Chapter 41
41
I’m feeling on top of the world. I mean, technically, I’m nearing the top of the mountain, where the resort is, but genuinely I feel sky-high right now.
Today has been, hands down, the best day of my life. I’ve experienced so much in such a short space of time that it almost feels like a movie I watched, rather than something I lived through. But I did live it, and I savoured every moment. I don’t think I’ll ever forget this day – even if it’s just because of the sheer volume of photos we took, although somehow they didn’t feel like they were for content, they were for us. The fact we took so many selfies, when we’re not supposed to be showing my face, is proof of that.
For one reason and another, we’re back later than we intended. This means my dinner plans with Henri are ruined, but I messaged him ahead of time to let him know that I was held up on my research trip (yep, that’s what I’m calling it). He messaged back to say it was okay, and that whatever time I get back, I should join him for a drink, and that we can do dinner tomorrow, so that’s good.
I do feel a bit bad, ditching Henri to hang out with Caleb, but hey, this is technically work, right? Taking photos is what he does, and research is a big part of writing, and it worked because I’ve never felt more inspired to write something romantic.
As we drive back, the dark, winding mountain roads are as thrilling as they are terrifying. I have no idea if we’re next to a wall of trees or a sheer drop, and honestly, I think I’m better off not knowing. I just hope our driver knows the way.
‘Thanks for such an amazing day,’ I say to Caleb, breaking the comfortable silence.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replies with a smile, lightly knocking my shoulder with his. ‘I’ve had a really great time. Thanks for making it so special.’
‘Hey, this was all you,’ I remind him. ‘And you can do this sort of thing all the time.’
He looks at me, his smile widening.
‘No, I can’t. It wouldn’t be the same without…’
He trails off as our driver interrupts our conversation.
‘There’s something blocking the road up ahead,’ he tells us.
We both peer through the windshield and see that a crowd of people has gathered at the resort entrance.
‘Oh, shit, they’re photographers,’ Caleb says. ‘They look like paparazzi.’
‘Do they know you’re here?’ I ask, my heart racing.
‘No, I’ve been so careful about what I post,’ he replies. ‘Maybe they’re here for someone else, or just trying their luck, but there’s no way they’re not going to see us if we drive past them.’
‘I can’t turn around, unfortunately,’ the driver tells us. ‘The road is too narrow; I need to go into the resort to turn around.’
It feels like we’re approaching the photographers in super-slow motion, but everything happens in an instant. I try to think fast, to come up with a way to hide my face. With no better options – although now that I’m down here, I can think of several – I bury my face in Caleb’s lap, hoping the paparazzi won’t be able to snap anything but the back of my head. Of course, thinking about it, I realise that my blonde hair is going to really pop against his dark outfit, and it’s going to look like I’m… like I’m… oh boy.
‘Okay, you can come up for air,’ Caleb says after a moment, laughing, once the coast is clear. ‘But they definitely got that Kodak moment.’
‘At least they didn’t see my face,’ I offer up hopefully.
‘No, but they saw mine,’ he replies, pulling a funny face.
Thankfully he seems highly amused, and not mad, and hey, it did work, but it might have been less strange if I just, I don’t know, put my hands over my face or something. I’ll know for next time, not that there will be a next time, I’m astonished there was a first time. I very much feel like I’m living someone else’s life right now, and I suppose I am, I’m living Annabelle Harvey-Whitaker’s life, but you know what I mean.
The driver drops us right at the chalet door. Now that we’re inside the resort we’re safe from photographers but, even so, we make a dash for it.
We practically fall through the door, laughing as we go, and then we open more wine – even though I’m still buzzing from all the drinks I’ve had today.
‘Those photos are definitely going to take some explaining,’ Caleb says, pouring us each a glass.
I laugh – well, what else can I do now?
‘Your career could take a sexy turn – you already have underwear to promote,’ I point out.
‘Yeah, true, there’s always the adult entertainment industry, if you get me cancelled,’ he jokes.
The wine is kicking in, topping up my already healthy (or unhealthy, I guess) blood-alcohol level, and the intrusive thoughts (the ones we all get, you know, when you’re standing on a bridge, and a little voice tells you to jump off) are clearly drunk too, because they’re telling me to do something wild.
‘You know what? Let’s do those big money photos,’ I suggest. ‘Grab the stuff the adult store wants you to promote.’
‘Really?’ Caleb replies, his wine glass hovering in front of his lips. ‘Because we’ve got plenty of photos of other things, enough for a decent payout for us both. We don’t need to bother with the really sexy stuff. I probably would have skipped it anyway.’
‘Yeah, go on,’ I push him. ‘We don’t have to share the photos, live a little, let’s see what they’ve sent.’
The irony of me telling a TV star with a fabulous life to live a little isn’t wasted on me but, well, wasted is the word, I’m kinda drunk and I’m having a blast.
‘Are you sure?’ he asks, looking at me intently.
‘Yes,’ I say, grinning, probably not looking as sultry as I’m trying to. ‘My career is going down the drain, so the money would be good.’
I pout at him but he doesn’t need telling again. He hands me a bag of lingerie, and I choose something to put on – a really complicated hot pink set, with peepholes and trapdoors, which basically covers the things you don’t actually need to cover, and keeps the important bits ready for action. However, I’m not about to walk out there with my nipples out, because I’m still me, and that feels like low-key sexual harassment, so for a little modesty (ha!) and good measure, I throw on a saucy French maid’s outfit over the top (which even comes with a brunette wig, because apparently to fit the part you can’t be blonde). Well, when in France, right?
Caleb looks stunned when he sees me, standing there in my French maid’s outfit, complete with a feather duster in hand. Well, the entire time I’ve been here I’ve been nothing but a little doom cloud.
For a moment, I think he might be speechless, but then he breaks into a grin.
‘Well, if you’re going to clean, you might as well start with my room,’ he says, waggling his eyebrows.
I burst out laughing, instantly feeling more at ease. He’s standing there in a pair of silk boxer shorts, looking like he just stepped out of a luxury sleepwear catalogue. Honestly, why is men’s lingerie always so simple and relatively normal-looking? Meanwhile, I’m in what is basically a Rubik’s cube in underwear form.
‘Yeah, yeah, keep dreaming,’ I say, giving him a playful swat on his bare chest with my feather duster. ‘But I will pretend to clean, for the sake of the photos.’
I playfully bend over the sofa, to dust the coffee table, ready for my close-up.
Caleb walks over to me, makes a camera gesture with his empty hands – the millennial kind with a shutter button, not the Gen Z mime that is basically holding up a smart phone – pretending to take a photo of me.
We laugh as we start posing for more fake photos. The absurdity of the situation makes it all the more fun. Caleb strikes a few ridiculous poses, and I follow suit, each shot getting sillier than the last, and yet still so undeniably sexy. There is something kind of horny about having a laugh in the bedroom, right? Or the kitchen area, in our case, but you know what I mean.
Every time our eyes meet, there’s a spark. It’s like the air between us is charged with electricity. We move closer, posing together for absolutely no reason, his arm around my waist, and I can feel the warmth of his skin against mine. The laughter dies down, replaced by a comfortable, almost intimate silence. I can’t help but feel a flutter in my chest. I’m almost worried he’ll be able to hear my heart beating, or feel it, now that my body is pressed against his.
‘You look incredible,’ he says, and there’s no trace of a joke in his voice this time.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks.
I notice him notice the pink strap of the bodysuit I’m wearing.
‘Was that in the bag?’ he asks. ‘Or is that yours?’
‘It was in the bag,’ I reply. ‘I couldn’t have walked so many steps today in this thing. It’s so, intimately tight, I think I’m having sex with it right now.’
Caleb laughs lightly for a split second but then his expression goes serious again.
‘Is it weird that I’m jealous?’ he asks.
‘Is it weird that I’m glad?’ I reply, my heart absolutely pounding in my chest now.
For a moment, we just stand there, the room around us fading away. I can feel the pull between us, stronger than ever. It’s as if the world has stopped, and it’s just the two of us, caught in this perfect, surreal moment.
He reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is gentle, and I can feel my breath catch in my throat. We’re so close now, I can see every detail in his eyes, feel the heat radiating from his body, the excitement building in him too, as every part of him tenses up.
‘Amber,’ he says softly, and there’s a question in his voice.
‘Caleb,’ I whisper back, not sure what I’m saying, only that I don’t want this moment to end.
Whenever I’ve seen people get together in movies, and they’ve had that synchronised, unspoken moment where their bodies just snap together, because they know the time is right, I’ve always wondered if that actually happens. It turns out it does. It’s like our bodies are speaking to each other, going over our heads, making plans of their own, and all we can do is go along with them.
As we kiss, Caleb scoops me up in his arms, grabbing me by the bum as I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck.
‘Bedroom,’ I mumble to him between kisses. ‘I don’t see why this underwear should have all the fun, it’s you that I want.’
‘And you told me you didn’t know how to be spicy,’ he replies, in a breathy voice, as he does as he’s asked.
Caleb lies me down on his bed and slowly removes my stockings, one after the other, unwrapping me, like I’m a present that he wants to savour.
I bite my lip as I watch him at work. He kisses his way up my leg, until he’s at eye level again, and as his body presses down on me, and his lips meet mine, everything falls into place. It’s not that I’m not a spicy kind of girl, I just needed the right person to bring it out of me.