We Will Always Have Paris

Chapter Twenty

Gerald's POV:

Marilyn was tucked up safely in her bed. I, however, did not feel like napping after our little date in the fish pond. I had too much energy, and I was way too mad to let Sammy think he could get away with the shit he was pulling with my girl. I marched down the stairs, knowing that after dinner he would be having a joint in the courtyard. I knew this asshole way too well. He was there, in a gray hoodie and white jeans, looking every bit as much as the pond scum that he was.

"Sammy."

He turned to me, joint hanging between his lips, his tattooed fingers twitching to a song only he could hear.

"Oh, hey G. Didn't know you were in town."

"Didn't know, or didn't care?"

He shrugged, that stupid sly smile spreading across his thin lying lips, "What's the difference?"

"Why did you tell Marilyn?"

He shrugged again, edging closer to me, dropping his voice to a whisper, "She deserved to know the truth. Don't you think so, G?"

I swung my hand up, ready to punch his smirk right off of his boyish face. But I couldn't, because he was telling the truth.

His awful grin told me that he knew that, "See, truth isn't all that hard G. You just gotta know when's the right time to tell it."

I narrowed my eyes at him, "What do you mean?"

"She didn't tell you that we hooked up?" He laughed mirthlessly, "Nah don't answer that, the look tells all G. Man, she was so pissed that you had your shirt off-your shirt!-that she agreed to hookup with me to back at you! Imagine if she knew the full truth of what you did that night." His voice dropped low, accusatory, and the shame of that night with whoever those two girls had been stung deep.

"Don't tell her."

"Why not? It's not like you will."

Again, Sammy was right. There was no way I was going to tell Marilyn the full extent of that night in the club, and all that happened after it.

"Call it a truce man, you got my girl once and now I got yours."

"This is hardly over Sammy." I snapped

He coolly tapped the ash from his joint, "Well, then I guess that Marilyn will find out the truth one day." He brought the joint to his lips and took a long draw. There was nothing-and yet everything-that I could do.

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I was with Marilyn for Halloween, taking a night off from my tour to see my girl. She dressed up as Marilyn Monroe, a concept that she found unbelievable hilarious, and I dressed as James Dean. We went to a Fifth Floor party and I couldn't believe that no one ever got caught during those parties. When the party ended around 3 am, I took her back to my hotel room and we made a night of it, but I couldn't stand the thought of Sammy touching her. It made me sick, and I couldn't fuck her. Then, I left after lunch to continue on my tour, leaving my girl sleeping alone in a king sized bed.

Marilyn's POV:

It was a cold, snowy Saturday about a week after Halloween. Having grown up in Denver where it snowed every so often I was used to the chilly weather, but being in Paris where it hardly ever snowed I had grown unaccustomed to the cold. I was bundled up in a maroon cardigan, pink scarf, white sweater, and the usual black jeans with boots. I was on the second floor, just outside Michael's door, when I heard an angry female voice.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing! You spend all of your time with her!" it was Patti, her voice barely holding back from yelling.

"I'm not-"