Chapter 15
“Did he give you permission?”
They’re the first words out of Jackson’s mouth when I arrive at work on Monday morning. He invited me over for a swim yesterday, but I told him that I was seeing étienne.
“Not yet—I haven’t asked him.”
He frowns. “Why not?”
“It’s delicate. I don’t want him to think that I’m only interested in him because of work.”
Jackson looks shocked as he turns back to face his desk.
I actually didn’t mean to make it sound as though I’m into étienne romantically, but I can see that that’s exactly what Jackson has taken away from my comment.
And he really doesn’t like it.
I’m on the verge of putting him straight, but I hesitate.
I suspect étienne was right about Jackson when he said, The more he thinks he can’t have you, the more he’ll want you.
The reason things had been building prior to Chloe coming to France is because I’d had a boyfriend the year before, and the year before that, Jackson had been seeing a girl from back home.
Being out of bounds made us more appealing to each other than ever.
Our chemistry was off the charts: long looks and lingering touches.
But we didn’t come close to crossing a line until that moment on the balcony when we were twenty-one and I was in a serious relationship.
Maybe our near-misses weren’t down to bad timing. Maybe it’s more a case of Jackson’s heart wanting what Jackson’s heart can’t have.
I’m still mulling this over a couple of days later when I arrive at work to find Jackson already at his desk.
“Hey,” he says listlessly, barely looking up.
“Hi.” I place a small box of nougat in front of him and lay my hand on his back.
“What’s that for?” he asks, his eyes fixed on the gift.
“I thought you might need cheering up today.”
He glances up at me, his eyes rimmed red. “You remembered?”
I give him a sympathetic nod. It’s his wedding anniversary.
“You need a hug?” I ask softly.
He immediately gets to his feet and wraps me in his arms, holding me tightly against his broad chest. As he takes a ragged breath and buries his face in my neck, my heart aches for him, even as his breaks over his failed marriage to another woman.
“I don’t think I can work today,” he says in a muffled voice.
“So let’s do something else,” I reply.
When he looks at me, tears have collected on his lower lashes. “Like what?”
“Ping-Pong?” I ask brightly.
He throws his head back and laughs. I beam up at him.
He shrugs. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
“With alcohol.”
“Done.” I stick my hand out. He shakes it.
There’s a Ping-Pong table right by the tennis court in the chateau’s grounds, and after we’ve exhausted ourselves running around in pursuit of tiny balls—well, after I’ve exhausted myself; he’s fit as fuck—we sit on the grass and eat one of Marcia’s mouthwatering quiches, washing it down with a whole bottle of wine.
Turns out neither of us felt like eating breakfast earlier.
The happiest day of his life was actually my worst. We don’t like remembering it, but for vastly different reasons.
Jackson is lying flat out on the grass with one arm propped behind his head, his biceps straining against the fabric of his shirt.
His eyes are open and he’s staring at plane trails running in straight lines across the blue sky.
I’m sitting upright beside him, but he’s close enough that I could count the faint freckles that scatter across his nose and venture onto his high cheekbones.
I remember him once telling me that they always come out at this time of year, but I didn’t fully believe him until he showed me pictures of himself in winter, all wrapped up against a snowy New York City backdrop.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“I’m okay.”
The air is filled with the sound of running water from the nearby fountain. Thankfully Albert is at the factory today so he doesn’t know how badly we’re slacking off.
“You’re not really though, are you?”
He pauses and then shakes his head, his eyes still fixed overhead. “I’ve been doing way too much thinking lately.”
“About what?”
“About everything I’ve done wrong.” His voice sounds husky. “There are so many things I’d go back and change if I could.”
I swallow. “What sort of things?” Could he be talking about us?
He glances at me. And then suddenly he says, “I’m not sure I can do heavy today,” and drags his hand over his face. It’s almost as though he’s pulled on a mask because a second later he grins and jumps to his feet. “Let’s go for a swim.”
“Come for a swim with me, Gracie!” I mimic his younger self as I follow his lead and get up, trying not to dwell on my disappointment at his deflection.
“What was that?” he asks, laughing.
“Come for a swim with me, Gracie! Come and play Monopoly with me, Gracie! Come and play tennis with me, Gracie!”
“Is that supposed to be an impression of me?”
“It’s a great impression of you,” I reply.
“Is it now.”
“Yes, it is.”
We’re standing two feet apart, smiling at each other. I feel as though I have a bunch of little bubbles popping away inside me.
“Did you bring your swimming costume?” he asks after another beat.
“My sexy orange bikini?” I plant my hands on my hips.
“Or anything else?”
“Nope.” I sway a little as I push my bottom lip out.
He shakes his head at me, his eyes sparkling. “That’s a shame.”
“It is,” I agree.
“But you’ll dry off.”
“What the—Jackson!” I squeal as he swings me up into his arms and takes off in the direction of the pool. “Argh, no!” I scream.
He’s laughing as he jogs across the lawn and throws me in at the deep end, fully dressed. I come up spluttering in time to see him dive-bomb in after me, drenching me in a tidal wave.
“How am I supposed to go home looking like this?” I demand to know as his head pops out of the water.
Thank God I’d kicked off my shoes to play Ping-Pong.
“It’ll dry,” he replies with a shrug, flicking back his brown hair.
“Not if I’m wearing it.”
“So take it off.”
I gawp at him. He’s grinning.
“Would that cheer you up?” I ask boldly.
His grin widens. “Everything about you cheers me up.”
A rainbow bursts into Technicolor glory inside me.
“Okay, you asked for this,” I warn, unable to suppress my smile as I swim to the steps. I’m wearing light blue underwear underneath—thankfully it’s a matching set and isn’t sheer.
It’s actually less revealing than my orange bikini, I try to convince myself as I climb out, pulling my blue-and-yellow-patterned dress over my head. I lie it flat on a sun lounger and then turn around to face Jackson. He’s no longer laughing.
“Your turn.” I wave my hand at his shirt as I get back in, sinking to my knees in the shallow end.
I’ve seen him bare-chested a million times, but I have never seen him stand in waist-high water, unbuttoning a pin-striped shirt that’s clinging to his skin.
With every inch of tanned muscle that’s exposed, I feel hotter.
It’s as though I’m standing in blazing sunshine rather than up to my neck in cold water.
The corner of his lip tugs upward as I stare. He’s looking straight at me. Is that heat in his eyes? Whatever it is, it’s too much: I tip my head back so my hair is underwater, but I still feel overwhelmed so I twist and kick away into deeper water.
It’s a good move. When I glance back, he’s on the steps, stripping his shorts down to his black boxers. I don’t think I could have handled being up close for that.
He meets my eyes so I quickly spin around, treading water with my back to him. When I look over my shoulder, he’s nowhere to be seen.
And then his hands wrap around my ankles.
I gasp as he launches me out of the water. The next thing I know I’m perched on his shoulders.
“You scared the shit out of me!” I exclaim, sinking my fingers into his hair.
He laughs, curling his palms around my calves to keep me steady. His head is between my thighs.
“Remember when we used to do circus tricks?”
His head is between my thighs.
“If you think I’m going to try to stand up on your shoulders—”
“Come on, Gracie, do circus tricks with me,” he says, putting on a high-pitched voice to mimic my impression of him. I crack up laughing, temporarily distracted from the fact that HIS HEAD IS BETWEEN MY THIGHS.
“Come on, do it,” he urges, and just as I used to, I find myself getting swept away on a wave of his lovely boyish enthusiasm. Jackson’s energy has always been contagious.
“Fine.” I place my hands on his head as he simultaneously lifts me and the next thing I know, I’m standing on his shoulders, albeit wobbling precariously.
“Do a somersault.”
“Are you taking the piss?”
He laughs. “Go on, I’ll launch you.”
“I’m not ten!”
“No, you’re not.”
I hear something in his voice then, something warm and…I don’t know. But his low tone hits me in my solar plexus.
“Okay, count to three,” I reply shakily, determined to impress him.
“One…two…three!”
He lifts my feet off his shoulders as I tuck my chin and curl into a ball, splashing head first into the pool.
He’s cheering when I reemerge. “You fucking did it!” he yells. “You’re awesome—I can’t believe you did it!” He snags my wrist and pulls me into his arms.
My laughter dies down as our near-naked bodies collide. Suddenly I don’t want to be anywhere else.
You were the love of my life, I think. And you broke my heart.
As he presses a kiss to my temple, I lift my head to look at him, stunned.
He’s smiling down at me, sunlight bouncing off the pool water and reflecting in his forest-glade eyes.
“You’re still my favorite person,” he says.
“You’re still mine,” I whisper.
We stare at each other for two more seconds and then he says, abruptly, “I need chocolate.”
“Yes!” I agree emphatically.
“Let’s raid the kitchen. Race ya!” he shouts, shoving me away to get a head start.
I streak into the entrance hall after him and, just as we used to when we ran across the marble floor with wet feet, we both slip straight over.
We lose it. Our squeals of laughter echo off the walls and can probably be heard throughout the chateau.
As he belly slides toward me, tears of hysteria streaming down his face, I think that my most dreaded date in the calendar will now be remembered as one of my most beloved.
And that’s even before he collapses into a heap right across my body. He rolls over, taking me with him, and as I lie on his chest with his hand cupping my lower back, I hear him whisper something into what I realize has become a very sudden silence.
“What?” I ask, lifting my head.
He’s staring up at the ceiling. But when he meets my eyes, I sober up.
“What did you say?” I persist.
He looks stricken. “Please don’t shut me out of your life again.”
I shake my head. “I won’t.”
He closes his eyes and I rest my cheek back against his chest, and that’s how Patricia finds us a few minutes later.