Friends With Benefits

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PARIS

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HUNTER:

“Ah, look at my grandbaby, look at how handsome you are!”

Typical grandma. She barged right in without ever knocking, but luckily I was all dressed. Dressed to the nine, as a matter of fact.

“Really, grandma? I’m wearing grandpa’s old suit, I’m jetlagged like a drugged-up hippie, I have bags under my eyes—“

“Pish posh, darling! You look like your grandfather when he was young and I fell in love with him,” she said as she grabbed the flimsy-looking bow tie around my neck and straightened it up.

I must say though, wearing my grandpa’s vintage black suit and styling my hair to the side made me look a little like Michael Corleone in the Godfather. A less cool version of that.

“Everyone ready? We need to be at the embassy-- ten minutes ago,” grandpa called out from the living room.

“We’re coming,” grandma replied as she pulled my arm to walk with her. “And Harold, you need to see how good your grandson look in your old suit,”

I knew grandma’s just hyping me up. All grandmas think that their grandson’s the shit. But I was way too self-aware to be able to accept empty flattery. I knew myself, and there was one word that just perfectly describes me. I was…

Unremarkable.

Dark hair, pale skin, a little bit too tall, and could've used a few pounds.

There was nothing special about me. I was as plain as plain Jane can be. But, no need to feel sorry, I actually liked that about myself. Being plain meant I could blend in anywhere and just observe everything. It was the same as watching a movie, except this was real life.

But enough about me, let’s talk about something that really matters. Let’s talk about her.

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It was the summer of my sixteenth year on this Earth, my parents sent me over to France to visit my grandparents. On my first night upon arrival, I was told that there was a debutante party thing happening at the U.S. ambassador's house and that my grandparents were invited to come. My grandpa was some sort of a famous writer and he chose to live out the remainder of his days in his favorite city on Earth, Paris.

Apparently, a debutante was some sort of a coming-of-age celebration for young aristocrat girls. Back where I was from, this thing would be called a Quinceañera—or a birthday party for short. But as soon as I stepped into the grand ballroom, I knew this wasn’t just a birthday party.

First of all, this massive house they call a château was insanely beautiful. It was comparable to the Hogwarts castle, and that would be a huge compliment coming from me.

Second of all, I had never seen so many people dressed so impeccably. My aunt Lacey’s wedding or even my school’s homecoming dance had nothing on this.

Huge-ass crystal chandeliers decorated the room, there were girls in golden dresses and guys in black silk tuxes, and the champagne flowed like it was water—if this was how the French party, I ain’t never leaving.

Okay, I was getting sidetracked again. Back to the main topic. Granted, I hadn't been around very much, and this trip was actually the first time I ever flew out of the United States. But, I could say this with absolute certainty: she was the most exquisite being to ever grace this planet.

My eyes landed on this girl standing in the middle of the ballroom with a warm spotlight stuck on her. Except, she wasn’t just a girl, she was…

“Maia Rose du Pont, daughter of Pierre Samuel du Pont and Princess Joséphine of Belgium. Escorted by Prince Charles Philip of Sweden,” the MC announced as the beautiful girl glided down the marble floors with a golden-haired young Leo DiCaprio look-alike by her side.

The golden pair started dancing, and I just couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Everything about her just drew me in. Every move she made was immaculate. Everything else paled in comparison. Suddenly the chandeliers weren't as bright, and all the other people were just shadows.

Her skin was dark, her hair even darker, but her blue eyes were as bright as the moon. She glanced around the room and for a split second, they met mine. I couldn’t stop staring at her with my mouth wide open, she probably thought I was having a stroke. Her lips then twitched into a smile as if a funny thought had crossed her mind, and just like that, she looked away.

If this was a storybook fairytale, I would simply say that Maia Rose and her prince lived happily ever after, the end. But this was not that story.

Later on that night, I was just minding my own business, standing at the corner of the room, watching the movie that was my life being told in front of me—when I caught a glimpse of her again.

Maia was walking away from the center of the room, somewhat quietly as if to be unnoticed. But of course, I noticed.

She slipped by the crowds of people dancing and laughing until she was out of sight. My feet stepped up involuntarily as if it was a natural thing to do. Next thing I knew, I was following her down a long and empty hallway. I was being stealthy, of course, so she wouldn’t know I was following her.

Oh god, I’m a creep.

Finally, she reached a dead-end in the long corridor. I thought she was going to stop walking and turned around—but no. She took off her high heels, opened the large window, and within seconds, her slender body swiftly slipped right out.

Did she just--?

I ran as fast as I could and swatted away the silky drapes covering the window. I stuck my head out to look down at the streets below, but there was nothing there.

“Looking for something?”

A voice came from above. I turned my head up, and there she was. The fabric of her long dress was swaying back and forth with the wind, and Maia herself was seated atop the roof of the building.

How did she get up there?

“How’d you get up there?”

“I flew, of course,” she joked.

God, even the sound of her laughter was exquisite.

I should be thinking about some clever comeback, but all I did was gape and stare at her. Flipping her hair to the side, she fished out a single white cigarette from her purse and shiny gold lighter.

I tried smoking one time when I was thirteen. This kid from camp had a pack, and he was handing it out to everyone. It tasted like shit.

“Want a smoke?” she broke the silence.

Not really.

“Sure,” I found myself saying instead.

Apparently, my mouth had a mind of its own now. So did my feet. Somehow, I was agile enough to climb out the window and up the roof. My gym teacher Mr. Pullman would be so proud.

“Whoa, we’re quite high up…” I stuttered when I glimpsed down the two-story roof.

“Best view in the house,” she said as she handed her cigarette over to me.

The tip of the cigarette was smudged in red lipstick, and I gulped involuntarily at it. And when I reached for the cigarette, there was a split-second moment where my hand grazed her fingers. It was probably a small, insignificant thing to her, but it lit my skin on fire.

I stuck the cigarette in my mouth and took a deep breath. Yep, it still tasted like shit. But the aftertaste was a little different. Something kind of like…

“Tasted the mint?”

“Uh… yeah,”

“Kind of refreshing, don’t you think?”

“Totally,” I tried to sound as cool as possible, though I was repressing my cough.

“You can finish it,” she said generously.

Great. And finish it I shall.

I took another drag at the cigarette and she was watching me with her head tilted on the side. Every little move she made was so compelling to watch, but I was trying hard not to look at her too much. I was trying too hard.

Then I heard some ruffling and I noticed her taking out a small flask. She was smiling to herself as she turned the cap over and sipped the drink inside.

As if she knew what I was thinking, she turned to me and asked, “Dom Perignon?”

Granted, I was only sixteen and the only alcohol I had ever consumed was a sip of beer. But I had watched enough movies to know that what she offered me happens to be one of the most expensive champagne in the world.

“You… put champagne in a flask?” I asked back.

“I’m sixteen, what was I supposed to do? Drink Kool-Aid?” she shrugged.

She was being sarcastic, but she was funny. I liked funny people. And I couldn’t help but smile at her. To my surprise, she smiled back.

“Ah!” she gasped suddenly and said, “you hear that?”

Faintly, I could almost make out the sound of music playing from the ballroom. I believe this song was called…

“Moon River,” I said aloud when I remembered it.

“It’s my favorite song,” she nodded approvingly.

Putting her drink away, she then proceeded to stand up straight with her arms up high. The wind was blowing softly against her hair and the fabric of her dress. I couldn’t do anything but sit there and marvel at the sight.

She lifted herself up to stand on her tippy toes, and all of a sudden, her body just twisted and turned, swaying along with the music.

It was the most beautiful yet dangerous sight I had ever seen.

“Hey, are you sure you’re supposed to be… dancing up here on the roof?” I said as I zeroed in on her every move.

“It’s my party, I could dance if I want to,” she replied challengingly.

I took a second before responding with a Hot Chelle Rae song lyrics, “we could go crazy, let it all out,”

She stopped her movement suddenly. She was silent for a while, but then her lips twitched into a smile.

“You’re funny,” she started giggling.

And god, I like her laugh.

I was trying to act all cool and charming, you know? Like Johnny Depp or James Dean in the movies. But I was just an awkward, trembling, sad excuse of a boy. She’d probably realized it too because she cocked her head to the side and said,

“I knew it. You’re definitely not from around here,”

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To be continued.