Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
N othing. Absolutely nothing can steal me from my comforter cocoon.
Except for a warm, wet stream south of my bikini line. It gushes out, and I jump up, hoping I didn’t just sully the ecru sheets as I propel out of bed.
Seriously, Aunt Flo!
After months of ghosting me—like she normally does when my stress levels spike or when I’m traveling— now she decides to show up. I guess she gave me fair warning with those hormone blitzes this past week.
Fortunately, I have a few old pads stuffed in my toiletry bag, flattened to paper’s thickness. Knowing I’ll have to grab more, I quickly get ready and praise Sylvie for agreeing to prepare the kids’ breakfast while I run to the local pharmacie.
Something I’ll miss about this place when I leave in a few weeks is how crisply quiet the mornings are. A handful of locals scuff their feet along cobblestone to grab their family’s tear-and-share baguette and mull over café au laits with friends. Shop owners wedge their doors open, waving to one another in routinely amicable glee.
A small green cross hanging inside the pharmacy’s window blinks alive, and I head in. As I start navigating the narrow aisles stocked with medications and personal care items, a woman in a lab coat yawns and asks if I’m looking for anything in particular. It hits me that I haven’t a clue what the French word for tampon is, and I’m not about to make hand gestures that I’ll live to regret.
“Uh... Tam... Tam...”
The pharmacist looks at me boredly.
A cramp pangs my side, and I give up searching for the translation.
“Tampon,” I exclaim in the most obvious American accent. Just as I do so, the bell dings above the entrance. I snap my head over to see Emi muffling a laugh.
“Ah, tampon,” the pharmacist says with a nod, leading me down the second aisle.
Tam-po(n) . Really, Kat.
I peruse a selection of foreign brands, but my focus remains on my peripheral vision. Emi chats with the woman before grabbing some skin cream and strolling my way.
“Bonjour,” she says politely.
“Emi.” My face is strained, my voice desperate. “Look, I shouldn’t have brought you to the school. I didn’t mean to pressure you?—”
“I’m glad you did. I didn’t go to university just to keep my childhood job at the Cave.”
“Have you told your parents?”
Emi nods confidently. “Oui. It’s taken me years to do it, but I’m tired of holding myself back. She knows I’m ready to move on. It’s time.”
“How’d she take it?”
“Better than I thought. At first she didn’t say anything, just kind of looked at me like a ghost. But only because she hasn’t hired extra staff before and doesn’t know how to post a job opening online.” Emi’s eyes go to crescents as she giggles. “I’m taking a teaching position in Paris next year. In the meantime, I’ll occupy myself at that primary school in Nice and maybe dip my toes in Teachers Without Borders during the school breaks.”
“Très bien, Em. That’s amazing.”
I sigh with a relieved grin, and she gives me one big bear hug.
“I need to tell you something too,” I say to Emi after we pay at the register. All the way back to the Chessley house, I relay my night with Jamie. Then about my skyrocketing feelings for him and Damien. And my angst over the imminent party—knowing it’s my last hurdle to jump over before finally getting into Young Soarers.
“You’re not surprised about Jamie?” I ask Emi whose expression hardly changes when I tell her.
“Kat, he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since you first came to èze.”
My cheeks flush with heat.
“So what does this mean for you two?” Emi asks as we round the tall cypress trees lining the stone wall to the Chessley villa.
“That it ends here,” I claim, though my stomach turns as I hear myself speak the words. I’ve decided. I won’t give up a chance with Damien. Besides, even if I indulged the idea of being with Jamie after my au pairing is up, who’s to say Angela wouldn’t seek revenge on my reputation for “stealing her son.”
When Emi and I make our way through the kitchen, both of us comment on the silence in the house. Normally, a boxing match would be breaking out over the last pain au chocolat.
On the terrace, Sylvie rests her feet on an ottoman and sips a large cup of tea. She relays that Angela and Nick took the kids to breakfast at the tennis club and that I’m more than welcome to join. Emi comes along, knowing she’s always invited. I can’t imagine Jamie would willingly show up to such a prolonged outing with his family with no easy escape route. And when we arrive at the Monte Carlo Country Club, my suspicions are confirmed.
Emi and I join Nick, Angela, and the kids in the sea of white umbrella tables. The club’s terrace, nestled along the cliffs of Monaco, overlooks a plethora of tennis courts, swimming pools, and the glistening ocean just a few kilometers in the distance.
Milo insists that I sandwich myself between him and Josie. I didn’t know what to expect seeing Angela face-to-face after Jamie and I had our little rendezvous. If there was a photographer on our tail last night, they must not have caught anything proof worthy of Jamie’s and my entanglement to show to Angela. Because if there were, I’d be back in Boston by now.
Under a wide-brimmed, creaseless sunhat, Angela stares as I take a seat. She doesn’t blink once nor does she glance down at the grapefruit she’s so gracefully scooping out.
Thankfully, Emi incidentally comes to my rescue from Angela’s bone-chilling yet searing gaze. She points to the two empty chairs at the end of the table. “Est-ce que quelqu’un d’autre vient?” she asks Angela.
I myself wonder if someone else plans to join. Before Angela can answer, Jamie shuffles past the maze of wicker chairs to our table.
“Désolé,” he says and gives his mother a kiss on the cheek.
My fingers scrunch up my white sundress at the knees as he shuffles behind my chair.
“Pas de problème,” Nick says, waving his hand and setting down his copy of Conseils .
Jamie takes his seat next to Josie. Our eyes fall on each other, but we both tear them away.
“Jamie,” Angela says, flicking her napkin over her lap. “Your car wasn’t at the house this morning. Where did you come from?”
Jamie swigs a sip of water.
“I spent the night somewhere else.”
True.
Angela daggers her eyes to me until she lowers her tensed shoulders. She raises her brow at Jamie, waiting for him to expound, but she can’t help herself.
“You went to the vineyard, didn’t you? Getting drunk with strangers all over again.”
He shrugs. “Not strangers,” he mumbles into his glass.
Warmth races through me.
“Mon amour,” Angela says to him. “When will enough be enough?”
Jamie holds a grave stare with his mother until the waiter interrupts to take our orders. Angela lists an assortment of items for us to share. Nick removes his tennis jacket and rests it on the empty chair beside Jamie.
“Uh-uh.” Angela waves a finger. “That’s for our guest.”
Nick, apparently having not been clued into any details on the matter, scrunches his brow.
“And there she is,” Angela says, waving to someone behind me.
Probably Estelle or Marie is my guess. Until I hear the voice.
“Angela, comment ?a va!” Vivian says. She greets us all with a double-cheek kiss.
“Kat,” she says to me. “So nice to see you again. We keep running into each other everywhere, don’t we?” Her lip-glossed grin is as amiable as ever.
“Oh?” Angela asks, gesturing for Vivian to take her seat next to Jamie.
Vivian gestures to Emi and I. “We three found each other at the same bookstore in Saint-Tropez.”
“Quelle co?ncidence,” Nick says matter-of-factly with a grin.
Vivian points to me. “This one is a smart cookie,” she says. Her French accent makes English even sound attractive.
“Likes to read philosophy,” Vivian adds, draping her pristine white blazer over her shoulders.
Jamie’s eyes freeze on his glass of juice, his neutral expression tensing. I take a mouthful of orange juice to avoid answering any follow-up questions.
“Really?” Angela tears apart a croissant, layer by layer. “Give us a quote then, Kat.”
My jaw clenches. Merde-y merde merde.
“Don’t explain your philosophy. Embody it,” Jamie says as he pops a grape into his mouth. “Epictetus.”
Manon grunts. “That sounds like a flesh-eating virus.”
Angela laughs. “That’s right, Jamie. You took a few university courses in philosophy.”
“You remember?” Jamie says.
“Of course. Vivian, please enjoy.” Angela gestures to the assortment of breakfast items spread over the glass table.
“Merci beaucoup,” Vivian responds, scooping some chopped apples onto her plate.
Angela traces the rim of her empty coffee cup, glancing around the terrace. “Où est le serveur?”
“I’ll go find him,” I say without a second thought. We may be outdoors, but I need to get some air from all this.
Inside the lounge, I rest my forearms on the bar’s granite countertop, trying to put my feelings at bay.
“Hey,” Jamie says, walking up to me.
My eyes dart around the room filled with club members dressed to play a tennis match. Any one of them could be Angela’s or Nick’s friends ready to spill the details of our conversation. I grab his wrist, pulling him around the corner and down a narrow staircase that leads to a red-carpeted billiards room.
We pause halfway down the wooden steps.
“Kat, what happened last night? Did I do something?”
“Would you please stop?” I beg, scanning my feet on the narrow stairs.
He scrunches his brow and motions closer. “Kat?—”
“No, Jamie. No. I can’t do this. The secrets and the rules and the hiding. The back and forth. I’m sick of it.” Tears well in my eyes, but I don’t dare break my gaze with his.
“I’m tired of hiding too, Kat. I tried my best to hold back, but I can’t anymore. I won’t. Look, summer’s almost over, and in a week, my mother won’t be your boss.” Jamie takes my hand in his. “What’s stopping?—”
“Your mother doesn’t want us together. To her, I’m your biggest distraction.”
“Yeah. From a career that I’ve never even wanted.”
“Well, she still has an impact on the career I’ve been after for over a decade. I need the best reference I can get. And that means I can’t... we can’t...not now. Not ever.” I glance down, a weight sinking in my stomach.
Jamie’s cheekbones hollow out.
“You’re chasing her good word for a dream you’re barely hanging on to,” he asserts.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“The Young Soarers, Kat. You don’t want it. You’ve said it yourself.”
I cross my arms. “No, I haven’t.” My chest rises and falls with deep, aggravated breaths.
His green eyes pour into mine.
“Not in so many words,” he mumbles and glances to the side.
I’ve lost track of what and to whom I’ve shared my evolving opinion around the Young Soarers. What were random, cryptic comments to Jamie, Emi, and Damien and what were my own epiphanies.
Sucking in my cheeks, I squint at him. “You’re one to talk. Telling me to follow my real dreams, yet you’re eons away from being transparent about yours.”
“That’s different. You’re clearly on to something with Conseils . You’ve proved you can do it, the writing and filming. But you won’t see it for yourself. And you’re so resistant to changing your direction now, still focused on the Young Soarers.”
“Look. Magazines aren’t movies,” I interject tersely, shoving away the little voice inside my head that highlights the miniature documentaries we’ve filmed for Conseils .
“It’s the principle of it. You made something out of pure passion and spark.”
I inhale sharply. Jamie leans closer, his sun-kissed locks framing his jawline.
“Just because I keep my plans a secret, and for good reason I may add, what does that have to do with you? Even if I told the world about my chateau today, would you still keep your true dream on the backburner?”
Maybe he’s right. Still, I purse my lips and straighten my spine. Nodding my head toward the terrace, I divert the conversation.
“Why doesn’t she know about the Vigne? If you’re so close, how come she’s not clued in?”
He scrunches his brow. “What. Viv? I love her like a sister, but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”
“You know, you’re pretty haughty for giving me career advice when you can’t even take it yourself. That little ‘own up to your truth’ spiel sounds a bit like bullshit to me.”
Gulping, I wrap my hand around the railing. Only a few inches separate our mouths. His cologne is thick and cozy as ever, and I am just as susceptible to falling prey. But I turn my head.
“Jamie, please. It can’t happen,” I state firmly. “This”—I gesture between us—“can’t happen.”
Jamie sighs and bows his head, surrendering. “You’re right.”
Oof. It doesn't feel good to hear him say it too.
I push myself back and cross my arms. His eyes search mine, carrying the same tender gentility he had last night and the first day I met him.
“Kat.” His voice goes soft.
A cloud of warmth diffuses around us, but my better judgment cools me off.
I drop his hand and ascend the stairs, breathing out any remaining tingles in my stomach. Eventually, he follows behind, and we spend the rest of breakfast without speaking a word to each other unless it’s in regard to passing the pastry basket.
Angela carries on about how she’s adding a few more people to the guest list, that I’m to make sure their invitations get express-mailed by tonight, and to enlist Vivian for assistance because of her accumulated experience in supporting Lavergne company functions in the past. I’m only half listening as I agree, peeling my eyes away from the table and setting my sight on the tennis courts below.