Chapter 35
Now that the town fair is over, the chateau is abuzz with preparations for the summer festival. Michèle, the chef Madeline recommended, is in the kitchen starting to prepare the twenty-ish dishes he has decided he’s going to serve tonight. The only good thing about all of this: I’m almost past the first hurdle in Louis Monet’s will, and I’m one step closer to owning the chateau wholly. Well, partially wholly. I just hope Luc is ready for that.
“Madeline, hi.” I step over the electrical cables running along the graveled driveway as I greet my friend.
Madeline kicks the stand of her bike, a wicker basket tucked in her elbow as she fixes her flared pants. “Aurora.” Madeline smiles and waves at me with her free hand. André is busy setting up the microphone and lights for the live music, while Henry is busy creating a makeshift bar next to the stone steps of the chateau. All requirements for the event we’re about to put on—or so Luc instructed.
“Michèle is inside preparing the food, Luc is setting up the small stage, and Henry is creating a small bar.” I point to each aspect, simultaneously checking off the things that they need to prepare for. “I was thinking of hanging fairy lights from the tops of the trees and securing them to the front of the chateau.”
Madeline lifts her head, envisioning my idea. “That sounds like a great idea.”
“See, Luc,” I call.
“Still not gonna happen,” he replies, not even looking up from where he is huddled over trying to untangle the cord for the stage lights.
I pout. “See what I have to deal with.”
“Some could say the same about you,” he replies, his attention firmly focused on his work, but I can feel the heat of his words on me.
“No respect.” I tsk, shaking my head. I tuck my arm in Madeline’s and walk her toward the chateau.
Luc stops. “Demain nous appartient casting call is that way.” He points his thumb over his shoulder, making fun of the French soap opera that I’m absolutely obsessed with. I do the most mature thing I can think of—and stick my tongue out, tugging on Madeline’s elbow as she hides her smile.
“Come on.” I lead Madeline into the chateau. There is a lot to do and very little time to do it in.
“Bonjour.” Michèle nods at me, then Madeline as he passes by.
“Bonjour,” Madeline replies.
“Do you need help setting up anything?” I offer, crossing my fingers behind my back, hoping he will say no.
“No, I will finish the food prep, I did most of it yesterday.”
“Great.” I try and fail to hide the sag in my shoulders. My cooking skills are reduced to boiling water. I wouldn’t want to accidentally give half the town food poisoning.
André rushes past us with more cords wrapped in his arms.
“Oh, André.”
He pauses, eyebrows raised, waiting to hear what I’m about to ask.
A large grin splits my lips. “Luc said we need to hang the fairy lights outside.”
“Did not,” we hear the faint call of Luc. André rolls his eyes and takes off in the direction of the front lawn—I have no doubt he’s about to hang the fairy lights.
Madeline and I break out into a fit of laughter. “I think you’ve been caught,” she whispers.
“Damn him and his supersonic hearing,” I reply. I will get my fairy lights—no matter what.
With a flute of champagne in my hand, I stand at the top of the stone steps looking down at all the people, sitting bent over, laughing, eating, and sharing. I fricken did it. I’m no sports fan, but I’ve thrown the Hail Mary touchdown pass. I swallow the lump in my throat. I’ve pulled it off. Well, André, Henry, Madeline, Pierre, Luc, and I have pulled it off. But I’m still totally taking this as a win.
The fairy lights overhead create a light glow against the setting sun, igniting the orange leaves on the chestnut trees surrounding the chateau. I won the battle—and Luc begrudgingly hung the lights with André. A small smile splits my lips, and I quickly hide it with a sip from my glass. My phone rings, and I place my glass on the ledge and fish it out of the pocket of my suede pants.
“Hey, stranger.” I smile, toeing at the stone step.
“Yes, I got the time difference right,” she cheers, and I laugh. “How is Carcen?”
“Amazing. I love it here.” I scan the crowd, my eyes sparkling as they take it all in, my fingertips tingling as I trace them over the stone rail. I’m not just saying that to convince myself or her—the words spill from my lips so easily because they are true.
“And the chateau?”
“Is going great. I’ve even found myself enjoying a hot French summer.” And a hot French man—but I leave that part out—my eyes meet Luc’s in the crowd—for now. Even though we haven’t really defined our relationship, I’ve well and truly fallen for him.
“Oh, yay! I’m so happy for you. You deserve happiness.” Even from half a world away, I can feel the warmth in her words.
“Thanks, B.” I wipe the lone tear that has escaped the corner of my eye with the back of my hand.
“Hopefully I can come visit soon.”
“Yes, I might just have the place done in time and you can sleep in an actual bed.”
The light strumming of a guitar from the live band, loud enough to hear but quiet enough to not interrupt the conversation, carries through the garden.
“I can hardly hear you. Are you at a party?”
I take a sip from my drink. “Actually, I’m hosting one.”
“Shit, Rory, way to bury the lead.”
“It’s okay. I always have time to talk to my friend.”
“As much as I appreciate that. I’m going to hang up now. Please call me when your hosting gig is over, yeah?”
With a lasting promise to call her again, I hang up and set to work snapping photos of all our guests, getting as much content for the Instagram page and website as possible. From the balcony, the picture below is stunning. The ropes of fairy lights, like little orbs, line the top of the photo, creating a light halo around the guests. I’m going to paint this later. The next photo is of Madeline smiling from behind the makeshift bar, handing out drinks to the residents of Carcen. Another photo has a group of people all with their glasses raised, toasting toward the burnt-orange sky. The ever-present chateau in the backdrop of each photo. The last photo is of the band playing in front of the chateau under my painted window frame. The photo would look great as the header for the chateau’s website.
The stage lights flash as the bass guitar carries laughter further into the night. I sit and let the atmosphere hum through my veins. A smile tugs at my lips. I’d somehow managed to pull off making this place look presentable in the last few months and be pretty much fluent in French, but one thing is for certain, I would’ve never gotten this far if it weren’t for Henry and André practically adopting me. My eyes mist over just thinking about them and all they have done for me, not only their friendship but their determination to help me keep the chateau too. I make my way back to the top of the staircase, keeping a keen eye on the crowd, making sure every glass is full, every plate has food, and the band continues to play.
“Passant par,” one of the waiters calls as she passes through the open front door with a clear tray filled with rows of individual ladles with some sort of cream concoction dotted perfectly in the middle. It looks like foamy snot, but Michèle had assured me that it was a goat milk reduction on a bed of spiced pear pieces with burnt fig sauce. In other words—fancy snot. I quickly step aside, giving her enough space to walk through the door. Another waiter follows suit. I sniff at the food on his tray as he walks by, and the heady scent of fish causes me to gag. Of all the proteins, fish is my least favorite. At this rate, I’m going to be eating crispy bread as a late-night snack.
“I have to say, the fairy lights were a nice touch,” André announces from behind me.
“I told you they would really lift the party.” I continue to bask in the glow of the crowd in front of me.
“Yeah, yeah, just don’t get too confident. We can’t have you being right all the time.” André grins as he stands next to me, resting his elbows on the ledge of the steps. I peek at him from the corner of my eye, in his casual attire, wearing a button-down shirt and corduroy pants, the light breeze tussles his blond hair. I can appreciate how good he looks in an older-brother-scrubs-up-nice kind of way.
My stare turns to the guests below. “We freaking did it,” I breathe.
“Hey, you did most of it. I was just the sidekick.” André rests a hand on my shoulder in an intimate gesture. I return his smile.
“André, you’re more than a sidekick,” I whisper, my voice cracking and my throat closing like I’ve just swallowed the gravel lining the driveway. “You’re the brother I never had.”
“I’ll remember that next time you douse me with cold water.” André looks at me pointedly, one eyebrow quirked.
“Isn’t that what little sisters are for?”
“Oh, trust me, Aurora, you are the biggest pain in the ass little sister. But it’s one of the things I love about you. But I’m serious about the water.”
“I said I was sorry, when are you going to get over that?” I roll my eyes, exasperated that he continues to bring it up every chance he gets.
“You tell that to the cold I had for a week. You could have at least warned me—told me to move or something. You just left me in the trenches.”
I shrug my shoulders. “Collateral damage.”
He rests his finger and thumb on the bridge of his nose. “Next time, warn me, yeah?”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You had a slight cough. How do you know it wasn’t from the dust,” I reply as André gasps in mock outrage. “Besides, I’m still not entirely convinced you didn’t have a hand in the paint can swap.”
“I already told you, that was a pure accident.”
“Sure.” I sniff but can’t hide my grin; I secretly love teasing André almost as much as I love pushing Luc’s buttons. I just really hate it when he pushes back.
My stomach grumbles as the last three glasses of champagne suddenly decide to go to my head, and on an empty stomach—I don’t want to be liable for the things I can do. “Hey, do you think you can do a McDonald’s run tonight?” I ask, changing the subject.
André throws his head back and laughs. “You don’t like Michèle’s food?”
My cheeks heat. “I’m not a big fish fan,” I admit.
“I hate to tell you this, but the McDonald’s is closed.”
Damn it. He’s right.
André blinks at me.
I tap my finger to my chin. “What’re my chances of getting you to whip me up a burger?”
André shakes his head, breathing out a laugh. “Only you would prefer to eat a fast-food burger over a Michelin-star chef’s food.”
“I’m taking that as a yes,” I call over my shoulder and skip down the steps to get a refill of my drink from Madeline.
“Let me run that one past your boyfriend first,” André calls loudly, making me miss the step and crash straight into the waiter in front of me. The tray of food in her hand goes flying down the stone steps as we tumble down the remaining steps after it, landing with a giant oof at the bottom.
“I’m beginning to think this is becoming a thing, Impératrice,” I look up into the eyes of Luc and realize that everything is quiet.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “What’s that?” I ask, feeling the stare of every single person on me. André appears next to me and lifts the waiter to her feet. When it looks like we’re both all right, the music resumes playing, and the laughter starts again.
Luc reaches a hand out and pulls me to my feet. “There is just something about me that always has you weak at the knees,” he replies.