Spring Kisses

Chapter 17

Under the relentlessdownpour showing no sign of stopping — spring is not what it used to be — my life is a constant whirlwind. Between my two demanding contracts, the clinging fatigue, and the preparations for Lucas”s marriage proposal, I am constantly on edge. And yet, in this hustle and bustle, I finally find professional happiness. Destiny seems to be finally smiling in the direction.

For Lucas”s marriage proposal, it took us hours of calls and numerous voicemail messages to come to an agreement. Lucas has a vivid imagination, and with each approved idea, he would come up with an even more extravagant one. I had to rein him in because it was getting too absurd, even for me.

Finally, we reached a consensus on a meaningful and romantic approach. I eagerly await the big day, with the matter of settling the decorations still pending. Luckily, Manille is already on the case, engaging in discussions on details to incorporate.

As the rain ruthlessly lashes the sidewalks, I curse my forgetfulness for not taking my umbrella when I left. It”s a habit of mine to forget this essential item. I shield myself as best I can with my hands, but it doesn”t stop the water from streaming down on me. I rush to escape this worsening ordeal.

I have an appointment with Clara for wedding dress fittings. It”s not my responsibility, but I couldn”t decline such an invitation, and if my opinion can help, I”m delighted. My black sweat dress and thick tights stick to my skin, my heeled thigh-high boots squeak with each step, and I can feel my poor little socks getting soaked, chilling my feet. This spring is far from my dreams of a sunny season. The capricious weather is starting to have a depressing impact on my mood.

My heart takes a perilous leap as I narrowly avoid falling on the slippery pavement. I decide to slow down, aware rushing would only accentuate my notorious clumsiness. I shouldn”t provoke it; it could come back to haunt me at any moment. I slow down the pace to be able to reach the store where my client awaits me unscathed. I can take pride, despite my reputation for being a bit clumsy, I haven”t made any mistakes, even with this weather seemingly determined to throw obstacles in my way.

Stopping in front of the store, I feel drenched, like a dog caught in a storm. As soon as I enter, all eyes immediately turn toward me. Clara hurries over, her forehead creasing with worry as she quickly closes the distance between us.

“My God, Florence, are you okay?” she asks while turning to the employees. “Do you have something for her to warm up, please?”

I try to reassure her, explain I”m fine, it”s my fault for forgetting my umbrella, but she doesn”t give me time to finish my sentence. I head toward Clara”s companions while the saleswomen come back with a towel and a small space heater. I thank them politely and settle into a chair.

“I”m going back to my fittings, Jolie, are you coming? I”ll need you.”

Jolie stands up. She”s a beautiful woman with pale skin, caramel hair, and captivating blue eyes, suiting her name well. They move away to continue the fittings, leaving me alone with the other guest. Turning to her, I immediately recognize the blonde with azure eyes, the one Corentin considers a mother. I hadn”t previously had the opportunity to see her in person until now, but she precisely conveys the impression I had. Gentleness, kindness, with a hint of demand, posing potential challenges. I have no doubt she is a wonderful person because Corentin wouldn”t perceive her as a mother in this way without truth behind it. She is here for Clara, which clearly shows she has been much more than a housekeeper for the two Thomas children.

“You”re Jackie!” I exclaimed unintentionally.

The lady laughs and then extends her hand. “Jackie Durand.”

“Florence Matip,” I respond, shaking her hand.

Her eyes light up, and a warm smile stretches across her lips.

“After all this time hearing about you, it”s a pleasure to see you in person. You are as adorable as he told me. My Coco knows how to surround himself well, it seems.”

I squint slightly in surprise, but before I can react, Clara makes her return, spinning around, full of enthusiasm.

“So, what do you think?”

Clara wears an ivory dress adorned with floral patterns. The neckline and thin straps combine to create a simple but spectacular dress. She is simply beautiful. The corset elegantly highlights her chest, while the draped fabric gracefully descends on her hips. Her veil completes the ensemble, covering her ash-blonde hair without concealing it.

Jackie applauds with tears in her eyes, and I struggle to contain mine.

“You’re beautiful!” she exclaims.

“You”re stunning,” we say simultaneously, Jolie and me.

Clara, radiant in the face of our reactions, embraces us before returning to her fitting room. The rest of the fitting session goes wonderfully well, and I find myself having a great time. Clara”s cheerful personality makes this moment magical, even for me, and I realize how much I love my job. The stars in her eyes testify I did well to follow her brother”s advice and not give up.

However, our thoughts are interrupted by the sudden ring of my phone. I know it”s time for me to leave. I still have a lot to manage before I can finally rest.

“Clara, I absolutely have to go, but you can send me photos if you want my opinion, I”ll be happy to help.”

“I won”t miss that. I”m going to bombard you with pictures,” she jokes, embracing me.

I bid Jolie and Jackie a polite smile, then leave the place. I”m about to hail a taxi when I hear someone calling me. I turn around and meet Jackie”s two azure eyes.

“Yes, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

“It”s nothing, it”s my job to be there for Clara.”

“I wasn”t talking about her but Corentin.”

I furrow my brow, surprised. “What do you mean? I haven”t done anything special.”

She replies with a smile. “Because you may not realize it yet but thank you for being there for him.” She hugs me, and it takes me a few seconds to return her embrace. “I know he feels less alone with you around.”

* * *

After leaving Clara,I went home to continue working in the warmth. Jackie”s words lingered in my memory all day. That”s why, when Corentin came home, I invited him over for a night with friends. It”s a change from our usual routine. On paper, it was a great idea. But the reality turns out to be quite different.

Around the table, I sit next to Corentin, and I feel his scent tickling my nostrils. I could have gotten used to it if Manille weren”t so agitated. She must be troubled because, despite her usual energy, she”s not usually this restless. She doesn”t know what happened, but I feel like she knows something. Her demeanor and some of her remarks are too pointed for her not to be aware of the kiss I shared with the lawyer. The glances she exchanges with Corentin or even Charlotte suggest something strange is going on. And I don”t like it. On the other hand, it would be quite audacious of me to think they know nothing, considering I also hide things from them.

We are all liars.

“I swear, Charlotte, if you hit me with a +4, I”m going to flip this table. I”ve had enough of getting screwed over,” Manille says.

“Bernard, learn to keep your language in check and be more polite,” Corentin replies while staying focused on his cards.

“The pot calling the kettle black. Unlike others, my tongue is in my mouth.”

Does it mean they are aware? The bookseller gives Manille a sharp glance, her eyes narrowing and her lips pressing into a thin line as she briefly shifts her gaze in my direction.

“It”s okay, Manille, they”re just cards. Remember, we”re playing a game, not at war.”

I try not to laugh seeing Manille”s horrified expression. I had the ingenious idea of bringing out a UNO game for the four of us. I had initially considered playing Monopoly, but Charlotte is a cheater. Surprisingly, behind her innocent appearance lies the worst of liars. I refuse to engage in the game with her again. As for Manille, she is a sore loser and winner, so I had no other choice. Regarding Corentin, he”s the sole person maintaining composure, bringing laughter whenever the decorator steps in. I don”t recall laughing this much before tonight. Charlotte plays a card, provoking Manille”s anger.

“Could you let me catch my breath? This constant harassment is not bearable.”

“Stop complaining, I”m getting rid of my cards.”

I laugh, and Manille”s gaze falls on me.

“Shut your mouth, Florence.”

I laugh even louder. “I didn”t say anything.”

“Yes, you”re mocking my misery. So, be quiet. Charlotte, declare the color so we can finish this.”

“Green.”

“You”ve destroyed our friendship because of green.”

Charlotte rolls her eyes. “Cut out your schemes, viper. Change direction if you want to avoid picking up cards.”

I furrow my brows at this attempted alliance.

“Why are you announcing what you”re going to do? Are you teaming up against me?”

“No, Florence. Please, don”t start too. I already have enough to deal with the other pest. I”m trying to help her a bit, she has twenty cards.”

“Shut up.”

“She only has eighteen, so it”s fine.”

I receive a middle finger from the decorator before she grumbles in displeasure. She mumbles to herself and takes the cards, annoyed. The rest of the game unfolds under Manille”s curses and Charlotte”s screams. I am surprised at how calmly Corentin remains amidst all the noise. When Charlotte plays her last card, Manille shoots her a dark look, amid the laughter of the latter. Only Manille, Corentin, and I are left. The decorator thinks about her next move while I grab Corentin”s beer and take a sip. The taste isn”t fantastic, but I can get used to it. The lawyer puts my legs on his thighs. Initially surprised, I quickly feel the blood rushing to my veins, causing my face to turn red like a tomato. Fortunately, all eyes are elsewhere, and no one notices my embarrassment. His hand on my bare leg, his thumb circles on my skin.

“Thomas, you are undoubtedly my favorite neighbor. Don”t be too cruel to me, handsome Apollo,” she says with a smile, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

The concerned one raises an eyebrow, far from fooled by my friend”s stratagem.

“You won”t have me like that.”

Manille pouts. “If you refuse the gentle way, I”ll have to opt for the strong one. If you try to bother me, Florence will bear the brunt of it.”

Charlotte, who has taken hold of a book while waiting for us to finish, sighs at Manille”s behavior.

“Manille, I hate playing with you. You”re insufferable.”

“Stop complaining, you”re no longer in the game, cheater.”

In response, Charlotte throws a cushion at her head. Even if they tease each other, the games with these two are hilarious. We don”t show kindness when playing, but we know not to take everything too seriously.

“Bernard, don”t test me. I don”t give in to blackmail.”

He proves his words by placing a +4 card on the stack.

“You piece of shit, you screwed me like that, without foreplay or consent. You”re messed up, Corentin.”

“Damn, it must have been damn painful for you to finally call me by my name.”

Manille rolls her eyes, and we continue. It”s my turn to win, and naturally, the decorator is outraged, accusing me of cheating. I finish Corentin”s beer and stand up to clear the dishes with Charlotte. We do the dishes while Manille and Corentin continue to play. Upon my return, I observe the two leaning in to exchange a few words before returning to their seats, Manille wearing an amused pout.

How long have the two been sharing secrets?

They continue their game, and Corentin eventually wins. Manille, as a sore loser, immediately claims we conspired against her.

“Bad loser,” Corentin taunts her as he gets up.

After a final small coffee, Corentin announces his departure and suggests I accompany him. I agree, leaving the girls in front of a cartoon. Keeping them entertained is child”s play. Thus, I”ll be able to question him at leisure.

When we close the door, his apartment regains its tranquility, contrasting with Manille”s earlier shouts. This moment of calm does wonders for me. Sitting on the marble countertop in the kitchen, I swing my legs while observing Corentin.

“Can I know what you and Manille were talking about? I want to be in.”

I grab the tea cup he hands me, blow gently on it to avoid burning myself, then let the liquid flow down my throat. I observe his reaction, catching his raised eyebrow in my direction.

“Did you see that?”

“I notice everything related to you.”

This time, both of his eyebrows arch.

“I highly doubt that.”

I furrow my brows as he leans against the countertop next to me.

“Will you please tell me what you were discussing with my friend?”

“You”re bothering me, Florence Matip. Some things should remain secret. And I advise you to get used to it.”

“Or else?”

He faces me, and my cheeks turn as red as his hair. I force myself not to glance at his mouth. Instead, I focus on his eyes, though I can”t help but think about his tempting lips. I want to kiss them.

“Otherwise, I”ll have to make you quiet with tickling. Make your choice.”

I widen my eyes, barely holding back a burst of laughter. He knows I can”t stand tickling. Without fail, I end up doubled over with tears in my eyes. Corentin is well aware of my weakness. The moment he mentions this threat, I fall silent, fearing his retaliation.

“Alright, I choose for you to speak.”

I swiftly descend from the countertop, narrowly escaping his attempt to catch me. A cry escapes me as I weave between the furniture in the living room.

“Come here!”

I burst into laughter, and my heart can only savor this intimate moment between us. His eyes sparkle with amusement, fixed on mine, creating a deep resonance in my chest, an explosion of sensations.

“Talk to me! I shout across the apartment like a child.”

I sprint toward the hallway and hastily open the door to his bedroom. I have time to circle the bed, but my speed decreases, and he approaches me. In the living room, his arm grabs my waist, but my notorious clumsiness makes a comeback. I slide on the parquet, dragging him down with me. He cushions our descent by holding me close to him and placing his hand on the floor. His body is above mine, one of his knees between my thighs. His gaze fixed on my lips, a few centimeters from mine. My chest rises and falls, each touch of his skin sends a shiver through me.

While maintaining eye contact, he breathes softly near my lips.

“Your laughter is the most beautiful there is.”

We remain still for a few seconds until he gets up. I barely dare to move, taking the time to gather my thoughts. My coral nightie has slightly ridden up, revealing my thighs and the waistband of my red thong. Perhaps I should have opted for panda-print panties. Corentin extends his hand, but I notice he has turned his head to avoid staring at me. I take his hand, and he helps me up.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he whispers.

On my feet, I settle on the couch, my cheeks as red as a tomato, and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“Why not. Fifty Shades of Grey.”

He turns his head toward me, and a laugh escapes me, hoping it will lighten the mood.

“I”m kidding. I”ll let you choose.”

Corentin brings caramel popcorn, chocolate, and candies. My dentist is in tears facing all the junk I consume. Before we knew each other, Corentin had none of this. Now, occasionally crashing at his apartment, he has figured out it”s my must-have for a good evening. He grabs two beers and places them on the coffee table.

I offer him a radiant smile.

“Do you want one? I”m only offering because I”m polite, not because I want to,” I say, opening the bag of gummy bears.

“I figured, but I”d rather let you stuff yourself.”

He turns off the lights and puts on a horror movie, but it”s to lighten the atmosphere between us. We”ve reconciled, might as well not ruin it all. However, shadows from the past quickly catch up with me, pulling me into a spiral of anxiety I can”t control. In front of the television screen, those painful memories resurface. The movie being played brings back fragments of my childhood, with its share of fears, deafening noises, and raised voices.

My heart races as the images unfold before me. My breathing quickens, and a sense of oppression seizes my chest. I struggle to hold back the threatening tears from escaping. I abruptly stand up and leave the living room to find some peace in the kitchen and open the windows for a bit of relief from the fresh air.

I open the fridge and grab a beer in hopes the cold liquid will calm the rising anxiety overwhelming me. I take a big gulp, desperately trying to escape these demons from the past. Yet, Corentin is there, attentive as always. His piercing gaze immediately captures the turmoil engulfing me. Without a word, he joins me, his silence speaking more than any comforting words could. I grab another beer, thinking alcohol might banish these demons of the past. However, his hand gently rests on mine, stopping me in my tracks. His green eyes lock onto mine with immeasurable tenderness.

“It”s not the solution,” he murmurs, his voice filled with gentleness.

I reluctantly nod, placing the beer beside me. I feel the tremor in my hands, my throat tight with anxiety. Corentin approaches, his presence calming, like a barrier against my chaotic thoughts. His hand glides from my wrist to my arm, his warm palm applying a reassuring pressure.

I forgot my inhaler at the apartment.

“Breathe with me,” he says, his voice soft and comforting, like a beacon in the night.

With closed eyes, I follow his invitation, letting myself be carried by the soothing rhythm of his breath. Gradually, the frantic beats of my heart calm down, and the anxiety diminishes. We return to the living room, and on the couch, Corentin holds me against his chest, caressing my hair. He changes the movie, and I inwardly thank him. There”s a silence before Corentin speaks.

“Florence, I need to ask you a question.”

I lift my head to meet his gaze. His expression reveals concern, and I slightly detach myself from his embrace to face him. He doesn”t speak immediately, taking time to choose his words, despite my permission.

“It”s about Friday,” he begins, not breaking eye contact as if testing the waters.

“It wasn”t your actions that led to the crisis. Trust me, it’s not your fault.”

“I believe you. That”s not what I wanted to ask.”

“Ah. What is it then?”

He sighs again, running his hand through the back of his head.

“Did your father trigger your crisis?”

I freeze. What did he say?

A long silence ensues, and I struggle to gather my thoughts after his words. The shock must be evident on my face, as his eyebrows furrow. I have no intention of discussing this with him, especially not after the incredible evening we”ve had. My father can”t come and ruin everything. I want him to stay away from my thoughts, and I”m working hard on it, even if it”s not easy. However, I know Corentin well enough to sense he will want to delve deeper, and I can tell I won”t like the turn of the conversation.

“What are you talking about?”

Might as well feign ignorance.

“When I went to get your things, he approached me, asking if you were okay. At first, I didn”t understand who he was until I saw his picture at your place.”

I continue to scrutinize his face, which he keeps impenetrable. No need for an IQ of a hundred to understand where he”s going. With our one-year acquaintance, I know enough to realize this moment isn”t spontaneous. He waited for the right opportunity to bring up the subject, having thought about it and taken all the cards he might need to talk to me about it. If I decide to accept, I know there will be no turning back.

“What exactly are you searching for?” I counter, distancing myself from him, arms crossed against my chest, and knees drawn up. I glare at him, furious and threatening. I hope he understands he shouldn”t push further, but judging by his expression, he”s not paying attention to the warning.

“It”s a question, Florence,” he continues calmly. “Did you have your crisis because of him?”

“Yes! So what? You”re fully aware of my tendency to panic at the slightest provocation!”

“Not to this extent. What did he do, my tulip?”

I notice his clenched jaw and anger. He believes my father”s absence on the day might have caused something, but no. My father did nothing to me, except stir up the nightmares of my childhood awkwardly locked in my Pandora”s box. I remain focused on Corentin before uncrossing my arms, defeated.

“That evening, he hadn”t done anything special except remind me how right he was about me. Despite all my efforts to be the daughter my mother and he deserve, this is who I am. An eccentric woman, seemingly incapable, experiencing crises with each twist and turn. Not the child he desired. If only I could have resembled you a bit more, then he would have chosen me.”

Corentin”s eyes widen, his jaw drops, and his face pales as he takes a step back. He opens and closes his mouth without saying a word. I would almost be proud of quieting this man who always has something to say.

“Why do you imagine you”re not the daughter they deserve? Your mother loves you with all her heart, that”s clear. And your father, I”m sure he loves you too.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you think everything I say is in my head?”

“I don”t know, maybe. Why become like me when you”re you? You”re perfect as you are, a unique flower sometimes losing petals, but it doesn”t change the beauty of your heart.”

Unconsciously, he has proven my father right, I”m a troublemaker, and I won”t amount to anything. All I can do is panic. Over and over again.

“I lose too many petals, Corentin. If I had been normal, I could have avoided a lot of things.”

“You don”t need to conform to the idea of being the typical woman you feel obligated to resemble. You”re perfect as you are, envisioning the worst. You may be clumsy, but you keep smiling. You give your all in everything you do. Sometimes you panic, and that”s true, but you”re great just the way you are.”

“Maybe for you, but that”s not what my father wanted.”

The lawyer reminds me that, despite all my attempts to be the child my parents deserved, I am who I am. But who would want a child like me? Certainly not my father, who left when he realized the burden I was.

My mother, my dear mom, wished to stay, even when he proposed a better life without me. If I were in her position, I would have left as well. I advocate for loving oneself and staying true to one”s identity, I must admit I don”t truly believe in any of those principles when it concerns me. It”s pleasant to advise people to accept themselves as they are. Avoid changing for those who don”t embrace us as we are. While we can work on improving flaws or making concessions, transforming for someone else is out of the question.

It”s beautiful, isn”t it? On paper only, because in real life, simplicity eludes. On the contrary. We all want to be accepted, considered, and loved to the point of forgetting ourselves for others.

Corentin opens his mouth again to speak finally, but I stop him.

“My father told me. Do you think it had any impact on me when he came to tell me I was the cancer of his life? A mistake shouldn”t have happened. Expressing his wish my birth hadn”t occurred to prevent disrupting his life? To acknowledge my existence as the sole problem for my father. I am his predicament.”

“Florence, I”m?—”

“I don”t need your pity!” I interrupt, my voice rising with irritation. “I hoped to convince myself he was wrong, I”m not what he says, but unfortunately, he”s right. I”m shit, a cancer, a mistake. However, don”t worry about me; I won”t resort to hanging myself. I”m unsure if it”s because I lack the strength for it or because people have invested too much in me to allow me to simply fade away. One thing is certain—I”ve accepted this life, and I don”t need you to tell me anything. Thank you, but no thanks. I”m managing just fine!”

“So well, you panic at the slightest opportunity.”

As soon as his words are out, regret is written on his face. I silently absorb the blow, even if his remark hits home. On the other hand, he”s right. The first time we met, I panicked. Great, as a first impression, I couldn”t do better. I don”t understand why he wanted to know me so much when I can”t stand myself anymore. Doubt lingers about enduring my existence for much longer.

I straighten up, ready to leave, but Corentin steps in front of me to hold me back.

“Wait, that”s not what I meant.”

“Then why did you say it? In the end, you think it.”

“I expressed myself poorly. I want to understand why you let that scumbag occupy all the space.”

“Because he”s my father, and I love him!” I shout, tears welling up in my eyes. I love him, and I wish it were mutual. I wished he didn”t leave me, and my mother didn”t cry for his absence. When he didn”t choose me, I wanted to die. When my mother refused to follow him, ensuring I wouldn”t be alone, I wanted to scream at her, declaring she was better off without me. I kept the bracelet he gave me, a reminder of the time when he still loved me. And despite everything my father did, I wanted him to come back.”

My face is flooded with tears. Again. But this time, it”s different. I have no more strength or foundations to stand on. Everything has collapsed, and I”m now bare in Corentin”s arms, who holds me tightly.

“You”re with me, Florence,” he murmurs, his words like a promise of security. “He won”t hurt you anymore.”

His words are a balm for my tormented mind. I open my eyes to dive into his, discovering profound understanding and unwavering kindness. He offers me a sweet smile, as if he carries the burden with me.

I”ve refrained from discussing my father with anyone. Here, in my friend”s arms, I realize the profound influence my father continues to exert on my life. His words have left an enduring mark on me.

“My father was my role model. My hero, the one who defended and protected me. He was my best friend, and then?—”

I break down in tears again, tightening Corentin”s grip. He rubs my back while placing kisses on my temple.

“It will be okay, Florence,” he says softly. “I”m here, I”m not leaving you.”

I nod, my mind consumed by the only question which I carry every day. For how long? How long will Corentin stay in my life before realizing he”s better off without me? Will Manille and Charlotte also abandon me? Now, no longer in my mother”s way, will she realize my father was right? I don”t say any of this. I hear only my own sobs and the voice of my neighbor. I can”t stop my tears as I wet his T-shirt. I feel Corentin carrying me to his room and enveloping me in his comforting presence. With him close to me, the storm of anxiety gradually subsides, making way for sleep to swallow me whole.