Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
It would be really nice to stop having awkward dinners at this place, I thought. Maybe this place was cursed after all. But it wasn't failed crops and doomed vintages—it was a lifetime of excruciatingly uncomfortable dinner parties. I mentally added "exorcist" to my growing to-do list for the chateau.
"So, you're a local farmer, then?" Evan said to Remi, his voice dripping with faux casualness.
It sounded like an innocent enough question, but I caught the mocking undertone. I just hoped his condescension was lost in translation. But based on the way a dark shadow crossed Remi's stormy eyes, I knew it wasn't. I shoved some bread in my mouth, partly to keep from saying something I'd regret and partly because stress-eating suddenly seemed like a brilliant coping mechanism.
" Oui . In a manner of speaking," Remi replied, his voice smooth and cool. "I have the vineyard next door."
"Another vineyard? Isn't that something," Evan said, his voice taking on the oily quality of a used car salesman. I cringed inwardly.
"We are in the heart of Provence, Evan. Not really shocking," I interjected, unable to keep the bite from my tone.
"Right, of course," Evan chuckled, a smirk playing on his lips. "Look at you, living such a fun little rom-com."
I felt my hackles rise. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
Evan's laugh deepened, grating on my last nerve. "Nothing. But it's funny, isn't it? You just run off to the south of France and meet some dashing local farmer who's going to teach you all about the magic of Christmas. Just like those stupid Netflix movies you can't get enough of."
To Remi's credit, his face remained an unreadable mask, though I caught a flicker of something—annoyance? amusement?—in his eyes.
"You're funny," Remi finally said, completely deadpan. “And not wrong. Christmas in Provence really is something.”
"And what is it you do, Evan?” Félicité asked, smoothly diverting the tension like a pro.
I dropped my fork, the metal clattering against the china. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I struggled for air. The room seemed to close in around me.
"Sorry," I managed to croak out. "Got a little lightheaded for a second. Probably dehydrated."
"Here. Drink some water," Remi said, his voice gentle as he filled my glass from the pitcher on the table. I flashed him a grateful smile, even if the water served as something for my shaking hands to do.
"Oh, you don't know?" Evan asked, his tone dripping with false surprise.
Félicité scrunched her nose, her bluntness a breath of fresh air. "Why would I?"
Evan spared me a look that made my skin crawl. "Oh, because—I figured El would have talked about it. She and I were actually in business together. We had a—"
He paused, and I felt my jaw clench. Go ahead and say it, I thought. Tell them what you did. Tell them how you stole my dream.
"We had a sustainable goods store," he said as if he was describing a quaint roadside lemonade stand.
Félicité turned to me, her eyes bright with interest. "Is that right? How cool."
"It was more than just a store," I said, my teeth gritted so hard I feared for my dental work. "We had an online store, too, that was really picking up. We were even starting to get the attention of some larger retailers that wanted to carry our products."
“Tres bien, Elodie! But why the past tense? You no longer have it?" Félicité asked.
I glared at Evan, willing him to burst into flames. "Well, I don't. He does."
I silently chided myself. I shouldn't be making things awkward. I didn't have to stoop to Evan's level. But oh, how I wanted to.
A form of recognition dawned on Félicité's expression, and her cheeks blossomed bright red.
"It's not quite like that," Evan said, his voice oily smooth. "We sold it."
"Oh," Félicité said awkwardly, her eyes darting between us like she was watching a particularly tense tennis match.
I sighed, suddenly feeling very tired. "As it goes sometimes. It was the right thing to do."
"Probably would have been weird to stay in business together after we broke up," Evan added with a chuckle, as if this was all some funny little anecdote and not the ruins of my shattered dreams.
Remi flashed me a sympathetic look, but I only pressed my lips into a tight smile. I wasn't going to break down right now. Not in front of Evan. Not ever again.
"Right. For the best," I said, my voice hollow. "But the buyer just loved Evan. So he went with the sale. Like the home gym with the house sale."
Remi and Félicité lowered their eyes into their wine glasses.
Colette, bless her, chose that moment to swoop in like a Michelin-starred guardian angel, interrupting with dinner.
"And here we are. Pissaladière onion tart," she announced, her smile warm and oblivious to the tension crackling around the table.
Everyone's eyes went wide at the sight of her creation, a momentary truce called in the face of culinary perfection.
"You've outdone yourself again," I added, grateful for the distraction.
"Nonsense. Just an old Proven?al recipe I have been making for years. Enjoy."
"How do I get one of her?" Evan asked, his eyes gleaming.
I flashed him a look I hoped could peel paint, secretly wishing I had Medusa's power to turn him to stone.
"You don't," I said, my voice low and dangerous. "Some things, Evan, aren't for sale."