Journey

THEY ARRIVED IN PARIS AT TEN P.M. local time, and there was a car waiting for them. It was a beautiful warm night as they drove to the Ritz, and got there at eleven o'clock. The Place Vendôme was brightly lit, and the doorman recognized them immediately. But in spite of the beauty of the scene, it was anything but romantic to Maddy. For the first time in years, she felt like a prisoner. Jack had crossed over the line. And she looked blank and felt numb as she walked into the lobby behind him.

She usually loved going to Paris with him, but not this time. There was nothing but ice and pain between them, and for the first time in years she felt the sick feeling of being abused, and she knew that although he hadn't battered her, he might as well have. It was a side of him she had never before confronted, and she wondered now how often and in how many ways this had happened. She had never allowed herself to think of it before, but now the feelings were no different than they had been in Knoxville with Bobby Joe. The setting was just fancier, but she realized now that she was still the same person. She was just as trapped as she had been then. Jack's words of the night before still echoed in her ears as they brought the bags in, “I own you.” And she had agreed by coming with him.

The suite at the Ritz was as beautiful as it always was. They had a view of the Place Vendôme, a living room and bedroom and two baths. The entire suite was done in pale yellow satin. And the hotel had filled three vases with long-stemmed yellow roses. She would have loved it if she hadn't felt so heartsick over Jack.

“Is there any particular reason why we're here?” Maddy asked him lifelessly as he poured himself a glass of champagne, and offered her one. “Is it just to keep me off the air, or is there some better reason?”

“I thought we needed a vacation,” he said simply, and all the fury of the day before seemed to have vanished as she took the glass of Cristal from him. She didn't even want it, but she needed something to numb her. “I know how much you like Paris and I thought it would be fun for us.”

“After everything you've said to me in the past two days, how can you say that?” The prospect of anything being “fun” with him was absurd.

“Because that was business, and this isn't,” he said calmly. “You walked right into something that was a matter of national security and you had no business being there. Maddy, I was trying to protect you.”

“That's bullshit,” she said, sipping the champagne. She was not yet ready to forgive him for his threats, his words, or his saying that he owned her. But she didn't want to argue with him either. She was exhausted and depressed.

“Why don't we just put that behind us, and enjoy Paris? We both needed a vacation.” She felt as though she needed a lobotomy or maybe a new husband. She had never felt as betrayed by him in all the years they'd been married. And she couldn't help wondering how, or if, they would recover. “I love you, Mad,” he said, moving closer to her, as he ran his fingers sensually up the arm that he had used the day before to shake her. She still remembered the feeling, and knew she always would.

“I don't know what to say to you,” she said honestly, “I'm angry and hurt, and maybe even a little bit scared of you. I feel sick over everything that happened.” She was always scrupulously honest with him, far more so than he was with her.

“That's why we're here, Mad. So we can forget our jobs, our work, our problems, our differences of opinion. We came here,” he said, snuggling up to her, and putting his glass down on the Louis XV table, “to be lovers.” But she didn't feel like being lovers. She just wanted to hide and lick her wounds, and be alone for a while until she understood what she was feeling. But he wouldn't let her do that. He was kissing her, and he started unzipping her dress, and before she could stop him, he had her bra off.

“Jack, don't … I need some time … I can't …”

“Yes, you can,” he said, covering her lips with his own, and nearly swallowing her, and then his mouth moved to her breasts, and her dress seemed to disappear along with her underwear, and he laid her on the floor and was kissing her and caressing her, and his tongue was so powerful and so effective that she wanted to muster all her strength to resist him, but found she couldn't. And much to her chagrin, after a moment more, she knew she didn't want to stop him. He took her there, on the floor, as they rose and fell in each others arms, and their climax was so swift and so powerful that she didn't expect it. She was his again, and she lay breathless for a time, clinging to him, and wondering how it had happened, and why.