Chapter 18 Elliot
ELLIOT
“Bonjour, Madame Dubois,” I called, not slowing down my bicycle as I passed by the old lady.
“Where are you rushing to?” she asked, her Midi accent carrying through her voice like ringing bells.
“To buy some cheese,” I shouted over my shoulder, my bicycle already rolling down the hill leading from Madame Dubois’s house to the Bouviers’ family farm, where they had a small shop.
The August sun hung high in the bright blue sky, its rays covering the world like a blanket of golden silk.
I admired the summer and its heat, especially because it meant swimming in the creek by the lavender fields.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath of the fresh air.
Nothing smelled as good as summer, with the strong scent of blossom the wind carried.
A honk made me open my eyes just as a small truck with its cargo filled with apricots passed me.
Remembering to be careful so I wouldn’t crash my bicycle as I did last fall, I grabbed the handles harder and pedaled as fast as I could until I reached Bouvier’s shop.
Getting off my bicycle, I leaned it against the back of the shop, near the old shed. Ready to circle the place and go inside, I stopped to fix my hair and wipe some of the sweat away. After all, I wanted to look good when Jacq—
“Hey!” I yelped, my lips curling into a big smile as I was grabbed from behind and pulled away from my bicycle.
“Jacques, put me down!” I laughed for a moment before he bucked me against the wall, his taller form already shielding me from the world.
It took him no more than a few seconds to start kissing me.
Everywhere. And I fought hard to keep my voice down so we wouldn’t be caught.
“I’m all sweaty from cycling here,” I whined, trying to get him off me by slapping his thick arms. It didn’t help, and instead, the bastard just kissed me behind my ear, in the spot he knew was my weakness.
Closing my eyes, I bit my bottom lip as heat rushed through me and butterflies filled my tummy, when he suddenly stopped and pulled back just a bit.
“Bonjour, mon chaton,” he said with a lopsided grin plastered on his full lips, the same grin that made me fall for Jacques Bouvier all those years ago.
“Mon chaton?” My kitten. “You’re the reason we’ll eventually be caught.” I slapped his chest.
Covering my hand with his, he held it closer to his heart. “Me? You’re the one who came here in the first place.” He pretended to pout, and I sighed.
“To buy Camembert,” I grunted and pushed away from him when he grabbed my waist and pulled me back into his arms.
“Stop being so cruel, mon chaton.” He planted a kiss on my neck. “And just admit you came to see me.” Another kiss. “Even better, tell me you love me.”
My heart fluttered at his words because they were true, and they had been true ever since we were kids.
What could I say? Those thick brows and green eyes that shone whenever he smiled were my Achilles heel.
An obsession that only bloomed stronger once we entered high school, and he grew much taller than me.
Maybe it was from helping his dad on the farm all the time, but now, at eighteen, Jacques was as broad as his older brothers and as strong.
The strongest guy in our village, with a heart of gold, who just so happened to love me, too.
“Jacques,” I said, watching his smile grow.
“Yes?”
“Can we go swimming?”
“So, as you were saying?”
Snapped out of my memory, I looked up at the report that sat in front of me.
We’d been sitting here, on the set for a magazine cover, for the past fifteen minutes doing this interview that would also be featured in the article they were doing about me.
A year ago, the idea of getting my own cover would have excited me, but now, after having had about a dozen, not as much.
“Oh, oui, of course.” I took a drag from my cigarette before tapping the tip in the ashtray and blowing out the smoke.
“What made me come to America… Euh, the same as everyone else, how you say that?” I wiggled my hand in the air.
“Euh… The American dream. Tu vois, everything can happen here. Oui?” I smiled warmly at the reporter, who seemed about my age.
Her lips curled up before she nodded and wrote something in her notebook.
“Of course. And clearly, you’ve proved it right.
I mean, in the past year, you’ve been on every major cover and catwalk.
Not to mention, the top designers in the industry are practically fighting over you, so one could only admire your success story, Elliot. ”
She talked way too fast for me to understand anything, but I nodded either way.
After enough time here, I’d learned that nobody actually cared about what I thought, as long as I smiled and nodded.
Nobody but… A bitter taste filled my mouth, and I quickly took another drag of my cigarette…
And another one, and another, until I had to light up a new one.
And in between smokes, I sipped my iced Americano.
I couldn’t say the taste of coffee had grown on me, as it still tasted like shit, but it kept me up and going.
“So, any tips for aspiring models?” she asked as I put down my coffee and stuck the new smoke between my lips.
“A cigarette for breakfast,” I half choked while lighting it up, then took a quick puff. “Maybe do not write it down, oui? Make me bad influence.”
She laughed. “Not at all. If anything, it’s quite funny.” She flipped to a new page in her notebook. “So let’s cut to the chase. Tomorrow, New York Fashion Week starts, and you’re going to walk in twenty shows.”
“Twenty-two,” I corrected her, because Robert, my agent, closed two more shows last week.
“Twenty-two shows, and you’re only twenty-one. That’s unbelievable, Elliot. Truly. Are you excited?”
“Of course.”
“Is there any show you’re looking forward to in particular?”
I shook my head. “Non.”
“And what about New York? Do you have plans to explore our city?”
“Euh, non. No time.” I forced a smile because, honestly, I hated this stupid place. “Tu vois, I be very busy.”
“That makes sense,” she said just as Robert, my agent for the past year, pointed at his watch from across the room before signaling with his hand to hurry up.
“Since it looks like we need to wrap this up, I’ll be quick.” She looked down at her notebook. “So, a question from your female fans, who I’m sure are all dying to know… how is your private life?”
I frowned at her, because what did she mean?
“Quoi?”
She chuckled. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
I paused with my cigarette close to my lips, thinking about a proper answer, but only one came to mind.
“Non. I don’t do relationship.”