Chapter 42
42
Waking up in Caleb’s arms, everything just feels right.
Last night was beyond incredible. I didn’t think nights like that existed outside the movies, but it turns out they do.
Caleb is nothing short of phenomenal in the bedroom. I remember once having a taster session with a personal trainer, during a brief stint where I had a gym membership (which, hilariously, was only for research for a book, not to be healthy), and the whole time I was there it felt like he was carrying me. He was great, strong, agile, and just generally knew what he was doing, and I was just doing my best to keep up. It was a bit like that. Actually, it was a lot like that.
He has retrospectively obliterated every other man I’ve slept with by being so, so much better than them in every way. I can still feel it all, if I let my mind wander back a few hours.
The soft rise and fall of his chest beneath my head feels like the most comforting rhythm in the world. Caleb is still sleeping, and even though I’m awake I’m tempted to stay here forever, basking in the warmth of his arms. I could get up, and I could write, because I have never felt so inspired, but, really, I just want to be here, with him, like this. I just want to lie here, tracing the contours of his abs with my fingertips, and smile smugly to myself.
Life has other ideas, though. There’s a loud banging on the door and the sound of a woman shouting, which makes me jump and wakes Caleb up. He listens for a moment and then groans.
I look at him, as if to ask what’s going on, only to see his expression shift from confusion to recognition as the familiar voice of his ex, Annabelle, echoes through the chalet.
‘It’s Annabelle, and I’m not going anywhere until you let me in, we need to talk,’ she calls out.
Her tone is like a siren, demanding attention (or warning of danger), and I can’t help but wonder why she’s here, why she’s so mad, and what she will do when she finds out I’m in here.
Caleb grabs his phone from the bedside table and his face drops as he scans his notifications. Whatever he sees doesn’t seem to sit well with him.
‘Shit,’ he says to himself softly. His tone seems to change all of a sudden. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was mad at me.
‘Stay here and stay hidden,’ he tells me, with all the warmth of a drill sergeant. ‘I’ll go get rid of her.’
‘Okay,’ I reply softly.
I do as I’m told and stay in the bedroom while Caleb goes into the living room, to let Storm Annabelle inside.
As I strain to listen from my hiding place – aka Caleb’s bed – while he chats to his ex in the other room (standard stuff), I’m almost impressed at how Annabelle’s voice pierces the air with a mix of anger and hurt.
‘I can’t believe you, Caleb! How could you let people think those pictures are me?’ she snaps at him. ‘The one that hit the net last night, oh my God, everyone thinks it’s me, going down on you in a car, and then I look on your Insta, to see where you are, and I find out that it is you, you are here, and you’re parading around with some weird body double of me, posting pictures of the two of you, do you know how messed up that is?’
I don’t know if Annabelle gives Caleb a chance to reply, or if he has nothing to say for himself, because the next voice I hear is Annabelle’s.
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’ she presses him. ‘Do you really think this is okay?’
‘You broke up with me,’ he reminds her. ‘I thought you would be happy, to see me moving on.’
‘But have you moved on, Caleb? Have you really?’ Annabelle’s voice wavers with emotion. ‘Because you’re running around France with some kind of cheap knock-off, and I’m seeing pictures of you, and her, and you’re up to all sorts and… and you just look so happy… and, truthfully, it was like a knife to the heart.’
Eh?
‘It’s obvious that you still want me and, seeing you with someone else, well, it’s reminded me that I still want you,’ she tells him. ‘I’m sure we can smooth all of this out, we’ll say that photo was a joke, and we’ll post some real photos together – what do you say? Can we give it another go?’
Oh boy, she’s gone from bollocking him to pretty much begging for him to take her back and, worst of all, Caleb isn’t saying a word. He isn’t telling her he’s moved on, he isn’t trying to get rid of her, he’s obviously just standing there, like a lemon – oh, God, do you think it’s because he wants to say yes, but he knows I’m in here, so he doesn’t know how to say it? I need to get out of here, right now, because I don’t want to hear what comes next.
Oh, the sicky, sinking feeling in my stomach, when I realise that my actual clothes are in the other bathroom, on the other side of the living room, and that the only thing I have in here is the French maid’s outfit. I suppose I’m lucky that I have anything but, come on, it’s a fucking French maid’s outfit from a fucking sex shop.
With no other choice, I put it on, along with a pair of Caleb’s trainers that are too big, but beggars can’t be choosers – I’m not sure how long I would last barefoot in the snow, although at this stage I’ll be lucky to find a way out.
How on earth am I going to get out of this chalet, when the only external door is the front door? As I try to open the window – not that I know how I’ll get myself out through it – I knock over an ornament, which hits the floor, and while it thankfully doesn’t break, it does land with a thud. I freeze, hoping they didn’t hear that.
‘What was that?’ Annabelle asks.
Oh, I can’t catch a break.
‘Do you have someone in there?’ she asks angrily. ‘Is it her? Is it my crappy clone? I’ll rip her cheap blonde extensions out.’
I mean, I’m mildly offended that she’s referring to my actual hair that I have actually grown on my actual head as cheap extensions, but that’s hardly the pressing issue right now, is it?
‘Annabelle, wait,’ Caleb pleads with her. ‘Don’t go in there, it’s…’
Panicking, I try to hide under the bed, but it’s no good, it’s too close to the floor, I can’t get under it.
Spotting the brown wig and feather duster from last night, I quickly grab them, wrestling on the wig as fast as I can, before popping up just as Annabelle and Caleb walk through the door.
I dust the bedside table, trying to blend in, to make it look natural.
‘Ah, bonjour ,’ I say with a big smile, in my best attempt at a French accent.
The two of them just stare at me for a moment.
‘ La lit, c’est bon. La chambre, c’est bon ,’ I babble, mustering up as much GSCE French as I can, but there’s only so much that sticks in here, when you only scraped a D grade. I’m sure none of this is right, but I’m hoping Annabelle won’t know any better.
The two of them continue to stare at me.
‘All clean,’ I say, in a French accent that is supposed to sound like English isn’t my first language. ‘ Merci .’
‘I was just going to say, don’t go in there, the cleaner is in there,’ Caleb tells Annabelle, his face etched with relief.
‘Christ, do they really make the poor cow clean dressed like that?’ I overhear Annabelle say, as I head for the door.
‘Yeah, she must be freezing,’ Caleb adds ever so considerately.
I quickly grab my bag, coat, and Uggs from next to the door, throwing them on as I make my escape onto the porch.
Breathing a sigh of relief (although not a very big one, all things considered), I glance back at the chalet one last time before heading back to the chateau. So that’s that then, right? He didn’t defend me, he played along with the cleaner story, and she wants him back so, yeah, that’s that. I mean, a holiday romance, even a brief one, was more than I was expecting but, I don’t know, I really thought we had something.
I guess it turns out I was just under the influence, in more ways than one.
Fab.