Chapter 8
My phone blares at me; I screw my eyes shut and lift the cover over my head to block it out. Only it doesn’t work, the stupid thing keeps blaring at me. I blindly reach my hand onto the nightstand, searching for it. “This better be an emergency,” I grumble, holding it to my ear. I’ve only just closed my eyes; I don’t even think I’ve hit REM sleep yet.
“Well hello to you too. Looks like someone’s had a bad day.” Briar’s voice is way too cheery for this time in the morning.
“Given the fact I’m being woken up at two a.m. and it’s not because I have a hot French guy between my legs determined to make me worship a deity with his tongue, I guess you could say that.”
“Ummm.” Briar’s breath hitches, apparently the picture I’m painting seems a mutual desire.
Pulling away the phone from my ear, I blink at the bright light singeing my pupils. I yawn and rub my eye. “For future reference. Time difference. I’m six hours ahead.”
“Lesson learned,” Briar replies.
“I went to the chateau today,” I tell her, leaning over to switch the bedside lamp on.
“Is it as beautiful as I think it is?” Her voice is full of whimsy.
I snort. “Yeah, if Disney wanted to make a horror version of its castle.”
“That bad?”
“Worse,” I reply. “It has amazing potential; it’s just seen better days.”
“Did you meet Jean-Luc? Is he cute? I bet he’s cute, kinda like a Theo James situation.”
“I have not met Jean-Luc. Do you think he could be my long-lost cousin?”
“If he is, I want dibs.” Briar giggles, making me roll my eyes, she really has a type. French guy.
“Oh yeah, I’ll be sure to tell him.”
“I can’t wait to meet him,” Briar continues on with her fantasy. “It will be like love at first sight.”
“Side note, I did see the most beautiful man in the council office, he was totally a Theo James situation, but French.” My heart gives a stutter just thinking about the man from yesterday.
“Fuck yes, hot French summer is going to be amazing. I hope Flora gives me time off over the summer so I can come visit you,” she tells me.
I snort. “That would be great. I need as much help as I can get. As long as you don’t mind sleeping in a hammock, of course.”
I honestly doubt I’ll have a room to sleep in by the time summer’s here, let alone a place for Briar.
“I’m cool with that.”
“Good. I miss you. Now let me sleep, woman,” I growl into the receiver.
“Miss you too. Goodnight, errr, good morning,” Briar stutters before hanging up the phone. I toss it somewhere on the bed and go back to sleep. Too tired to care where it lands.
Sunlight filters through the window where the curtains I forgot to close are open, waking me up at a more decent hour. Quickly showering, and locating my Speed Stick of deodorant, I roll it twice under each arm before pulling on the same clothes from yesterday and lacing my boots up. My mouth waters just thinking about food as I leave my hotel room and walk down into the main street of Carcen, the early morning sun taking the edge off the frosty dawn. I’m grateful the sun has a bit of heat to it today, making me feel much less underdressed than yesterday. The storefronts draw my attention as I make my way down the street to the patisserie, my eyes drinking in the different cheese shops, bakeries, wine cellars, and fashion stores. I finish my croissant and coffee, before moving on to my next destination. Crédit Agricole, my new French bank. The eyes of everyone on the street bear into me as I pass by. It doesn’t seem like Carcen is big on the tourism calendar—or maybe it’s just me. I push my hands deeper into my pockets, trying to hide the tremor.
“Ah, here it is,” I exclaim, relieved when I see the sign, stepping through the double glass doors and into the bank. A few people are already being served by bank tellers; I take up my position at an empty teller. The other people in the bank turn to look at me. Is there something on my face? I absently rub at my chin in case there is a stray croissant crumb there and discretely make sure there is no crud in my eyes.
“Bonjour, Madame,” the older-looking gentleman on the other side greets me.
“Bonjour.” I smile, squinting my eyelids to read his name tag. Je m’appelle Davide.
“Comment puis-je vous aider ce matin?” the man asks.
“English?” I ask, my eyes widening.
“Oui, Madame. How may I help you this morning?” he asks again, in a bored tone. I release my grip on the strap of my backpack, letting it roll off my shoulders as I undo the zipper and pull out the document that Timothé wrote the word bank on the sticky note and my passport.
“Madame, you have a bank account, you wish to access?” He picks up the documents, I slide under the small document chute.
“Yes, sir.”
Davide nods his head, takes my papers, and walks away, leaving me standing there.
“Ah, Miss Allard, I have your credit cards,” Davide says when he returns a short time later.
“Credit cards?” I repeat, not thinking I’d heard him correctly. I’ve never had a credit card, let alone multiple. My debit card barely functions; with each tap I’m liable to have it cut up, and now he wants to give me multiple cards? Louis really must want this chateau fixed; I just hope Jean-Luc isn’t some mean old man who is going to fight me at every turn.
“Yes, Madame. It seems your father left you a trust that was activated when you turned twenty-one.” I stare at the man with wide eyes. I didn’t think Dad left me anything, and now I find out I have a whole trust fund.
“This credit card is for this account.” Davide holds up a blue credit card, clearly missing the fact that I feel like the life I was leading up until this point was a giant lie. Davide points to a document Timothé had said were funds for the chateau. I swallow the lump in my throat and nod, pretending like I’m following along with what he is saying when in reality my mind is spinning as I question if the fleeting memories I have of my father are even true.
“This credit card,” he holds up a silver credit card, “is attached to this account.” He points to one of the pieces of paper that Madeline gave me yesterday.
“Oh, how much is in that account?” I ask sheepishly, I need to know just how much this inheritance is.
“Blue card has one hundred thousand euros. Silver card has five hundred thousand euros. Do you need help to get any cash out?” Davide asks, but my eyes are bulging out of my head and my mouth is slightly ajar. Five hundred thousand euros? Did I hear that correctly? That would solve all my life’s problems, while also creating a whole hoard of new ones. One thing is for sure, there is more to the Allard name than I was left to believe.
“Five hundred thousand euros,” I repeat, sure that he’s made some mistake and mixed up my name with someone else’s.
“Yes, Madame, that is the amount in this account,” Davide responds, his face impassive. “It is your inheritance from your father’s estate.”
“Are you sure that is for me?” I ask out loud this time, my mind working at half speed. Never in my life have I seen so much money, let alone have it in my own bank account.
“Yes, Aurora, this is your name on the bank account.” Davide opens the pages and shows me my name written on the account. My eyes are telling me that it is my name, but my brain is struggling to register it.
“H-h-how do I use it?” I stammer.
“However, you wish.” He smiles at me.
Imagine the paints I can buy. With my eyes as wide as saucers, I tuck my card in my pocket. “Thank you,” I say to my new angel and leave the bank.
I’m officially a trust fund kid. I giggle to myself. I think it’s safe to say I love Carcen.
The tantalizing smell of newly cooked bread from the bakery two shops down calls to me. With my card loaded, I buy some food, a new computer, and my secret weakness: clothes. My arms are weighed down with bags, and I struggle to make it to my hotel room where I plan to dump these bags to go out in search of more shopping when I bump into a familiar face.
The man from the office yesterday smiles at me.
“Oh, hi, man from the office?” I know exactly two people in this town, and I’m so grateful to be able to see someone who isn’t looking at me like an escaped lab experiment.
“Luc.” He smiles at me.
“Right.” I click my fingers. “Luc.”
“Did you see your family?” he asks, a smile curling along his lush lips. Fuck, Luc is a carbon copy of Theo James, right down to his lush tawny skin tone. Briar is right; hot French summer sounds pretty amazing.
“My family?” I cock my head to the side. His warm spice scent circles my body, like an invisible rope tying my soul closer to his. Then I remembered I told him I was here to visit family. “Oh, right, yes, I did.” I smile, nodding.
“Enjoying the French culture, I see.” Luc gives a soft chuckle, plumes of white breath escaping his lips as he looks at all the bags dangling off my arms.
“Yes.” My eyes are mesmerized by the golden flecks in his.
“Are you liking it so far?”
“Yes, but I don’t understand why everyone is staring at me?” I mention as a passerby cuts between us, eyes trained on me.
He throws his head back and gives a deep laugh that sends tingles straight to my lady parts. “Carcen is a very small town, they don’t get many tourists. They are staring at you because they are intrigued by a beautiful woman,” Luc explains. The deep husk of his voice makes it hard to concentrate on what he’s saying.
On the other side of the street someone calls, “Luc, comment allez-vous [Luc, how are you]?” I know just enough French to know he’s asking how are you. See, I’m not totally useless, I think to myself, feeling smug.
“Pierre, on prend toujours un verre [Pierre, are we still on for a drink]?” Okay, never mind. All smugness leaves my body as Luc responds.
“Bien s?r. Tu paies [Of course. You’re paying].”
Pierre smiles back at me after waving goodbye to Luc. Even from across the street I can tell he is about the same six-foot height as Luc. His black hair is cropped closely on the sides and longer on top, and I don’t know how he isn’t freezing without a hat on. Like Luc, he wears a nice shadow of stubble along his jaw, and his bright green eyes glow with mirth. Clearly the conversation he is having with Luc is more lighthearted and less serious. I don’t understand a lick of the conversation, but the way Luc’s tongue curled around all those words—his golden-honey eyes crinkling around the corners as he smiles and laughs—sends a tingle up my spine. It’s not the baguette in my hand making my mouth water.
The bell in the giant bricked clock tower rings three times, reverberating off all the buildings and walkways.
Luc looks at me. “Hey, if you’re family aren’t keeping you too busy, would you like to come grab a drink with us? According to Pierre I’m paying.”
My tongue becomes two sizes too big for my mouth. “Oh, umm, yeah.” I can only manage one-syllable words, and I wonder why I’m still single as a Pringle.
“Yeah?” Luc cocks his head to the side.
“Yeah.” I smile at him, feeling my cheeks flood with heat.
“Give me your phone, I’ll put my number in.”
I swear I’ve never reached for my phone faster, and I nearly drop the stupid thing handing it to him. Luc smiles as he types away on the screen before calling himself.
“Here you go.” He hands it back to me.
“Thanks.” I give an awkward laugh, my eyes dart around, not really sure what I should do. “Well, I better get going.” I tear my gaze away from him and look down at the pebbled ground.
What is wrong with me? I’m practically falling off the guy’s every word. It’s the French accent, isn’t it? Not the guy. Yeah right, and my nipples moonlight as diamonds…it’s not the accent but the guy. I need to get laid.
“I hope you enjoy your stay.” Luc touches my forearm lightly. Through his glove and my clothing layers, I can feel the heat of his touch, like a bolt of electricity to my nervous system. I need to call Briar, time difference be damned. The rest of my body still feels like liquid moving down a stream. I just hope Jean-Luc isn’t hot…or related to me.