Landing in New York felt like landing in another world, or in another year. Like 2517, or something really faraway.
Eliza walked with her luggage, with Terrence at her side. Her dark shades hid her teary eyes. She tried to hide all of her emotions because if Terrence saw her crying, he would want to know what was wrong and she could not tell him what was wrong.
It was wrong that Paris had again contained their love, tender and brutal–sometimes at the same time. The way he had looked at her when they were getting dressed. He was tightening his belt, and she held a bottle of Severine’s perfume absently between her breasts. Their eyes rested on each other’s bodies and eyes, with ease and comfort.
That was them, that was how they were. He smiled at her, buckled his belt and pulled their suitcase from under the bed.
“Come here,” he said softly, and she walked over to him. “Sit on this, so I can close it.
Eliza sat on the case, her legs crossed and Severine’s perfume caressed their noses.
It smelled like sweet sex, primal but sweet.
Terrence moved around her, never even touching her. That was not what that was about.
Like now, walking side by side in the airport. They were close together, but it was not about making love.
Still she was lachrymose, because she could not forget looking in his eyes. The way he looked at her, his scent warm and soft between them. Her floral perfume, not Severine’s primal brew had surrounded them, then packing at the house. But it was still tense between them, still warm and tender and she ached for him.
A tear slipped just under her shade and she looked away from Terrence, because it made her cry she felt so much for him.
She had loved Terrence for days without distraction, and now she was back to Rafe, and their upcoming wedding…
New York felt surreal to not be able to love Terrence like she had in Paris. Like another world, another year hundreds of years away.
Even while she could feel his heat presently, and she burned…
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