Chapter 32
“I wish we could go to the house,” étienne says as we approach his apartment.
I glance at him. “We could walk there now along the river?”
He shakes his head. “Another time. I need to sort out the bedrooms before we can stay overnight.”
He wants to stay there overnight with me? “We can make a start on them tomorrow.”
He raises his chin at Mellie’s car. “Could you drive us there in the morning? I left my car at Dion’s.”
“Sure. Shall I stay with you tonight then?” I ask casually, holding my breath as I wait for his reply.
“If you like,” he replies. “Might be easier.”
“Okay, I’ll just text Mellie so she doesn’t worry.” It’s an effort to keep my voice sounding steady.
We watch a movie. It’s his suggestion, but I’m pleased by it.
In some ways it feels more intimate than just going straight up to his bedroom.
When he sees me yawning, he pats his lap and beckons to me, indicating that I can lie down.
His fingers brush the hair back from my face, making me feel light and jittery, but eventually I relax.
And I must relax so deeply that I fall asleep because when I come to, dawn has lit up his giant windows and there’s a blanket covering my body.
I look up at étienne’s bedroom on the mezzanine level and then quietly use the bathroom before venturing upstairs.
He’s sprawled out on his stomach, one of his legs thrown out over the top sheet and his arm tucked under his pillow.
His skin is tanned against the white cotton, his back rising and falling with his long, slow breaths.
I gaze at his face, so peaceful in sleep, and my heart inflates.
He stirs as I slip beneath the sheets. I don’t touch him—I don’t want to wake him up—but it’s a long time before I manage to doze off again.
And once more, when I wake up, I’m alone.
étienne is making coffee—I can hear the machine.
“Morning,” I say as I pad downstairs.
He glances over at me. “Hi. Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I rest my back against the work surface and watch him. He seems very focused on what he’s doing.
I’m tempted to nip to Mellie’s for a shower and a change of clothes, but I have the oddest feeling that if I leave, he might not want me to come back.
“We could eat breakfast at the house,” I suggest.
He raises his eyebrows and nods. “There’s a boulangerie near Dion’s. Can we pick up my car on the way?”
“Yeah, of course.”
He leads once we’ve collected his Peugeot, losing me on the road out of town. It’s okay—I know where I’m going—but as I arrive at the house to see his car parked on the drive, I’m overcome with an intense feeling of déjà vu.
With an odd awareness that I can’t really make sense of, I don’t think the déjà vu relates to the last time I came here, or even when I was seventeen. This feels different.
It’s the car: his navy GTi. When I was seventeen, it was tucked around the back, filthy, with weeds growing up around it.
But I remember coming along this drive and seeing it when it looked clean and shiny and was parked right here in front of the door.
For some reason, Sandrine comes to mind.
And then the car door opens and étienne climbs out. I try to shake off my uneasiness as I follow him into the house.
We sit on the bank, a paper bag filled with pains au chocolat and croissants torn open between us.
“Would you ever think about renting this place out?” I ask.
“Who’d want to live here?” he replies, hooking his arm around one of his knees.
“I would.”
He smiles at me. He thinks I’m joking. I’m not.
“Seriously, I would.”
“When are you going to live here?”
“I’ve decided to stay. I’m not going back to the UK.”
For a moment, he’s motionless, and then he slowly turns his body more toward mine, his attention acute.
“I don’t have to go back to London,” I say as the nearby willow fronds sway and rustle in the warm breeze.
“My mum spends most of her time abroad, I don’t have a job to get back to, I’d miss my friends, but I don’t see them all that much and they could come to visit.
Mellie’s one of the most important people in my life and I want to spend time with her while I still can.
Do you remember when you texted me at the market to ask what I was thinking? ”
He gives me the slightest nod of his head.
“It was this. I was looking around, imagining staying here in Sainte-églantine with Mellie, doing freelance work, maybe even starting up my own small consultancy firm. It’s what I’ve always wanted.
I thought I might be able to explore working with some of the other local family businesses that make regional products, help them to scale up.
But I’ve also lined up some freelance work for a company in the UK.
So I might need somewhere to rent at some point,” I say with a smile.
“I’m not sure Mellie wants me living with her forever. ”
étienne looks stunned. He rakes his hand through his hair, setting it off his forehead. Once more the tiny scar on his right eyebrow is revealed.
“How did you get that?” I’ve finally given in to my curiosity.
“I fell over as a kid. It’s not a big deal,” he replies dismissively.
Why do I feel like he’s lying?
“Are you okay?” I ask with bewilderment as he gets to his feet.
“Oui,” he replies shortly. “I’m going to make a start. Take your time.”
I give him a minute before warily following him.
We don’t say much as we pack away the things in his mother’s bedroom. Occasionally I’ll comment on one of her outfits and he’ll give me a half-hearted smile, but I know this must be incredibly hard for him.
I feel protective of him. I don’t want him to have to square up to the world on his own in this way, especially not when it comes to his mother and everything that he’s lost.
When Estelle’s belongings are in boxes, we carry them downstairs and stack them by the door so they’re ready to be taken to a charity shop. He walks into the living room and slumps on the sofa.
I go and sit beside him, reaching for his hand.
“Merci,” he says quietly, giving my hand a squeeze before letting it go.
I pick up the playing cards that are on the coffee table, knowing what I could do to lighten the mood.
He watches as I shuffle them, dealing a card out to each of us. I press mine to my forehead. He copies me and we stare at each other’s cards. He has a two so I’m pretty sure I could wipe the floor with him.
But I have another idea.
“I’ll see your orgasm and raise you one,” I say.
He bursts out laughing and throws his card down, not even looking at it as he reaches out and draws me to him.
Our teeth click as our mouths come together—we’re both smiling—and I know that I judged this exactly right.
This is what he needs. No deep and meaningful conversations and heart-to-hearts, just a distraction, a physical connection.
I feel giddy as his fingers cup my jaw and he pulls me in for a deep, all-consuming kiss.
I sink back on the sofa, bringing him with me, and his body weight bears down as I grasp his waist. He retreats slightly, nipping my bottom lip gently before sucking it into his mouth.
And then he eases me up from the cushions so he can access the zip on the back of my dress.
It’s slower than I expected it to be, more tender somehow. Afterward, as I lie in his arms, I feel as much as hear him when he sighs.
I lift my head. He returns my stare contemplatively. My chest suddenly feels constricted.
“What is it?” I ask warily.
“You remember what I said?” He looks bleak.
“I think I do.” But I’d like clarification.
He gives it.
“I don’t want another relationship.”
“étienne,” I say. I’m surprised by how much it sounds like a plea.
“Don’t fall for me.” His voice is low and serious and my heart drops like a stone.
I feel as though I’m standing at the threshold of his door. If I accept what he’s saying, he’ll let me come inside. If I don’t, it will close in my face.
“I hear you.” I try to sound airy as I sit up and reach for my bra. I’m not ready to let him go yet. “We’re keeping it causal. Don’t worry.” I throw him a smile over my shoulder when he doesn’t answer. “It’s what we said from the beginning.”
He sits up and grabs his T-shirt. I don’t know what to make of his expression as he disappears from sight.