‘Yeah. Occasionally. Valerie is fun. She knows the score.’ He grins at me. ‘Go on. Be a little bit naughty. Try it. You might find you like it. No one need ever know. What happens in Paris, stays in Paris.’
This is supposed to be the city of love, not the city of three in a bed, but I’ve drunk so much that it’s clouding my judgement and I’m not exactly sure how to say no without appearing gauche. Never in a million years did I expect him to spring this one on me. Even Charlie didn’t warn me about this! Oh, my Lord. What am I to do now?
‘Have you done this before?’ Mason asks.
‘Never!’
‘I want you to feel entirely comfortable, Ruby,’ Mason stresses. ‘But don’t you feel a little bit tempted?’
And, I hate this, but he’s right. I am tempted. Part of me wants to say yes. I’ve never done this before, never had the opportunity and I wonder should it be on my bucket list. I read Cosmopolitan – when I find it in the hairdressers. Isn’t it the sort of thing that modern women do? Clearly it’s what Valerie does.
‘Be adventurous. No one need ever know but us. It can be our secret. You said you wanted to try some new experiences.’
I was thinking nice cheese or expensive wine. Not sharing my boyfriend with another lady. There’s another tentative knock at the door.
Mason looks at me earnestly. ‘I can send her away or she can come in. It’s entirely your call, Ruby.’
When I can’t really think of anything else to say, I bite down my apprehension and gulp as ‘OK’ pops out of my mouth.
Still naked, Mason opens the door and a second later Valerie is inside and stripping off her blouse. While I’m still wondering why the hell I’ve agreed to this, he helps her to undress and I sit there feeling more than a bit like a lemon. When Valerie’s naked too, she climbs onto the bed and takes my hand, guiding it to her waist. I feel frozen with terror, even though she’s soft and smiling. I have no idea what to do, but I’m pretty sure that bolting for the door isn’t an option. I could stop this, I know I could, yet something inside me is letting this happen. Is it because Simon, during our break-up, told me that I was as boring as hell in bed? I’m not. I’m sure I’m not. But that kind of thing sticks with you. He certainly wouldn’t say that if he could see me now.
While all this is knocking round my brain, Mason kisses me, then kisses her. Next Valerie’s mouth is on mine. Strains of Katy Perry’s song, ‘I Kissed a Girl’ go through my head. But I’m not sure I do like it. It just feels weird. Her lips are silky, her olive skin too. I can’t help but notice that she has a fantastic body, taut and toned, and I can’t say I’ve ever noticed that in a woman before. Rather than making me feel sexy, I think she’s making me feel very old and cellulitic.
‘Relax, Ruby,’ she purrs, her voice husky. ‘We’ll just have some fun. You will enjoy this.’
Then she goes further and her hands are on my skin, her fingers exploring, her lips sweet and firm. Mason joins in. Soon we’re a tangle of limbs – me, Valerie and Mason – and I’m not sure which bits are mine, whose hands are pleasuring me. Yet, God help me, I’m turned on even if I’m not certain that I want to be. However, it’s too late to back out now. I’m in for a penny and for a pound – or a Euro in this case – so I close my eyes and let the new and strange sensations flow over me.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I wake up just as it’s coming light. Valerie and Mason have all the covers and I’m cold, hanging onto about an inch of bed. I look at them both, comfortable in sleep, legs entwined and feel mortified. As I think of the things that we did last night a flush comes to my neck and a feeling of nausea hits my stomach. Breathe, Ruby, breathe.
Running a hand through my hair, I wonder how I managed to get myself in this situation. I am so out of my comfort zone. I thought it might make me feel as if I had one up on my ex, but instead I’m just kind of feeling tawdry and a bit unclean. Perhaps Simon was right all along. I’m just not the adventurous type. If he could see me now he wouldn’t think I was a racy, daring woman. He’d think I was an idiot. And he’d be right.
If I could, I’d go straight to the station now and run away from this. Also, I have the motherfucker of all hangovers. My head throbs. I think it was the brandies that finished me off. I’m never touching the stuff again. I always thought that I got a bit reckless on gin, but brandy has taken me to a whole new level.
As quietly as I possibly can, I get out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom, collecting last night’s clothes from the floor as I do. I don’t even want to pee in case I wake them, but needs must. Afterwards, I splash cold water onto my face which hurts – everything hurts. Deciding a shower will be too noisy, I wash my important little places, dress quickly and, pulling on my jacket still damp from last night’s rain, creep out of the room into the grey Paris dawn.
I thank God for Google Maps as I head out into the unfamiliar streets and make my way towards the Eiffel Tower. There are very few people on the streets, a handful of delivery vans unloading, someone sleeping in a doorway. A couple of streets away, there’s a lone café open so I get myself a coffee – a latte, hot and milky – then sit at one of the metal tables on the street while I drink it. In reality, it’s too cold to be sitting outside, but doing just this was on my Wish List for Paris, so I’m damn well going to. The trees are out in blossom and Paris in the springtime looks just as lovely as it’s supposed to.
When my bones are starting to seize up with the cold and I’ve finished my coffee, I push on. Soon, I’ve negotiated the building traffic and am standing beneath the edifice of the Eiffel Tower, which is magnificently impressive. The delicate ironwork legs that stretch skywards do a good job of dwarfing every other building. Even at this hour, there are plenty of people here. There’s a photographer doing a photo-shoot with a handsome couple posing with a red balloon. Bit clichéd, I suppose, but it reminds me to take out my phone and snap a few selfies. Despite not being the biggest fan of heights I’d love to go to the top. It has to be done, no? But it doesn’t open for another three hours and you’d probably be better to buy tickets in advance. Maybe I can come back another time. I’m sure Mason would know what was the best thing to do but, of course, he’s otherwise engaged. I check my watch again. I’m sort of putting off going back to the hotel. What if Valerie’s still there and they expect me to get down to it again? Shudder. Don’t think I could do that in the cold light of day. That’s definitely an activity best undertaken after too much champagne, red wine and brandy. That thought makes me feel slightly queasy.
I meander round the adjoining park and stroll down to take a look at the murky brown ribbon of the Seine. The sun is slowing rising higher now, warming my face. Then my phone pings and it’s Mason. Where are you? I’m worried.
Just walking, I text in return.
Come back. Let’s get breakfast.
While I’m hesitating over my reply, another one comes in.
Valerie’s gone now.