Chapter 17 #2
I put on my gold hoop earrings and then take a step back from the mirror, checking all the angles of my reflection.
I’ve been saving this emerald-green dress all holiday.
Mum bought it for me from Liberty when she was in Soho a couple of weeks before we came to France.
Annoyingly, I love it. It has a V-neck and delicate spaghetti straps that cross at the back with a swishy skirt.
I take a deep breath as I stare at myself in the mirror, breaking into a nervous smile and biting my bottom lip.
I’ve taken longer than usual to get ready for dinner this evening.
I’ve applied my make-up meticulously and used gold shimmer across my collar bones like in a YouTube video I watched.
I’m nervous.
Things have been different this summer. My crush on Nico is officially out of control.
Last year, I was all shy around him and he kept asking me if something was wrong.
He obviously didn’t catch on that he made me nervous.
But this year, his behaviour has changed, too.
I think he’s been flirting with me. I hope so anyway.
I couldn’t sleep last night because all I could think about was whether he might kiss me today.
I’ve never kissed anyone before. It’s so embarrassing.
I have to go back to school in September having at least kissed a boy.
And I’ve decided I want that boy to be Nico.
‘You look beautiful, Megan,’ Mum says when I emerge from my room to find them waiting in the corridor.
Dad frowns. ‘Don’t you want to put a jacket or a jumper on over that?’
‘No, Dad,’ I say, rolling my eyes as Mum smirks.
It’s quite nice to be on the same side as her for a moment.
That hasn’t happened much this holiday. Her favourite thing to do seems to be to either embarrass me as much as possible with her attention-seeking or highlight the fact that I seek no attention whatsoever and make it out like that’s a bad thing.
A few days ago, she interrupted my reading to suggest we go to a bar in Argelès-sur-Mer with the karaoke.
‘We can invite Nico if you like,’ she added, waggling her eyebrows.
I almost died.
I had to tell her that I literally couldn’t think of anything worse and to please never suggest anything like that again.
Then I got back to my book, blushing furiously.
She’d raised her hands and said, ‘All right, it was only a suggestion’, as though I was the aggressor in this situation, unable to hide the disappointment in her voice.
You’d have thought that an author would be happy that her daughter was big on books, but apparently, I got stuck with the only one in the world who disapproves of it.
It used to upset me that she made it so obvious she wished I was more like her, but now I don’t care.
I’m proud to be different. Still, it’s nice to have moments when we’re on the same page, like when we can smile together over the fact that Dad still thinks I’m a little girl.
We have dinner outside on the patio of the hotel restaurant, joined by Francoise, Mathieu and Nico.
They’ve made the effort to join us for our final dinner at the chateau – for tomorrow, our final night on holiday, Mum has annoyingly made a reservation for just us three at some fancy Michelin-star restaurant.
I’m desperate for a fun night with Nico to forget about the fact that it will be another year until we’re back.
Nico and I have shared looks and smiles across the table all evening when one of the adults says something embarrassing.
Then, when dinner is finished, an opportunity arises.
Mum and Francoise have moved their chairs nearer to each other and Francoise is giggling hysterically at something Mum is saying to her, which is always fun to witness because usually Nico’s aunt is so composed.
And Dad and Mathieu are in a deep conversation about the art exhibition they went to yesterday, both of them trying to sound clever about it.
Nico catches my eye and jerks his head towards the patio doors.
Nodding, I push back my chair and stand up.
‘We’re going to go hang by the pool,’ Nico says, patting his uncle on the shoulder.
Half-listening, Mathieu flicks his hand in acknowledgement – Nico and I have always left them to it at some point, so it’s not an unusual situation – and I follow Nico back into the chateau. When I turn to go towards the pool, he reaches out and grabs my wrist to stop me.
‘Come this way,’ he says, his touch covering my skin in goosebumps.
He lets go as he turns to walk in the opposite direction and my hand feels cold and abandoned without his warm grasp.
We stroll past other guests and staff through the maze of corridors until we come to the ballroom.
Nico turns the old gold handle and pushes the heavy door open.
He slips in and I follow, turning to him in confusion as he shuts the door behind.
‘I thought we were going to the pool. What are we doing in here?’ I whisper into the empty room.
‘Why are you whispering?’ He laughs.
His voice echoes around the walls and high ceilings.
The chateau ballroom is huge but remains unused.
Dust covers hide the grand piano and other furniture on one side of the room and despite the warm evening, it feels cold in here.
It’s so beautiful, though: the smooth patterned floor, the gilded bronze lamps and chandeliers, the moon and sun emblems on the ceiling and the heavy gold-framed oil paintings on the walls.
Nico doesn’t turn on the lights, but the room is bathed in a glow from the lights adorning the outside of the chateux that pour through the tall, arched windows.
I keep my voice low to answer: ‘I don’t know. It’s so grand in here, I feel like I can’t be too loud. It would be disrespectful or something.’
He shakes his head at my way of thinking but continues to smile.
‘Are we allowed in here?’ I check, rubbing my arms.
‘Not really. It’s not a strict rule, but—’ He shrugs.
‘So why are we in the ballroom?’
‘Because I hid this in here earlier,’ he says, making his way over to one of the heavy velvet curtains that fall by the windows at the side of the room.
Crouching down beneath it, he pulls out a bottle of champagne.
‘How did you get that?’ I gasp excitedly, wandering over to join him.
‘When my uncle was looking the other way. I thought we should toast the end of your holiday.’ He raises his eyebrows at me. ‘You want some?’
I nod nervously. He sits down on the floor to the side of the room, his back against the wall, and encourages me to join him.
As I sit at his side, he expertly opens the champagne without spilling any – this is not his first time doing so – and offers me the first swig.
It’s sharp and too bubbly, but I take a good glug as elegantly as I can muster and then pass the bottle back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my eyes watering a little.
‘One day, I think we should have a party in this room,’ he says, offering me the bottle again. ‘My aunt says it’s a lot of work and time, but I think guests would love it. A huge party, tickets for everyone, not just guests.’
‘I think that’s a good idea. This room should be used. It’s so pretty.’
‘Are you any good at dancing?’
Having just taken another swig, I make a face as I lower the bottle and he laughs.
‘Me neither. We will have to learn,’ he says, resting his head back against the wall, turning it at an angle to look at me. ‘Are you sad to leave the day after tomorrow?’
‘I’m always sad to leave here,’ I admit quietly. ‘When do you go back home?’
‘In two weeks.’ His eyes fall to the floor. ‘I don’t want to go. I hate my mum’s boyfriend. He doesn’t want me there.’
‘I’m sure that’s not—’
‘It’s true.’
I frown at the pain in his expression, every part of me aching to reach out and hold him. Instead, I hold the bottle of champagne out for him and he takes it. After taking a drink, he rests the bottle on the floor in between his knees.
‘I’m sorry, Nico.’
He shrugs. ‘I’m lucky to spend my summers here.’
‘Me too.’
When he brings his eyes up to meet mine, my heart flutters at their intensity.
I want to look away, but I don’t want to ever look away, and when his throat bobs, I begin to hope that he’s feeling as nervous as I am for all the same reasons.
He reaches up to brush his fingers lightly along my cheekbone, pushing my hair back from my face, leaving his hand cupping my jaw as his eyes flicker to my lips.
My breath is caught in my throat as he leans towards me, dipping his head to press his mouth against mine.
I close my eyes, melting into the kiss as his hand drops to my waist and I swivel to face him, allowing him to pull me in closer, praying that I’m doing this right, learning as I go, flushed with excitement and gratitude for the confidence the champagne has provided.
I’m so giddy with breathless happiness, the rest of the world fades away.
He breaks the kiss once to say he doesn’t want me to leave, and I tell him I don’t want to leave, and then we get back to kissing.
It gets more and more urgent and heated until I feel excited and terrified all at once, and then we both have to accept it’s time to go.
My parents and his aunt and uncle are a relaxed group but sooner or later, one of them will discover we’re not anywhere we normally are.
We both get to our feet and reluctantly go to the door, leaving the champagne behind.
He tells me he’ll collect it tomorrow. Before we leave the room, he puts his hands on my waist and pulls me towards him for another kiss, a slow, gentle, meaningful kiss.
It’s one I’ll dream about for years to come and gradually convince myself it can’t have been as perfect as I remember because we were teenagers and no one’s a good enough kisser at that age.
I’ll attribute the magic of it to the chateau ballroom setting and the slow build-up of our simmering tension and I’ll try to push thoughts of Nico out of my head.
‘Next time, I will find the courage sooner,’ he says, threading his fingers through mine.
‘The courage for what?’ I ask, wishing that we never had to leave this room.
‘The courage to kiss you.’
We leave the ballroom and he lets go of my hand. I blink back tears, believing it unbearable that it will be another year until our next family holiday and I get to see him again, wondering if he’ll still feel the same way then.
Mum leaves us two months later.