Well, there it was. The dreaded moment of closure. The one that would tell him if he had imagined all of this; her love, their complicity, the future, based upon a drunken tryst. For he knew better than anyone how desire died when the connection wasn't right. He had witnessed it firsthand; a fading marriage as his burden.

Tristan sat beside Frances and brushed the ringlets over her shoulder, taking in her lovely features.

— "We can sleep if you are tired. There will never be any pressure from me"

Her response was plain as day; she reached for his nape and captured his lips in a searing kiss. One that melted his insides and called forth resources he didn't know he had. Enthralled by her taste, by the ballet of her tongue dancing with his own, he felt a discharge of fire in his veins. His fingers slid into her hair, massaging her skull as he shifted their weight and laid her down on the bed. The little lamp by the side gave him more than enough light to contemplate her swollen lips, and he took the time to watch her face.

— "Will you have me, now ?" he asked.

— "A million times over", she whispered, her eyes burning.

Tristan snorted them, his thumb caressing her lower lip.

— "That will be a lot of times a day, little fairy", he murmured.

Her eyebrow quirked up, as if daring him to put his threat to execution.

— "Then what are you waiting for ?", she said, climbing on her knees.

— "I want to see you, this time"

Frances nodded, then reached for his deep red shirt to unfasten the buttons, one by one. Her little hand snaked upon the skin of his chest as soon as the gap allowed it; he let her explore him, wondering if she would enjoy his body. And when her mouth replaced the wandering hand, he knew she did. She discarded the shirt with a hum, dropping open mouth kisses over his chestnut hair, her hands snaking around his waist to caress his spine. Tristan shivered; he'd never been worshipped so tenderly.

— "Are you cold ?", she asked with a worried frown.

Cold ? No… he was burning, from head to toe with a furious desire. The overwhelming need to bury himself inside her beautiful, plush body. And he wanted to feel every inch of her today that he was sober. Tristan took a great inspiration and cupped her cheek. He kissed the tip of her nose, hoping to lessen the brazier that was sure to burn in his eyes.

— "Definitely not"

The young woman blushed at his tone, flustered. Tristan stood and pulled the sheets to give her a little space. Frances scooted back, dragging her loose t-shirt over her head in the process. His eyes followed her movements as she shed her jeans, his own hands unbuckling the belt that kept his pants in place. He was drinking the sight of her, letting his jeans fall to his feet without taking his eyes away from her lean form.

White skin, except around her neck – had she worked in the sun ? – and forearms. The reddish ringlets contrasted over her collarbone, dancing above skin that he longed to kiss and caress. Their first time… their first time had been so messy, so intense that he couldn't remember much except drowning into her. Entirely.

Today, he wanted to take his time. He wanted to know her. And so he did… Forgotten the trials of the past four months, the exhaustion of a long day and the slight hunger. The sensation had migrated to his lower stomach, tightening muscles and pumping blood in his veins. Burning desire. Yet, Tristan caressed, kissed and watched, mesmerised, the twists and turns of her body as he worked it like a finely tuned fiddle.

She was a beauty, her body tuned by sports, yet surrounded with a soft layer of fat and skin smoother than satin. Delicious rounded calves, muscular – from the ice skating – and powerful, long thighs that kept hidden a discreet mount of pleasure with chestnut curls, a soft, welcoming stomach despite the muscles rippling below the surface, full breasts that awaited his caresses… Such a womanly figure. The prefect pendant to his own masculine one.

He drank her moans with delight, kissed her body from head to toe – toes included - suckled and nipped, explored to his heart's content, his large hands travelling. And as he did, his heart beating a staccato, her own fingers traced trails of fire upon his exposed skin. Her own sensual lips alighted his body, little tongue exploring just as curiously. And he offered it all without wondering if she liked him; his mind was far too busy making love to her to be self-conscious. Tristan latched upon her lips when he was done, lowering his body against hers to enjoy her warmth. Her hips came to meet his and he grunted.

The foreplay had lasted enough to shred his self-control to tatters. Her arms wound around his shoulders and Tristan plunged in between her plush thighs. Slowly. How such a flexible, muscular woman could feel so homely as a mystery... Her legs rose to encase him, a safe heaven to keep him sheathed and soon, he was buried to the hilt in a gasp of pleasure. This time, he paused. Not like the first time. No. He really wanted to see her. Her parted lips, flushed cheeks and warm chocolate eyes… those eyes that watched him as if he was a walking miracle. She loved him, really loved him. And it hit him like a ton a bricks.

— "I love you"

The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back; better this way. There was no doubt in his mind, his heart had spoken in lieu of his reason. And while his hips met hers in slow, sensual strokes, Frances tightened her hold around him. The strength of her arms surrounded him, her legs locking behind his knees. He wasn't so sure, in the end, if those were tears leaking from her eyes; his own vision was a bit blurred.

His heart leapt in his throat, breath short as he buried himself again and again; he never wanted to pull away. The strength of her embrace only matched the tightness of her core. There was no doubt, as he dove deeper still, about how much she wanted him. Rippling muscles massaged him, calling him in, coaxing. In between gasps and moan, he could hear her body sing.

Stay… stay.

And he obliged, for he knew he belonged inside of her.

Unable to contain his body much longer, Tristan eventually abandoned himself to pleasure. Frances arched her back to meet him, accommodating his erratic movements at he grunted, so incredibly powerful as she rose from the mattress and pushed against him. Then, when he thought he'd leave her unsatisfied, Frances released a great sigh and her head fell backwards, eyes tightly shut as her body spasmed. Once, twice, one deep third time before they both fell on the bed, exhausted and panting hard.

Tristan's heart throbbed so hard against his ribcage; he could feel hers just as well. And her legs trembled still. He caressed her thigh slowly, a gentle contact to anchor them both into reality. And he marvelled that she kept him close still, the safe heaven still open, still welcoming. Her warm contact felt so intimately carved into his skin that he couldn't consider to let go; it would be like tearing his own limb. Here, sprawled above her, his manhood still buried, he felt safe. Accepted, worshipped… loved. Eventually, the strain on his forearms became too much and Tristan worked his courage to extract himself from his own little bubble of paradise.

He released a shuddering breath, then found the courage to lift his head. He froze; tear tracks marred Frances cheeks.

— "Are you all right?", he asked, more than a little worried.

The young woman sniffled, then blinked the tears away with a wavering smile. He panicked.

— "Did I hurt you ?"

She shook her head and Tristan sighed in relied. Then he pulled back, dragging himself on all fours to keep his face close to hers. And despite the big, big hole that started forming in his stomach, he attempted a little joke.

— "I've never been so bad to make a woman cry"

Frances started to laugh, helplessly sprawled on the bed, sniffling in between snorts. She was a furious hot mess, her skin red in too many places from the chaffing of his five o'clock shadow. A passionate lover. He definitely had had his way with her, and he wanted to start all over again. But not if it made her cry.

— "Please talk to me", he pleaded, getting a little desperate.

Tears still leaked from her eyes and she sprang upright, nearly head butting him in the process, to snake her arms around his chest.

— "I'm sorry, sorry. Don't worry. I just…"

The former teacher hugged her tight, relishing in the warm body that had settled upon his heart. She was trembling now.

— "I'm extremely worried", he told her.

That seemed to shake her for she lifted her head to his, and gave him a clear, earnest look.

— "You made me insanely happy. And I never had an orgasm so strong, and with what you said it all mixed up in my head. It just… emotional overload, I'm sorry. I love you so much my heart could burst"

Tristan gave her a very serious look, wondering if what she described had not been a little shared. Could he possibly admit that he, too, had cried over the realisation that he loved her ? Nah. No need to worry her, right ?

— "Does this happen often ?"

— "It never did. Tristan. It was amazing"

His lips lifted from the compliment as relief washed over him. At least, he had not been a complete dork, and the lady seemed rather content. So Tristan manoeuvred them below the covers, carefully tucking the sheets around Frances' shoulders while she cuddled against him. Damn, he was hungry, and thirsty, but he just couldn't find the courage to move away. Already, her eyelids were falling and his own body shutting down. With the little weight resting over his chest, he felt complete. So Tristan surrendered and fell into slumber a few minutes before the clock hit 1:00 am.

The next day found them both sitting in a seafood restaurant, a few hundred meters from the seaside.

— "So where will you go after the exams ? What's on your list ?"

Frances' fork paused, the stabbed piece of sea bass still stuck between plate and mouth. After the surrealist morning they had spent together, Tristan didn't want to put out the future anymore. He wanted to ensure he could be by her side, and it started with a very, down to earth, geographical question. Frances gave him a weary look before pursing her lips.

— "I… have not so many places of interest. Agronomy it out of the question. Forests… could be nice, but there are not enough spots, and I would hate stealing one from the passionate guys. There's geology in the north east of France"

— "Nancy, right ?"

— "Yes. But that would mean oil industry, mines perhaps. I don't know how to fit into an engineering world. I don't even know if I can. Productivity, money, environment… humanity. The first ones go against the second ones"

He could see the stress creeping up, her shoulders tensing. He already knew that this choice wouldn't suit her, but right now, she needed a way out.

— "What else then ?", he asked, his voice flat even if he felt anything but calm.

— "National Superior School, if I can make it."

A difficult choice; only the best ranked students were accepted there. Less than 5% of the lot.

— "You are brilliant, Frances. All your teachers say so. I'm sure you can"

— "Thanks for the vote of confidence, but even if I did, that would mean working for the government for ten years at least"

— "Because you get paid while you study, right ?"

He wasn't up to par with the system; it had been his first time teaching those special classes.

— "Yes. And I don't know if I'm ready for that kind of engagement."

Engagement, the word twisted something in his chest. Fortunately, Frances was too lost in considerations of the future to watch his face. Else she would have noticed his uneasiness.

— "But the programm there… it's just so great. Cosmology, planets, geochemistry…"

There were literal stars shining in her eyes now and Tristan smiled at her enthousiasm. The geek hidden within was shedding her layers... and he still found her beautiful.

— "Well, your boyfriend is a teacher after all"

The piece if whitish fish disappeared between her so lovable rosy lips before she scoffed.

— "You're hardly a boy. And you're contractor, right ? You're free. If you want to take off to a foreign country, you can."

— "Good point."

Yes, Tristan was like a leaf, taking spots where he was needed, and flying to another place the year afterwards. It was a strange life that suited him. Had he been born a nomad, he wouldn't have been so out of his element. He had been nearly ready to settle with his wife; if she had agreed to childen, he would have filed for a more permanent post.

What were Frances' aspirations like ?

— "Is that what you want ? Freedom ?", he asked.

She bit her lip, taking a sip of the excellent white wine she had chosen – Chassagne Montrachet, to honour the burgundy roots – before answering.

— "I think… yeah. I think I need to not be tied up to something because I'm still unsure about what I want to do. Doesn't it feel immature ? Twenty one, and still no idea what I like ?"

So this was what worried her; a judgement. Well, she was going to be disappointed for he had none to offer.

— "You know… People change career at thirty, forty, or fifty. This world is too big for us now, there are too many possibilities to get a good grasp on it so early"

— "But some people have vocation. They know what they want, from early childhood. I never quite felt that, I am interested in too many things"

Playing devil's advocate now, uh ?

— "Praise your wisdom, because you can never truly know before you've tried."

— "Flatterer", she smirked.

He lifted a faint eyebrow in an expression he always used on his students. It usually worked, but even before … all this, Frances always smiled when he used it. Perhaps because she had noticed that gleam of playfulness in his eye at the time.

— "Never"

The conversation settled for a moment, but he could clearly see the cogs turning in her mind. What, where, when ? Eventually, she seemed to brace herself and asked:

— "Where will you be, Tristan ?"

There it was, the turning point of this fantastic moment of paradise. They had lounged all morning, made love again, bathed in the hot saltwater spring in the basement of the hotel and spent more time with their lips locked than separated. He'd held her while the water carried her around in the circular pool, felt her skin hum against his, watched her scarf down the best chocolate cake at breakfast with a smile upon his face… laughed when a hungry seagull had stolen the rest from her plate. She had mocked glared, then laughed along with him. Naughty bird.

Most of all, Tristan had marvelled at how simple things were between them.

So, now, came the moment of truth.

— "I will be… where you are. If you want to"

— "Are you serious ?"

A spark of hope swelled in Frances' chest, something that told her this man was just to good to be true. That any moment, the dream would come crashing down. And by the uneasy look that marred his refined features, she expected the other shoe to drop anytime now. So she braced for impact.

— "Unless… you don't want to be tied up", he added.

Frances' breath caught.

— "Tied up to you ?"

Tristan nodded, confirming her worst fears. This was too much to bear, so nonsensical that her logic was throwing a feat. So she leapt above the table and grabbed both of his hands.

— "Tristan."

Her former teacher froze, and in this moment, she could see all his insecurities come forth. He may be thirty-one, but the boy still lurked behind the curtain, ready to spring forth at any rebuke. How best to convey the scrambled mess of her thoughts?

— "I'm free. I chose to be with you and I've never felt so free. There is nothing I wish more than to have you by my side"

The slump of his shoulders told her he had been ready to be sent on his merry way. Could he not see how she loved him ? How she never wanted to be parted from him ? She'd told him twice already, but it didn't seem to dawn much. So she chose another strategy.

— "I could ask for a dossier in geology section, in Lyon. That would keep me from a government contract if you ever have to move."

— "But without a salary", he stated.

The young woman nodded thoughtfully.

— "Yes. It would be the same in an engineering school so I doubt my parents would mind much. And all this, of course, provided I am ranked high enough to chose"

His smooth voice was filled with confidence, his eyes boring holes into her.

— "You will. And once you have your choices spread before you… maybe you could crash at my place. It's not big, but there's room for two. If that helps, of course"

Crash at his place. A big blank replaced her running thoughts for a moment before questions rose. Because she couldn't possibly believe he meant what she hoped it meant.

— "Stay with you until I find a flat ?"

— "No. I mean, yes. But … without looking for another place"

Frances' heart skipped a beat as she searched his gaze. His grey eyes didn't falter this time, back to the teacher's unwavering strength she knew well. He had made up his mind about this.

— "I… I don't want to intrude. Are you sure ?"

Tristan reclined in his seat, nodding his assent while he swirled the white wine around his glass.

— "Quite sure. Never been so sure, in fact, of anything in my life. Past marriage included"

Frances' eyes widened, floored by this very indirect declaration. She didn't even remark how he downed the rest of his glass in one big gulp. Liquid courage, he had said once, to act upon his feelings. Little by little, she was starting to paint an accurate picture of Tristan Kristiansen. He wasn't one to profess love like a schoolboy. His actions spoke for himself, and what he offered… Well, it was more significant than anything. After all, he had been the one to fish her out of her tree under her parent's nose. He dragged her here for the best concert of her life, and now offered … that she moved in with him. Just to keep her horizons open.

What kind of person plunged head first into a relationship like this ? Biting her cheek, she realised how courageous she found him. And perhaps… it only would take a bit of faith to follow.

— "Thank you, Tristan. It means a lot to me, and it will give more leeway regarding my choices. A lot"

Her former teacher shrugged, as if he'd just offered to delay an essay.

— "Anytime."

The fact that he meant it caused her chest to swell with love. What a man ! He was kind of all or nothing, and she liked that immensely. So she sent him a very frank look, one that conveyed, she hoped, her admiration before he asked for the check.

— "That one is for me, and no arguments. You paid for everything else, so I'll take it."

Tristan lifted his hands in surrender, probably aware of her stubbornness. A graceful bow that left her quite emboldened.

— "Right. Now's the future more or less set, and I know you're in it… Let's get to that beach !"