Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
I stood back, admiring my handiwork with a mixture of pride and surprise. Who knew all those hours of binge-watching HGTV would actually pay off? The room was far from finished, but the transformation was already evident. As I surveyed the freshly painted walls and rearranged furniture, I felt a familiar spark ignite within me—the joy of creation, of bringing a vision to life. It was a sensation I'd sorely missed these past few months, and I reveled in it, feeling a small piece of myself click back into place.
"Not bad," a voice said behind me, breaking through my reverie.
I spun around, startled, and promptly dropped my paintbrush. It clattered to the floor, leaving a streak of pale blue down the front of my already paint-spattered jeans. étienne stood in the doorway, his usual smug expression tinged with amusement.
"You scared me half to death," I said, scrambling to pick up the brush and compose myself.
He smirked, stepping into the room. "Clearly. Though I have to say, the impromptu paint job on your pants is quite avant-garde ."
I glanced down at the mess and chuckled. "What can I say? I'm starting a new fashion trend. Paint-splattered chic."
"It suits you," he said, his eyes roaming around the room. To my surprise, his next words seemed genuinely sincere. "It looks good in here. You've made real progress."
I waited for some sarcastic comment to follow, but none came. "Thank you," I said cautiously. "It feels really good to accomplish something. We still have a long way to go, but..."
"But you're moving faster than I would've thought," he finished for me. "Honestly, I'm impressed."
I couldn't help but smile. It was silly, perhaps, but even this small bit of approval from étienne felt significant. "I hope it still looks like the home you remember," I ventured.
étienne was quiet for a moment, his eyes scanning the room thoughtfully. Finally, he shrugged. "It's just a house."
I tilted my head, studying him. "Just a house? Really?"
A smile tugged at his lips but never fully formed. "We had a lot of fun memories here as kids, it's true. But not all the memories were good. I'm sure you're starting to see that our family is... complicated. So our relationship with this place is also complicated."
"I do understand," I said softly. "It's weird for me to be here, too. I have these memories, but I'm not sure..." I paused, fumbling for the right words. "I'm not sure if they're actual memories, you know? It's like I'm watching someone else's life through a screen."
étienne nodded slowly. "Early memories are like that. Especially ones you haven't dwelled on in a long time. But they're probably real. You were here, after all."
"It's nice to be here now, though," I said. "Making new memories."
He said nothing for a moment, his face as impassive as ever. The man would make a killing at poker nights.
"It's good that you're here, Elodie," he finally said.
I raised an eyebrow, unable to hide my surprise. "Really? Why the sudden change of heart?"
He let out a soft chuckle. "Don't tell anyone. I'm supposed to be absolutely resolute in all my feelings." He paused, his expression softening slightly. "It's good that you're here to give love to this place. Pierre would've been happy to see this. Despite whatever weirdness we all have with this house, with our family, with you... it's not the house's fault. So I'm glad you're here."
It wasn't exactly a heartfelt confession of sibling love, but coming from étienne, it was practically a warm embrace. I decided to take it and run with it.
"Well, thank you," I said, smiling. "That means a lot. Does that mean—you aren’t going to contest anything?"
He was unreadable for a moment and then shook his head. " Non . Seeing you here, the way you’ve jumped in—Pierre made the right choice."
His words filled me up more than I wanted to let on. "Hey, since you're here, want to make yourself useful? I could use a hand with this bookshelf."
étienne 's eyebrows shot up. "Me? Manual labor? I'll have you know I have a strict 'no sweating' policy."
I laughed, tossing him a dust cloth. "Come on, city boy. A little dirt under your nails won't kill you. Besides, I thought you said you were impressed with my progress. Don't you want to be part of this grand transformation?"
He caught the cloth with a dramatic sigh. "I suppose I walked right into that one, didn't I?"
"You absolutely did," I said, grinning. "Now, less talking, more dusting. And if you do a good job, I might even let you add your own artistic touch to my paint-splattered fashion line."
étienne rolled his eyes, but I caught the hint of a genuine smile as he began to dust the shelves.
Despite the fact that we were now creeping into October, the afternoon heat was not letting up. étienne and I had given up on our project and were now sprawled out with Régis and Félicité on lounge chairs in the front garden.
“Maybe I should put in a pool,” I said, wiping sweat from my forehead.
Félicité fanned herself dramatically with a napkin. “I fully support this. I do not remember things being so hot.”
“Good thing global warming is fake,” I teased.
All three siblings shook their heads and grumbled.
"Anyone who does not think it is true should come spend the summer here in Provence," Félicité declared. "I swear it is 20° hotter than it was when we were children."
Régis leaned back in his chair. “It's all a ploy," he said, his tone conspiratorial.
The three of us swiveled our heads around, fixing him with incredulous glares.
"You're a climate change denier now, are you, brother?" étienne asked.
Régis shook his head, struggling to keep a straight face. "No, not at all. I just think the French government has done it on purpose to get us to drink more rosé!"
We all burst into laughter at his ridiculous joke, the tension of the day melting away.
"Did somebody say rosé?" a familiar voice called from behind us.
We turned to see Remi approaching as if summoned by our laughter. He balanced a chilled bottle in one hand and a collection of glasses artfully dangling from the other, looking for all the world like a wine-bearing magician.
"How can you carry all that?" I asked, impressed despite myself.
He flashed me a cheeky grin that made my stomach do a little flip. "My fingers are good at many things."
I felt heat rush to my cheeks that had nothing to do with the weather. Félicité snorted a laugh beside me.
"Too much information, Remi," she chided.
"Are you going to talk us to death, or are we going to drink that?" Régis demanded, eyeing the bottle hungrily.
Remi set the glasses down on the little stone table with a flourish and filled them, the pale pink liquid catching the fading sunlight.
"What's the occasion?" I asked, curious about this impromptu gathering.
He shrugged, the gesture casual but somehow elegant. "One never needs an occasion to drink rosé on a hot day. But, we've all worked hard today. It's time to enjoy a little something. And this is a newly bottled vintage that I’ve been excited for.”
"I will most definitely drink to that," I said, lifting my glass. I took a moment to admire the perfect blush color of the wine before taking a long sip. The crisp, fruity flavor danced across my tongue. Rosé in Provence really was something else.
I picked up the bottle, studying the label. "This is fantastic," I murmured.
"I think you're getting better every year," Félicité said, raising her glass to Remi.
“I can’t believe you made this,” I said.
He shrugged again, this time with a hint of sheepishness. "One of my many talents."
The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Your fingers really are kind of magic." I regretted it instantly, but the damage was done. Everyone laughed, and I wished the ground would swallow me whole.
Remi's eyes met mine, a mixture of amusement and something deeper swirling in their depths. “Told you,” he said softly.
The sound of a car approaching yanked our attention away from the moment. We all turned to see a sleek black Mercedes creeping up the driveway toward the house.
Félicité, Régis, and étienne all groaned in unison, their faces contorting into expressions of pain and resignation.
"What?" I asked, feeling entirely out of the loop and suddenly anxious.
None of them said anything as the Mercedes drew closer, the tension ratcheting up with each passing second. It pulled up alongside the house, the engine purring to a stop. The driver's door swung open, and a woman stepped out with the grace of a runway model.
She was perhaps in her late middle age, but it was hard to tell. Her flowing black-and-white striped dress wrapped around her slender body, ending just above the knee. An oversized sun hat perched atop her perfectly coiffed honey-blonde hair. Chic low-heeled sandals completed the look. She could have stepped right off the cover of Vogue .
"Who is that?" I whispered, my eyes wide as I took in this vision of French elegance.
In perfect, exasperated unison, all three siblings groaned out a single word: " Mama ."