Chapter 10
OLIVIA
S unlight streamed through the window, and I snuggled deeper under the blankets. I smiled at Callie’s golden hair on the pillow next to mine and closed my eyes, listening to the birds singing in the trees outside. Ah, if only every morning could be like this . . .
“Arghh!” I buried my face in the pillow as Michel’s hysterical laughter filled my mind.
“What is it, Liv?” Callie asked groggily.
“Oh, nothing.” My voice was muffled by the pillow. If only I could curl my entire body in it and hide. “I just have to get through the day without running into the man who thinks I told the entire town he’s my fiancé. He probably thinks I’m obsessed and delusional.”
“Well, you are obsessed.” Callie yawned. I threw the pillow at her, and she laughed.
“It’s just a crush,” I protested. “How many of yours have I lived through?”
“The difference is that my crushes usually turn into something, whereas yours become giant ‘what ifs’ that will haunt you one day in your nursing home.”
Where relationships were concerned, Callie and I were polar opposites.
I’d only had two boyfriends since high school, a handful of meh dates that went nowhere, and one disastrous one-night stand that she still loved to tease me about.
She, on the other hand, met people easily, and had guys dripping from her manicured fingernails.
She was right. I did have a few regrets when it came to guys I’d been interested in and never had the nerve to go after. And I didn’t want this summer to end up being another lost opportunity.
I had no idea what I was going to say to Jake if we ran into him, though. Should I bring up the misunderstanding and laugh about it or wait until he did? Then again, he hadn’t mentioned it yesterday, so maybe he wasn’t planning to bring it up at all.
No, it was best to just address it head on. Like ripping a Band-Aid off.
After taking turns showering and getting ready, Callie and I headed to the main house. I was relieved to have my best friend as a buffer in case Jake was there. But the kitchen was quiet.
“Oh my God, Liv, this is my dream kitchen!” Callie gaped at the enormous center island, the professional oven and gas range, and collection of copper cookware. “That settles it. You’re marrying this guy.”
My eye was drawn to the bowl full of fresh fruit from the market and brown paper bag from the bakery sitting on the counter with a handwritten note. I plucked it up and read:
To soak up Michel’s moonshine.
“How thoughtful,” said Callie, reading over my shoulder. She squeezed my arm as she pushed past me to snatch up a pain au chocolat . “I don’t know about you, but as soon as I’ve had my coffee, I’m taking a dip in that fabulous pool.”
* * *
After lounging around all morning by the pool, we biked down to the beach where we did more lounging around.
It was a beautiful day—sunny but with a gentle breeze.
The Mediterranean gleamed like a jewel under the sun, its waters changing from cobalt to aquamarine under the cloudless sky.
The beach was teeming with sunbathers and kids splashing in the waves, while kite surfers and sailboats dotted the horizon.
“I could get used to this.” Callie sighed and rolled onto her back. She had a fresh sprinkling of freckles on her nose and sun-kissed cheeks and looked like a goddess in her black, 1940s-style swimsuit. “Too bad I have to work tomorrow.”
She was taking a night train home and then making a mad dash to the kitchen of the palace where she worked as a chef de partie . “I’m exhausted just thinking about it,” I said. “Couldn’t you transfer to Antibes or Nice? You’ve always dreamed of living by the sea.”
“No, too far away from the Eurostar.”
“God, Callie,” I groaned, knowing that she only wanted to be close to the Eurostar so she could continue to hook up with a certain egomaniacal tattooed chef.
There was nothing she could say that would make Gaz Greystone tolerable to me.
Whenever we talked about him, she’d sigh and say she knew I was right that he was only using her, but still she went back to him.
I hated to see my best friend heartbroken over someone who didn’t deserve her.
Plus, she’d been complaining about her thighs and hips earlier, which was a sure sign that he’d been commenting on her weight again.
Normally, Callie had no qualms about flaunting her voluptuous body, but whenever Gaz reentered the picture, her old hang-ups resurfaced.
It was enough to make me want to take the Eurostar to London myself and strangle him with his apron strings.
“Look, I know there’s not going to be a happily ever after with him,” she said as she reapplied sunscreen to her cleavage. “But I’m having a good time. So is he. And he’s connected. Who knows what opportunities might come out of this?”
“I hope you’re right. And you know I’ll be here for you no matter what.” Callie squeezed my hand.
When the sun began to dip below the rocks, I sighed. “Ugh, we should probably head back up soon. Why didn’t we think about the return trip when we decided to take the bikes?”
The idea of trudging up the hill with muscles soft-baked by the sun made me want to burrow under the sand and take a long nap.
I was in no hurry for the day to end. It meant Callie leaving.
And running into Jake again. Followed by a week in Burgundy with him.
I had been excited about it, but now I was mortified.
After we slipped our sundresses and sandals on, we headed toward the café where we’d chained our bikes.
“Maybe we can take the bikes on the bus?” Callie was saying when a familiar shape caught my attention.
I gasped, my eyes glued to a table at the café where Jake sat gazing deeply into the eyes of a very beautiful, very sophisticated French woman.
At least, I assumed she was French. She had to be with that impeccable style, smooth dark hair, and red lips.
When she took his hand in hers and smiled, I ducked behind the wall. “Oh shit!”
“What? Oh!” Callie hid behind me.
“Did he see us? I think he might have seen us,” I whispered frantically.
Callie peeked back around the wall. “No, I don’t think so, but it looks like Operation Seduction just got a bit more complicated. Do you know who that woman is?”
“Stop calling it that!” I glared at her. “And no, I don’t know who that is. Maybe they just met?”
“That doesn’t look like a new acquaintance.”
I didn’t want to think too much about the woman holding Jake’s hand. My priority was getting out of there unseen. Crouching down, I started to crab walk to my bike.
“What are you doing? You look ridiculous,” Callie whispered, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. Somehow, I managed to unlock the bikes and push them toward Callie, who promptly let them fall to the ground with a tremendous clatter. It was almost like she’d done it on purpose.
A young, apple-cheeked waiter raced over. “ ?a va mademoiselle ?”
My cheeks flamed under the scrutiny of the café’s customers. I could only pray Jake and his beautiful companion hadn’t noticed. But then I heard a familiar voice say, “You know, it’s better if you ride the bike rather than the other way around.”
Jake’s warm hand circled my arm gently, and he helped me to my feet. His eyebrows quirked up in amusement.
“The lock got stuck and I tripped,” I explained stupidly.
“Wow, Jake, what a surprise! What are you doing here?” Callie interjected, faking astonishment. She was not about to win an Academy Award that’s for sure.
“Drinks with a friend.” He gestured toward the table where the woman gave a little wave. “I was going to bring her back to the house so she could meet you, but then I noticed the bikes and figured we’d wait for you here.”
“Oh, right. I suppose the hot pink bike is hard to miss,” I agreed. I’d been surprised to find it in his garage until I’d learned it belonged to Jin. So much for sneaking by unnoticed.
“Come join us,” Jake said, heading back toward the table with Callie gleefully following at his heels.
At least she was enjoying this. I lagged behind, carefully attaching the bikes to the railing.
In my tired sundress I felt woefully un-put together, and I did not particularly want to meet Jake’s friend .
With a defeated sigh, I flung my raffia bag over my shoulder and joined them.
“Lucie, this is Callie—I’m sorry I don’t know your last name,” Jake said.
“McGinn,” she offered.
“Callie McGinn and Olivia Peterson. Ladies, this is Lucie de Villiers.”
Lucie. Why did that name sound familiar to me? Then I remembered: this was one of his ex-girlfriends.
Lucie stood and pressed her soft cheek against mine.
I still wasn’t used to doing bises and had quickly learned that the number of times one kissed and how much contact was made with the actual cheek was very aleatory.
Michel, for example, gave four lip smacking kisses in the center of the cheek while Callie’s friends in Paris had settled for two cordial cheek presses with air kisses.
Lucie was more of the air kiss variety, which suited me just fine.
I could smell her perfume as I leaned in, spicy, subtle, complex.
As Jay Gatsby would say, she smelled like money.
“So this is Olivia. Jin told me about you.” A huge smile spread across her face.
“He did?” Jake and I said at the same time.
Her laugh sounded like wind chimes. “Yes, he said he could finally relax because you hired an assistant for him.”
“He loves to exaggerate.” Jake shook his head. “I hope he hasn’t been making you do too much.”
“Just the heavy lifting,” I assured him. “On the positive side, lugging all those bottles around has given me arms of steel.”
“Lucie, are you part of the food and lifestyle de Villiers?” asked Callie once we were seated and had ordered drinks.
“Yes, I run a food magazine called Vatel . We just launched last year. Maybe you’ve heard of it?”
“I have a copy of the summer issue in my bag! Do you hear that, Liv?” Callie elbowed me hard in the ribs. “She used to talk about becoming a food writer. She had a column in our college newspaper. And even had something published in The Washington Post .”
“You never mentioned that.” Jake stared at me.
“She wouldn’t. She doesn’t like to brag,” Callie responded. “I can send you a copy if you want.”
“Yes, we’d both like to read it. Wouldn’t we, Jake?” Lucie’s dark eyes sparkled with interest.
“If you’d like. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve written anything.
” I stirred a spoonful of sugar into my citron pressé to hide my discomfort.
I hadn’t reread any of my old essays—some of them were just too personal—and I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of sharing them now.
But they were probably just being polite. They wouldn’t really read them.
“How do you two know each other?” Callie asked innocently.
“We met years ago when Jake first arrived in France. His first job as a buyer was with my family’s department store.
He was so cute. No scruff then.” She reached over and pinched his cheek and then went on to share a series of charming anecdotes about Jake’s early years in France while he scowled at her.
I was impressed by how he’d followed his passion against his father’s wishes. We weren’t so different in that respect, and I wondered if that was why he had offered to let me stay with him this summer.
I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t realize Lucie had asked me a question until everyone was staring at me expectantly. “I’m sorry?”
“I said Jake suggested I meet you today to see if you might be interested in spending part of the summer in Paris, helping me with our annual White Picnic in Versailles. It’s a big deal. Lots of industry insiders.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I replied, taken aback. Jake had suggested I go to Paris? Did he want to get rid of me? Oh God, was this because he thought I’d told the entire village we were a couple? Across the table Callie looked as crestfallen as I felt. “I suppose I could . . .”
“You could come in, say, two weeks? I wouldn’t want to steal you away from Jake too soon. He said you’ve been a real help with the inventory this summer.”
“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine,” Jake said and then turned to me. “I thought you might be getting bored here. It would be a good opportunity.”
“Of course. Yes, I’d love to do it. Thank you.” I reached for my glass and took a big sip, trying to hide my hurt feelings. Was Jake in that big of a hurry to get rid of me? But when I caught his eye, instead of looking relieved, his jaw was tense and forehead creased.
“Here’s my number. Would you give me yours? We can make plans.” Lucie slipped an off-white card with elegant lettering into my hand. I took it, disappointment gathering in the pit of my stomach.
I couldn’t imagine leaving Moustiers so soon. In the two weeks I’d been here I’d grown attached to the village and my new friends. I’d never felt so immediately at home before.
“Thanks,” I said as I wrote my own contact information on the back of one of her own cards. When I looked back up, Jake was staring at me as if he were trying to gauge my reaction.
After stashing my number in her Kelly bag, Lucie leaned in conspiratorially. “Now, maybe you girls can help me convince Jake to participate in a photo shoot I’m organizing.”
Jake crossed his arms defiantly and sank back in his chair. “I already told you; I’m not interested.”
“What kind of photo shoot?” asked Callie.
“For our fall issue. We’re profiling young food industry professionals,” Lucie explained.
“Jake, I already have the perfect Canali suit picked out for you. We could shoot it at the Domaine de la Ruche. It would be fabulous for business. Just think about all the women who’d order your wines for the chance to see you. ”
A spark of jealousy ignited in my stomach. But Jake remained impassive. “Reynaud would hate the publicity as much as I would.”
“Anne-Sophie Granger will do the interview and Spencer will shoot. Oh, come on!” She batted her eyes at him and gripped her hands together. “So stubborn! Well, if you won’t do it, I guess I’ll have to ask Thomas.”
“Don’t you dare.” I’d never heard him sound so threatening; even Callie did a double take at the vehemence of his tone.
“Thomas Brinkley is his rival on the Asian market,” Lucie explained while Jake pretended to look bored.
Conversation quickly turned to food industry gossip. I pretended to follow along, but I just wanted to go back home—funny, how I was already feeling like it was home—and curl up with book on the cushions near the pool and try to coax the cat into letting me stroke his sleek back.
I had to enjoy it all while I could. Because it looked as if my tenure in Moustiers was coming to an end.