Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

21. Just Like Paris

Carnival of Light (Part 2)

21.

Paul picked me up the moment we stepped into my bedroom, apparently for the sole purpose of throwing me down on the bed once we reached it. I hit the mattress with a bounce and a breathless laugh and shuffled out of my jeans while I watched him take off his clothes. Then he was on top of me, his skin warm against mine and his hands all over me, fitting to me perfectly and feeling as good as he always did.

We didn't do much talking that first night. We spent the evening remembering all our favourite ways to make love, and by the time we'd had our fill of each other we were too tired to discuss anything other than the possibility of a bath and some room service for dinner.

Paul was jet lagged and exhausted from travelling, and fell asleep early. I let him be and did some writing at my desk in the sitting room. I felt physically and emotionally and intellectually electrified.

Shagging was one thing Paul and I were good at together. Compartmentalising aspects of our relationship was another one. I determinedly did not think about any of the resolutions I'd given myself before he arrived, choosing to live in the present where he was here for me to enjoy as much as I liked instead of the future where he was gone again or the past where everything had fallen apart.

When I came to bed, Paul pulled me into his arms without waking up. I felt wide awake, too alive to be unconscious. But my thoughts were calm, not racing, and the warmth of his chest and his steady breathing soon lulled me to sleep like it always used to.

In the morning, I woke to Paul's fingers drifting through my hair and his heart beating under my cheek. The air smelled like cigarettes, and I guessed he'd been up for a bit smoking as he waited for me to wake up. I tipped my head back to look up at him. His black hair was shiny and messy and his jaw scruffy and unshaven, his hazel eyes very beautiful with their long lashes.

Paul offered me a lazy smile as he took a drag off his cigarette and I smiled too. My eyes were drawn to the balcony doors where the sky was grey instead of sunny, the glass spattered with raindrops. I pushed myself up on my hand to watch the rain, holding the bedsheet to my chest.

"Finally," I sighed happily. "I've been dying for it to rain."

"You want it to rain?" Paul looked amused. "Isn't the point of California that it's sunny all the time?"

"I suppose it makes you appreciate the rain," I gave him a look. "It hasn't rained once since I've been here. That's too much sun."

"You're just an English girl who likes the rain under that suntan," Paul smirked, offering me his fag.

I wrapped my lips around the filter, taking a drag. He brushed my hair over my shoulder, his fingers drifting down my bare arm making me shiver as I exhaled a plume of smoke.

"Don't suppose I can get a decent cuppa here?" Paul raised an eyebrow.

"Absolutely not," I braced myself on my elbow so I was facing him. "But I can ring down for coffee."

"Ring down for coffee," Paul grinned. "I thought it was a bit off you living in a hotel, but it actually makes perfect sense. You would choose the only bloody castle in LA to live in."

"This is not a castle," I lifted my chin. "It's a chateau. It doesn't have battlements or a moat."

Paul laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he tipped his head back against the headboard. We just smiled at each other, and I felt so happy to be with him again.

"So what's the screenplay business like?" He widened his eyes, taking a final drag off his fag before putting the end out in the ashtray.

I shrugged. "Literally a business, I suppose."