“Well, now that we got all that out of the way, why don't I make us breakfast? And may I point out to you that if you don't come back to me, Fiona Monaghan, that makes you nothing more than a one-night stand, and you're not that kind of woman. Nor am I that kind of man.”
“Then I'll learn to be. I will never marry you again.”
“I don't recall asking you,” he said as he got out of bed, and stood next to her with his arms around her. “I love you, and I think you love me. What we decide to do about it remains a matter for some discussion.”
“I won't discuss it with you,” she said stubbornly, still standing naked next to him, but she didn't resist his embraces. She had enjoyed the night before as much as he did. “I thought you were leaving.”
“My plane isn't till four o'clock. I don't have to leave for the airport till one.” The clock on her bed table said it was nine o'clock. That gave them exactly four hours to solve the problem. “We can discuss it over breakfast.”
“There's nothing to discuss,” she said as she stormed into the bathroom and slammed the door, and he climbed into his trousers and went to make breakfast. She joined him ten minutes later after brushing her teeth and combing her hair, wearing a pink bathrobe.
“Did you steal that from the Ritz?” he asked with interest. He was scrambling eggs and frying bacon, and looked perfectly happy.
“No,” she growled at him, “I bought it. I can't believe I slept with you. That's the dumbest thing I've ever done. I don't do retreads.”
“That's a charming thing to call me.”
“I could call you a lot worse, and should have,” she said, sticking a baguette in the oven to heat it up, and putting on a pot of coffee. “This was just plain stupid.”
“Why? We love each other.” He looked calm as he glanced at her. He hadn't been this happy since he left her.
“Would it be tasteless to remind you that you divorced me? And for all I know, you were right. Our lives were just too different.”
“Everything's different now. You're a starving writer, living in a garret in Paris. You could marry me for my money.”
“I have my own money, I don't need yours.”
“That's a shame. If you were after me for my money, everything would be perfect.”
“You're not taking this seriously,” she scolded him, as she took the baguette out, and poured them both coffee. She put the correct amount of sugar in it, and handed him the cup.
“I'm taking it very seriously. You're the one who's not serious. It's totally immoral to sleep with a guy and tell him to get lost in the morning. Particularly if he says he loves you.”
“I don't want a relationship, I don't want a boyfriend, and I don't want a husband. I just want to be left alone to write my book. Look, we did a stupid thing. We went to bed, lots of ex-wives and ex-husbands do that. It's called a lapse of judgment. We did it. It's over. You go back to New York. I'll stay here. We forget we ever did it.”
“I refuse to forget it. I'm addicted to your body,” he said, teasing her as he put the scrambled eggs on plates, added the bacon, and sat down at the kitchen table.
“You've done fine without my body for the last year. Join a twelve-step program.”
“You're not funny,” he said seriously.
“Neither are you. Neither was what we did last night. It was just plain stupid.”
“Stop saying that. It's insulting. It was wonderful and you know it. And do you know why? Because we love each other.”
“We used to love each other. We don't even know each other now. We're practically strangers again.”
“Then get to know me.”
“I can't. You're geographically undesirable. And I know better. John,” she said seriously, holding a forkful of eggs, which were delicious, “be reasonable. I drove you crazy. You hated being married to me. You said so. You left me.”
“I was scared. I didn't know what I was doing. Your whole life and world were unfamiliar to me. Now I miss them. I miss you. I think about you all the time. I don't want some boring blonde from the Junior League. I want my crazy redhead.”
“I'm not crazy,” she said, looking miffed.
“No, but your life was, a little. Or eccentric at least.”
“Maybe you'd be bored now. I've become very reclusive.”
“At least you're not frigid,” he teased her.
“I could learn to be, if that would convince you to stay away from me. Just take last night as a memory, kind of a good-bye gift we gave each other. Leave it at that. We'll laugh at it twenty years from now.”
“Only if we're still together,” he said firmly.
“I can promise you we won't be. I'm not coming back to you. And you don't really want me, any more than you did before. You just think you do, because you can't have me.”
“Fiona, I love you,” he said, sounding desperate.
“I love you too. But I'm not going to see you again. Ever. If this is how we behave when we're together, it proves we can't be friends, which was what I thought anyway.”
“Then let's be lovers.”
“We live in different cities.”
“I'll fly here on weekends.”
“Don't be silly, that's crazy.”
“So is not being with someone you love whom you once loved enough to marry.”
“And hated enough to divorce,” she reminded him again, and he rolled his eyes, chewing on a piece of bacon. The coffee had been delicious. She always had made great coffee.
“I didn't hate you,” he corrected her, looking mortally embarrassed.
“Yes, you did. You divorced me,” she said primly, finishing her eggs, and looking at him.
“I was an asshole. I admit it. I was stupid.”
“No, you weren't,” she said gently. “You were wonderful, that's why I loved you. I just don't want to do it again. We did it. It's over. Why screw up the good memories with more bad ones? I had almost forgotten the bad part, and now you come along and want to do it all again. Well, I just don't want to.”
“Good. Let's not. Let's just do the good part.”
“We did that last night. Now you can go back to New York to your friend from the Junior League and get on with your life without me.”
“You just ruined that for me. Now you owe me something,” he said, leaning back in his chair and looking at her smugly. “You can't just sleep with me and turn my life upside down and then toss me aside like so much trash. What if I get pregnant?” he asked, looking outraged, and she laughed at him and then leaned over and kissed him.
“You truly are crazy,” she said happily.
“I caught it from you,” he said, and kissed her back, as he glanced past her at the clock and then smiled at her. “And as long as you're going to just use me and throw me away and forget me, what do you say we give each other a little more to forget before I have to catch the plane to New York? I've got a couple of free hours, if you'll stop talking.” She was about to tell him it was a ridiculous idea, but when he kissed her again, she decided it wasn't. Five minutes later, they were back in her bed again and stayed there for the next two hours.
He got out of bed at noon regretfully. He had to shower, shave, dress, and pick his things up at the Crillon. He had sent his driver away the night before, and told him he would take a cab back to the hotel. He didn't want to keep him waiting. And he had arranged to meet him at the hotel the next day at one o'clock to take him to the airport. He had wanted to walk around Paris in the morning, but liked what he had done with Fiona much better.
“I hate to leave you,” he said sadly, as he put his jacket on. He had no idea when he would see her again, or if she would let him. She was incredibly stubborn, and she seemed absolutely determined to end it. Or not even start it.
“You'll forget me before you land in New York,” she reassured him.