Monarch Beach Read Online Free Page B

bodysuit, and camel-colored Prada flats. I had straightened my hair and it lay in silky layers over my shoulders. I looked like a confident San Francisco twenty-something. But as Andre and I stood in the elevator, climbing to the twenty-third floor, I felt like a little girl going to her first ballet class. Andre placed his hand on the small of my back. I was too nervous to make polite conversation with the bellboy. I pretended to search my Michael Kors clutch for some imaginary item until we arrived on our floor.
    While Andre inspected the room I stood by the window, hoping the familiar view of San Francisco Bay would steady my nerves. I watched the ferry leave its wake in the gray water, and I studied the Golden Gate Bridge. I took a deep breath and turned to face Andre.
    “So, Mrs. Blick, may I pour you some champagne?” Andre held my shoulders and kissed me slowly.
    “I think I had enough champagne at lunch,” I replied.
    “Then let’s get out of these clothes, yes?” he asked. He unzipped my skirt and slipped off my bodysuit without waiting for my response. Then he took my pantyhose and rolled them off my legs. He took my hand and guided me to the bed.
    “I am the luckiest man,” he said when we were lying naked facing each other. I had never seen Andre completely naked. His skin was olive and completely smooth. His arms had rows of small muscles from years of working in a kitchen. His stomach was flat and he had a smattering of black hair over his chest. Every time he touched me I felt an electric shock.
    He moved slowly, touching my hands, my stomach, my breasts. He planted little kisses up and down my spine. He pulled my hair to one side and covered my neck with his mouth. I thought, how did I end up in bed with this Roman god? Me, who had known the same skinny boys all through grade school and high school, who had not been on a real date since senior prom?
    Andre’s kisses grew deeper. I kissed him back and placed my hands tentatively on his chest. Andre climbed on top of me, covering his body with mine. We began moving together. I tried to give in to just feeling and follow him. He kept moving, stroking my hair and murmuring my name. When he finally shuddered to a stop, groaning softly and rolling off me, I moved to the side of the bed and lay perfectly still. I waited till I was sure he was sleeping and then I turned my head and looked at him. I studied his curly black hair and his long black eyelashes. I followed his long legs wrapped up in the sheets. I closed my eyes, and I thought at that moment nothing else mattered. The world outside the big picture window did not exist. I was complete.
    *   *   *
    I got up from the bench and stretched my legs. I thought maybe if I did some yoga, looking straight at the mountain, I could ease the pain that was squeezing my chest. I tried standing in a Half Moon and clearing my mind of unwelcome thoughts. Andre and Ursula danced before my eyes like hand puppets at the fair. I conjured up Max’s face, his blue eyes that were just like my father’s, but that made me start crying again. I relaxed the Half Moon and slumped back on the bench. It was easier just to hate him.
    *   *   *
    I remembered our first year of marriage when I was Andre’s willing sex slave. We rented an apartment in Cow Hollow and my mother decorated it for us as her wedding present. It had a tiny kitchen, a small living room, and a bathroom with a shower and no tub. But the bedroom was large enough for a king-sized bed, and it had a window with a view of the bay. Andre laughed at me and called me his little trollop because I would wait up for him till he closed the restaurant. I met him in bed so we didn’t waste time eating or talking about our day. I just wanted him between the sheets, as fast as possible.
    “You are not really American. American girls do not like sex like you,” Andre said after we had been married a month. We were sitting in bed at noon. I brought him orange