| Falling in Love
"True Season of Love"
Location of story: Paris, France
Excerpt from Chapter Six
Olivia was falling in love for the first time—real, true love. She felt happy and did not want her love tainted with her past.
Thursday, April fourth was Ptolemy’s birthday. Olivia surprised him with a basket filled with mezedes from Grecque Athené and a cake with thirty-two candles. “Happy birthday!” Olivia shouted, as she presented Ptolemy with a bottle of Moet champagne. She kissed his cheek.
An ecstatic Ptolemy swept Olivia in his arms, kissed her lips, and hugged her. “You’re full of surprises,” he whispered. “I’ve never had a birthday party.”
Olivia met his French and African staff, a group of ten men and women. She sat with them, ate, joked, discussed soccer and baseball, looked at their family pictures, and took pictures with them.
Once the staff had gone home, Ptolemy and Olivia were alone. She toured Ptolemy’s office and shop, fascinated by the swords. The swords, displayed on a wall in different variations and lengths, showed one with a pearl and silver hilt. Olivia sipped champagne and stared at the sharp, thin blade. It was a rapier, sleek and very feminine. She touched its hilt.
Ptolemy stood behind her. “Do you like it?”
His nearness intoxicated her. “It’s beautiful.”
“My soul went into its design. It is an emotional piece. It reminds me of you. It has a sharp-pointed tip for thrusting, piercing one’s heart,” teased Ptolemy.
Olivia turned and looked up at him. Her eyes shone with happiness. “I am flattered.”
Ptolemy removed the wineglass from Olivia’s hand and kissed her. A kiss reminiscent of their first night, thought Olivia. Next, he gently kissed her between her eyes, on the tip of her nose, and then passionately on her lips.
Olivia often thought of it as the ritual kiss. She trembled. It was sudden and caught her off guard, but she responded and returned the kiss.
Ptolemy held Olivia close; he was afraid to let go, afraid to speak, for fear she would push him away. When they did part, she whispered his name in a way that made his flesh burn with desire. He kissed the hollow of her throat. He wanted to explore more than kissing, but Olivia gently pushed him away.
Her mind told her to resist, but her body screamed to let it happen. Her heart pounded in her chest. “I had better start back. It is only eleven miles or so, but I don’t want to get caught in heavy traffic.”
They looked at each other for a moment. He caressed her hair. “Livia …” he paused and then reached for her again.
Ptolemy was so right for Olivia. Desire ignited, she felt herself respond as he began to unbutton her blouse. She felt herself melting inside, melting with desire.
She opened her mouth, but he kissed her before she spoke, with little kisses in the corner of her mouth and then her top and bottom lip. Then, he inserted his tongue inside her mouth, and she felt herself dissolving. She came undone, lost to his kisses and demanding hands.
Yet, it took emotional and mental strength for her to pull away. She breathed as if she had run in a marathon. “Don’t,” she said, as she backed away, trembling and breathing hard.
Confused, Ptolemy walked toward Olivia, slipped his hands through her hair, and stared at her, their faces inches apart. “You want me just as much as I want you, Livia.” His voice was thick and unsteady.
“I do, but not here,” whispered Olivia hoarsely. “I want us to take our time … until we’re sure.”
Ptolemy let her go, and Olivia removed her car keys out of her purse with trembling hands.
Ptolemy was persuasive. He had affected her emotions. Olivia wanted him but still had doubts. She knew it would be different. It would not be like her and Amos. When she thought of what it would be like, she felt butterflies in her stomach. She knew he cared, and a joyous sensation welled up in her. She felt his love would consume her, but she needed time to rid herself of uncertainties about them.
With fumbling hands, Olivia buttoned her blouse, as Ptolemy watched in silence.
Olivia walked out into the cool spring evening with wobbly knees. She had entered through the smithy and had not seen how beautiful the main entrance was. There was a sprawling manicured lawn with trimmed hedges. The door, heavy oak, with expensive brass fittings, had a sign above the building that advertised “Verenis’s Blades.”
Olivia opened her car door and turned to look at the building again. Ptolemy watched her from the entranceway. She put the key in the ignition, placed her foot on the gas pedal, and waved as she drove away.
Her eyes burned with tears. She was in love, but afraid and did not know why. Perhaps their skin color, the demarcation line that separated them. Perhaps it was because she knew their families and society would not accept them, and perhaps her own underlying fear of being in a true, emotionally involved relationship with him.
However, they had forged a meeting point as friends; somehow, their lives had intersected. It was inevitable they would become more than friends.
Midnight the next morning, Ptolemy telephoned her and said, “Martin Luther King died …”
The next evening, Ptolemy drove her to a prayer vigil held by black expatriates living in France. He offered to attend, but she thought it best if she went alone. “Please don’t feel offended …” But Olivia saw the hurt in his eyes. She did not see him again for weeks.
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