Chapter 14
14
I wake up in my room at the chateau, groggy and confused. My first thought is that I must have slept for hours, but a quick glance at my phone tells me otherwise. Thirty minutes. Thirty flipping minutes! That doesn’t even count as a nap, does it? Not a good one anyway.
It feels like hours since I was downstairs with the ladies, but apparently not – the seat I was sitting in is probably still warm.
My brief nap has done nothing for me. I still feel exhausted – in fact, if anything, I feel even more tired – but sleeping isn’t going to happen, not if I’m going to join the others for dinner. I guess late afternoon isn’t the best time for a snooze, and dinner is soon, so I may as well try and tough through it.
Maybe I need to wake up instead. A shower, brushing my teeth, a cup of coffee – anything to shake off this grogginess. Perhaps if I go through the motions of morning, it might trick my body into thinking it’s time to be awake.
I sit up and stretch, taking in my surroundings once more. This room is like a scene from a fairy tale, and the four-poster bed, with its soft, creamy linen curtains and all its pillows and blankets, looks like something out of a fantasy novel.
The room has a very distinctive smell, although it’s one that I can’t quite put my finger on. I can smell the fire, obviously, as you can throughout the chateau, but it has this whiff of… church? More specifically like the incense they use in Catholic churches. It’s a sort of mixture of old wooden furniture and incense. It’s a nice scent, I promise. I wonder if it is the natural smell of the place or if it’s something they pump in on purpose.
Right, time to make a move.
I tear myself out of the bed with a sigh – I miss it already.
I open my suitcase, looking for my toiletries. The bathrooms must be shared here because my room doesn’t have an en suite. It’s an old building, after all, not a Travelling Inn chain hotel, and – shit, where is my toothbrush? I rummage through my things, mentally retracing my steps as I packed my bag. I distinctly remember packing it last night… then unpacking it to use this morning… then forgetting to pack it again. Oh, for God’s sake.
This place is fancy – surely they have complimentary toiletries for forgetful guests, and if they don’t, well, perhaps one of the other authors brought a spare. Yes, I know that’s rich of me, wondering if anyone brought a second toothbrush, when I didn’t even bring one.
We’re staying here in the private chateau, so it’s not like there is a reception or anything, and it’s a little walk back to the main part of the resort, so perhaps bits like that are already in the bathrooms.
I grab my make-up bag – thank goodness I didn’t forget that because, in a way, that probably would have been worse – and leave my room in search of a bathroom. Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky for once? And if I don’t, well, I could do with freshening up before dinner anyway.
Walking along the corridor, I pass numbered doors until I find one marked with a small bathroom sign. And it’s occupied. Brilliant.
I keep moving, my eyes scanning for another likely door. This is such a big place, it must have more than one bathroom.
I spot a plain door, but one with a lock, which is a pretty good sign that it’s at least a loo, right? My heart is in my mouth, as I dare to open it.
Oh, thank goodness, it is a bathroom. Just imagine, if I’d walked into someone else’s room. Now that feels more like my brand of luck.
I lock the door behind me, take off my baggy jumper and start to unbutton my jeans when another door on the opposite side of the room – not the one I just came in through – swings open. I freeze, my hands halfway down my hips.
A man – who I’d guess is in his late thirties – steps in, wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. His tanned skin glistens with water, his dark, wavy hair dripping wet and skimming his shoulders. He’s good-looking in that effortlessly sexy, French kind of way. As he smiles, his cheeks dimple, and the skin around his eyes crinkles. This must be the ‘delicious Frenchman’ the others mentioned.
‘Oh, hello,’ I say, trying to sound casual despite the fact that I’m standing here half-dressed.
‘ Bonjour ,’ he replies with a charming smile and in an accent that makes my knees weak. ‘Are you lost?’
‘No, um, well, maybe,’ I say, cool as ever. ‘I’m Amber. I’m one of the writers staying here.’
‘Henri,’ he introduces himself. ‘I take care of the place. You look too young to be a writer.’
I blush.
‘Oh, thanks,’ I say, like he’s just paid me the world’s biggest compliment – it’s the accent, I swear. ‘I was just looking for a bathroom.’
‘This is my private bathroom,’ Henri explains. ‘It connects to my bedroom. But you are welcome to use it – I will just remember to lock the hallway door next time, if I’m in here.’
‘You don’t have to do that,’ I say quickly, then realise how that sounds. ‘I mean, you don’t have to share your bathroom with me.’
‘It’s okay,’ he says with a shrug. ‘I don’t mind.’
I can’t help but smile at his easy-going attitude.
‘Well, thank you,’ I reply. ‘ Merci . That’s very kind of you.’
‘If you need anything, just ask me,’ he says, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary.
‘Actually, now that you mention it, I forgot my toothbrush. Do you have any spares here?’ I ask hopefully.
Henri smiles.
‘No spares, sorry,’ he tells me. ‘But there is a shop in the resort that sells things like that. I can take you – once I am dressed, of course.’
‘Oh, you don’t have to do that,’ I tell him and, again, it sounds like I’m telling him not to get dressed, rather than saying I don’t need his help. ‘I appreciate the offer, but I need to get ready for dinner,’ I explain.
At the mention of dinner, I’m suddenly very aware that I’m still standing here in my bra. I quickly fold my arms over my chest, trying to cover up.
Henri laughs again, a deep, warm chuckle that makes the little hairs on my arms stand on end, like someone just rubbed my entire body with a giant balloon.
‘I am learning that romance writers are very flirty,’ he tells me.
‘Flirty?’ I reply.
‘The other ladies, they like their flirty jokes,’ he says. ‘And you, Amber, do you always barge into strangers’ private bathrooms, or am I just lucky?’
I laugh, trying to play along.
‘Oh, only when the strangers are as charming as you,’ I tell him. ‘We romance writers are flirty, but incredibly fussy.’
He grins, leaning casually against the door frame.
‘Ah, so I am special?’ he replies. ‘Good to know.’
‘But, yeah, you might want to lock your door next time,’ I say, feeling my cheeks heat up. ‘You never know who might walk in. I’m very understanding but the others, well, who knows how they would react?’
Henri shrugs, his dimples deepening.
‘Maybe I like to live dangerously,’ he tells me. ‘It keeps life interesting when you don’t lock the door.’
Is it hot in this bathroom, or is it me? Or is it Henri because, oh my God, he’s so unrealistically charming?
‘Well, I definitely didn’t expect to find you here,’ I tell him. ‘But you don’t seem dangerous.’
‘Nor did I expect to find a beautiful woman in my bathroom,’ he replies smoothly. ‘But, I don’t know, maybe you do seem like trouble.’
I bite my lip, trying to suppress a giggle. I need to change the subject, ASAP – basically quit while I’m ahead.
‘So, you’re the caretaker here? What does that entail?’ I ask.
I let my arms go loose, to try to look less awkward, styling out standing here in my bra. Well, he certainly doesn’t look uncomfortable, chilling in his towel.
‘A bit of everything, really,’ he replies. ‘Maintenance, guest services, ensuring beautiful women find the bathroom…’
Oh, he’s not giving up, is he?
I laugh again, shaking my head.
‘You must have a lot of stories,’ I reply.
‘Oh, many,’ he tells me. ‘Perhaps a writer like yourself would appreciate hearing them.’
‘So long as they’re romantic,’ I reply.
I’m not quite sure if I’m flirting or just desperate for inspiration. With Jen wanting me to writer spicier scenes, I can imagine Henri’s stories being more than inspiring, if they’re that kind of story.
‘So, you’re an expert in matters of the heart?’ he asks curiously.
‘I wouldn’t say expert,’ I laugh. ‘But I do enjoy a good love story.’
‘And are you living one?’ he asks, his voice dropping to a more serious tone.
I blink, caught off guard by the question. Is he asking if I’m single?
‘Well, no, not exactly,’ I confess. ‘Not right now. I’m focusing on my book so, if I’m getting intimate with anything, it’s that.’
Oh, I was doing so well, until just then. I was cool, flirty, and kind of mysterious. Now I sound like I, what, shag my own book? That’s probably the least awkward explanation.
‘So, no leading man in your life?’ he teases.
‘Not at the moment,’ I say, feeling a bit self-conscious.
‘Pity,’ he says softly. ‘A beautiful woman like you deserves a grand romance.’
‘What about you?’ I ask, shifting the focus back to him.
‘No, nothing for me,’ he replies. Henri’s smile returns, bright and charming. ‘But, still, if I can help you with your book, you know where to find me – just knock.’
He says all of this like he’s joking but, bloody hell, he’s inspired me enough to write another series.
‘I do,’ I say, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness.
Henri gives me one last lingering look before he nods.
‘Okay, I’ll let you get ready,’ he tells me. ‘It was nice to meet you, Amber.’
‘It was nice to meet you too,’ I echo, my heart racing as he finally leaves the bathroom.
As I stand there, topless, trying to process what just happened, I can’t help but smile.
I plonk myself down on the toilet seat – just for the seat. Henri was the last thing I was expecting to find behind this door, but Gina was right. He is kind of delicious.
Maybe this retreat won’t be so bad after all.