France was warm and bright, a complete contrast to rainy Manchester that we’d left behind. Neva was awake enough to manage Oliver’s pushchair, not needing Jesse to try and carry her, or me to stop him and knacker my Achilles in the process. We’d landed at a local airport that was near to the chateau, so there was no queuing or delay, just a short walk outside to where a fleet of cars waited for us.
Nate had organised transport, asking us all to transfer funds into an account to be used to cover costs. He’d said he’d sort cars.
He wasn’t a petrol head like Jesse, more of a practical, safety first person, given he managed to keep three small people alive, but the cars lined up for us were not what I expected.
Jesse’s whistle was low and long. He headed straight over to a Bugatti Veyron, walking around it like he was appraising a horse he was about to buy. “You were thinking of me when you hired this, weren’t you?” Nate would be his brother-in-law in a few months.
I wasn’t sure Nate was that pleased about that.
“If thinking that makes you happy, go ahead.” Nate held out the keys, but they were swiped by his sister, which started the carnage.
I couldn’t drive, which was a bummer as the fleet of cars were pretty hot, but I did get a passenger seat, courtesy of my boot, and we set off in convoy through the French countryside to the chateau.
I’d been to France as a kid, staying in farmhouses and doing activities with my parents like canoeing down one of the rivers, or horse riding. My mum had spoken semi-okay French, and she was hugely into the food, so the scenery felt familiar.
I’d ended up in a car with Genny driving and Nicky and Kitty in the back, which meant we were now going at breakneck speed around the country roads.
Genny wasn’t known for her careful driving. Her father was French, and she’d grown up in France during the holidays. She’d learned to drive here, and didn’t understand why road rage was a bad thing, even when there was nothing to rage about.
So I was clutching onto the car harder than Neva had been grabbing my hand in the plane.
“I want to go and see some of the castles while we’re here.” Nicky was talking to Kitty, but listening to him was taking my mind off the fact that Genny was going to kill us all. “There’s a ton of history I covered in the last year of my degree that was connected to this part of France; it’s going to be cool to see some of those places for real.”
“I need to sample as much as I can from the patisseries. I messaged the owner of the patisserie in the village near the chateau to see if I could spend a morning there to see some of their techniques – they’ve emailed me back but it’s in French.” Kitty owned the café across the road from our training ground, which was how she and Nicky had met.
“I’ll translate it for you when we get there.” Genny took a corner fast enough for me to wonder whether the tyres on one side of the car were leaving the ground. “Jude, will you please simmer down? This car was designed to be driven fast.”
“I’m fine.” I really wasn’t.
She sped up. I wondered whether I was going to vomit all over the interior.
We reached the chateau before I vomited or Genny killed us, beating everyone else there, of course.
I breathed in the fresh air as soon as I’d pulled myself out of the car, thankful I’d gotten here alive. The sound of French being spoken filled the air, along with the noise of car tyres as Jerrica pulled up next to us.
I kept out of the way and watched as two women, who I figured were the owners, one of whom was talking rapidly to Genny, were greeted by Jesse and Jerrica. They came out here a couple of times a year, and it would also be where they got married next June, after the next season had ended.
I saw Neva getting out of the car, more colour in her face than when she’d left the plane.
“Feeling better?” I crutched myself over to her. “Did you nearly die with Jerrica’s driving?”
She laughed and shook her head. “Shit, you got stuck with Genny. Avoid that one. You know she wanted to be a formula one driver when she was younger?”
“Did they ban her because she was too fast?”
“I think it was the road rage.” Neva stretched, exposing a sliver of skin on her stomach.
I was looking and I shouldn’t be. We’d agreed when Neva ended it that it was over. No flirty looks, no flirty texts. I wasn’t it for her and couldn’t be.
What she’d meant was that whatever I felt wasn’t real. It was just fun based on mutual attraction. That was it.
Nothing more.
In which case, why did it hurt so bad when it was over?
“What are your plans for the day?” I kept the topic on general topics.
She shrugged. “Unpack and then try a bottle of the wine by the pool. With a book. What are yours?’
