I gather my thoughts. “Knitting, right? Your hobby is more popular than you realized.”
“Yes!” She grins. “You should try it sometime. It’s very meditative.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“It’s also deeply satisfying to create something with your own hands.”
“I’ll give it a try, I promise.” I smile. “It’s wonderful that you’re channeling that passion into something charitable.”
And itiswonderful. Celeste is wonderful. She’d make an extraordinary wife. She’d be a partner who would never embarrass me at a dinner party or shock the royals with a plebeian turn of phrase. We’re birds of a feather. I can’t think of anyone better suited for the role of the Viscountess de Bellay than Celeste.Anyone!
Which is why it annoys me to no end that when Celeste talks about her passion for knitting, my mind jumps to Laura. It paints a vivid picture of her hunched over her sketchbook, pencil smudges on her fingers, the tip of her tongue sticking out…
I grip the reins tighter and shake the image away.
Laura is firmly in the past.
I haven’t seen her or spoken to her in the three weeks since she kicked me out of her bed at the Shanghai Marriott. I booked another room. At dawn, I paid for both rooms, and left an envelope for her at the front desk. It contained cash, a ticket to Chengdu, and another to Paris, both business class so she’d fly comfortably. The envelope also included a note reiterating how grateful I was for her help in finding the key. I added that she could snub her compensation for as long as she likes. It changes nothing. If, in a year or a decade, she decides she wants that money, she’ll still have access to it.
“It’s been so rewarding to plan this!” Celeste exclaims.
I focus my attention on her again.
“Seeing everyone’s excitement,” she continues, “made me reflect on what’s next for us.”
The transition is contrived to say the least, but I don’t blame her. It’s always tricky to shift a conversation from a general topic to something much more personal.
Celeste pulls on the reins. “About the other night, when we kissed… I was wondering what that meant to you.”
With a gentle tug, I signal my horse to stop. The old boy snorts, as if to fill the silence I’ve let stretch a beat too long.
“I think we have something special,” I finally say. “You’re a remarkable woman, Celeste.”
It’s a cautious answer, positive but not over the top. Probably not what she was hoping for. I should’ve waxed lyrically about our first kiss. Even answering with a question about what it had meant to her would’ve been preferable. I’ve been taking things much too slowly with Celeste. No wonder she’s disoriented!
I should tell her that I enjoyed the kiss. It wouldn’t be a complete lie. She tastes good. Fresh. Healthy.What’s not to like?
But even as I try to squeeze the words out, my mind betrays me, conjuring up the memory of another kiss, shared on a beach in Sardinia. Laura’s soft, plump lips, her inexplicably alluringcurves, her skin wet from the rain, her laughter between two distant peals of thunder… In that dark, unromantic kiosk I kissed her like a man possessed, like I couldn’t help myself. Because I couldn’t.
Celeste’s voice pulls me back. “Antoine? You seem distracted.”
“Just preoccupied with some business matters,” I say quickly. “You know how it is.”
She smiles. “Not really. If you’re referring to the movie studio I co-own with Jonas and Louis, I’m not involved in the business side of things.”
“No?” I feign surprise.
The truth is, I’d completely forgotten about her studio.Shame on me.I should be more interested in Celeste’s life. I should think about her a lot more than I do.
She tilts her head to one side. “I hope you know you can talk to me about anything.”
“Of course.”
Her smile brightening, she spurs her horse forward. “Come on! We only have fifteen minutes before brunch.”
Oh fuck, the brunch!My parents, her mother, the prime minister… I wish I could wriggle out of it.
I let Celeste go ahead, needing the space. There’s a tightness in my chest as if something were pressing on me from all sides. My resistance to what is best for me boggles the mind. I should be all in with Celeste. The woman is objectively fantastic. She can beat a man at tennis and chess. She rides like an Amazon and loves to hike. She’s the daughter of a count, granddaughter of a royal duke, sister of a key seeker. Last but not least, she’s my compatriot.
