“When are you going to live here?”
“I’ve decided to stay. I’m not going back to the UK.”
For a moment, he’s motionless, and then he slowly turns his body more toward mine, his attention acute.
“I don’t have to go back to London,” I say as the nearby willow fronds sway and rustle in the warm breeze. “My mum spends most of her time abroad, I don’t have a job to get back to, I’d miss my friends, but I don’t see them all that much and they could come to visit. Mellie’s one of the most important people in my life and I want to spend time with her while I still can. Do you remember when you texted me at the market to ask what I was thinking?”
He gives me the slightest nod of his head.
“It was this. I was looking around, imagining staying here in Sainte-Églantine with Mellie, doing freelance work, maybe even starting up my own small consultancy firm. It’s what I’ve always wanted. I thought I might be able to explore working with some of the other local family businesses that make regional products, help them to scale up. But I’ve also lined up some freelance work for a company in the UK. So Imightneed somewhere to rent at some point,” I say with a smile. “I’m not sure Mellie wants me living with her forever.”
Étienne looks stunned. He rakes his hand through his hair, setting it off his forehead. Once more the tiny scar on his right eyebrow is revealed.
“How did you get that?” I’ve finally given in to my curiosity.
“I fell over as a kid. It’s not a big deal,” he replies dismissively.
Why do I feel like he’s lying?
“Are you okay?” I ask with bewilderment as he gets to his feet.
“Oui,” he replies shortly. “I’m going to make a start. Take your time.”
I give him a minute before warily following him.
We don’t say much as we pack away the things in his mother’s bedroom. Occasionally I’ll comment on one of her outfits and he’ll give me a half-hearted smile, but I know this must be incredibly hard for him.
I feel protective of him. I don’t want him to have to square up to the world on his own in this way, especially not when it comes to his mother and everything that he’s lost.
When Estelle’s belongings are in boxes, we carry them downstairs and stack them by the door so they’re ready to be taken to a charity shop. He walks into the living room and slumps on the sofa.
I go and sit beside him, reaching for his hand.
“Merci,” he says quietly, giving my hand a squeeze before letting it go.
I pick up the playing cards that are on the coffee table, knowing what I could do to lighten the mood.
He watches as I shuffle them, dealing a card out to each of us. I press mine to my forehead. He copies me and we stare at each other’s cards. He has a two so I’m pretty sure I could wipe the floor with him.
But I have another idea.
“I’ll see your orgasm and raise you one,” I say.
He bursts out laughing and throws his card down, not even looking at it as he reaches out and draws me to him. Our teeth click as our mouths come together—we’re both smiling—and I know that I judged this exactly right. This is what he needs. No deep and meaningful conversations and heart-to-hearts, just a distraction, a physical connection.
I feel giddy as his fingers cup my jaw and he pulls me in for a deep, all-consuming kiss. I sink back on the sofa, bringing him with me, and his body weight bears down as I grasp his waist. He retreats slightly, nipping my bottom lip gently before sucking it into his mouth. And then he eases me up from the cushions so he can access the zip on the back of my dress.
It’s slower than I expected it to be, more tender somehow. Afterward, as I lie in his arms, I feel as much as hear him when he sighs.
I lift my head. He returns my stare contemplatively. My chest suddenly feels constricted.
“What is it?” I ask warily.
“You remember what I said?” He looks bleak.
“I think I do.” But I’d like clarification.
He gives it.
