Two To Tango

1. Hotel Room in Paris

Large droplets of rain hit the plastic umbrella above my head. Throughout our stay in England the weather has been dreadfull to say the least. At least the weather gives me an excuse to wear my favorite raincoat without the usual looks. A sudden blast of wind threatens to knock the umbrella out of my steady grip. The cold air bites through my clothes. I inspect the dark clouds above me with a scowl. Not only did Michelle have to leave early, I also almost lost my umbrella.

The robotic voice of my phone guides me through the city. If the sight of colorfull buildings, quaint little cafés, and fashionable inhabitants was not enough, our hotel surely did the job. In a sea of identical houses, the hotel looks like a pearl among rocks. Three small steps introduce the front door, painted a glossy black. The large chandeliers in the lobby are visible through the large windows. Even through the fabric of my gloves, the golden doorknob is cold to the touch.

Following the directions on the screen of my phone, I end up in front of our sprawling hotel. Large red letters above the large double doors state the name of the building: Hôtel de Pri. Pascal insisted on booking an luxurious suite. The hotel is gorgeous, but also located in an area I'm not familiar with.  

The sound of my boots echoes through the empty lobby. When I look down, I can see my reflection in the polished marble next to a dozen little lights. Upon closer inspection it seems that the entire room is decked out in chandeliers and candles. A lady in crimson shaded uniform waves at me from behind the register. A bit taken aback, I wave back. After living in America for a considerable amount of time, I forgot how to respond with anything but a slight nod.

The elevator gives a slight 'ding' before the polished doors slide open. The entire thing is brightly lit and also sports the same marble flooring as in the rest of the building. After pressing the button for my floor, the elevator doors glide closed. The only reason why I know it's moving is because of the slight pulling sensation in my stomach. The familiar sensation is suddenly accompanied by something else in the pit of my stomach. No matter how hard I try, I can't shake the feeling that something terrible is going to happen.

When the elevator doors open once more, I'm faced with the now familiar hallway. Our room is down this hallway and immediately to the right. I have to force my legs to start walking. This time I don't push the feeling away. Something is wrong.

The worst scenarios form in my head while practically sprinting down the hallway. They all launch themselves at me with alarming speed, as if they had been waiting all day for this moment of realisation. Once I'm standing before the door to our room, I suddenly hesitate, my fingers hovering above the doorknob. Whatever is behind this door, I know one thing: it's not good. 

Preparing myself for the thing awaiting me in that room, I push the door inward. I'm immediately met with a pair of shoes that definitely don't belong to me. They are casted aside as if the person who owns them practically jumped out of the boots. After spotting a similarly positioned jacket, poloshirt, and pair of pants (along with the belt), realisation dawns on me. I follow the trail of clothes and start to hear moaning. At that moment, all I feel is shock and a certain numbness only people who have experienced similar losses are familiar with. 

The more the door opens, the more I see of the bed. I catch myself wanting to close this door, run out of the hotelroom, and never look back. Instead, I enter the room with my arms crossed over my chest. After a full day of fun with one of my best friends, I'm met with both the man I had believed to be my partner and the person currently warming our bed.

"Well, this is a sight to behold," I state, earning the attention of both my husband and the other party involved. Pascal jumps about a foot into the air before pushing the other person away from him. The other person, who appears to be another man, quickly gathers the blanket to cover himself up. 

"Tara! Please, I messed up! I'm sorry! I know I should have told you." His eyes were pleading, forming a contrast with the words that escaped his mouth. Even now, right after crushing my entire being, his eyes were the sole things telling the truth: he only needed me to forgive him for his welbeing. So that he would not have to suffer. 

"Yes, you should have," I bite, the words like venom on my tongue. Before that moment, I wasn't truly angry, but now the anger erupts out of me like magma out of a vulcano. In a couple strides, I'm right next to the bed. My fingers find his chin and jerk his head upward. "Do you have any idea how selfish you have been?" I whisper. My voice sounds deafening.

"I'm so sorry-"

"Oh, you're sorry?" I laugh. The sound is completely devoid of emotion. "Good for you. That's exactly what I want to hear right now." 

He huffs in annoyance, regaining some of his familiar strength. "What do you want me to say, Tara? That I regret it? That I would give him up to get back together with you?" The sudden burst of strength catches me off guard, allowing him to remove his head from my grip. 

Straightening my back, I thin my eyes to slits and level him with a determined look. "No, I just want you to be honest. I want you to answer my questions."

"It's the least I could do."

"That's certainly true," I joke in an attempt to hide how deep the wound is he inflicted. My emotions mix with the growing pile of questions in my head. It only confuses me further. The red-hot anger fades slightly but is quickly replaced by a biting sadness. I can't tell which one is worse. In an attempt to silence my thoughts, I pace back and forth. "Why?" I blurt out eventually, the question escaping me before I have the chance to stop it. Now that the word has left my lips, I realize that was exactly what I wanted to ask him. 

"Why what?"

I turn back toward him. 

"Why did you cheat on me?" 

He averts his gaze. "Do you really want to know?"

"Otherwise I wouldn't be asking, would I?"

It takes a while for him to respond. "You might want to sit down."

I remain standed, fixing him with a leveling glare instead. 

"Alright. Just know I warned you," he sighs. The silence seems to drag on for minutes. Even the man next to Pascal seems to be growing impatient, nudging him with his elbow. Even the brief contact they exchange seems enough to get him to talk. "He... he's my soulmate."

His... soulmate? The word always seemed so unattainable, untouchable even. The fact that my husband found his soulmate only adds to my growing resentment for him. "Your what?", I choke, my voice barely audible. Pure shock runs through my veins, freezing me to the spot. I can't help but feel a slight spark of jealousy at the thought. Why is he deserving of this blessing, and not I?

A genuine smile blossoms on his face. His eyes float away from my form to set on the man next to him, growing soft at the edges. It's like a punch in the gut. "My soulmate. Can you believe it? I know I didn't at first."

The look they share contains so much love, it opens a wound I didn't know I had. Tears start clouding my vision. When I speak, my voice trembles more than I would like it to. "What is it like?" 

"They're telling the truth. Every story you have heard."

"Right," I scoff. 

He finally tears his gaze away from the other male on our bed. He doesn't seem affected by my obvious hurt, only slightly annoyed. "I promised to answer honestly!"

"Wouldn't be the first time you broke your word," I snap. 

Pascal tries to cut in, but I wave his attempt away. The soulmate physically squirms under my gaze. It's like I'm hit with a bucket of ice water, returning me to my senses. This man has nothing to do with this. It's between my husband and I. "If you wouldn't mind, could I speak to him one on one?" I try my best to keep the anger out of my voice.

After sharing another look with my ex-husband, he nods. "Of course, go ahead," he says. His voice is warm, almost like velvet. As he gets up, his exposed upper body ripples with muscles. I can see why Pascal is attracted to him. The latter eyes his soulmate as he gathers his clothes in his arms and walks out of the room.

"Right." He turns his eyes to the hands gathered in his lap. "To answer your question, it feels like you're finally complete, like you're whole for the first time in your life."

"Great, good for you, Pascal," I comment, sarcasm dripping off every word. "Now, when did you meet this soulmate of yours?"

"About five months ago."

"And you did," I gesture to the bed, his own clothes still scattered around the bedroom, "this, ever since then?"

"No!" He protests, still refusing to look up from his lap. "It didn't take very long, though."

As if the betrayal itself wasn't enough, this sure did the trick. The weight that had been placed on my shoulders increased tenfold. "And you never thought about the fact that we're still married?! Did you never stop to consider my feelings?" I yell, tears now flooding freely down my face. "The thing is, if you would have told me about your soulmate, I probably would have understood! I'm not dillusional, you know. Even I understand that meeting your 'other half' is enough reason to file for a divorce."

"Tara, please, just let me explain!"

"There is no explanation that would justify your actions, Pascal," I say, feeling my anger simmer down, "face the facts. You can't have me and your soulmate, and we both know who you're going to choose."

The strain of keeping my emotions at bay comes pouring out of me as I exit the bedroom. Tears flow freely down my face as I drag myself through the room. Even through my emotional haze I can feel the presence of the other man in the kitchen. That reminds me: I was saving a bottle of red for tonight. I wanted to surprise Pascal with it, but it seems I need it more than him tonight. The idea of surpressing my emotions, even if it only lasts a couple hours, is so appealing I don't even care Pascal's soulmate is also in the kitchen.

The entire suite is luxurious, but the kitchen might take the cake. The entire countertop is tinted a matte black, contrasting beautifully with the gold accents. The lighting strips underneath the cabinets reflect in the black tile on the walls. Even though the dark kitchen seems slightly intimidating, the artwork on the walls and soft lamps overhead do wonders to make the room feel warm. Seated at the counter on a barstool is the man I felt previously. He doesn't turn around when I enter the room. The jacket I saw on the floor earlier now hugs his figure tight like a glove. 

We don't pay eachother any mind. I'm sure he doesn't like the idea of me as his soulmates partner either. A dry chuckle escapes me. "Not sure about you, but I'd kill for a drink right about now."

"Please don't," he jokes.

"Oh, you wouldn't be the one I'd kill, don't worry."

"That's exactly what I'm worried about," he admits, turning around to face me. "Look, I'm truly sorry you found out this way. We didn't want to hurt you."

"Don't try to interfere,-" I'm stopped short when I realise I don't even know his name. "Sorry, what's your name?"

He chuckles. "It's Oskar."

"Oskar," I say, testing out his name on my tongue. It feels strange. "Well, Oskar, I would say it's nice to meet you, but I'd be lying. And with all due respect, this is between me and Pascal."

"Of course. I understand... Tara, right?"

"That's me." 

I finish pouring myself a glass of wine and take a big gulp out of it. "Just so you know, I'll be in the guest bedroom. Feel free to sleep in the master bedroom. I couldn't care less right now."

That was a big lie. The thought of me, alone in the guest bedroom, with the two of them cuddling in the master bedroom is suffocating. 

"No, I won't be doing that. I'm sure this entire thing must be incredibly hard for you, and I'm sorry."

"It's okay, really," I say, resting my head in my palm and taking a good look at Oskar. "You're too sweet."

"Oh, thank you."

"Just an observation, not a compliment," I correct him.