7
The taxi to Queen Beatrix International Airport was desperately silent and George didn’t know how to break it.
“We French are pragmatists.”
The relief was so great that George almost cried out when she spoke. “I don’t want to be pragmatic, practical, or any other p-word about you.”
“We French have no choice but to be that way, with our country trapped between Germany, Italy, and Spain.”
“Not to mention occasional British incursions.” He couldn’t help reminding her. They traded brief smiles about their “war” as the lovely Aruba seaside slid by wholly unattended.
“Some of those incursions were most enjoyable.” And her smile was brighter at the memory of the lovemaking.
For that’s what it had been. s*x between two injured soldiers had become lovemaking. Last night, knowing it was the
