Nice :D

The band played Thorn in my side last night in Vienna *grin* *wink*

XLV

After taking off his sunglasses, folding them and tucking them into his back pocket, Richie’s right arm snaked under Frédérique’s arm, then under the thin, straight courtain of hair all the way across her back so his hand rested on her right side ribs, his thumb discretely touching the curve of her breast. Frédérique’s high-heeled sandals compensated for their different heights, so she was able to rest her left cheek on Richie’s right shoulder, molding the curve of her nose to his neck, her left hand grabbing his right biceps and the right one resting above his left pec, wrapped in Richie’s hand. Richie bowed his head just enough to press the corner of his lips against her temple.

He pulled her tight and they started swinging to the music, remaining silent the first minutes, simply enjoying the proximity they had longed for so much, completely ignoring the scrutiny of the people surrounding them. Then almost unconsciously Frédérique started humming the words to the song that was playing on the background.

Ne me quitte pas
Il faut oublier
Tout peut s'oublier
Qui s'enfuit déjà
Oublier le temps
Des malentendus
Et le temps perdu

“What does it mean?” Richie whispered.

Frédérique was so enraptured by Richie’s scent that she hadn’t consciously realized the words to the song, so she took a second before translating in a low, soft voice

We must forget
all that can be forgotten
that already has passed away
Forget the times
of misunderstandings,
and the times lost

In Frédérique’s meaningful words, Richie felt how she was opening up to him, inviting him in, no walls or boundaries but those that separated both of them from the rest of the people in the party. Frédérique stopped her translation and pulled apart to look into Richie’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Richie…” she began, apologizing sheepishly. She paused and closed her eyes, frowning slightly “I was overwhelmed I guess…I’d been hurt so much I wasn’t planning on being with anybody, but then I met you and I couldn’t resist. And everything happened so fast, everything changed so fast…”. She felt her tension rise so she paused to take a deep breath and opened her eyes wide as she continued to explain patiently. “Everyone else before you had ran away when I told them about my condition, and what you said in the interview gave me a reason to think that you’d run away, too, so I needed it to end bef-“

“Shhh. S’alright, babe” Richie interrupted her with a coo and pulled her closer reassuringly. He just wanted to make sure she knew how he felt about it. “But I told you that it’s you, just you, what I want and what I need. Nothing else. That hasn’t changed. You get that?”. He emphasized by giving her hand a tight squeeze. Whatever her condition was, it wasn’t important to him right then, he’d wait for her to tell him when she was ready.

She nodded to confirm that he’d gotten his point across and her heart fluttered: that’s what she felt, too and the heavy burden she had carried in her heart for so many years was finally lifted off. Yes, she and Richie were together, that’s all that mattered. All her fears and doubts had finally disappeared. “I thought I had made the right decision, that if I stayed I’d be standing in the way of what you wanted, of your happiness”. She relaxed again with a deep sigh and finished. “I’m really sorry…I never meant to hurt you, all the contrary”.

Richie kissed her temple and they danced silently for additional moments until it was Richie’s turn to speak, again in a secretive voice. “I thought you just needed some time to think, so I waited and after we met at the office I realized I couldn’t wait anymore and I called you before the show but you didn’t answer. That’s why I decided to go to your house the next day and fight for you”, he sighed. “I was so happy at Mohegan because I was sure I’d get you back soon. Then she, uh…” – Richie frowned – “…congratulated me and that was it, then you shut me off again and I didn’t know what to do…I didn’t find out you’d been there until Monday when Jon-“

“What are you saying?” Frédérique interrupted him and pulled apart to meet his eyes “I called you and left you a message…then I dropped my phone and it broke”. She kept her quizzical stare.

“What message? When?” Richie frowned and his pulse raced.

Frédérique shook her head slightly and closed her eyes to recall the memory. “I don’t know…the show had ended, you must have been showering or something”.

Richie stared into some place on the floor behind Frédérique as he tried to make sense of what she was saying. He shook his head as he reasoned out loud. “No, I shoulda gotten a missed called message or somethin’”. Then it hit him. For Christ’s sake. As it sank in, he involuntarily clenched his jaw: he was definitely upset, but simultaneously felt bad for judging Nikki without having confirmed it, so he would give her the benefit of the doubt until they had a long, long conversation.

“What?” asked Frédérique moving her eyes from side to side so she could meet Richie’s.

“I think I got an idea about what happened”, he sighed arching his eyebrows in acknowledgement, “and I don’t know what to say…”. Frédérique didn’t require further explanation: she didn’t need one, it was enough to know that it had been one more of those unfortunate coincidences.

Another slow, beautiful song started and Frédérique rested her cheek again on Richie’s shoulder as Jon’s accurate words came to her mind. “You’re both guilty of sucking at communicating”.

“I thought you were lying when you went to my apartment”, she confessed secretively, “That’s why I was so upset…and then you left, and confirmed my theory”,

Shit. Yes, it all made sense to Richie now, and it seemed that the entire universe had conspired to keep Frédérique away from him - his heart ached again when he realized how close he had been to losing her forever, but he was too happy now to be resented, and thankfully he had been able to find his way back to her. That realization supported his confidence so he ventured to tease her, curling his lips in a smirk and letting out a soft, sarcastic chuckle. “You still think we should leave things to karma?”

Frédérique answered mirroring Richie’s reaction and her warm breath flapped the collar of his shirt. He, however, winced when he remembered what had happened that night after he’d got home, mainly because he himself couldn’t bare the thought of Frédérique having done precisely the same thing. A cold rush crawled up his spine and he swallowed before speaking gravely. “Please, let’s never talk again about what happened while we were apart. None of it should have happened. It wasn’t meant to happen.”

Frédérique slightly nodded against Richie’s neck and couldn’t resist placing a soft kiss on his delicate skin.

They both continued dancing slowly, grateful that despite all the misunderstandings and mistakes, they had finally found each other again. They had finally been able to talk, listen, understand, let go of the past and forgive each other - all the clouds had disappeared, and they could start fresh again.

After the song ended, Richie bowed his head even more to speak against her ear with a husky voice. “I’m yours, Fred…Please tell me that you’re still mine”.

She looked up and looking into his eyes she replied firmly. “I’m yours, Richie…I always will be”.

Not a moment had passed since she had pronounced those words that their lips had clashed and they were both kissing passionately. Frédérique’s arms encircled Richie’s neck and his, in turn, her waist, pulling her so tightly to him that all the air in her lungs was expelled. But she couldn’t care less. They felt enclosed in a sort of bubble, oblivious to all the activity going around the rest of the dance floor. Their pulses started to kick up and a little moan resonated in Frédérique’s throat, but she suddenly giggled, broke the kiss and pressed her forehead against Richie’s and they both tried to catch their breath. She told him, still giggling softly and blushing a little.

“Richie, we’re not alone”

Richie had been so lost in the kiss that out of habit his right hand had crawled down and held a tight grip of Frédérique’s butt cheek between his thumb and the other four fingers. He chuckled hoarsely and loosened his grip, not daring to look around.

He pulled Frédérique back against him. “You look so beautiful, babe”, he said as he nuzzled her neck. “And I didn’t even have time to change”. He chortled softly and started kissing his way up to her jaw, then her chin. “Or shave, OR have a shower. I must stink”.

Frédérique smiled demurely but spoke with a desire-loaded voice before placing her lips on his. “You look and you smell just perfect”.

The kiss fueled Frédérique’s desire: Richie’s kisses were going to be the end of her, she knew that much, and the pressure of his fly against her stomach was doing the rest.

“You know…”, she spoke between soft kisses, “all the rooms in the house and the hotel are taken by the guests…I hope you don’t mind that we might have to share one”.

Richie hummed throatily in anticipation and added against her ear, with a lustful low voice. “My luggage’s still in the car…”

“Then I think you should go fetch it now and then I could, um…show you around the house and help you settle in?”, she smirked mischievously, her voice almost inaudible.

Richie continued the delicious teasing, arching an eyebrow. “Um…Now?”

They stopped dancing, Frédérique pulled apart and placed her hands over his pecs while Richie placed his hands on her hips. Frédérique’s hooded eyes met Richie’s and he stiffened a grin in response. Oh yeah, that look again. And he wanted her, too. So bad.

“Yes, now”, she ordered, trying to keep a straight face. “Meet me at the main door.”

XLIV

Thiage limited himself to observe silently while his sister hurriedly handed him her guitar and strode towards the tall, dark haired man that was making his way down the aisle of the empty church. Who IS this guy? By the look on Frédérique’s face and the way the sadness in her eyes had vanished, Thiage kind of got the idea, but asked himself again the same question when he observed his looks: easily ten years older than Frédérique, shaggy hair, earring, silk white shirt with only the two lower buttons done and sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, brown velvet jacket hanging from arm, expensive jeans and boots, rosary hanging from neck, the cross resting on his stomach just above the first done button of the shirt and a shorter chain with something that looked like a dagger, leather wristband.

He couldn’t see his sister’s face, but the interesting looking fellow smiled warmly and spoke in English, then they hugged tightly for a few moments before the rest of the family interrupted them and swarmed into the church. When Frédérique started introducing him to their parents, Thiage decided it was time to approach the group and have a closer look at the mysterious visitor.

“Thiage…”, the young man heard his sister call him and smiling but without taking her eyes off of the newly arrived, she introduced the two men in English, “Meet Richie”. Then she turned to look at her brother and gave him a wink. “He’s my…sweet music man”.

So American, OK.  His left hand appeared to be glued to Frédérique’s lower back while he used the right one to shake hands or place it on someone’s shoulder if they greeted him with a double peck. His eyes regarded her with intentions that were…hardly appropriate for a sacred place, but it was his own sweet sister’s lustful stare at the handsome man what disturbed Thiage the most. However, he couldn’t help but notice that evidently, there was something more than just lust in their eyes, and the happiness Frédérique was experiencing put Thiage finally at ease.

During the ceremony, and specially while they were singing, Thiage noticed Richie’s rapture with Frédérique, almost as though he was going to eat her alive by just looking at her. As they walked from the church to the garden for the party, Thiage approached Emilie, who was probably the only source of information available, to do some investigation. So a rockstar. Yes, he’d heard of the band. Knowing his sister that wasn’t a shock: though the few men she had allowed her family to meet were rather standard in all aspects, he knew that someday she’d hook up with someone related to music and most of all, someone absolutely non-standard like herself. What was, indeed, a shock was that he was one of  her clients - that one he didn’t see coming. This guy must be someone more special than he’d thought at the beginning.

The majority of the Balbé family components, except for their mother, talked at least a little English, so Richie had been able to exchange a couple of words with some of them, but Frédérique’s brother was surprised that he had also managed to pull off some Italian phrases and handle a short conversation with his mother. He was definitely a charming man with a magnetic personality and engaged in conversation easily while Frédérique was all over the place talking, greeting, smiling - all her usual adorable self - but from time to time she approached Richie and asked him how he was doing or if he needed anything and he had replied negatively.

Not even when lunch was served did Frédérique attempt to sit down and eat, but Richie gently made her sit down and fed her himself with his own fork, while they looked deeply into each other’s eyes - the moment seemed to be reminiscent of previous comfortable and natural intimacy. She then thanked him with a wink and a smile and left the table as soon as she was done chewing and swallowing. This operation was repeated several times and each time Richie resumed the animated conversation he and Emilie had engaged in.

After lunch, Thiage saw Frédérique take Richie by the hand and tug him to join a conversation group, but was soon taken away by a friend or relative that wanted to greet her or congratulate her on her performance and Richie had been left alone among French talking people with a confused look on his face. Thiage decided it was time for him to have a little chat with the man that seemed to provoke such attentiveness and endearment in his sister, so he walked over and addressed him.

“So…Bon Jovi, huh?”. He was actually rather excited to be in the presence of an experienced musician, but tried to tone it down and keep it casual.

Richie nodded and pulled a proud smirk, “That’s right”. He took a sip from his glass of wine, he'd bet his ass that it wasn’t Frédérique who had told him that, so he added, now grinning, “I see rumors spread quickly”

Richie’s smile was so contagious that Thiage barely managed to stiffen a smile and nodded, but soon regained his composure and inquired with a shrug.

“Are you planning on playing something for us?”

Richie chuckled and spoke lazily while he tipped his head in Frédérique’s direction. “Nah...She’s the rockstar here - today I’m happy to be just the guy that tunes her guitar”. As soon as he finished talking he prayed that Thiage hadn’t caught the possible second meaning of what he had said. Too late: Thiage chuckled and kept the subtle undertone.

“She certainly seems happy with your work”, then looked at Richie and couldn’t see his eyes through the sunglasses but he made sure that Richie did see his, and grabbed one of his shoulders. “And she deserves to be happy so I’d hate to hear her guitar is out of tune again”. He smirked and didn't wait for Richie's response, then walked away.

Richie chortled softly and kept quiet: it was probably the first moment since his arrival at the church that he was able to pause and evaluate what was happening. Up until now, everything felt like a play he was acting in, only no one had given him the script. However, he felt relaxed, and decided not to add his own intentions to the action that was developing in front of his eyes and just observe and enjoy.

A few yards in front of him Frédérique sat on a chair under the sun with her little nephew straddling her on her lap, playing with her shiny hair. The boy was telling her something in French which of course Richie couldn’t understand, but he seemed to be excited about it and Frédérique listened with her head tilted to one side, sparkling eyes and that delicious smile of hers.

Seeing Frédérique in her natural habitat only made him want her even more: all her qualities seemed to be enhanced. He had seen her sing before, but never in French, with such emotion or in such a beautiful place. He knew she loved her family, but seeing and experiencing that love up close warmed his heart. She usually and naturally attracted some attention in whatever place she was, but here the amount of attention she got was only overcome by the one attracted by the bride and groom. Even when she spoke French it sounded so much deeper and sexier as her lips formed a full blown pout. And her beauty…she looked stunning and more beautiful and radiant than ever.

Richie had only been able to catch quick glimpses of her universe, but now he was in it. And he wanted it. All of it. Still, there was something standing in his way.

Emilie had let him know at one moment that she knew what had happened, so Richie didn’t need further explanation when she stood by him, following the same direction of his glance and asked him before taking a sip from her own glass of wine.

“Have you two talked yet?”

“Not a chance…” Richie shook his head slightly, “Have ya seen her? She hasn’t stopped for a second”, then chuckled softly, “I got tired just by looking at her running around”.

There was a moment of silence.

“She thought she’d lost you, Richie”, Emilie confided without further ado, “…When she saw you with her”.

Richie felt the sting of Emilie’s comment, but he thought that since he hadn’t been able to talk to Frédérique yet, he could take a shortcut so he explained in a low voice.

“I wasn’t ‘with her’ that night, Emilie, it was just a kiss Nikki gave me as a congratulation”, Richie felt his frustration build inside him so he paused and breathed before continuing. “Why didn’t she talk to me? Yelled at me, slap me on the face or somethin’?”

Emilie chuckled. “Is that what you expected?”, she shook her head when before continuing. “Here we see things in a different way, Richie”, explained Emilie. “When you decide to let someone go, it’s because you’ve thought it through and arrived at the conclusion that it’s the right thing to do, whatever the reason is”, she paused to make sure Richie was following. “If you later regret it and the other person has moved on, you respect their decision and suck it up, then move on yourself. If you are the one on the other end and someone leaves you, you respect the other person’s decision and move on. As simple as that”. She finished with a shrug.

Holy Shit. Simple my ass. Of course, Richie’d been unlucky enough that his behavior matched precisely that pattern. He turned his glance back at Frédérique. “But one thing after the other just went wrong, and I tried to set things straight but she shut me off”.

Emilie rolled her eyes. “It’s frustrating, I know. It just means that she’s done discussing the subject and the more vulnerable she feels, the worse it is. She’s been hurt, Richie. A lot. And that defense mechanism has, in the past, protected her from more than a couple of idiots”. Emilie looked askance at Richie, evidencing her innuendo. Richie finally took his eyes off of Frédérique and turned to look at Emilie, but she interrupted him before he could utter a single word.

“But don’t worry”, she patted Richie’s shoulder and smiled reassuringly, “You’ll get the hang of it”.

Richie chuckled. “Any hints?”

“I'm sorry, you're on your own...”, she grinned and then glanced at Frédérique again, "...but I don't think you'll be needing any, anyway".

Richie turned his head back to Frédérique: her nephew gave her a quick peck on the lips, jumped off her lap and ran away, getting lost among the bushes in the garden. She then started walking toward them so Richie excused himself and walked to meet her. She took his hand, tipped her head to the dance floor and smiled when she invited him.

“Let’s dance”

XLIII

Early Saturday morning Richie finally arrived home after two weeks on tour. A draining show, an extended after party and having slept only a couple of hours on the plane in the wee hours of the morning had left him feeling beaten up. Everyone was eager to get back home and have some rest, and Richie just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until Tuesday.

That previous night he’d been surrounded, as usual, by beautiful women tempting him, and though Richie enjoyed the attention, he could only think of Frédérique: the more he looked at other women the more convinced he was that she was really…something else. Only the possibility of having a chance at fighting for her again had breathed new air into his lungs. However, another thought popped into his mind: how unbelievably lucky he’d been that she was available when they first met…how long would it take for a beautiful, intelligent and sophisticated woman like her to be taken by another man? Richie shuddered at his own thoughts and a certain uneasiness took over him.

Thankfully enough, the box that rested on his living room table caught his attention and he set those disturbing ramblings aside. His assistant had told him she had taken care of the correspondence, but never mentioned any box. Richie checked the sender: Ms. Frédérique Balbé. And the date: it had been sent almost two weeks before.

Richie’s uneasiness level went up - he knew exactly what was on that box before even opening it: it contained the last piece of evidence of his presence in Frédérique’s life, and she had gotten rid of it. He had received a call from Gaby on Thursday informing him that she had taken over the construction stage of the Pennsylvania house. A lump formed in his throat when his hopes were undermined and Richie felt the sting again.

He took the box to his bedroom and opened it: his nostrils immediately recognized Frédérique’s subtle scent masked under the smell of fresh cleaned clothes – she had been in those clothes and the image flashed through Richie’s mind, making his body respond with a flutter in his heart and a throb in his crotch, followed by an incontrollable urgency of being able to tell Frédérique what had happened and to beg for her to forgive him. No, he couldn’t wait until Tuesday.

...

Frédérique was supervising the final details of the decoration and flower arrangements for the wedding when Richie called her, and only managed to greet him briefly before he started talking.

"I know it was a mistake what I said in the interview, but I was so happy with you...I wish you'd told me before and you'd know that it's not important to me", he got no answer so he hesitated but then continued. "You shut down and you wouldn't talk to me, Fred, I thought you just needed time to think, some space, that's why I didn't push" - he ran his fingers through his hair as he clarified – “I had no idea that you were going to Mohegan or that you saw Nikki uh...congratulating me on the show. I went to your apartment the next day to fight for you but you shut down again. I didn't know what else to do, I didn't want to hurt you anymore". Then he finally inhaled again, but realized that Frédérique had remained completely silent during his monologue, so he grimaced during the long silence: if he had fucked things up again he swore he’d cut his balls off.

“Richie…” Frédérique took a deep breath when she finally confirmed Emilie’s theory and became somewhat overwhelmed at the extent of how fucked up things had actually been. She explained calmly “We have so much to talk about I wouldn't even know where to start…and you sound really tired, so I still think it’s better if we wait until Tuesday and talk about it over dinner, what do you say?”. 

Richie sighed as if huge rock had been taken from over his shoulders. “I’ve missed you, baby”, he ventured to use his usual term of endearment and confessed, “You got no idea how much”

Frédérique let out a sigh of relief and replied almost in a whisper: "I've missed you too, Richie. But we can't deal with this right now, not if we want to give it the importance it deserves. Please? Can we wait until Tuesday?”, she pleaded hopefully.

Richie agreed with a wistful smile on his full lips and a nod of his head. “Yeah, you're right…I can wait”.

Liar.

…

A knock on her bedroom door woke Frédérique up early on Sunday morning. She opened the door and took the tray with breakfast, but only had a few sips of the coffee before showering and washing her hair. She put on the dress her mother had made for her using the crochet technique in a copper silk thread, with a nude inner lining that gave it a see-through effect. It was short and showed her toned and tan legs, but the sleeves were long and broad in the wrist. The neckline was a V that plunged down to below her breasts. Frédérique loved it: it had a hippie-retro vibe but the quality of the thread and the technique made it really sophisticated and chic. She flat-ironed her hair and parted it in the middle, venturing with a little more dramatic eye makeup than usual. She wore no accessories, except for a pair of rings in her fingers, and copper high-heel sandals on her feet.

When she was ready she checked up on Marie and after being informed that she felt excellent and was already getting her hair done, she headed for the church to make sure everything and everybody was in the right place and executing the assigned tasks. It was a warm, beautiful, sunny day. Her family lands were adjacent to a medieval monastery so there was no doubt about where to have the religious service, while the  reception was being held outdoors in the beautiful garden outside their house.

In the church she found her brother Thiage: they both shared the same love for music, so Jean and Marie had asked them to play their favorite song at the church. Frédérique and her brother had never played in public before, but this time it was special so they had conceded. Thiage had already brought their guitars and sat on a chair tuning his, deep in concentration when Frédérique joined him. Once both satisfied Thiague suggested they played something to warm up. He let his sister pick for she was doing the lead singing.

They quickly went through “Les Yeux Ouverts”, Jean and Marie’s song, and afterwards Frédérique remembered one, and smiled secretively.

“Maybe you don’t know this one, but can you follow me?”, she asked her brother and he bowed his head silently, then Frédérique let the first notes of the arpeggio sound before singing. Well into the second verse, Thiage looked at his sister with his mouth agape: he’d never seen her sing with such emotion.

…You touched my soul with your beautiful song
You even had me singin’ along right with you
You said I need you
Then you changed the words and added harmony
Then you sang the song you had written for me to someone new

Oh, but nobody sings a love song quite like you do
Oh, and nobody else can make me sing along
Nobody else can make me feel things are right
When I know they're wrong
Nobody sings a love song quite like you

The acoustics of the old church were perfect and enhanced Frédérique’s melodious and expressive voice. Thiage noticed the heartfelt expression in Frédérique’s eyes: she was in love but a veil of sadness covered it, and for some reason, whoever had her heart wasn't there, so Thiage hoped - for the guy's own sake - that he hadn't broken it. It frustrated him that she always kept her love life to herself and buried her heartbreak deep inside thinking that no one else would notice. He remembered how much pain there had been in Frédérique’s eyes so many times before, and how he had wished to be able to protect her from ever having to go through that kind of suffering again. Unfortunately, there was little he could do apart from being there for his sister whenever she might need him.

...Sing your song sweet music man
Travel the world with a six piece band
That does for you what you tell ‘em to
And you try to stay young but the songs are sung
To so many people who’ve all begun came back on you…

When she was finished, there was a long silence. Then a throaty, loud voice with a slight mocking tone made its way through to the other side of the church where brother and sister were sitting.

“It runs in the family, then”

Frédérique’s and Thiage’s heads snapped up to look at the person walking toward them from the entrance: at first Frédérique’s jaw dropped in disbelief - Richie was there, in Bordeaux. Then her face lit up and her lips curved into a wide, bright smile when Richie spoke again with mocking reprimand and a wide grin.

“None of you know how to tune a guitar”

XLII

Frédérique had been pacing in the waiting room of the emergency wing of the hospital for more than fourty minutes when the doctor finally came out and calmly explained that what Marie had suffered wasn’t something to worry about and was probably due to the stress of the days prior to the wedding. He recommended she stayed under observation for the following two days and then at least five more days of quietness, if possible, in bed.

Emilie had accompanied Frédérique and the rest of her family to the hospital so she followed Frédérique down the corridor after her friend silently handed her her purse and strode hurriedly toward the bathroom. Emilie heard a door being slammed and then, sobbing. She waited outside with concern, but remained quiet and attentive: she had witnessed how Frédérique had been holding back the tears stoically at having to face the worst of her fears, only this time it was her brother and his bride who had been exposed to it. Thankfully they had been spared the suffering, but the fact that it was Frédérique’s loved ones who had been exposed must have been what took the best of her.

After a few minutes Emilie finally heard the sobbing become softer and knocked on the door. Frédérique emerged a couple of minutes later freshened up, but still red-eyed.

“Are you alright?” Emilie asked worriedly and Frédérique nodded silently.

In the course of that afternoon and the following morning Frédérique and her father, together with the collaboration of the rest of the family, managed to cancel and reschedule the arrangements for the wedding and call the guests. Frédérique’s mother couldn’t help but comment that they should’ve hired someone to arrange everything in the first place, but neither Frédérique nor her father regretted their decision – they both shared the hands-on attitude. It helped a lot that it wasn’t a huge reception so everything was sorted out by Saturday afternoon and they rescheduled for the Sunday after the next.

Frédérique didn’t leave Marie’s side until Sunday evening when her future sister-in-law was finally allowed to go home. The following day, Frédérique decided to take a walk around the vineyard, it always helped her feel pure and free from suffering. Her heart warmed when she remembered how, despite all their suffering and anguish, Jean and Marie were there for each other and Richie’s words came to her mind as if emerging from under the water: “I got you, babe. That’s all that matters”. Her tummy fluttered.

That night it was already past 3 a.m. when Frédérique sat on the Berger style armchair of her bedroom with a Jane Austen book open on her lap, juggling her cell phone. Fils the salope. Frédérique wasn’t old fashioned, but cell phones really did nothing for romance these days. She turned it off: her mother traditionally woke her up in the morning by knocking on her door and leaving a tray with breakfast outside the door. It felt good to be home and finally be able to turn off that stupid thing.

…

On Tuesday the band had had what Jon liked to call, in The Sopranos’ usage, “a sitdown” in his hotel suite and everyone had had a little more wine than usual. After the rest of the band members had left, Richie stayed for a while longer and both men were talking between laughs about Jon's injury at the Meadowlands' show when finally Jon noticed that Richie became more insightful, a slight cloud of sadness in his eyes - the same he had seen in Frédérique’s. Richie realized that Jon was reading him and it would be a matter of seconds before the conversation derived into Frédérique, but he didn’t want to deal with that anymore – it still hurt too much. Before any of them was able to put their thoughts into words, Richie rose from his seat and kissed Jon goodnight.  

At 11 p.m. the following day they were both still sleeping when a cell phone in Jon’s room rang. Rolling lazily out of bed and pulling his jeans on as he went, Jon grimaced at the sound of the phone ringing:  it wasn’t his, it was Richie’s - he must have forgotten it there the previous night. The screen read “Fred” and Jon stared at it for a few moments, mainly because he was still a couple hours short of sleep and still couldn't make much sense of it, but partly because he didn’t know what to do: he never caviled about answering Richie’s phone, but he doubted his intentions this time. Frédérique was calling Richie, and it was time for Jon to behave.

Jon grabbed the still ringing phone and ran to Richie’s room, but as he was knocking on the door and yelling for Richie to get up, the phone stopped ringing. Fuck. Richie opened the door just enough to silently stretch his arm out, give Jon the finger and put the palm up for Jon to place the phone on it. When it was done, he closed the door back without saying a word.  Jon chuckled and shook his head as he returned to his bedroom: he appreciated Richie’s gesture - he was most certainly naked and Jon didn’t want that image in his mind for the rest of the day.

On the other side of the door, Richie’s lips curved into a wistful smile and his heart race kicked up when he read that there was a voice message from Frédérique, but didn’t dare to hope. Not yet. He put his phone to his ear to listen to the message as he retrieved his jeans from the back of a chair.

 “Richie, hi. It’s Frédérique”, Richie smirked at the fact that she always introduced herself. Like I wouldn’t know. Her voice sounded deep and husky and Richie’s cock throbbed in response: it was her bed voice. “I’m home now but when I get back if you’re interested maybe we could have coffee or something and I could explain what happened”, she paused, “Maybe I’m not even entitled to do this, I understand if you don’t answer back”, she hesitated, “I just thought you should know that I know I made a mistake and that I’m sorry if I hurt you. And Richie…I-“. The message was over.

A vision of Frédérique cuddled in bed, warm, soft and naked flashed in his mind, but his relief was short-lived: the message was rather generic and chances were she meant just what she said – that she was sorry and she wanted to explain, but nothing more. But explain what? After all it was he who had fucked up. Big time. More than once. However, it was a good thing that she was open to talk: he could have a chance at explaining himself and making up for his own mistakes.

Richie opened the courtains to let the daylight in and decided to wait for a few minutes, making some time by putting on his jeans, going to the bathroom, washing his face and teeth and having some water before finally sitting down on the loveseat in his room and dialing. His stomach buzzed in anticipation…and uncertainty. The phone rang three times. Come on come on come on.

“Mmm…aló?” Frédérique answered without even opening her eyes.

“Fred, it’s me”, his voice was thick and serious.

“Hey” she said sleepily while a smile drew on her face when she heard Richie's velvety voice, but she couldn’t allow herself to be hopeful. Not yet.

“Isn’t it like middle ‘a the afternoon there?”, Richie couldn’t help but tease at her sleepy voice.

“I’m sorry, I left the message and fell asleep…I’m so exhausted”, she replied as she stretched. She hadn’t slept more than two hours the previous night and then had spent the whole day running errands for the wedding. She had planned to call Richie as soon as she got home and had some minutes of peace and quiet, so she dropped herself fully dressed on the bed and was fighting sleep when she called Richie - she couldn’t wait any longer. She was bummed by having to leave a message, but finally managed to leave one, barely stopping before her tongue got too loose.

“When can I see you?”, Richie asked, unable to contain his anxiety.

“I’ll be back in New York by Tuesday...would you like to..." she sat back up excitedly, "...have dinner with me?"

“Back in New York?” Richie frowned, “Where are ya?”

“I’m in Bordeaux...my brother’s getting married on Sunday”

“I see”, Richie remained silent for a few seconds and scratched the arm that was holding the phone with his idle hand before speaking again “OK, but Tuesday is still almost a week ahead…", he reasoned out loud, "...and I need to talk to you, Fred. We need to talk”, Richie tried, his tone more demanding.

“Yes, I know...I’m so sorry, Richie”, she apologized sheepishly, “I really owe you an explanation, but I don’t want to do it over the phone”.

“And I owe you one, Fred”, Richie sighed. The last show was on Friday, so maybe...No. He had to keep calm and be patient. “Alright then”, he nodded “So whadda ya say? Dinner on Tuesday?”, he asked casually and suggested, “I can pick ya up at 6 if you want”.

Frédérique chuckled softly and sighed in relief. “Sure, I’ll be looking forward to it”

XLI

Frédérique woke up and turned off the alarm. 8.00 . She stretched a little bit and tried to open her eyes but barely managed: they were still swollen. She sat back up and noticed she had fallen asleep in Richie’s clothes, Stranger in this town still playing on loop in the living room. She had to get rid of them today, so she took them off. They still smelled like freshly cleaned and she didn't have time to have them cleaned anyway, so she quickly folded them before putting them back in the box and closing it. On her way to the office she had it delivered to Richie’s apartment.

Gaby noticed Frédérique’s eyes and asked about it but Frédérique discarded her question. “I’m just tired and I want to go home, that’s all”, but couldn’t disguise her melancholic tone, and Gaby knew the reason, and that Frédérique wasn’t going to talk about it, so she didn’t push. Not even when Frédérique gave her a box containing the band and Richie’s CDs.

…

Richie woke up early on Monday morning - their flight was leaving at 10 a.m., so he had packed the night before. He packed for the next two weeks: he didn’t want to return to his apartment until the tour was over and hopefully he'd forget all about Frédérique in the meantime. Then he’d go back to California for the summer. In the guitar case he found a notebook with a bunch of songs he had written during the time he was with her and threw it in one of the desk drawers on his way out.

Before the show Jon and him took some time to catch up and Richie told him about his past week.

“What now?”, inquired Jon.

“Live, I guess”, Richie replied with resignation, and shrugged. “See what happens next”.

“Ya sure ‘bout this?”, Jon squeezed his friend’s shoulder reassuringly, but he was done intervening: Richie and Frédérique were beyond seeing reason and had both made the decision of moving on. Richie nodded and added: "What else can I do?".

A certain sadness for not being able to see Frédérique ever again was only a fleeting thought in Jon’s mind - he remembered his promise, and if he didn’t keep it, she’d be the one to make sure he did, no doubt about it. Maybe some time later he’d try to contact her, but for now he’d respect her decision and keep to his end of the deal.

…

In Bourdeaux, Frédérique and Emilie lay by the side of the pool, catching the sun. Frédérique was exhausted: no sooner had she set foot in France that she was already taking care of every detail of the wedding planning - both her brother and her future sister-in-law were completely clueless, stressed and on the verge of creating a disaster so she took over and in less than three days everything was pretty much arranged and running smoothly.

That Friday afternoon, however, she could barely stand on her feet: on top of her exhaustion she had gotten her period and as usual, due to her condition, felt more than just uncomfortable.

“What about the painkillers?” asked Emilie with concern.

“The side effects were worse, I dropped them a long time ago” replied Frédérique rolling her eyes, but couldn’t help a little wince from drawing on her face. “I just have to man up and handle it", she sighed, "It’s better than poisoning myself with that stuff”.

She and Emilie then made their usual catching up, which was shorter than previous times since they had seen each other in New York. Emilie couldn’t help but notice that Frédérique was less vivacious than her usual self, a cloud of sadness in her eyes. But it wasn’t just physical pain, and she hadn’t mentioned a word about Richie, so Emilie decided to push.

“What happened?” questioned Emilie casually with little precision in her question so Frédérique could elaborate from it. Maybe she had told Richie and he had ran away like all the others before him.

Of course, Frédérique tried to resist the subject at first almost as a reflex, but she was home, she felt relaxed - there were no boundaries, no walls, no self-defense mechanisms. She felt safe and comfortable, nothing to protect herself from. She paused for a few minutes, and remembered one of the band’s songs from their latest album, it spoke to her naturally.

I've been pushed around
Been knocked down
Lost a round or three
Life took a couple of things I loved
When I was too blind to see

Yes, maybe it was time to finally open up, purify, take everything out of her system. Maybe then she would be finally able to let it go and start again.

Frédérique started telling Emilie about what had happened with Richie, and after narrating the scene in the staircase, Emilie interrupted with a frown. It was definitely NOT like the others, this time it was different, in lots of ways.

“It doesn’t make sense”. She paused meaningfully and recapped. “Let’s start from the beginning: you fall in love again, only this time harder and deeper than ever, but you are the one to get scared, you run away and you shut him off". She let Frédérique nod her agreement, and proceeded. "Alright, we both agree that you had your legitimate fears and doubts and maybe it was too fast and you were overwhelmed by the, let's say... 'particular conditions', but in the end it was a mistake, and you admit to it" Frédérique shrugged but nodded again. "Then when you try to set things straight you find him kissing his friend, so what? You kiss your boy friends on the lips, too!”.

“Oh, believe me it wasn’t just a kiss on the lips" this time Frédérique chuckled throatily with sarcasm. "And if it was, then…why is he with her now?”, she asked flatly.

“How do you know? Have you talked to him? Have you seen him?”

“I didn’t need to,” – Frédérique shook her head – “Jon confirmed it”

Emilie paused for a few moments and shook her head silently before continuing. “No, it doesn’t make sense: if he was with her then why would he go to your apartment and try to get you back?”.

“Maybe because he’s a liar?” Frédérique replied sarcastically.

Emilie let out a puff of air and waited for a few moments. “I don’t know…what you had seemed like the real deal. Do you really think he’s a liar? You left him without a warning and closed all possible doors of communication, maybe he was hurting and he just turned to his friend. Not everybody can hide inside themselves and suck it up like you do". Frédérique recalled Jon’s words. “He says he’s OK but I know he isn’t”, but let Emilie finish. "He’s just human, Frédérique, cut the guy some slack”.

Emilie paused again and sat back up to add firmly: “Look, maybe there’s no way of turning this around, but you could start by taking responsibility for your mistake in the first place and offer him an explanation, don’t you think? What he does with it and if he decides to take responsibility for his actions or not, it’s up to him, but at least you will have done your part”. Emilie raised a questioning brow at Frédérique and waited for her answer.

Frédérique remained thoughtful for long moments. “Yes…maybe you’re right…”, she finally admitted calmly - it sounded reasonable and harmless, it was never her intention to hurt Richie - all the contrary - but if she had, at least she could make up for it by explaining her decision without interfering in his present relationship with Nikki. Yes, she owed him that, it felt like the right thing to do, no matter how difficult it may be to see him again and not being able to touch him and kiss him. If he was interested, of course - she couldn't expect him to be willing to talk to her now. Maybe when she went back to New York they could talk about it over coffee.

As she thought it through, she picked up her phone to get the call that was making it ring. Frédérique’s heart sunk: it was her brother Jean, Marie had been rushed to the hospital.

XL

For long moments after Jon left the following morning, Frédérique remained leaning on the door jamb with her face buried in the coffee cup, which she held with both hands, staring at the empty space in front of her. She took a couple more sips, then picked up Jon’s cup, the wine glasses and bottle and walked to the kitchen to drop them in the sink and in the garbage correspondingly.

Music. Yes, something that could help her focus on the task at hand: reset. Something cheerful…she thought as her fingers ran over the piles of CDs. Buddy Holly. Perfect. Shuffle.

She resumed the task Jon had interrupted the previous night, humming softly to the music.

I wanna tell you how it's gonna be
You're gonna give your love to me
Love that lasts more than one day
Well love is love and not fade away

Then she dried everything and put them back in the cupboard. Heading back to the bedroom she quickly changed the sheets and threw the old ones into the laundry machine together with the clothes that lay on the floor of her bedroom, which were later joined by her tanktop, sleeping shorts and the wool jacket that she had peeled off. Finally, she started the washing program. All this she did in a mechanical fashion, as if on automatic pilot.

Your love for me has got to be real
Before you'd have noticed how I feel
Love real not fade away
Well love real not fade away

Frédérique took a long, hot shower, trying to keep her mind as blank as possible and ignoring the burning sensation the hot water produced when it fell on the skin of her collarbone. When she came out she took a look around her apartment: everything looked exactly like it did the previous morning before she went to work.

She slouched on the sofa for a few moments, paying attention to the music and looking over her shoulder to the view outside the window behind the sofa: it was cloudy and humid. It would possibly rain that afternoon or the next day, for sure. Then some thoughts started crawling into her mind.

Run.

For the first half hour of exercise Frédérique managed to keep her thoughts at bay by going through her plans for the following week: her brother’s wedding was on Saturday, so she’d probably work until Thursday and travel on Friday, then back to New York on Monday. But it seemed so little time – she hadn’t seen her family for more than four months now, since Christmas and New Year. So many things had happened since then…

The events of the previous months flooded her with unstoppable strength and she increased her trot as if trying to leave the memories behind her, but couldn’t, and it hit her – she was once happy and in peace, then Richie came and she had been the happiest she had ever been and later she had fallen as low as she could. Real low. Down to rock bottom. All the pieces of her life were still there: her job, her music, herself…but there was no glue, the pieces weren’t sticking together, they didn’t make sense. Her life was an unrecognizable pile of lose bricks - no matter how hard she had been trying to sustain it by force of will and self-control, it was now officially demolished.

Frédérique had to start all over again, from the foundation up. But where to start? There was only one place where she could always find everything she needed, where she had always turned when one after the other of her previous relationships had ended, where she could pick up all the pieces and try to turn them into something new, a place where she could crash and burn to be born again: home.

No way she could wait until Thursday, so after returning to her apartment, meeting Mrs. Feldman in the corridor, checking the humidity stains and informing her neighbour that they were being produced by a failure in the ceiling’s waterproof materials, she started the computer and logged online to find the next plane ticket home. OK, not exactly the next – she couldn’t just disappear from the studio, she’d have to wait at least until Monday night so she could have time to leave everything in order and everybody organized before she left.

She realized she hadn’t eaten anything since the previous night so after a quick shower she cooked and ate while she watched Luis Buñuel’s movie “Belle du jour” on her laptop. By the time she was finished she started cleaning up and found herself fighting sleep - she hadn’t slept much the previous night and the week had been hectic, so she crawled into bed and fell asleep right away.

…

At the same time Richie stood in front of the window in his bedroom of the Philadelphia apartment, Paul Simon on the background. He had just arrived from California and had a shower. Jetlag was killing him, and he had to recover before they started the last two weeks of shows of the tour, which would cover the southeastern states. He was looking forward to the shows, to be back with the crowds, with his friends, to be swallowed by the circus so he could forget that past week.

What a tremendous mistake it had been. Yes, maybe the first couple days weren’t that bad, he had just laid back and drunk himself senseless, then let Nikki have his way with him. It was OK, he let her do all the work and it kind of got him through. But by Thursday night he realized that the drinking had to stop at one moment: he hadn’t seen his daughter since he had arrived so he had to get himself together and be with her before resuming the tour.

And Nikki became more demanding than he was willing to put up with. He was thankful for her being there for him, and he admired her - she was a talented woman - , but her temper made him cringe.

And she wasn’t Frédérique.

They had a long conversation on Friday morning back at the headquarters and Richie told her that it just wasn’t working for him, that he didn’t want it to interfere with their business partnership. Nikki had cried and ranted, but he wasn’t changing his mind, he had made a decision and was sticking to it: he had to get his shit together and deal with his pain all by himself like a grown man.

…And I was in crazy motion
Til you calmed me down
It took a little time
But you calmed me down…

He was still hurting, though. He couldn’t believe his good luck on one hand, for having met a wonderful woman like Frédérique, and his bad luck on the other, for having lost her to a sequence of inauspicious events and his own screw-up’s.  It was as if because of some kind of malefic spell he’d been able to catch a glimpse of the sweetest of dreams and just when he was starting to believe it was real, he had woken up, only to find that it was just an illusion, only to let him know what it was that he could never have.

When something goes wrong
I'm the first to admit it
But the last one to know
When something goes right
Well it's likely to lose me

…I can't get used to something so right
Something so right…

Yes, everything in Frédérique worked for him. Everything in her was right. It felt right. It was too good to be true, he should have known that from the start, but had become so infatuated by her…it came so naturally to love her. But things had just gone wrong, and she didn’t love him.

He missed her. Frédérique might not love him, but Richie still loved her.

He dropped himself on the bed, hugged his pillow and fell asleep right away.

…

Frédérique came awake with a jerk to the sound of thunder and heavy drops of rain hitting on the panes of the window in her bedroom. She remained still for a few minutes waiting for the numbness to disappear before she sat back on the bed. It was still daytime, but the dark clouds in the sky didn’t give her any clue of the time that had passed since she fell asleep, it should be nighttime by then. Had she just taken a quick nap? How come her stomach was growling and her mouth was dry? She frowned and took the cell phone from the nightstand. 3.05 p.m. It wasn’t possible. She looked at the date. Sunday. She had slept for almost 18 hours. Wow. But she didn’t quite feel rested, something was dragging her down.

To clear her mind and tame her stomach at least until she could prepare something to eat, she made some coffee and sipped from the cup as she watched the rain falling outside her window. She called home and told her mother about her plans and they arranged for one of her brothers to go pick her up at the airport. After hanging up she set the alarm clock to 8.00 a.m. – she’d have to start the following day earlier than usual. Then she ate some scrambled eggs with blue cheese and olives.

It was going to be a long Monday: she had to hand over Richie’s project to Gaby (which was still in the Building Permit stage, but construction should be starting to be organized), then talk to her bosses of course, she hadn’t taken many days off since she had arrived so she figured there wouldn’t be any problem, but it was in a way too short a notice so she didn’t know how they’d take it, and then finally she needed to have a meeting with the rest of the museum team. She could work online from home, no problem, but she wanted to go through the pending stages to make sure everything was in order.

It was better if she packed things now: she’d probably wouldn’t have much time after the office the next day, so she opened the cupboard to look for the suitcase. And there it was: the box that contained Richie’s clothes.

Frédérique stared at it for a few moments as if it were a bomb about to explode in her face. She fell back on the bed and felt the sting again. It hurt. Real bad. She wanted to be close to Richie, smell him, feel his soft and warm skin against hers. The clothes in that box were as close as she could get to him right then, and possibly ever. She carefully pulled it out and opened it to take a white silk shirt and a pair of leather trousers Richie had worn one night when they went out for dinner. Frédérique had sent them to the dry cleaner’s the following day so they were still fresh despite having been there for some weeks. And there was the fuzzy leopard print hat, too, and she couldn't help a secretive little smile from curving the corners of her lips upwards.

She took off her clothes leaving only her underwear and put Richie’s clothes on. She sighed: the pants were at least 10 inches longer than her legs, and she remembered perfectly Richie’s trim, long legs once filled them. She left the top buttons of the shirt undone, just the way he used to, remembering his soft and molded pecs. God how she loved to nip at them.

She also found the band’s and Richie’s CDs inside the box - maybe she’d give them to Gaby on Monday - , but she wanted to hear Richie’s voice one last time. She popped “Stranger in this town” into the CD player and lay on the center of the bed, on her side in fetal position. It was still raining outside and it was already dark. And she cried. Her eyes out.

She missed him. Richie might have lied to her, and love another woman now, but Frédérique still loved him.