She could feel the roll of small pebbles under her feet as she walked on the Plage Ondine this morning. It was a beach hidden away in a secluded bay on the peninsula between Nice and Monaco that was Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat – famous for being one of the most expensive places to buy property in the world and favoured by the rich and famous for many decades. This special beach had been named for a water spirit in French folklore. The literal translation of Ondine was ‘little wave’, and the calm water of this sheltered bay was one of the reasons it had been chosen as the location for the wedding that was happening in just a few days.
Sophie couldn’t imagine a better occasion as the finale to this season of summer events for Marry Me in Provence – the wedding of Laura Gilchrist and Noah Dufour. A couple who’d been together long enough to have two adorable children, who would be part of a marriage ceremony that was going to be a real family affair.
The brief from Laura and Noah had been simple. A beautiful wedding combined with a family day at the beach. Something everyone there could remember forever as one of the happiest days in the lives of the entire Gilchrist clan. Laura’s two sisters, Ellie and Fiona, and her mother, Jeannie, had been involved in the early stages of planning and Sophie had envied the powerful bond that was obvious between these women. She also wanted this wedding to be exceptionally beautiful. The best that she could possibly deliver.
She wanted everybody to share this feeling, even if it was only for a blink of time, of being able to fly on the magic carpet that only love could weave.
Sophie slipped off her sandals when she was close enough to let the tiny waves that were unfurling from the shallows wash over her feet. The pebbles were smaller here, some so tiny they were almost sand and a dark golden colour because they were damp. She took a deep breath and stood still for a moment, her gaze drifting across this small beach that wasn’t advertised in any tourist brochures, perhaps because at least half of it could be closed and available to hire for private events.
It was a perfect crescent, protected on each side by a towering cliff with a tumble of rocks at sea level. In the centre of the curve the backdrop was a rugged hill and a plateau had been created long ago, amongst the sculptural shapes of umbrella pines, for the restaurant and paved terraces that overlooked the beach and a bay that was always dotted with moored yachts. The wall below the edge of the terraces meant that the restaurant was invisible from the beach and, at this time of year, the plumbago had become a stunning froth of pale blue flowers amongst greenery that softened the harsh light of pale stonework.
Umbrellas and deck chairs were being set out on the beach near the stairs that led up to the restaurant but it was too early for the people who had reservations for meals or to use this secluded spot for swimming and sunbathing to be arriving. It was also still too early for the appointment Sophie had with the manager of the restaurant to confirm the final details for the Gilchrist–Dufour wedding, so she took another long moment to simply sink back into the new and euphoric sensation that had been growing ever since that first brush of Luc’s lips on her own.
This feeling of floating through a life that was suddenly so…
What was it? Sonew– as if an egg was cracking open to release a fledgling life that was just for her and Luc?
Vibrant?
As if everything was…more.
So much more intense. Memorable. Pleasurable…
Just… more.
It wasn’t surprising that everything aboutthismoment felt as if Sophie was seeing it for the first time. Every detail was so vivid – like the shades of the sea that were a deep blue green further out in the bay but then faded to a crystal-clear turquoise right in front of her. She could taste the salt in the air, feel the cool kiss of sea water foaming over her toes, and that blue of the plumbago flowers made her think of a perfect summer sky. A whisper of a breeze against her skin was like a physical touch; a feather-light brush of a fingertip on her arm that instantly made her think of Luc.
Everythingmade her think of Luc.
Any distinction that separated a sense and an emotion seemed to be blurred right now. Sophie had never felt this happy.
Or thisalive…
It was hard to wriggle her wet, bare feet back into her sandals but she wouldn’t be able to walk over the larger pebbles without protection and it was time to head for the steps to get up to the restaurant. Sophie couldn’t wait to get through this meeting and another one she had in Nice this afternoon because, after that, she was going to drive the hour or so it would take to get to Draguignan.
Luc was busy with a food photography gig in Marseilles today and he’d wanted a night in the base he had in France to check on his apartment. It had been his idea that Sophie came to visit.
‘It’s always been my home in this country,’ he’d told her. He’d touched his chest, over his heart.‘En fait… I think it’s always been my onlyrealhome.’
He wanted her to be there. With him.
It didn’t matter how busy the next few days were going to be in the run-up to the wedding here, on the Plage Ondine. There was no way in the world that Sophie was going to turn down this invitation.
* * *
She was wearing that bright blue dress again.
The one she’d worn the day she’d had lunch with Luc at the beachside restaurant in Nice.
The day he’d remembered, for the first time in forever, a kiss that had never actually happened but had somehow still imprinted itself indelibly on his memory. The day he’d agreed to step back into her life.
He’d thought that dress had made her eyes look as blue as the Mediterranean on a particularly hot summer’s day but now he knew better. That blue fire was how Sophie Spencer’s eyes looked as she reached the pinnacle of passion. That moment when he could breathe in his own name as it was leaving her lips.
He couldn’t wait to see that light in her eyes again and to hear her whispered call of his name. But not yet. He had invited Sophie to drive up to Draguignan to do more than make love. He wanted her to see a part of France she’d apparently never set foot in. The small patch of this country that he could claim as part of his own heritage. Something that was real. A place that meant so much more than the ugly council estate in Camberwell that he knew Sophie associated his childhood with.
They were standing on the terrace of his apartment and Sophie was looking at the tower on the hill.
‘That’s very cool,’ she said. ‘Is it the remnant of a castle?’
