In the Interlude

Chapter 51 - To Be or Not To Be

Tom laid in bed and kissed the top of Aïcha's head, breathing in her sweet scent. His heart lurched as she snuggled up with a contented sigh.

He had tried his best to forget her this summer. He had buried himself in his work, and his memories of them together in his anger.

But trying to forget didn't work.

And when he had talked to Charlotte, she rattled the foundations of his certainties and opened up his eyes to the possibility of a different reason - something he could live with and maybe, just maybe, something he could reason with. Because if there was one thing he knew, it was that the online gossip wasn't the reason why she had pulled the plug on them.

So here he was earlier, knocking on her hotel room door and the most pressing on his list was to talk to her, to finally understand what really happened in that mind of hers.

But they ended up in bed.

He was not complaining. He missed her.

He missed the warmth of her skin, the curve of her hips, the sound of her moans. He missed being with her.

But now what?

Tom had just laid his cards on the table. She had done the same. He loved her and she loved him. It shouldn't be complicated. But it was anything but simple. In fact, he still had no idea where they stood.

He was anxious about asking the questions he came for in the first place. But now wasn't the time nor the place to talk about this, about them, about what would happen between them next. He wanted to focus on this moment, hold onto it as long as he could.

Tomorrow. At dinner.

He just hoped she'd be there.

Tom shifted slightly in bed and adjusted his head on the pillow to face her. His finger trailed the line of her neck, lingering on her collarbone. "I love the new haircut," he said in a low voice as if afraid of disturbing the stillness of the moment. "It's an open invitation to kiss the back of your neck."

She blushed at his words. He could see it clearly on her cheeks and her neck.

"Oh, merci." She smiled and planted a soft kiss on his nose. "I just passed by a hairdresser one Saturday afternoon. I've had enough of...," she paused a moment and turned on her back keeping her face turned toward him. "Well, I've just had enough of how my face looked at me in the mirror and wanted a bit of change... et voilà!"

Tom frowned. Her voice sounded light and playful, unlike her words. He pressed himself on his hands and stretched out on top of her, his weight pinning her to the mattress. He looked at her for a second. "There's nothing more beautiful than your face, Aïch. Long or short hair," he said, his gaze locked on her.

This beautiful woman owned his heart in her hand and he hoped she would not crush it again. She filled the holes in his life he didn't even know he had. Releasing a sigh, he buried his head in the curve of her neck. "I love you," he whispered with urgency in her hair.

Aïcha clamped her lips tight together, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. She loved him like she never thought she could love someone ever again. Why did she have to break his heart and hers into little pieces when all she wanted was to never let go?

She shivered as his teeth scraped the tender skin on the side of her shoulder. His hands travelled all over her body as if he wanted to take in every inch of her. She put her hands on both sides of his face and looked at his sweet features. She had been so sure that she had made the right decision, saving them both from inevitable heartache. But the heartache was there and it didn't go away. And God knows how hard she had tried. And the sight of him here in her hotel room, the feel of his minty breath on her face, of his chiselled chest grazing her breasts, of his big hands all over her body, of his strong thighs trapping hers, was everything she ever wanted to wake up to for the rest of her life.