Chapter 14
14
A traditional New Year’s Eve in Saint-Tropez meant La Grande Ancho?ade—locals set up long tables along the Quai Suffren and served anchovy dip with crusty bread and aperitifs to anyone who came by. I walked along the waterfront with Pippa and Mrs. Wilder all morning, and we gossiped about the night’s festivities, and ate too much, and said merci and bonne année a hundred times. I told myself Mom would have loved it—the salty fish, the bitter liqueurs, the locals, the tradition of it. But of course, even if she’d been there, she wouldn’t have been able to partake: the chunks of homemade bread impossible to carb-count, no way to get her insulin dosage right. She had never been able to relax, to fully enjoy things. And neither had I, as soon as I was old enough to understand that about her.
I spent the afternoon with Pippa and her father, stringing white lights through all the olive trees in the front and back yards, along the eaves of the house, and on the railings on the terrace. Pippa griped about it, but it was clear that both she and Mr. Wilder loved this job, theirs every year, when Faye was getting her hair blown out and Mrs. Wilder was fussing over the men unloading sound equipment from a box truck. They were expecting more than two hundred guests.
My suite abutted the main party space, the blue-and-white-tiled indoor-outdoor ballroom with glass walls that folded away. “This will all be open,” Mrs. Wilder had told me, “people flowing back and forth from the terrace to the front yard. Band and dance floor here, bar on this end.”
Faye had lent me a dress of liquid black sequins, slick and heavy like poured oil: sliding over my curves, dripping down in a low cowl in the back, finishing in a fringe of tiny beads a few inches above my knees. When Faye pushed me in front of the guesthouse mirror, I wanted to gasp or laugh, but in actuality I’d been unable to make any sound at all.
As a teenager, I’d read jealously about the parties at Jay Gatsby’s mansion, and tonight I would disappear into that fictional, mythical world. I would look the part, fit right in. And then it would be January, and the spell would be broken. I’d leave my glass slippers and catty fairy godmother (Faye godmother?) and go back to real life in London. Would I be different there when I returned? Would it be enough to know that I’d lived a fantasy before the clock struck midnight?
Most of the early party guests were family friends, and I met them all, explaining over and over again what the SATs were and why Pippa would be taking them. Men watched me when I crossed the room for a fresh glass of champagne. I said yes to every passing hors d’oeuvre before the server could even say what it was: cold oysters, hot croquettes, stuffed dates, shrimp ceviche, escargot, chorizo, tiny tarts filled with caviar and crème fra?che, even a miniature cup of bouillabaisse, fish stew. I was determined to eat enough now, and throughout the night, so that the never-ending flow of wine and champagne wouldn’t overwhelm me. I didn’t want to be drunk and sleepy at eleven p.m. “You numpty, that’s what cocaine’s for,” Faye had said when I’d mentioned it. I’d stick to canapés.
The friends I knew finally arrived around nine o’clock. That was also when Faye emerged from the guesthouse in a vintage flapper-style dress, looking just like I’d known she would: like a real-life Daisy Buchanan. The underdress was a knee-length cranberry-colored velvet sheath. It was overlaid with a fine gold netting that resolved into a long fringe from knee to ankle that danced whenever she moved.
She said nothing, but examined me: the long loose curls she’d put into my hair, the dark eyeliner, the highlighter on my cheek and brow bones, the perfect wine-stain lip. She put her fingers into my curls, shaking them out more, pulling some forward to sit on my shoulders, as if I were a doll she was playing with. It was a little embarrassing, in front of everyone, but I let her.
“You’re so glamorous,” I said. “That dress is perfect on you.” I let my fingertips graze the velvet, plush and cool. I wanted to tell her what it felt like: being here under the strands of lights, in our gorgeous dresses, at the center of all this beauty. What it felt like to be beautiful among all these beautiful people.
At that moment Simon seized Faye’s arm and spun her away from me, across the blue and white tiles, presumably to show off the fringed dress that swished around her legs like water. The spin ended in front of Callum, who rolled his eyes and shook his head when Faye held her free hand out playfully for a kiss.
Theo was crossing the room toward me. He was in a charcoal suit, the shirt almost the same color. No tie. The dark outfit set off his light hair, his too-blue eyes. The jacket and pants were very fitted and flattering, skimming off his muscled arms and broad shoulders, emphasizing the length of him. He looked like he should be at a movie premiere. He kissed Faye and Lucy on both cheeks, and then me the same way, and I pretended it felt fine and normal, even though his closeness, his cologne, his face next to mine, was dizzying.
“Look at you,” I said. “You look so elegant!”
Theo grinned. “You, on the other hand, are stunning. That dress, Anna, you’re a heart-stopper!” He nodded toward Simon and Faye. “Should I spin you?”
“Oh god, please don’t,” I said, hiding my hands from him, fumbling my champagne flute. “I’m just trying to blend in.”
“Trying and failing,” he said. “But in the best possible way.”
“Take a good long look,” Faye called, turning her sly smile on Theo. “She’s only here a few more days.”
“Surely not,” Theo said, frowning at me.
I felt all eyes look to me. “Yes, I go back on the second.”
“Back to real life?” Callum said with a smirk.
“Back to the books,” I said lightly, “just like you.” Reminding him that we were both still in school, in London, even if that was where the similarity ended. His eyes skimmed down my clearly borrowed outfit, which only seemed to confirm this. I always felt he was appraising me, looking for something. And, obviously, failing to find it.
“Something wrong?” Theo asked. I looked up; he was closer than I’d thought, and watching me, something between curiosity and concern.
I pushed my hair back behind my shoulders, breathed out, and smiled up at Theo. “Nothing a trip to the bar won’t solve,” I said, nudging his empty glass with mine. He laughed and offered his arm.
Five minutes before midnight, Pippa arrived, tugging at my elbow. “You have to come,” she said. “You’ll miss the fireworks.”
It had been that kind of night—Faye led me to the dance floor, Mrs. Wilder steered me to meet someone, Lucy dragged me to the loo to zip up her jumpsuit. I let myself be led to the pool side of the terrace—the pool built over to serve as a second dance floor—where Mr. and Mrs. Wilder were holding court with some of their well-dressed, middle-aged friends. Everyone was tipped out toward the hill, waiting expectantly.
I assumed the fireworks would be lit off from the hillside just below us. I turned to ask Pippa, but my guide had vanished. Instead, I saw Faye coming through the crowd.
“What are you doing here ?” she said, grabbing my wrist and pulling me back with her. “You want your kiss at midnight from some old guy?”
I wasn’t drunk, but tipsy enough to wobble on my heels as Faye tugged me after her, the crowd squeezing in on us. “Oh, c’mon,” I said. “Do people really do that?”
“ Yes ,” Faye said. “It’s tradition, you have to kiss someone at midnight. It’s for luck. Everyone does it.” And she threw a look back to me as we worked our way through the crush of bodies. The look said, Theo does it. I was being delivered to Theo. Had my delivery been requested by the recipient? Or had Faye simply taken it upon herself to arrange it? One of the last bodies I passed in the crowd was Callum, who stepped back to make way for us with a tight-lipped smile.
And then I was right up against the railing, at the far end of the terrace, packed with partygoers. The hill dropped away steeply below, the Mediterranean opening wide like a grin. I knew without looking that Theo was just behind me, encircled by friends; his height cast a shadow, blocking out the lights from the house. I waited there, my whole body tensed, but he gave no sign he’d noticed me. If I leaned back, his body would be there. And then what?
Callum arrived next to me, suddenly, Lucy behind him. He handed me a glass of champagne. “You’ll need this,” he said. “For midnight.”
I smiled politely, hiding my surprise. “Thank you,” I said. “I guess you’re much better at this than I am.”
“At what?”
“Fancy parties, champagne.”
He shrugged. “Actually, parties aren’t really my thing. I never know what to do with myself.”
“Oh, please, you fit right in,” I said, gesturing at the black suit, the tousled hair. “Look at you.” It was about the silliest thing I’d ever heard—the idea that this gorgeous, arrogant man didn’t belong at the party. He’d belong at any party.
“Oh, it’s easy enough to look the part,” he said, nodding at my loaner dress.
I laughed and turned back to the railing and the view. “Well, thanks for the champagne.” I felt rather than saw him leave.
I wasn’t going to let him ruin this. It was almost midnight. The water of the bay unfurled darkly far below, shimmering with white lights, each one a boat or yacht. It was achingly beautiful. By the time the countdown started— ten, nine, eight— the party’s excitement was building around me, and then building inside me— seven, six, five— and I let myself rise up on those euphoric waves. I didn’t have to worry about Callum. I didn’t have to worry about anything —four, three, two. I only had to stand here on the edge of the world, smiling like a fool, and count down to zero.
The sky exploded with light.
Fireworks, but they weren’t coming from the hillside. They weren’t coming from land at all. My eyes found it: a barge, out in the Mediterranean, lit now with tiny flashes that arched skyward, spun, grew dizzy, then heaved their sparkling guts to spatter the black sky. I swayed, tipping back to take them in. All the surrounding hills must be like our hill, crowded with tipsy revelers at grand villas, retinas burning like they’d looked into the sun. And I was one of them.
I felt a tug somewhere behind, and then the sound of Theo’s laughter tumbled over me. I turned toward him and saw that he had my long hair half gathered in one hand, as if he’d been pushing aside a curtain. He was smiling, luminous, the lights from the house crowning him in gold.
“What’s so funny?” I said.
“You just look so happy,” he said, raising his voice over the cheers and whoops.
“I can’t hear you,” I said, though I’d heard him perfectly. Come closer.
Theo bent slightly and tilted his head down next to mine. His fingers brushed my hair back from my ear. Trills of electricity flickered down my neck and up through my scalp.
“You look so happy,” he repeated, and the words came with a light sensation of breath, of the air stirring around us. Next to us, people were turning to each other, leaning in, kissing and hugging.
“May I?” Theo asked, but quietly, and in the din, I could hardly hear the words. His hand slipped down to lie flat against my neck. He pulled my face toward him, already leaning down to press his mouth to mine. His lips were soft, searching, and he smelled like champagne. The kiss was gentle, almost like a question. Then he pulled back slightly, so our lips were an inch or two apart.
“It’s meant to be good luck,” he said.
I leaned back in, closing the space between our mouths. I kissed him this time, and it was not a polite midnight-on-New-Year’s kiss. I let my body lean against him; I let his bottom lip push my lips open. I felt the heat from his mouth, the breath there, and wanted more.
But then Callum was trying to leave, pushing through behind us, and Theo stepped back to make room for him. Faye was there, pulling me sideways into a one-armed hug, pressing a kiss onto my cheek.
After that, the music became too loud to talk, and we were only dancing. Everyone, everywhere, was dancing now. On the two dance floors, on the terrace, under the lit-up trees, in the yard on the grass and on the paved walkways, the hazy streaks of decayed fireworks still hanging in the sky over us. We all danced together, but Theo’s hands were always on me. On my lower back, on my hip, or his fingers slipped along my arm, slid momentarily between mine. I let that feeling, the drinks, and the thumping music settle into me. Even if I left Saint-Tropez with only this moment, it would be enough. I felt the starry-velvet sky over us, and the heavy slippery weight of my dress, and Faye’s fringed body swaying to the music next to me.
Eventually the pull became too much, the tease of Theo’s hands, his body next to mine but not close enough, not pressing against me like I needed. I leaned into him, let my hips find his, felt the zing of heat throb through my body. When I tilted my head back to look up at him, his eyes were half closed, his mouth dropping down to mine, already opening. He put a hand into my hair and tugged me closer, kissed me more urgently. When I let my lips part under his, I felt his body sigh against me. Dancing bodies surged around us in the dark, and I put my hands around Theo’s neck and held him against me as we kissed—his hard torso, the whole long length of him. Then I found his hand and pulled him through the crowd.
We made it only as far as the little guest suite living room, the DJ’s speakers thumping just on the other side of the wall. Theo’s hands were tugging at the dress, the sequins scratching us as he pushed it up my thighs. He picked me up like I was nothing, weightless, and held me against him, and I put my legs around his hips, pressing into him. I felt his body against me, and the music throbbing through both of us. His hands were on my back, his teeth on my neck. I clung to him; I let him kiss me until I felt like a bow unstrung, my whole body slack and useless with desire. “Bed,” I groaned into his mouth, and he carried me to the bedroom that was still mine for two more days.