Chapter Twenty-Two
After Madame Archambeau left the patisserie, we gathered our belongings and followed her out to the street to head back to the inn. As soon as we stepped outside, Monsieur Grenouille slammed the door closed behind us and flipped the sign on the window to read FERMé. CLOSED.
“Well, that was a colossal waste of time,” I said, glancing back.
“Was it?” Elliott snapped. “We learned your little boy toy is somehow entangled in all of this.”
I shot him a dirty look. “Don’t call him that. Besides, Bastien already told me his grandfather worked for the Adéla?ses.”
“There’s more to that story,” Elliott said, pacing in circles.
“Admit it, you just don’t like him.”
He stopped dead in his tracks. “Okay, fine, I admit it, I don’t like Bastien. I think he’s a pretty face devoid of any real substance. I’m sure half of the things that I say would sound sexy and charming if they were said in a French accent too.”
“I sincerely doubt that.”
“Whatever, either way, I just think he’s vapid. Shallow. Get real, Plum, nobody is that perfect.”
“Well, I do like him. Unlike you, he hasn’t given me any reason not to.”
“Yet,” Elliott smirked. “I have no doubt that it’s just a matter of time before one or both of you does something to blow this whole project up in the name of good television drama.”
“Why do I still feel like even though you are insulting Bastien, the person you’re really annoyed with, for God knows what reason, is me. I don’t know what I ever did to piss you off so badly, but I can’t figure out where I stand with you. We had a nice day, some actual nice moments between us, and then poof, the switch flips and I’m back to being Plum Everly, the diva you can’t stand.”
He rolled his eyes like I just didn’t understand, as if I was misunderstanding the entire situation. “You think a whole lot of yourself, Ms. Everly,” he said, turning my name into some sort of insult. “I have news for you, not everything in this world is actually about you. But you can’t stand that. You can’t stand for anyone else to take center stage. You know what they say, don’t you? People who shine from within don’t actually crave the spotlight.”
My anger was replaced by hurt and deep sadness. How many people out there hated me or had such a wrong idea of the real me because of my public persona? Did everyone think I was nothing better than an attention whore putting myself on show after show because I needed the constant validation, when in truth I was so lost I was just grasping at anything to stay afloat? “You’ve got it so wrong, you know. That person you keep referencing, she isn’t me. This isn’t the life I want. Not really.”
“Which life are you talking about here, Plum? It’s hard to keep track—you’ve pretended to have so many.”
Just as I went to fire back, the almost comical meep meep of Bastien’s small Peugeot tooted up the drive.
“Plum! Elliott! Venez, come, I have something I want to show you both,” Bastien called, pulling up beside us. “I know we have not been able to film much these past few days with all the troubles with the construction, but I think this is something you will both want to see.”
I glanced at Elliott and, without a word, jumped into the front seat of the car. He stood unmoving, as if weighing how badly he needed the footage against how badly he didn’t want to spend time with me and Bastien one-on-one.
I leaned out of the passenger side and said, “Kate’s gonna be pissed if you don’t have enough content for the dailies and testing audience, so get the lead out of your shoes and just get in the damn car. Stop being so obstinate.”
Muttering to himself about “wasting time” and “this damn shoot,” Elliott begrudgingly climbed into the back seat to wedge himself between Bastien’s large soccer duffel and the camera and boom, which we had to stick the top of out the window—again, Elliott the Grouch was less than pleased.
Bastien eased off the clutch and shifted into first gear to set off toward Chateau Mirabelle just as the pastel sunset began to settle across the rolling vineyards. Small pulses of light flickered across the horizon as a scattering of fireflies floated in the slight breeze, and I rolled the window down to breathe in the warm evening air. Bastien zipped up the long drive and threw the car into park right beside the stone staircase leading to the wooden front door of the chateau.
“Bastien, where are we going? What are you up to?” I eyed him and smirked, and my stomach fluttered at the sight of his wink.
“Elliott, you’ll want to start filming, non?”
Elliott half-heartedly lifted the camera to his shoulder and turned his back to the entryway so that the camera was focused on me and Bastien making our way up the front stairs.
“Come with me, Plum, I have a little surprise for you,” Bastien said, as if scripted, and led me by the hand inside. I tried to ignore Elliott, and the camera, and the fact that Bastien was probably doing this all for the TV show and not necessarily as a personal romantic gesture.
He led me through the main floor, which, while still in ruins, was in better shape than before. Bastien began to speak as we tunneled through the halls. “I know that you have been très stressée with this project, and I know it has been difficult these past few weeks with the construction. But I am a perfectionist, what can I say?”
Elliott snorted from behind his camera.
“Are you alright?” Bastien asked.
“Just dusty in here,” he fibbed.
“Ah, oui. Dust is very common in an old house. Come, follow me this way, ma cherie.”
Bastien smiled, and a flush warmed my cheeks. He paused at the doorway to a large, windowed solarium, letting Elliott go past us so that he could capture our arrival on film. He pulled back the rich, heavy dark-green velvet drapes, using the decorative tassel tieback to secure one at each side. Almost instantly, the sherbety oranges and pinks of the sunset flooded the room with a warm wash of color. It was like stepping into a fever dream, the setting immersive and vibrant, positively magnificent.
“Oh wow, Bastien. This view is just ... wow.” My eyes could hardly take in the surreal panorama.
“Is it, how do you say, ‘awesome’?” he teased and pulled me close. His hands wrapped around my waist, and he drew me back against his chest in a reverse hug. He rested his chin on my shoulder as we both watched out the window as the sun slipped away to the hypnotizing hum of the cicadas singing in the distance.
“I must say, this was a wonderful surprise. And a much needed one,” I said, hoping Elliott would catch the implication. I turned into Bastien’s arms and drew my lips to his, softly weaving my hands up through the soft curls at the nape of his neck.
After kissing me back (and turning my legs to Jell-O), he laughed and said, “This isn’t even the half of it. Oh, I have more.”
“You do, do you?” I purred seductively.
“Yes, I do!” he exclaimed and pulled me across the room to a small corner under the biggest picture window.
Silhouettes of hundreds of twisted grapevines cast against the periwinkle night sky. “Just ... wow,” I breathed.
Bastien entwined his fingers in mine and kissed the back of my hand. “Though it took a bit longer and caused more than a few headaches, today, Plum, we finally finished the foundation. We should be able to move much more quickly now that the main structural issues are meilleures. Now you will be able to be much more hands-on, and we can start filming your contributions to the renovation.”
“So it’s all fixed? We can move forward? That’s incredible news. I know how hard you’ve been working to try to get this all straightened out.” I kissed him again and hoped he could feel my gratitude.
I was used to intimate moments like this one being captured on film, but somehow it felt completely different with Elliott behind the camera. I glanced over and caught his eye before we both quickly looked away.
“Yes, because I want it all to be perfect. It will be so great for both of us when this show is a hit, right?” He pressed his lips to the top of my head. “Okay so, now look down. On the ground. By your feet. I wanted you to see this before we laid down the wood flooring.”
Confused, I stepped back, and with just the littlest light left from the descending sun, I could make out the faint outline of something in the floor’s layer of concrete. “What is—”
I squatted down to inspect, and there in the floor’s foundation, etched in for the rest of time, were my initials, PE, encased in a heart. Bastien continued, “This way no matter when you return home to Hollywood or wherever you jet off to next, you will be a part of this house here in Maubec so long as this house stays standing. And hopefully, it will be a part of you too.”
I traced my fingers over the letters and stood up to face him. “Always, Bastien. No matter where I go, this”—I gestured to the floor—“and you”—I took his hands in mine—“will always have a special place in my heart. This was just so thoughtful.” I stretched up on my toes and pulled him in for a long, deep kiss, taking the time to run my hands from his waist up his torso to settle on the tight muscles in his back. He passionately returned the gesture, his hands grabbing my hips and drawing me in close. He trailed sweet kisses down my neck, and breathless, I tugged lightly on fistfuls of his hair.
Elliott cleared his throat forcefully. “That’s enough for tonight. I’ve seen everything I need to.” He switched off the camera light and covered the lens.
I took my phone out of my pocket and snapped a photo of my initials in the concrete, quickly shooting it off to Kate in a text. Within seconds she responded.
Kate: Let me guess, Bastien? That’s quite the romantic gesture.
Me: I don’t know about that ... but he said he wants me to always be a part of the chateau which was very sweet.
Kate: Sweet my ass. Flowers are sweet. Chocolates are sweet. That my friend was a gesture.
Me: LOL! See you in a few days.
Kate: Packing my bags as we speak. What’s the weather like?
Me: HOT and aircon is not a given.
Kate: Noted.
Me: à bient?t!
Kate: Can’t wait. XO
I shimmied my phone back into my pocket.
“I have another surprise for Plum, but let me drive you back to the inn first,” Bastien offered.
“That’s okay, I texted Odette. She’s already on her way to pick me up.”
Here I was feeling, I don’t know, guilty? ... uncomfortable? ... at Elliott having to play audience to Bastien’s and my PDA, but why? There was clearly something sparking between Odette and him. I mean, he had her on speed dial for god’s sake! And it’s not like he gave two figs about me in general, so why should he care who I was kissing? I’m sure he didn’t, and I was making something out of a big fat nothing.
We didn’t owe each other anything, let alone explanations, and I sure as hell had no right or reason to feel the small twinge of what I could only call jealousy needling somewhere deep under my skin. Especially not when I had a gorgeous, sexy, and attentive Frenchman literally in my arms. What the hell was wrong with me?! Why did I have to remind myself to stop paying attention to Elliott while Bastien was giving me all the attention I needed?!
Bastien took my hand to lead me toward the back door. “Parfait!” he said to the back of Elliott’s head as he headed out the front.
“Have a good night,” Elliott said.
“Yeah, you too.” I glanced back over at him, his hulking shadow moving out the door, pausing for one second to glance back at me too.
Outside, Bastien had set a small picnic, and though the vineyards were overgrown and untended, the expanse was still breathtaking—a world away from LA. He had cleverly strung a few bistro lights from some branches and a dilapidated trellis so that we were haloed in a soft glow as the sun continued to set behind the Proven?al hills.
“Come, assieds-toi.” Bastien gestured to the fleece plaid blanket he’d laid out on a grassy stretch, which was adorned with a few fluffy, colorful throw pillows for us to sit on.
“Bastien, this is so sweet.”
We kicked off our shoes and got comfy on the blanket. Bastien reached over to a very stereotypical brown wicker picnic basket—it almost looked like a set prop—and took out a container of olive tapenade, a few small brown-paper-wrapped cheeses, a jar of lavender honey, a small bowl of bright-red strawberries and purple grapes, a slice of quiche lorraine, and two halves of a crusty baguette. Finally, the pièce de résistance: he fished around at the bottom to reach for a bottle of wine, a rosé from what I could tell in the dim light.
I didn’t realize just how hungry I was until Bastien popped a piece of gooey brie drizzled with the lavender honey in my mouth to try.
He licked the remaining honey off his finger and asked, “What do you think?”
“Of you? Of this? Or of the brie? All of it is very sweet.”
“You are the one who is very sweet. Speaking of, I brought a mirabelle for you to try,” he said, pulling two speckled, bright-yellow ripe plums from inside his pocket, along with a Swiss Army knife. He carved out a succulent slice and held it in his palm, the golden juice starting to trickle down his forearm. “Here, taste,” he offered, bringing the fruit to my lips.
With a gentle bite my teeth sank down into the tender flesh, releasing a burst of sweetness different from the dark-purple plums I was used to at home. The flavor was more complex, more nuanced, the subtle earthy notes of lavender and other aromatic flowers from the region deeply infused in the skin. It was like tasting Provence itself.
“So what do you think?” Bastien asked.
“I think it’s delicious.”
He pressed his lips to mine, sweeping his tongue with sweet kisses down my chin to lap up the sticky nectar. “I quite agree, delicious.”
Once we’d had our fill, sated with wine, bread, and cheese, we tossed everything back into the basket, clearing the blanket to make room for us to stretch out across the fleece. Bastien rolled over on his side and slid his hand onto my stomach, pulling me to him, his fingers finding the skin under my shirt. I sucked in a gasp as his cold touch moved up my warm skin, and his eyes found mine before drawing me in for an enveloping kiss. His hands in my hair and his breath mingling with mine were intoxicating, and yet I still felt so in my head, unable to let go and enjoy the moment.
“Let’s take this back to my appartement,” he whispered against my neck, every few words interrupted with a peck to the soft spot behind my ear.
Goose bumps trailed over my skin and down my legs. I wanted this. I wanted him. What was with my apprehension? I pulled away from Bastien and slowly shook my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not yet, Bastien. I just ...”
“I do not understand.” His pained face registered as hurt more than upset. He tilted my chin up toward his face to look him in the eye.
“It’s just ... this is all so new for me—this town, you, this relationship. I was with my ex, Rhys, for years. He was so intrinsically tied to my life and my happiness—it was like I didn’t know how to breathe without him. I’m just trying to figure out who I am on my own, and I’m not sure if it’s smart to get involved, especially with the distance and the short duration of the project ...”
I wasn’t sure if it was the language barrier or if I was starting to ramble senselessly, but Bastien looked more confused than when I had pulled away. “I still ... I don’t ...” He struggled to find the right words. “What you are saying is that you do not want me, n’est-ce pas? That you are still in love with Rhys?”
“God, no! That’s not what I’m saying at all. I just don’t want to rush into anything. I don’t want to feel pressured by our limited time together, or by what we feel like we need to squeeze in before I leave. I just want it to feel right, you know? And at this moment, it doesn’t. I’m sorry.” I searched his eyes for any indication of his emotion. “Is that okay?”
Though he looked hurt and still confused, his shoulders softened, and he wrapped me in a hug. “Of course it is okay. I just want to be with you in whatever way I can be. I do not wish to pressure you to do anything you feel you are not ready for. We can just stay here and enjoy the night together like this, yes?” He quickly popped up from the blanket, and I sat up too, wondering where on earth he was going and at such a strange moment. But before I knew it, the glow of the garden lights disappeared, leaving us in complete darkness. Bastien pulled his phone from his pocket and used the flashlight to make his way back to me on the blanket.
“Now we can see the stars. There is little light for kilometers and kilometers, you will be amazed at everything you can see.” He lowered himself down to snuggle close to me, pulling me in and tucking me into his chest where his heart beat steadily like a clock. “We can lay here, together, and just be. I don’t want you to do anything you do not feel is right for you. In my culture, we are très expressifs with our affection.” He kissed me softly, pulling the breath from my lungs. I could see he was trying to lighten the situation and conceal his hurt.
I moistened my lips. “In my culture, if we are too expressifs, we risk getting hurt.”
He caressed the side of my face. “I will not hurt you, Plum.”
I wanted so badly to believe him. To let him take me in his arms and back to his apartment and help me forget about the tape, about Rhys, about all of it. But I wasn’t ready, not yet anyway. “Can we just take things slow?”
“You are right,” he said, his tone gentle and reassuring, “there is no reason to rush something you want to last.”
“Merci.” And as I melted into his embrace, I couldn’t help but wonder two things. One: How did Bastien always seem to know just the right thing to say? And two: When would the weight of my past begin to feel just a little bit lighter?