserted road.
True to my word, I show her my city, watching her glazed over eyes become alight with fresh excitement at every turn. I drive slowly, letting her take her time as she absorbs the sights of the Champs Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe, the Palais Garnier, and more. We drive past the Louvre, Invalides, and then to Pigalle to see the Moulin Rouge.
We drive for hours, mostly quiet other than the tour guide info I can remember and Autumn’s gasping reactions to every sight.
“What’s that?” Autumn asks, pointing out the window as we leave the bright, glamorous areas.
“All of Paris is not lights and beauty. Like many cities, there is ugliness and sadness as well,” I tell her quietly. “That’s a shanty development, with makeshift homes for dozens of people. They are somewhat fortunate, not alone on the streets like many, but it’s a very small improvement.”
Melancholy washes over her face. “There are lots of unhoused people in New York too. I see them on the streets, sleeping in alleys, begging for food, desperate for help. There are organizations that try—soup kitchens, mobile shower units, placement assistance—but there are so many people.”
“Paris is better than some, and there are many volunteer groups here as well. But still,” I whisper, my voice cracking, “people die on the streets every year. Some say it’s because of migrant camps and ‘outsiders’. But it’s not true. That’s only one piece of the problem. The costs of living are rising faster than wages, and people with good jobs are being forced out on the street. Families... women... children.”
“It’s the same at home. Oh!” Autumn exclaims, her face paling as we pass a young child who’s scurried out with his young, haggard mother. “This is awful.”
I want to stop and help the child, his family... but know there’s little I can do right now. “I wish it wasn’t this way,” I tell her as we drive away. “It’s what’s wrong with the world.”
Autumn turns to look at me, tilting her head to the side. “You surprise me. You are rich, and your aunt is one of the most famous designers in Europe. I mean, no offense... but it seems like you could do something.”
I swallow thickly. “It’s not merely a money issue, though. They need support, from the street level all the way up. I do help as much as I can, where I feel I can make a difference.” I consider telling her about my time with the guys from the children’s home, but I don’t want to betray their trust in me. They’re not pawns for this conversation.
She looks out the window with a fuller appreciation of Paris, both the beautiful and the ugly. “Why this issue?”
I don’t need to speak of the parkour guys to share my story. “I relate to them in a small way,” I tell her, keeping my eyes on the road in front of us so I don’t see the inevitable look of pity. “I was alone, abandoned by my mother. Without my aunt, I could’ve possibly ended up like some of these people. I don’t remember that time, thankfully, but Jacqueline has reminded me of what she did for me my whole childhood.”
“What? I didn’t know that,” she says in surprise.
I take a deep breath, steadying my racing heart. “Not many do. It’s not that I hide it, exactly, but I don’t speak of it either.”
Autumn reaches over, placing her hand on my thigh comfortingly. “Simon... you don’t need to, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
Pain clenches in my chest, and I know I want to tell her. But at the same time... the stories Jacqueline have told me are heavy, and tonight has been a lot already. “Not now. I... not yet.”
Quiet fills the car, and for a minute we say nothing. There’s only the rumbling of the engine and the tires on the road, Autumn’s hand on my thigh, and the sound of our breathing. Finally, she speaks again. “Thank you for showing me this.”
I nod, feeling in control again. As we head back toward Autumn’s apartment, I shift the conversation to something lighter. “I know we said we would discuss work, but we can go over the edits another time.”
“No... I want to see more,” Autumn declares.
I don’t understand her, so I ask, “More of what?”
She clears her throat and moves her hand one small inch higher on my thigh. “You.”
I turn at the next intersection, heading not toward her apartment... but mine.
