Chapter 29
“Yes, we, ahem, I am unfortunately busy that day,” Luc stammers, the apples of his cheeks pulling tight, his wild eyes darting between the two women standing in front of him.
“No, you’re not. She already told us how delighted you would be to take part in the Carcen auction to raise money for the town hall.”
Every single person is attending the town fair before the summer festival—Luc included. We’d already donated a night in the chateau as an item to bid on, hoping it would show people that we have nearly finished the renovations. But it was Madeline’s idea to place a date with Luc up for auction too. And I’m so glad she did.
Luc opens and closes his mouth like a gasping fish out of water, but no sound comes out. I smother a hand over my mouth to stop the snorting laughter from escaping but fail miserably when a dribble of saliva leaves my mouth and down my arm. Both women stare at Luc expectantly. “I am already in the auction with another draw,” his reply finally articulates the comeback that he’d spent a bit of time devising.
“No matter. Madeline doesn’t care about multiple entries, she just wants to raise money.” Ade waves him off and smiles knowing she has him cornered.
“We will have Madeline send you an email with the full details,” the other woman exclaims, excited as she writes down Luc’s name on a sheet of paper. “This brings our tally to one,” she screeches in elation.
“One?” Luc blanches a ghastly shade, the idea of being the only guy during the bachelor auction scaring him.
“Lucky for you, that means the bidding will be fierce.” Ade claps. “I hear Madame Duponte has really stretched her purse strings this year.” I shudder. Having met my neighbor down the road a handful of times, I almost feel sorry about her winning a date with Luc. The older woman resembles one of Disney’s witches, with the attitude to match. I’ve seen her purposely scare children twice as they were walking past her house on the way home from school. The amount of dirty doll heads on pikes standing on her front lawn unnerves me, let alone innocent little children. Luc closes the front door, his body completely frozen. I’m almost worried he’s in the middle of having a stroke or something.
Luc’s body remains completely unmoving as he continues to stare at the closed door. Until he roars, “AURORA!”
I fall over clutching my stomach, leaning against the kitchen island. When I finally catch my breath. I stand and brush the tears from my eyes. “Who was at the door?” I call, pretending like I didn’t hear the whole exchange.
“You will pay for this,” he growls, pointing his finger at me as he storms off.
“You could always just move out?” I shrug.
“I could also pluck out my pubes individually,” he replies.
“Ewww.” I stick my tongue out. “So, not moving out then?”
“Nope,” he calls, turning on his heels.
“Oh, and don’t forget to bring a bunch of roses that night. These women want to be wooed,” I shout after him.
“I’ll woo something in a minute,” he grunts as he storms off, causing another round of laughter. I locate my phone and pull up Madeline’s contact.
She answers on the second ring. “Judging by the way you are laughing, I would say it was a success?” She celebrates.
“I-I-I-I…” I grip the island to stop myself from falling flat on my butt, breathing through the hysterical laughter making the muscles in my stomach clench. “Ade was fabulous, she played the part perfectly,” I finally say.
“I knew she would.”
“You should’ve heard him. I think if I’d seen his face, I would’ve needed a new pair of panties from laughing too hard.”
“Damn, I’m almost sad I’ve missed it now.”
A giggle escapes my lips. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have believed I would not only be living in Carcen but would find friends who I could laugh with. It’s amazing how things change. “You’re still coming glamping, right?”
“As long as I don’t have to bring a sleeping bag, I am there,” Madeline replies.
“Great, André has finished putting the pontoon together. I’ll see you tomorrow for breakfast?”
“Same place?”
“Done.”
After a two-hour driving lesson—which Madeline volunteered to be my instructor after the small incident I had with André—I park the car next to Luc’s, being super careful to leave enough space to open the doors.
“He’s being dramatic, it was barely a bump on the head.” I roll my eyes as the trunk raises. He should be thanking me for missing the pothole in the road. My defensive driving skills are coming along great, but no, he keeps going on and on about his head smashing into the window.
“From what I hear, it was pretty spectacular.” Madeline grunts picking up a heavy box from the trunk. We’d been to Isobel’s store to pick up the things I put aside from my previous shopping trip. “What do you have in here.” She takes a few sluggish steps toward my studio. “Oh no,” she groans. “Don’t tell me you bought bricks again? I don’t care that they have been engraved, they’re not as aesthetically pleasing as you think.”
“That was one time. And it was so fricken cute. A couple literally wrote their names in a love heart.” The brick in question is sitting on my tabletop in my studio as a reminder of the kind of love I want to have one day. “This is what happens when you are dealing with people who don’t believe in sappy love.”
“Aurora,” Madeline squeaks just before she drops the box, and a whole heap of unshiny brass tumbles out.
“See, no bricks.”
“I don’t know what’s worse.” Madeline lies down on the ground. “I can’t feel my arms. I think I broke my wrists.” Madeline’s bordering on hangry.
“Oh please.” I blow on one of the brass handles now covered in tiny pebbles of crushed rock. It has a few extra chips, but it will only add to its beauty. I place the brass handle back in the half-broken box. My fingers run through my hair, using the sweat to stick down the errand stands. “Let me go get us something to eat.” I stand and make my way to the main chateau.
“It’s aperitive time somewhere—make sure you bring me something alcoholic too,” Madeline calls to my retreating back. There is a nice piece of terrine and a perroquet cocktail calling our name.
With a precise move I wouldn’t be able to replicate, I squeeze past the cement mixer left carelessly by the stone steps, and step over the metal bar blocking one of the steps. I straighten and puff my chest out. “Who said I’m not flexible.”
“Certainly not me, Impératrice,” Luc’s voice carries from the distance.
“Do I smell a bet coming on?” I hear Pierre’s voice echo.
From over my shoulder, I see Pierre and him walking near the moat. Pierre pushes Luc, who slips on the grassy bank and lands in the cold moat with a giant splash, just as the stair I put all my weight on wobbles and I fall forward, landing on my elbows with a giant shriek. These fucking stairs are going to be the death of me. The pink puckered skin stings with the contact from the air. Rolling over, I glance down at my elbows to assess the damage.
“Who was that?” André asks around a mouthful of food, stepping out from the doorway holding a bowl in one hand, his eyes narrowing in on me still sprawled on the steps. “Shit, Aurora, why the fuck are you lying on the floor?”
“I’m sunbathing, dickhead. I fucking tripped again,” I snap.
“You and these stairs, I think we’re going to need to install a ‘beware of the stairs’ sign.” André shakes his head, places the plate on the rail, and bends down to pick me up, his jaw still working with his chew.
“That better not be my terrine,” I gasp. André’s mouth pops open, showing me the mushed-up terrine like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“No,” André says shyly and swallows the unchewed lump in his mouth.
“I was saving that,” I groan.
“If you want, I can give it back to you, but, ah, you need to wait twenty-four to forty-eight hours.” André has the audacity to look sheepish. He lifts me to my feet before carefully inspecting me for injuries.
I grimace. “I think on this occasion I’ll let you keep it.”
“Your elbows are going to need some disinfectant.” André leads me into the kitchen, depositing me in a chair as he grabs the first aid kit.
“Please be gentle.” I wince, already dreading the burn of the antiseptic.
André takes the seat opposite and pops open the lid on the kit. With a bit of antiseptic on a cotton ball, he looks at me. “I promise I will be gentle.”
“Promise you will only hold it for three seconds?” I hold my arms by my side as I try to negotiate a sufficient amount of time.
“Scout’s honor.”
“Okay,” I agree and give him my right elbow first.
“Hold still,” André says before pressing the cotton ball to my cut elbows. “Was that Luc I heard getting thrown into the moat?” he asks as he holds the cotton ball firm. I just grunt yes.
“Ow,” I cry, but André doesn’t let up. “It’s been more than three seconds.”
“Stop being a baby.” André rolls his eyes as he grabs a new cotton ball with antiseptic and moves to my other elbow, not flinching under my glare.
“Just you wait until you need first aid.”
André just laughs. “I’ll be sure to call you the next time I trip up the stairs.”
A dripping wet Luc stomps into the chateau. He scans my elbows as André puts more antiseptic on them, then flicks his gaze to my face. “Are you all right?” His eyebrows pull down with worry.
“Yeah,” I hiss as André uses the distraction to place more burning antiseptic on me.
“Good, now wanna tell me why Pierre has also been enrolled in the auction for the town fair?”
Ah. This must be the bet Pierre was referring to.
I shrug my shoulders and tug my lips into a grin. “In this town we’re all about giving, you know.”
Luc bends at the knee, his hot breath tickling the strands of hair at the nape of my neck. “Oh, I know. I seem to be really good at giving you orgasms, Rory,” he whispers right in my ear.
“No, Aurora,” Luc growls for the third time, the upcoming town fair long forgotten as we continue to renovate the chateau.
“Yes, Luc,” I call as I stomp up the basement stairs behind Luc.
“Aurora, I said no and that’s final,” Luc fires back.
“Well, I said yes.” I don’t miss a beat, crossing my arms over my chest. “Last I checked I am a half owner of this place.”
“And I said no,” Luc counters. “And last I checked I’m also half owner of this place.”
“André thought it would be a great idea.”
“André,” Luc calls.
“Not getting involved,” André replies, not bothering to look up from where he is hammering another piece of wood to make the pontoon that will go on the moat.
“We need the elevator,” I continue to plead my case, but it seems to be as effective as a bouncy ball on a brick wall.
“No, we need heating and cooling. An elevator is a want,” Luc argues back.
“And I want.”
“In a chateau with no paying guests, and no bookings. You want to spend another hundred thousand euros installing an elevator?” Luc plants his feet shoulder-width apart and crosses his arms over his chest, staring at me with narrowed eyes. He knows he has won the argument, and he is waiting to hear me admit it.
“That’s not true, we have someone staying in the glamping suite in a few days,” I challenge. I’m backed into a corner, and I intend to come out swinging.
Luc scoffs. “You and Madeline having a girl’s night under the stars is not considered a booking.”
“Hey, I am still stepping up as party host. That means it’s a booking.”
Luc blows out a short, terse breath between clenched teeth, like he is trying to contain his composure. He was clearly rattled by my sheer stubbornness, but by now, it’s something he should be used to. Score one for me. “How about we shelve this idea for now?” he tries to reason.
“How about we get the technician out here,” I counter.
“You’re not going to give up, are you?”
“André,” I call again.
“Gone fishing,” he replies, hammering in another nail, trying his best to remain impartial and stay out of the crosshairs. Lady Justice may wear a blindfold, but André certainly doesn’t. “For the record, she won’t give it up.”
While André pretends in front of Luc to be Switzerland, the moment Luc turns his back, André gives me the thumbs-up.
I cup my hand to my mouth so my voice travels farther when I call to André, “Call the technician.” Turning to leave, I look at Luc and wink before walking back into the chateau. I have a mural to paint. Score two for Aurora.
The weather in Carcen has turned pleasant really fast as we move closer to summer. Spring has well and truly sprung and I’m loving it. Except today the sun spent the morning hiding behind the clouds as rain lightly fell against the window. The renovations of Chateau des éveillés have gained quite a following on our Instagram page, and while I’ve been teasing for a few weeks, I’m hard launching my candles. So far, the testers Madeline and I have been making haven’t really turned out—and after the soap incident during the second round of trials, I really want to get these right. I’ve cleverly named it Scents of Carcen. They are going to be the first in a long line of things I have planned to be made with some part of the chateau’s grounds.
“Where do you want it?” Madeline grits out as she lifts the bulk bag of wax we bought for candles onto the countertop.
“I guess right there.” No point in moving it now. “Are you sure you know what to do?” I watch as she scoops wax chips into the metal pot I had Luc bring in earlier. Madeline and I really decided to go all out with this.
“It’s so easy, you just melt the wax and add the fragrance.” Madeline waves me off, filling the pot to the top with wax chips. Just like the soap was so easy…found that one out the hard way. My face must convey my unease, because Madeline adds, “Don’t worry, I watched a video on YouTube.”
That’s what she said about the soap too.
I give her a tight smile and busy myself reading all the different fragrance bottles we’d chosen. “Well…that’s comforting.” With Madeline, it’s anything but.
Sometime later, Luc walks into the room, his tool belt tied around his waist and a smudge of dirt lining his cheek.
“If it isn’t Carcen’s newest candle conglomerate.” Luc eyes the rows of wicks I have set out on the wooden table.
“Hey, I’m proud we’re starting this on my kitchen table,” I correct him, inserting another wick into the holder.
“Don’t you mean my kitchen table?” His eyebrow raises in a challenge.
“Semantics.” I shrug my shoulders.
“As long as we don’t have another soap incident…” he trails off.
My mouth drops open in horror. “You said you would never speak of that again.”
Luc rolls his eyes and sticks his hands on his slim hips. “Well, clearly I lied.”
“I couldn’t get the smell out of my nose for weeks.” Madeline shudders, her face visibly paling.
“Well, how was I supposed to know you need to let soap cure before you can use it.”
“Do you have a timer set on your phone?” Madeline interrupts.
“No, why?” I reply.
“Because the wax chips haven’t started melting.” She bites her lip and stares at the pot.
“Oh shit.” Luc sniffs the air. “Do you smell?—”
“No, I don’t smell anything,” I quickly reply, even though there is a distinct burning smell filling the air. I dart a glance at Madeline, who quickly turns off all the knobs on the stove, lifting the pot in the air with one hand and holding the piece of half-burned paper in the air, waving it to blow out the flame.
I grasp Luc’s elbow and lead him out of the kitchen. “Nope, I definitely smell burning.” He tries to look over his shoulder, but I grasp his chin. His gaze narrows on me, then yells, “André, open all the windows. We have a soap two-point-oh going on in here.”
“No, André, no need. We’re making candles,” I call, glaring at Luc.
“Good luck with that.” Luc nods before turning on his heel. “I’m pretty sure you need to melt the wax before you start burning the fragrance.”
Madeline and I share a puzzled look. “Ah right.” She smiles, keeping the burned paper tucked behind her back. Lucky Luc didn’t see that, or I think he will make me start cooking lessons to accompany my driving ones.
“Oh, and Impératrice, I really hope you cast the mold I brought for you.”
“Uh, these?” I point to a few of the free-standing, treelike molds.
“Nope.” He winks, leaving the room.
“I think he means these?” Madeline finds a small cardboard box with silicone molds inside. From the size and shape, it’s impossible to tell what they are until they’re cast. The moment the wax is ready, the first thing I cast is Luc’s molds.