Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
ANTOINE
T he rhythmic sound of hooves on gravel fills the air as I guide my horse up the gentle incline. Celeste rides beside me. Her posture is impeccable and her auburn hair glistens in the late afternoon sun. The lush green hills of the Bellay estate unfold before us like a scene from a postcard. I look at Celeste again.
Such grace!
True, no one would call her “cute” or even “sweet”—her strong facial features have made sure of that. But, frankly, who needs “sweet” when you have such a perfect, athletic build and such elegance! She’s smart, too. And witty. In short, Celeste is my type of woman and my kindred spirit, physically and intellectually.
If that’s not the definition of a soulmate, then what is?
Certainly not my televised pairing with Laura, which Pedro had engineered to get me closer to her. Laura is the ultimate anti-Celeste. She’s cute, all right. Fine, let’s face it: she’s infinitely sweet. And I ended up enjoying her company more than I ever imagined. But we’re not alike. Laura Yang is not my soulmate.
Eyes and thoughts on Celeste, Antoine!
Right. Right. What other qualities can I think of?
Ah yes, how could I forget? Celeste is kind and generous. She’s a wonderful human being. She’d been a stand-in mom for her orphaned nephew for several years, until her brother Jonas, who’d adopted his dead twin’s son, gave the boy a loving stepmom.
And then there’s the de Valois blood, the bluest of the blue, running through her veins. Her mother, Marie-Louise, was born to a royal duke. No wonder my parents can’t wait to call Celeste their daughter-in-law!
“You wouldn’t believe the enthusiasm we’re already seeing for the competition,” Celeste says, interrupting my self-talk.
I gather my thoughts. “Knitting, right? Your hobby is more popular than you realized.”
“Yes!” She grins. “You should try it sometime. It’s very meditative.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“It’s also deeply satisfying to create something with your own hands.”
“I’ll give it a try, I promise.” I smile. “It’s wonderful that you’re channeling that passion into something charitable.”
And it is wonderful. Celeste is wonderful. She’d make an extraordinary wife. She’d be a partner who would never embarrass me at a dinner party or shock the royals with a plebeian turn of phrase. We’re birds of a feather. I can’t think of anyone better suited for the role of the Viscountess de Bellay than Celeste. Anyone!
Which is why it annoys me to no end that when Celeste talks about her passion for knitting, my mind jumps to Laura. It paints a vivid picture of her hunched over her sketchbook, pencil smudges on her fingers, the tip of her tongue sticking out…
I grip the reins tighter and shake the image away.
Laura is firmly in the past.
I haven’t seen her or spoken to her in the three weeks since she kicked me out of her bed at the Shanghai Marriott. I booked another room. At dawn, I paid for both rooms, and left an envelope for her at the front desk. It contained cash, a ticket to Chengdu, and another to Paris, both business class so she’d fly comfortably. The envelope also included a note reiterating how grateful I was for her help in finding the key. I added that she could snub her compensation for as long as she likes. It changes nothing. If, in a year or a decade, she decides she wants that money, she’ll still have access to it.
“It’s been so rewarding to plan this!” Celeste exclaims.
I focus my attention on her again.
“Seeing everyone’s excitement,” she continues, “made me reflect on what’s next for us.”
The transition is contrived to say the least, but I don’t blame her. It’s always tricky to shift a conversation from a general topic to something much more personal.
Celeste pulls on the reins. “About the other night, when we kissed… I was wondering what that meant to you.”
With a gentle tug, I signal my horse to stop. The old boy snorts, as if to fill the silence I’ve let stretch a beat too long.
“I think we have something special,” I finally say. “You’re a remarkable woman, Celeste.”
It’s a cautious answer, positive but not over the top. Probably not what she was hoping for. I should’ve waxed lyrically about our first kiss. Even answering with a question about what it had meant to her would’ve been preferable. I’ve been taking things much too slowly with Celeste. No wonder she’s disoriented!
I should tell her that I enjoyed the kiss. It wouldn’t be a complete lie. She tastes good. Fresh. Healthy. What’s not to like?
But even as I try to squeeze the words out, my mind betrays me, conjuring up the memory of another kiss, shared on a beach in Sardinia. Laura’s soft, plump lips, her inexplicably alluring curves, her skin wet from the rain, her laughter between two distant peals of thunder… In that dark, unromantic kiosk I kissed her like a man possessed, like I couldn’t help myself. Because I couldn’t.
Celeste’s voice pulls me back. “Antoine? You seem distracted.”
“Just preoccupied with some business matters,” I say quickly. “You know how it is.”
She smiles. “Not really. If you’re referring to the movie studio I co-own with Jonas and Louis, I’m not involved in the business side of things.”
“No?” I feign surprise.
The truth is, I’d completely forgotten about her studio. Shame on me. I should be more interested in Celeste’s life. I should think about her a lot more than I do.
She tilts her head to one side. “I hope you know you can talk to me about anything.”
“Of course.”
Her smile brightening, she spurs her horse forward. “Come on! We only have fifteen minutes before brunch.”
Oh fuck, the brunch! My parents, her mother, the prime minister… I wish I could wriggle out of it.
I let Celeste go ahead, needing the space. There’s a tightness in my chest as if something were pressing on me from all sides. My resistance to what is best for me boggles the mind. I should be all in with Celeste. The woman is objectively fantastic. She can beat a man at tennis and chess. She rides like an Amazon and loves to hike. She’s the daughter of a count, granddaughter of a royal duke, sister of a key seeker. Last but not least, she’s my compatriot.
Our match would make my parents very happy.
What I feel for Laura is just residual lust. That’s not a good basis for a lifelong relationship. The reason I got so wrapped up in her is simply because I’d never been with a woman like her before. She was an anomaly. A minority report. The exception that proved the rule. It wasn’t her intrinsic nature that seduced me. It wasn’t her unexpectedly fun personality, or her subtle humor, or how sweetly hot she was. It was the novelty. She was my first lover with a background radically different from mine.
All this thinking about her, the longing, is just an echo of the allure of uncharted waters. Because that’s all it was. A textbook case of the grass being greener on the other side.
I’ve grazed that grass now. It’s time to move on.