Old man Eric lay in his bed, awake, unable to sleep, tossing and turning. It was one of these nights where the chirping of the cicadas simply would not lull him to sleep as it usually did. It rather kept him awake and his mind running busy revisiting memories of old days long gone. The sound of the Mistral blowing through the treetops of the olive and plane trees rustling in his ears like waves at the sea only made his recollections more vivid. A deep agitation was haunting his thoughts; the sadness and regret of his greatest lapse. Even after all these years – decades even – the remembrance lay heavy on his heart.

He felt his tear sacs swelling and his throat clenching, making it hard to breathe properly as his thoughts drifted back to the night all those years ago when the cicadas had already kept him from finding his much-needed rest. His sister-in-law Andrea and him had exchanged a brief but violent argument which had hurt him bitterly and reawakened his most grievous sorrow.

***

Forty-two years earlier:

Eric lay in bed, wishing he hadn't accepted the invitation to spend his vacations in his brother's vacation mansion in Provence. His mind switched back and forth between his divorce from Annie, his stillborn daughter and Andrea's comments on his unwillingness to move on from events that had taken place years before. In his mind, he knew it was no use lingering on events that had been out of his power to prevent, yet his heart still struggled to accept his weakness as a human being.

Countless times he had heard Andrea's words echo in his ears. Words that lay heavy on his chest and made breathing almost impossible. 'This won't bring your daughter back,' she had said, almost yelled at him in an accusing tone. Once again, tears shot into his eyes by the mere thinking of her voice.

He sobbed and emptily gazed through the window into the dead of the night. It was open and he hadn't bothered to close the shutter. A mild Mistral blew and the sound of agitated greenery mingled with the singing of the cicadas. His room was dimly lit by the crystal clear night sky.

A faint hesitant knock on the door caused him to prick his ears. Unsure if he had actually heard anything, he climbed out of his bed and stepped to the door. He pressed his ear to it to make out if there really was someone standing on the other side.

When he thought he had heard a low sigh, he tried to speak, "And–" his voice cut off.

He cleared his throat and gave it another attempt, "Andrea?" Silence. "Is that you?"

He opened the door to find her standing there with her fist raised as if to knock on the door again, yet unable to gather the courage to do it. She was wearing a thin silken night robe. Her swollen, reddened eyes testified of an equally restless night full of inner turmoil as well.

"E-Eric, I... I..." she stammered before the gap between them closed and he wrapped his arms around her.

He tugged her head to his chest. They were silent for a moment, standing on the threshold of his bedroom door, holding each other. When they parted, they looked at one another, unsure of what would happen next.

Finally, she was the one who broke the ice: "I hope I, uh, didn't wake you up. I just... just could... couldn't sleep. I, uh, I'm sorry, Eric, for what I said."

From the shaky and guttural tone in her voice, Eric could tell she was close to bursting into tears.

"It's okay, Andrea. I can't sleep either. We just had a little fight. No biggie," he lowly said, trying to avoid her gaze although his eyes seemed glued to hers.

"It's not okay, Eric. I hurt you." She paused, looking for a reaction in Eric's eyes, then proceeded, "In the worst possible way."

"Yes, you did, Andrea, but," he began, not sure where his evasive explanation would lead him, "look, I'm really tired. Why don't we talk this over like tomorrow or so?"

Andrea seemed disappointed. "Okay, but do you mind me joining you in bed? Please just take me in your arms. I need someone to hold me tight and close."

Eric simply couldn't reject her. Deep inside him, he had hoped she would ask him; he too felt the urgent need to feel loved, comforted, and cared about, even if it was just for that night. Instantly, he felt a faint sentiment of ease sprout in his heart – an emotion that soon started to fill his belly with hope, happiness or butterflies? He couldn't quite place it – didn't care for the moment anyway.

They parted and, holding hands, walked the few steps to his bed. Blushing, she slowly opened her silken nightgown. She had chosen to wear sports underwear. Eric figured it was the best trade-off between not being exactly naked in front of him but still comfortable enough to sleep.

“I hope you don't mind me laying next to you dressed like that,” she apologetically said, avoiding eye contact. “If you insist, of course, I can keep the nightgown on. It's just a little warm, is all.”

Eric pressed his lips together and, him too struggling to look at her, then said, “Please, Andrea. Make yourself comfortable. It's your house. I'm just a guest.”

“Don't say that, Eric,” she replied, taking his face in both her hands to force eye contact. “You're not just a guest. You're family and I like you very much. Your well-being is just as important to me as mine.”

Eric leaned forward to kiss her forehead. She blushed and looked into his eyes.

“Let's get you to bed and some arms around you,” Eric softly said, taking both her hands in his.

Andrea followed his soft pull. Both of them lay down and quickly cuddled up lying sideways.

After a while, with a shameful timbre, Andrea whispered, “I'm sorry, Eric, for what I said earlier. I was... I was... I felt so exposed. It dawned to me how foolish I behaved and what I was about to do. It was very... well, immature. You saw right through me and I felt both caught and rejected.”

Eric listened closely to every word she uttered and observed how in the faint moonlight, her eyes began to glisten with tears.

She continued, “You hit the nail right on the head, you know. There's something I guess I have to tell you. Your brother Christian has never been the most active guy – sexually I mean. He seemed to enjoy it alright and also to know how to please me, but it was rarely him who made the first step. In fact, I can only remember three or four times and even then, I couldn't shake the feeling he was doing it as a favor to me. I never really questioned this. I just thought this was how he is. It was only a few years ago – well, almost fifteen, actually, not long after Emilia's birth. Boy, how time flies! – when I realized he had, in fact, no interest in sex whatsoever. Your brother is, to my best knowledge, asexual, Eric. I know he didn't marry me for appearances because he's homosexual or anything. It's just... He only ever wanted to have sex for procreational reasons.”

She paused to let her words sink in. “Ever since the birth of our third kid, he's never as much as even responded to my attempts at seducing him and in the rare occasion he does, he tries to talk me out of it as if a good fuck was such a silly thing enjoy. He simply doesn't realize that I still have my needs.”

Andrea broke the embrace with her brother-in-law to turn around to lie on her back and rub her eyes.

Still looking at the ceiling so she didn't have to look at Eric directly, she added, “He just doesn't understand how much I crave a cock in me. My old rabbit can only do so much. Yet, at the same time, I don't want to risk our marriage even if I'm not sure if he still loves me. Hell, I don't even know if I can love a man who doesn't show any signs of desire for me.”

Andrea turned her head to look at Eric again.

“Now don't ask me what came over me, Eric. I know cheating is wrong. Even more so if it's with my brother-in-law. Christian's not around. No kids to worry about. Just the two of us. What could go wrong, right? I'm really sorry for what I did, Eric. I should have known better, kept my shit together. Instead – in my frustration over your rejection – I tried to appeal to your manliness in order to coax you out of your shell. And it, well, backfired.”

Before Andrea could turn her face away from Eric again, he started to stroke her cheek gently with one hand. He felt how she was in great distress and needed comfort – not only for the most recent events. She closed her eyes and snuggled her cheek into his palm before moving closer to him again.

“Look, Andrea, you always need two people to argue. I too am terribly sorry for what I did, what I said, how I acted. Just like you, I felt cornered, exposed, weak, my manliness and all my decisions questioned. Still, that doesn't excuse any of the accusations I threw at you. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted to defend myself, but–”

Eric sighed deeply. His courage seemed to fail him. He was struggling to overcome the sorrow that barred the words he wanted so desperately to leave his lips. He felt his eyes pulsating and getting wet as a growing lump in his throat clung to his vocal cords, preventing him to talk any further.

After a deep, shaky breath, he forced himself to continue with a very thin, breaking voice, “You were right. I shouldn't be clinging to my past so much. It's been so long and I still can't get over it.”

A tear rolled down from his eye to the pillow he was resting his head on.

With the hint of a sob in his voice, he resumed talking with an insecure voice, “I should move on, I know, but I find it so difficult to accept it. Annie and I were... we were so happy when we knew little Rob would be getting a baby sister. And Annie's... uh... her, you know, miscarriage...”

Eric had to pause his account to gasp for air. He almost choked on the thick lump in his throat which took him several attempts to swallow.

When he went on explaining, his voice was yet even more loaded with grief. “We really tried everything to stay strong, get over it, accept our loss. Still, Annie wouldn't stop blaming herself for something we simply couldn't prevent. She felt like she was a failure as a mother. I did all in my power to show her I loved her. I so desperately wanted to be there for her. We tried so hard to be strong, and still, we slowly drifted apart until neither of us could look the other in the eye anymore. Our unborn child's death tore us apart. We couldn't do anything against it. The more we tried, the more our efforts were in vain. In the end, we even started being jealous of Christian and you with your three healthy kids. Instead of accepting our fate, and keeping the family alive, we failed as parents and sooner than we realized, the divorce was filed and signed. It all went so fast.”

"Eric, this wasn't anyone's fault."

Andrea looked into his reddened eyes. More teardrops were rolling from the corners of his eye onto his pillow.

"I know. But still..." he aspirated and heavily breathed in between his teeth. "It all looked like we were doing good as a couple. We were really trying and making progress however slow and minuscule it was. Yet, we only noticed we were being selfish and self-absorbed by our grief when Robert started acting up. He felt neglected. What can you expect from a little, five-year-old boy? He didn't have the notion of what had happened – couldn't have it. The only thing he saw was his parents being sad and impatient with him all the time. First, we didn't understand why he was such a handful. Suddenly, it dawned to us that we were failing him as parents. That was when the fights began. We simply wouldn't stop blaming each other for everything. We had failed as parents and were unwilling to admit both of us had done our part of it. And in the end, it all just broke apart. It is very well our fault, Andrea."

"Eric..." Andrea whispered and took him in her arms. “Oh, Eric.”

She pressed his head to her chest and caressed his hair, whispering soothing words. When his deep, labored breath calmed down, she let go off his head. They looked into each other's tired eyes.

“Thank you for sharing your feelings with me, Eric,” whispered Andrea. “It really means a lot to me. You should know that. And you should also know that I'm here for you.”

“Don't thank me. I thank you, Andrea, for letting me unburden my heart,” he replied, with a shy voice, almost halting at every word. “You were honest with me as well. It's only fair. Guess we just needed to vent our pent-up bad feelings. You know what? I'm glad we could and also that it was you I picked that fight with.”

Andrea slowly nodded approvingly. She caressed his cheek. After a while, she turned around so Eric could spoon her. He placed his hands on her belly to hold her close. She placed her hands on his and moved them to right below her bust. He nestled his nose at her neck right beneath her ear.

They kept this position for a while until Andrea turned her head and her hand reached for his face. Before Eric realized what they were doing, a shy kiss was exchanged and he looked into a set of glistening eyes that were longing for affection and tenderness. The exchange of looks didn't last long until they parted from each other, backpedaling from their mutual affection.

After a brief instant of silence, Eric frowned. “It's time we get some sleep,” he said and turned around, his heart filled with strong mixed feelings he wasn't yet sure how to interpret.

***

Old man Eric awoke in the middle of the night. It took him a while to realize he was lying on his bed diagonally and one of his feet was touching the floor. The blanket cover he used to sleep in during the hot summer nights was lying in a disheveled heap on the ground next to his pillow. His head felt heavy and sleepy and his throat was dry. The roaring chirr of the cicadas sounded as if they were sitting right above his bed's headpiece. The sound was shrill enough to have him think he was suffering from a major tinnitus.

With great effort, he slowly crawled out of bed and tried to walk to his bedroom door on shaky feet. Drowsily, he stepped to the bathroom, staggering as if drunk. When switching on the light, he almost yelled from the stinging brightness of the neon tube, but remembered that he was not being alone and didn't want to cause any commotion with everyone worrying about an old man in the middle of the night.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the light, he drank a few sips of water and splashed some into his face. When he looked up into the mirror, he was instantly thrown back to his fateful first vacation here in this mansion.

***

Eric was splashing cool water – or better: the lukewarm water that came out of the cold tap – into his face in a vain attempt to wash away the demons which had rocked him into a sleep way beyond what was considered a reasonable afternoon nap. Andrea had woken him up after she hadn't heard from him for about three hours and dragged his tottering body to the bathroom before he gradually started regaining his spirit from its slumber.

"C'mon, Eric," she exclaimed, giving him a firm slap on his nape, which sent a spasm through his body, "Wake up! Get ready. We're leaving in twenty minutes."

With his mind still switching in and out of sleep, he changed into the clothes Andrea had thrown at him after leaving him standing in front of the sink.

When he finally arrived in the living room freshly dressed, Andrea grinned at him knowingly. "Didn't I tell you one Pastis after lunch is plenty?"

"Yes, Ma'am," replied Eric, rather amused than ashamed of himself. "It was just too delicious and you didn't take the bottle away."

Andrea rolled her eyes laughing. "Really? Is that what it takes? Like a little kid." After pausing for a moment, she added, "At least you look decent now."

Eric eyed her up. She was wearing an aquamarine blue night dress that hugged her feminine attributes tightly and black heels which accentuated her shapely legs. Heavy gemstones hung from her earlobes.

"Pretty much of a killer yourself if you allow," he commented in approval."I'm just afraid that we'll be overdressed, don't you think? I mean, we're on vacation, aren't we?"

"Yes, Eric, we're on vacation, but that's no excuse to let ourselves go and show up like the most obvious tourists. We're going to the international piano festival, a classical concert. It's quite famous too. And Just like the genre says, we should show some class," Andrea argued to which Eric approved in obviously fake reluctance.

The day had gone by without mentioning the events of the preceding night. Their conversations felt natural although they might not have been exchanging pleasantries the same way they'd had the day before. Still, it didn't feel as though they were acting stiff or distant. Yet, without them knowing by that time, this seemingly innocent exchange of compliments in the bathroom was the icebreaker which – by allowing more flirty conversation – set the ball rolling for all the coming turns of fate.

During the one-hour car ride to the concert venue in La Roque-d'Anthéron, they didn't talk much either. Eric was enjoying the landscape, almost falling asleep again while Andrea drove the car. His hand was resting on the armrest console during most of the travel. He wasn't startled when Andrea lay her hand on his when she wasn't using it to shift gears. He couldn't recall who had placed his hands here first.

When they arrived in La Roque-d'Anthéron, Eric rushed out of the car, hurried to the driver's door to open it for Andrea and offered her his hand.

“M'lady,” he aspirated, slightly bowing.

She giggled, “Oh you,” and stepped out of the car. He spun her around and caught her in his free arm like a tango dancer. He pulled her close as if to kiss her, but halted when their faces were just far enough his eyes still allowed to focus. He could see how her eyes indecisively switched between his eyes and his lips. She was – a bit nervously – alternating between nibbling on her bottom lip and licking it. Then, they both flashed their teeth in a crooked, a bit awkward smile, blushed and parted again.

Slightly abashed, Andrea ran her hand through her hair and mouthed, “Let's go.”

In the Restaurant, when they were regaling on a cold Soupe au Pistou for starters, Andrea asked, “So you've got a little more than a week left, right? Got any ideas as to what you want to do during all that time?”

“Yeah,” replied Eric. “I've read through a couple of guides. The Verdon Gorge sounds pretty spectacular. They call it the 'French Grand Canyon'. I'd like to go see if it really lives up to the hype. The citadel of Sisteron might also be worth the trip.”

Adding more olive oil to her soup, Andrea commented, “Sure. Both sound lovely. The citadel's been on my bucket list for ages. On the way back, we can also make a detour to Lourmarin, a most beautiful village which is built into the flanks of the rocks and has a magnificent castle. And the view from there... Splendid.”

Eric was about to add more suggestions, when Andrea added chuckling, “By the way, I forgot: the lamb shoulder we're about to have is from Sisteron too. Any true Provençal will swear it's the best lamb in the world. And damn right they are.”

“You really got me looking forward to it now,” said Eric, before taking a large sip from his glass of water. He added, “Back to the suggestions. I hope this won't bore you, but–“

Rolling her eyes, she cut him short, “The lavender fields? Sure, they're beautiful, but, like, totally overrun by tourists. They come in waves. Right now, it's the Chinese. Apparently, they had this soap opera where a couple went to the Valensole plateau for their honeymoon. And guess who's now crawling all over these fields? We can go, yeah, if you like.”

Eric laughed at the anecdote and replied he would reconsider but he'd like to keep it as an option. With a boyish smirk, he added, "I've also heard there's a ravishing woman who's worth seeing. Unfortunately, she's married."

Andrea blushed and threw the remaining content of her glass of water into his face. Having expected her reaction, he kept grinning at her cheekily until she started laughing.

After the lamb accompanied by a Ratatouille had arrived, both of them were too busy enjoying their meals to share a conversation other than the looks they gave each other which, before long, seemed filled with a hunger for something other than food. Their legs, which sought contact with each other too, appeared to make up for the missing words. The red Régusse harmoniously rounded off the ensemble and only added oil to the fire burning in their eyes.

Eric was unable to tell whether it was him or her who had touched the other's legs first or if they both had subconsciously approached each other in hopes to relieve their mutual attraction which now felt more present than ever. The pounding in his chest felt excited, yet pleasant. A sensation of hope – a silver lining, however faint it appeared to glow – filled him with a lightness he had forgotten over the years. At this moment, against his better knowledge, he chose to indulge into the feeling of being loved by his brother's wife, although his mind was trying to convince him he was being fooled by his hormones.

Once they had arrived at the festival venue – the park of La Roque-d'Anthéron – Eric halted to observe how Andrea's eyes widened as she saw the stream of spectators they were going to share the music with.

“Holy cow,” she exclaimed, “you were so right, Eric. We are like totally overdressed.”

“Yeah, so much for not giving us away as tourists,” he replied, with a sly smirk in his face. “I'm not gonna say 'told you, Andrea',” he added, showing quotation marks with his fingers, “but told you.”

When she slightly blushed, he gently pulled her head to his face to plant a peck on her forehead.

“You're really cute when you blush, you know,” he commented with a boyish tone.

Blushing more – rather from vexation this time – she crouched down to remove her stilettos. Having a strong suspicion as to what this meant, Eric walked a few slow steps back and turned around only to be chased by Andrea holding her shoes in her hands and trying to hit him in the back with them.

They were both laughing when they realized a crowd of casually dressed people watched what they likely interpreted was a couple dressed in a tuxedo and an evening gown chasing each other between the trees. Suddenly, Eric halted and turned around to catch both of Andrea's wrists. Trying to free herself from his grip, she slowly moved closer to him. Before he realized, he felt her panting breath on his lips. A short instant of silence as though the people, who were still watching the scene, were waiting for the great climax after the crescendo... and then Andrea started giggling. Eric let go of her wrists and smiled at her.

He felt comfort and security in her laughter. As he looked at her laughing, a lightness filled his heart; a lightness he hadn't felt in years – a merely overwhelming desire for her love.

Still laughing, they bowed to the perplexed crowd and Eric said, “Merci, folks. Rien à voir ici. The show's gonna be on the stage. You people better not miss it.”

Once the crowd of gawkers had dissipated – some of them laughing, others shaking their heads with raised eyebrows – Andrea grabbed Eric's hand and gave it a squeeze. When Eric looked at her, a smile flashed across her face. He let her lead him to their seats.

A school bell-type alarm announced the concert was about to begin shortly and soon after, the musicians of the Warsaw Symphonic orchestra entered the stage and were applauded by the anticipating audience.

Both Andrea and Eric enjoyed the first performance – the overture of Schumann's Genoveva. Right after, the highly awaited pianist finally entered the stage as well. With slow, unstable steps, he moved his considerable weight towards the grand piano. Once arrived, he held himself on the instrument with one hand and bowed down far enough to almost trip and plant his face right on the wooden stage floor.

Andrea giggled when Eric – placing his hand on hers – leaned over to whisper, “Please tell me you also think that guy's totally wasted.”

“By the looks of it,” she replied, keeping her voice low as well. “Could be an act, though. Listen to the audience. They love it.”

And right she was. Before the pianist was able to sit down the spectators cheered enough to have him bow two more times just as low. By the third time, he folded his hands to make a begging gesture as though asking from the audience that they may let him play for which he earned cheering laughter.

Then, the next block of the concert started. Chopin's concerto for piano and orchestra in E minor testified of the orchestra's talent and especially, of the pianist's virtuosity. With great amazement, Eric and Andrea listened to the presentation of the musicians, still holding hands, unwilling to lose each other's touch.

Despite its almost two-hour set, the concert passed by without Eric or Andrea really noticing. The third part, extracts of Mendelssohn's intonation of Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, performed in absence of the pianist, ended with the famous wedding march. Eric found this climax somewhat ironic, given his situation, but kept the thought to himself.

On their way back to the mansion, they were amply discussing the performance.

Andrea commented on the last piece according to the program, “I mean, don't get me wrong with this, yeah? Mendelssohn's wedding march sure is a classic, agreed, but honestly... That main theme? How many times did they play it? I lost count after the sixth or seventh time. Seriously, was that composer so in love with his own works that he had to hear it so many times over?”

“My thoughts exactly, Andrea,” Eric shot back, equally amused by Andrea's description. “And every single time that theme came, the conductor moved like a duck that's about to fly off.”

He waved his hands in the air and mockingly sang the melody.

“Don't make me laugh like that, Eric,” she exclaimed, almost unable to hold the steering wheel steadily. “I can't drive like that.”

“Sure, you're right,” he replied. After a short pause to let Andrea calm down, he resumed, “But my favorite piece tonight was the encore. However short it may be, Kachaturian's Sabre Dance is a stroke of genius. Just incredible. I've heard so many interpretations, but that one tonight was undoubtedly the best.”

They kept the conversation going on the one-hour ride home, sharing their best moments of the night. By the time they arrived, it was close to midnight and a night just as beautiful as the preceding one. The cicadas still relentlessly sang their song of procreation.

Once out of the car, Eric wanted to wish Andrea good night and head to his bedroom.

Before he was even able to open his mouth, Andrea cut him short. “No way we're gonna waste this beautiful evening. You just cannot be tired after sleeping through the better part of the afternoon,” she said, a playful flash in her eyes. “I had something entirely different in mind for tonight than just going to sleep.”

She played with a strand of her hair, threw a quick glance on the floor and back into Eric's eyes all the while nibbling on her bottom lip.

“Yesterday's incident,” she added, making Eric wonder if her hesitation was intentional or from nervosity. “I wanna make it up to you.” She made another pause. “Meet me at the pool in ten.”

Puzzled, yet too tired to argue, Eric obliged to his sister-in-law's request. She had also asked him to prepare a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Grande Dame in an ice bucket as well as two flutes.

Having a vague suspicion about her true intentions, Eric waited in the refreshing water of the swimming pool. He filled the flutes with the golden sparkling wine. He had tried swimming a few laps or distracting himself by concentrating on the chirring of the cicadas in a vain attempt to soften the erection he had been sporting for the better part of the evening. Whatever he attempted, nonetheless, was of no avail. Certainly, Andrea would catch him red-handed and – in the worst case – make an impossible scene. In the best case – which is what Eric was forced to place his high-risk bet on – she would laugh it off and make a sassy remark over it which he felt was a lot more likely, but still...

Lost in his thoughts, he got caught off guard by Andrea clearing her throat. He took both glasses and turned around to find her with her arms crossed, supporting her breasts. The light blue bikini top with the Hawaiian plumerias presented them in an appealing, yet tasteful manner. She had a matching scarf around her waist which he guessed had to be translucent at daylight. Her hair was braided in an off-center faux fishtail that hung over her shoulder. Dumbfounded by the beauty of Andrea, Eric didn't notice his mouth standing agape in astonishment for he was too busy trying not to drop the expensive drinks.

“You better close that mouth and tell me what you think of my new bikini,” she said, visibly amused by Eric's reaction. “I wanted to give re-igniting Christian's passion a try with it but had to test it on you first. I hope you're not mad at me for using you as a dummy.”

Slightly disenchanted, yet a bit reassured by the realization she was merely using him for testing purposes, he hesitated to comment on her. On the other hand, he thought, it put him back in his place and, most importantly, to the cruel reality that the woman he was about to share the Champagne with was his sister-in-law. He chuckled nervously, unable to sort his thoughts about her looks, and smiled sheepishly and wryly at her.

Before entering the pool, Andrea dropped her waist scarf, revealing the matching Brazilian-cut bikini panties. Amused by Eric's renewed gasp, she slowly turned around to flaunt her skimpy garments. He gulped for air when he saw how the fabric hugged her posterior tightly. He had always had a weakness for this specific cut.

He felt his cheeks heat up and his erection press against his swimming trunks more than ever. As she stepped towards him, a knowing smile on her face, he tried to keep a minimum distance between them, but made sure he could still hand her the Champagne.

"Do I get it right from your reaction that you like what you see?" she teased after having wet her lips with the wine. Then, with a way more clinical tone added, "I guess I should give seducing Christian one more shot wearing this."

Eric was confused by her words. More, he felt every mention of his brother like a tiny needle stinging into his heart, yet his loins had a life of their own. He still had no idea what to say if she suddenly was to notice his throbbing erection. All he could hope for was that the erratic light transmission through the unsteady water surface was enough to hide his bulge.

She took both flutes and put them next to the ice bucket. She then turned around and began to swim around Eric. They kept eye contact while she was drawing her circles closer to him.

“You still haven't told me what you think of my bikini,” she stated playfully when she finally came to a halt barely fifteen inches away from him. A downward glance so quick he wasn't sure if she had just blinked, a smile flashing over her face, and she went on teasing him with her suave voice, “...but I think you like it, don't you?”

Eric blushed, not sure whether she was referring to his erection – or if she was just aware of the effect she was having on him. His heart was racing, his gaze unable to decide what to focus on. He took a deep breath, determined to say something – anything – to escape the situation. Neither his lips nor his voice, alas, were willing to cooperate.

He wanted to turn around and reach for the bottle to fill up both their glasses, but in his distress, he hit the ice bucket off the border. Like in slow motion, he watched it fall into the water together with the wine.

He winced both in shock from his clumsiness but also because he had just thrown over his best chance at escaping from his momentary situation. He hoped to find Andrea angry at him for wasting a perfectly good bottle of expensive Champagne, yet found her giggling instead. He turned around to find her stepping closer to him and lift her arms to reach out to touch him. With every step she took, the sound of the cicadas reverberated louder and louder in his ear canal.

Suddenly, she tripped. Despite standing in the almost chest-high part of the pool, out of chivalrous habit, he tried to catch her only to find his hand land straight on her breast. Both of them looked at each other, embarrassed, yet not moving although his hand was still touching her bosom.

Eric observed how with her mouth slightly agape and her breath getting more labored, her eyes wandered from his eyes, to his hand, his torso, and finally, back to his eyes. Then, her expressionless gape turned into a weak smile. As he tried to remove his hand from her chest, she held hers on his and followed his pull to stand right in front of him. She removed his hand from her breast, took his other hand as well, and placed them on both sides of her hips. She then placed her own hands on his shoulders and inched her face even closer to his.

He opened his eyes wide and swallowed hard one more time as he felt her breath on his lips. Although he didn't see her doing it, he knew she was licking her lips from the heat her tongue was irradiating not even half an inch away from his lips. Paralyzed, he didn't dare to kiss her. Neither did she but she moved her loins closer to his.

Afraid she would find his rock-solid erection repelling, he tried to step away from her but she had already wrapped her legs around his waist. By the time he had reached the pool edge, she was moving her pelvis against the rod in his trunks, relieving him of any doubts he was having about her intentions.

He heard her whisper moans as she hugged him close, pressing her breasts against his body, rubbing her private parts against his. Not having been sexually active for the better part of the past decade, he soon felt the first signs of his impending premature ejaculation. As much as he felt the years of pent-up urge for release in his groin, he, all of a sudden, came to his senses.

He pushed her away as gently as his state of mind allowed as he stuttered, “W-wha-what are we... a-are we doing, Andrea? We... We're not sup-supposed to... to do that.”

With a concerned expression in her face, she looked at him. He saw the guilt creep up her cheeks as they flushed anew. A crooked smile flashed across her face, then insecurity as her lips trembled from her mixed emotions.

“Eric, I'm sorry!” she exclaimed. Her tone was coy, ashamed even. “I, I... I don't know what came over me. I just... I just...”

Eric cut her off, “I know, Andrea. Me too, but as much as I'd love to keep doing this, we shouldn't. Please, Andrea. It's my fault just the same. We've been drinking... Well, not really, but enough to... What am I saying? And... and... fooling around and we're tired. I'm okay with it as long as we leave it at that and keep this between us.”

“But Eric,” Andrea started, making him backpedal, yet not adding more to it.

“It's okay, Andrea. I'm sorry to say this, I really am, but we're two grown-up people who can handle this kind of situation,” he suggested. “Let's just... go to sleep, shall we? Look, we're in no condition to talk this over right now. Let's just forget about all of this. No hard feelings, I promise.”

Andrea nodded wordlessly, her ashamed gaze downward. Although she didn't act like it, Eric thought he was seeing a tear rolling down her cheek. Afraid of conjuring a worse situation than they were already in, he reluctantly pressed his lips together as he watched her wade out of the pool.

***

Old man Eric awoke by the laughter of his great-grandchildren in the garden. It was almost noon. He had no recollection of how he had ended up in his bed again. He contemplated staying in bed some more but reckoned it was already late enough to have everyone worry about him.

He knew his mind hadn't rounded off with this story. Just as it had been the case for the past four decades, every time he noticed the ever-present chirping of the cicadas, his mind would digress to the events that happened during this vacation. It was a gaffe never properly concluded that kept haunting his thoughts and dreams. Every time he was to remember it, the old scars in his heart would tear right open again and leave him feeling the void he had never known to fill.

Sometimes, he would just think of a short moment; on other occasions, he would process the entire story in all its details. Each time, however, he simply could not keep himself from concluding with the night the cicadas were silent. However hard he tried, he knew he would eventually feel his chest burst anew.

To be continued...

Author's notes:

The concert of the Sinfonia Varsovia at the Festival internatioal de piano at La Roque d'Anthéron took place on August 14, 2018. The pianist really did leave a drunk impression by the way he walked but his performance was worthy of the standing ovations he earned. The local press described his heavy, unsteady steps as 'bear pace'. Since I couldn't recall the actual encore they played, I chose to use a personal favorite of mine.