The Hold

By ESTHER HERVY

The Hold is a contemporary romance novel about a woman’s passionate involvement with two men. Entwined with scenes of romance and eroticism, this narrative plunges into the depths of her psyche in ways that every reader can identify with. Perhaps there is no such thing as the perfect couple, but does it hurt to try? 

Salomé is a young Parisian struggling with a fair share of unresolved emotional and psychological baggage. Unable to create her dream relationship with any one man, she opts for two: flighty musician Ethan satisfies her carnal desires while Alban, a consultant newly separated from his wife, gives her love and tenderness. But nothing prepares Salomé for the appearance of a third man, Jack. Who is he? And what does he want from her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: ESTHER HERVY
• Release date: Dec 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781071521908

Book preview

The Hold

By

Esther Hervy

For Xavier,

-1 —

My finger sweeps across the touch screen, hitting send. I immediately regret my boldness as the text message speeds off to its recipient. I hope that it stays in limbo, an eternal prisoner of the interwoven messaging network. Why did I have to be so reckless? I was still foggy with sleep when I began composing my message and getting those words out had seemed like a necessity, an inevitability. Now I’m not so sure. But it’s too late to take them back, so I persuade myself that I made the right choice. After all, what kind of relationship is it if I keep everything inside and pretend like nothing is wrong? Besides, he’s the one who started questioning me the other day when we were wrapped up in each other’s arms after making love. He wondered why I hadn’t found a man yet. He is seeing someone else even though the two of us have been sleeping together for months now. But I have made my peace with it. I just got out of a painful relationship myself and I’m glad he’s here to listen and comfort me. It’s too soon for me to get involved with anyone else. I’m afraid— afraid of being unable to piece myself back together if I go through another ordeal. He only mentioned the other woman once, claiming they don’t see each other very often. Apart from that, I honestly don’t know much about their relationship; he hardly tells me anything. On my end, I assure him that our casual encounters suit me just fine because I’m not looking for anything serious. 

But I didn’t know how to respond when he started probing me for answers. I have no idea why I haven’t found anyone. I didn’t realize the impact his question had on me at the time. But it must have been stowed in a corner of my mind since it suddenly resurfaced this morning.

Delivered. My message has been delivered. A knot forms in the pit of my stomach and slowly rises up to my throat. I totally opened up to him. Lay my inner self bare. Which is a lot harder than revealing myself in other ways...It occurs to me that this may cost me the already small role I occupy in his life. I fear that yesterday will end up being our last time. That I’ll never feel his hands and lips on my body again, never surrender to the sheer animalism that sets us ablaze. A tear wells up in the corner of my eye. I already know what he’s going to say. I turn off my phone in an effort to delay the verdict. Right— as if I could mitigate the sentence by averting my eyes. I’m only fooling myself here. Then again, what if he decides to call? Now I feel ridiculous. Ridiculous for believing even for an instant that the feeling is mutual. Hearing these words from his mouth would devastate me.

I stand up and nervously pace in a corner of my living room. As long as my phone stays off, I won’t know. And as long as I don’t know, there is still hope. I miss him terribly. I want to touch him, kiss him, wrap him up in my arms. My stomach, heart, and mind all hurt. I don’t understand what I’m feeling. My only defense against the turmoil is the tears invading my eyes. I feel like I’m burning up inside. I want to explode. I need to release myself from the grip of these emotions and unburden myself of their weight. I catch sight of myself in the mirror and hate what I see. I don’t understand myself. Not anymore. It’s as if I’ve suddenly and unexpectedly released the floodgates on all the feelings I’ve kept pent up over the past few weeks. My heart and body are drowning in this unexpected fever. Everything is rushing in at once and I can’t bear it.

I toss my cellphone on the couch and run into the bathroom. I run the hot water, sit down in the bathtub, and let my tears flow freely. I’m as fragile and helpless as a child. The water runs over my face and mingles with my tears as I listen to the song playing on the radio — I heard the wind chime beneath my feet, I felt the earth shake inside me — that’s exactly it: an earthquake inside of me...I want to wash the sadness off my face, watch it disappear down the drain. But it stubbornly clings to me, inside of me. Why? Why am I feeling this way now, just when I thought that everything was fine, that I was okay with it all?

I extract myself out of the bathtub, carefully avoid my reflection in the bathroom mirror, and make my way back to the living room. I glance at my phone. He must have replied by now. I want to know what he wrote but dread turning it back on...I brace myself and push the power button. My heart beats wildly and my pulse hammers in my temples as I wait for the screen to light up. I’m not surprised to feel the telltale vibration of a text message alert. Without another thought, I pull up our message feed. Once again, I’m unsurprised by what I read. He weighed his words and took his time crafting a reply in a futile attempt to spare my feelings.

"Okay, I see...I probably shouldn’t have badgered you with my questions the other night. I spoke out of turn and I apologize for that. You did well to open up and tell me more about the way you feel. I know it can’t be easy...I didn’t mean to unsettle or sadden you...I like you and would never want to hurt you. You need someone who can commit and stand by you. My heart already belongs to someone else...We can meet up later this afternoon if you want to talk it over. But I understand if you’d prefer not to. Take care."

I should be angry but I’m not. I can’t even blame him. I know he cares about me, his message attests to that. The way he carefully chose his words demonstrates that he loves about me. Not in the way I would like him to— but he loves me all the same.

I think it’s finally safe to say: End of story.

Ethan and I met six months ago. It was around the beginning of summer, mid-May. In the spirit of full disclosure, the two of us had already met before. We had swapped a few words in a bar he performed at two years earlier. But that didn’t count because we never saw each other again and, apart from exchanging two or three e-mails, we hadn’t spoken ever since. On that fateful day in May, I had just returned from what was to be my last trip to New York. I was waiting for my luggage at the conveyor belt when I saw him walking by. I couldn’t place him at first and only remembered that we had already crossed paths somewhere. I kept staring at his face and trying to figure out where I knew him from. Then he met my gaze. His eyes lit up and he slowed down to a stop. 

Salomé? he asked hesitantly.

Ethan? Ethan Mills? His smile had jogged my memory.

Salomé...

Salomé Lucciani.

Oh, right! he exclaimed, leaning in for a double kiss.

What a surprise! I cried, I’m happy to see you.

Where are you coming from? He asked, pointing to my luggage.

New York. You?

Los Angeles.

Vacation? I inquired.

I visited my dad. He lives there.

Oh, that’s right! You’re American!

No, no, just on my dad’s side. I’m from here, he smiled. And you? You vacationed on the East Coast?

More or less. Do you still play? I steered the focus back on him.

Yep, still do. Just a few concerts here and there, or stand-in gigs for bands in need of a replacement. I do what I can. But I can’t complain, things could be worse.

You’re lucky you get to live out your passion.

Yes, but I work hard, too. Or at least I try...

Yes, of course, I added hurriedly. I didn’t mean that—

—Don’t worry about it, I’m just teasing you, he laughed. And you? What are you up to?

Oh, I just called off a major life change, I sighed.

Is that all? he said jokingly.

Yes. But it’s for the best.

Why don’t you tell me about it over coffee?

Sure, if you want, I replied with a smile.

We headed to a coffee shop in the airport lobby and placed our order. Over the next hour, we chatted about our lives over coffee and apple juice. I had harbored a pleasant recollection of our first-ever conversation and this one wasn’t any different. He was friendly and cheerful. I gave him the short version of my stay in New York and why it had been my final trip to the city— or at least the final one under those same conditions.

It means he wasn’t the man for you! He concluded, lifting up his glass in a mock toast.

I’m sure of it, I smiled, clinking my empty cup against his glass. 

We discovered that we live in the same neighborhood and wound