Chapter 4
‘I can’t believe we’re finally here!’ squeals Liam, full of excitement as the taxi pulls up to the grand tree-lined entrance of Birdie’s palatial family home, Chateau Beaumont. ‘It’s even more beautiful IRL.’
‘Stunning. Simply stunning.’ Ged peers out of the window as the tyres crunch on the gravel surrounding the ornate stone water fountain at the centre of the sweeping circular drive.
We come to a stop outside the pillared doorway, where three smartly uniformed staff wait to greet us.
I gaze up at the majestic pale-salmon-pink building, stretching up to the azure-blue, cloudless sky.
Its many white-rimmed arched windows reflecting the French Riviera gleaming below us in the winter sun.
‘Birdie’s parents must be worth a fortune,’ Liam whispers. ‘I can’t believe they’ve agreed to give us the run of the place for the entire week at such a knock-down price!’
‘Matteo said that they would have been closing it anyway seeing as the whole family are spending Christmas with the Saudi royal family on a superyacht off the Amalfi coast,’ I explain as I get out of the car.
‘Some staff volunteered to stay on to make sure the place isn’t empty, so that’s why we only needed to hire in extra caterers and waiters for the wedding day itself.
’ I regard the staff watching us. I’m immediately uncomfortable with how to act in such opulent and upper-class surroundings.
I wonder if I’m expected to shake their hands?
Or is it more like Downton Abbey? Should I float past them, smiling as though I’m above them?
I’d hate for them to think I can’t do the basics for myself.
I’m not expecting royal treatment. So, when the driver unloads the many, many cases and the staff move to pick them up, to show willing, I shoot forward and grab one of the heavier bags.
One uniformed man, similar to the others but with gold epaulettes, insists on taking it from me.
There follows a slight back-and-forth tussle before he yanks it forcefully from my grasp.
‘Madame Cooper?’ he says tightly. Luckily for me, Spain is one of the few countries where the women don’t change their surnames after marriage, otherwise I would have had to take Matteo’s unnecessarily long family name and commit it to memory.
‘Oui, c’est moi.’
‘Welcome to Chateau Beaumont. This way, madame.’ He signals to the open door. ‘Monsieur Xavier Matteo George Marie-Carmen Torrado Grande is inside waiting for…’
He doesn’t need to finish the sentence because our eyes are drawn to the magnificent figure emerging from the entrance.
Without fail, this man takes my breath away.
From the moment Matteo and I laid eyes on each other, there have been fireworks.
A nervous energy courses through my veins every time I see him.
My husband bounds down the steps with ease and jogs over to me, his designer white T-shirt hugging his fine torso, his navy suit jacket flapping open.
Matching close-fitting trousers accentuate his toned legs and his smart white leather trainers. He looks chic and understated.
My entire being is lit from within as he scoops me up and spins me around.
This is the side of him that very few people get to see.
His intelligent eyes find mine. He’s grinning from ear to ear and when he puts me down, he cups my face gently and pulls my mouth to his.
He kisses me lightly on the lips and murmurs in my ear, ‘I have missed you so much.’ His breath sends a tingle down my entire left side.
A giggle bursts from my lips. ‘I missed you too.’
Birdie and Matteo flew from LA straight here to the south of France to spend a couple of days working and finalising the arrangements with her parents for our week-long stay.
He has known the family for ten years, so I tried not to be childish about it when I found out he was having dinner with them both nights.
I didn’t even blink when he said the parents had insisted he stay over, seeing as he was their guest and part of the ‘family’.
And I was positively blasé when he divulged that Birdie and her siblings had kept him up until three in the morning reminiscing and swapping showbiz gossip.
Matteo hugs Ged and Liam, who, like me, are still getting to grips with how super attractive and kind-hearted (we’re not entirely superficial) he is.
He has single-handedly saved the day in asking for this massive favour on our behalf.
I am less keen to see what the repercussions may be.
Birdie does not strike me to be as generous-hearted as she is making out.
‘Are the Dollz all here?’ I ask him.
He half-rolls his eyes. ‘Just Liberty.’
‘What is that look for?’ I murmur.
‘Come and see for yourself. She arrived by private helicopter this morning. I take it she’s still with Eddie?’
‘As far as I know.’ Liberty has been loved-up with her billionaire boyfriend from Texas since our trip to Vegas.
They have already been on multiple luxury holidays.
She is self-employed and her mood management degree affords the luxury of being able to work flexibly as a mobile charisma consultant.
He is a forty-year-old billionaire and can do what he likes, when he likes.
Matteo, Ged, Liam and I make our way into the house, straight into a fabulous black-and-white-tiled atrium filled with light.
There’s an enormous Christmas tree with a golden Star of David at the top and hundreds of brightly coloured baubles.
The family have gone all out to transform their luxury pad into a magical Lapland experience.
‘It’s like a Santa’s grotto.’ A wide arch leads into a reception room.
I sweep my gaze around the boughs of holly entwined with fairy lights draped across the grand fireplace.
Lamps are nestled in the centre of elaborate wreaths on the individual console tables dotting the room.
Art deco paintings cover the walls, antiques are scattered across a plethora of surfaces and several chaises longues are draped with vibrant Christmas-coloured crimson and sage-green throws.
‘The family live in a separate annexe,’ Matteo explains, pointing down a plushily carpeted corridor. ‘In fact, you’ve only just missed them. They left earlier this afternoon. So, we have the run of the chateau and all the reception rooms.’
‘It’s so glamorous and eclectic,’ Liam gushes, running his fingertips across the back of a mustard and teal thistle-patterned velvet armchair. ‘I love it. Can we see the ballroom?’
‘Sure.’ Matteo grins. ‘I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.
’ We follow him diagonally back across the atrium to some pale blue, ornate double doors, framed with white alabaster.
He flings the doors open and the boys and I gasp.
Sunlight streams through the arched stained-glass windows onto the lavish marble flooring.
Artworks cover every inch of the deep burgundy walls, and majestic chandeliers hang from the high ceilings.
Each individual glass medallion reflects the light, casting sparkles around the room.
Ged throws his arm around Liam’s shoulder as they gaze blissfully out of a window down to the sea and the bobbing boats.
Matteo tugs my arm. ‘We’ll come back for them.’
We head towards a snug lounge area where we find Liberty draped attractively over the bar, perched cross-legged on a high bar stool.
She is dressed in a gorgeous green and pink leopard-print playsuit that accentuates her shimmering, tanned legs.
A wedged sandal dangles from her pedicured toes as she throws her head back to laugh loudly.
I follow her delighted gaze to the barman pouring wine into her glass.
It’s Matteo’s ridiculously hot brother, Nacho.
He is flirting up a storm with Liberty, his ex-on-again-off-again lover.
They used to ‘bone regularly’ (her words, not mine) ever since that first life-changing trip to Benidorm in the summer, and he is currently gazing back at her with an adoring expression.
He is leaning casually against the bar. In his navy polo shirt, his slim-fitting Hugo Boss green combats and designer French-navy trainers, he couldn’t look more like a supermodel if he tried.
Nacho and Liberty are oblivious to me and Matteo standing there.
They are lost in their own little world of rekindling their (I hope for both of their sakes) now entirely platonic friendship.
I take a deep breath in and give Matteo a knowing gesture.
Liberty’s boyfriend Eddie is also Matteo’s new business partner, and he is flying to France the morning of the wedding.
I hope that she can resist the lure of Nacho and his charming Spanish accent, his sexy movie-star smile, his perfect abs and his come-to-bed eyes until then, because from where I’m standing, she’ll not last the hour.
Matteo clears his throat noisily to alert them to our presence, causing them to jump guiltily. They have ‘we are hopelessly attracted to one another’ written all over their faces.
Liberty slides off her seat and flings her arms around me. ‘Connie, babes. You look amazing. How was the honeymoon?’ She pings her eyes to Matteo, tilting her head.
‘We haven’t been on one yet,’ I say.
‘Seriously?’ Liberty is shocked. ‘How come?’
‘We haven’t had the time,’ I say. ‘Matteo’s been super busy with work.’
‘Ah, yes. That’s what happens when you rush into marrying a workaholic, I suppose.’ She winks at Matteo and looks back over her shoulder towards Nacho. ‘Good job it doesn’t run in the family.’
My brain lingers over her casual use of the word ‘rush’. As in ‘fools rush in’. It reminds me of the song lyrics sung at our Elvis-themed wedding and how we all celebrated our impulsiveness as we danced under a starry sky, late into the hot Vegas night.
‘Nice to see you two getting reacquainted,’ Matteo says, an imperceptible edge to his voice.