More Than Words
Page 14
That depressed me just a bit, but I was happy that he’d apparently found a way to move past his writer’s block. Each night I’d been with him, he’d slipped out of bed and written late into the night while I slept. I’d wake to find him hunched over that desk just outside the bedroom, looking sleepy but content, and it filled my heart with joy. I knew I couldn’t take credit, but I hoped I at least had a calming effect on him—one that allowed him to access his inner genius.
Callen and I enjoyed each other’s company, and I wanted to see more of the Loire Valley. We had agreed to make the most of what little time we had together, so why not? “Sure. Okay. I can get off a little early on Friday.”
Callen grinned. “Awesome. We’ll make it one perfect weekend.”
One. It would be the only weekend we’d ever have alone together, and that sent a shivery excitement whirring through my body and filled me with a cold despondency.
One.
Just one.
* * *
In the year of our Lord 1429, on the thirtieth day of June
My heart is beating so fast I fear it may explode straight from my chest.
Tonight, Captain Durand and several of his men went to a small village, where they were to obtain food for the army from local farmers. But they returned with pitiable rations. The farmers were not cooperative despite the king’s prise. I had been bathing in the nearby creek and joined up with their horses as they entered camp, and I expressed my disappointment that the farmers should choose not to feed their own country’s army.
“Why should they?” asked the captain in that testy way he has that brings to mind a porcupine right before it shoots its quills.
“Why should they? Because we fight for them,” I returned.
“We?” he asked wryly, and before I could offer a retort, he went on. “And what of the fact that they already pay taxes to fund the king’s army? How much more should they give? Should their own family go hungry so we can eat? Should they give us the shirts off their backs as well, perchance?”
“They should give that which they’ve been ordered to give,” I insisted. For should they not?
“Spoken like a pampered girl who expects hardworking men to do her bidding,” said the pompous arse, and I felt my own quills rising.
“A girl? Sir, I have explained to you that I am a boy,” I nearly yelled. And then he laughed.
The other men had ridden ahead, leaving us to our battle, and I was so angry, I took off my shoe and hurled it at him. The blackguard laughed even harder, so that I thought—hoped—he might fall right off his horse.
“All right, young sir, if you’re really a boy, go piss on that tree over there while standing up. Let me see how far you can shoot it,” he said.
I was disgusted and told him so. “You are lewd, sir, and no gentleman.”
He shook his head, dismounting and picking up my shoe, which he inspected with one arrogant eyebrow raised. I had to admit it looked quite dainty in his large hand, and I scowled and looked away. He brought the shoe to me, and before I knew what was happening, he’d taken hold of me and pulled me from my mount. I stood in front of him, ready to shred him to pieces with my outraged tongue when he…oh I can barely write it…he…kissed me!
And the worst part of all…I liked it. Oh, help me, Lord, I liked it very, very much.
Once I’d finished with work on Friday, I’d gone back to my room and packed a bag, still distracted by that breathless kiss between the girl and Captain Durand. I’d have stayed to read another entry, but unfortunately, Dr. Moreau had come into the room with a few colleagues for the meetings he’d mentioned, and so I’d reluctantly abandoned the girl and Olivier Durand with their lips locked and my heart beating out of my chest to be left on such a cliffhanger. But they weren’t going anywhere, so I’d turned my mind to Callen, excited—and still a bit apprehensive—about what this weekend would bring.
As I stepped out the front door of the château, I stopped in my tracks when I saw Callen leaning against a red convertible sports car parked at the curb.
His smile was slow and easy as he pulled his sunglasses off, pushing himself away from the car and walking toward me. He was wearing jeans and a casual dark gray T-shirt that hugged his chest and showed off his broad shoulders. His stride was smooth and masculine. Oh, dear Lord. I swallowed. He was so gorgeous that sometimes it startled me just a bit. He took my bag with a smile, and I laughed nervously. “Where in the world did you get that?” I nodded toward the sleek red car.
“Rental. We ride in style.” He opened the passenger-side door for me, and I sank into the soft leather and clicked my seat belt into place. After he’d put my bag in the trunk, he slid into the driver’s seat and pulled away from the château, down the long winding drive, and onto the main road.
“So where are we headed?”
“So impatient. Just sit back and let me take the lead this time, Princess.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Callen
I glanced at Jessie and smiled, taking her hand in mine across the center console. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but a few strands had come loose in the wind and were blowing across her cheeks. A pair of sunglasses that looked far too large for her face were perched on her cute nose. She wore a pair of tight jeans that showed off her slim legs, a blue-and-white-striped shirt, and a light tan jacket. She looked beautiful and carefree, and I couldn’t help the happiness that gripped me, knowing I had her all to myself for two full days. I was going to enjoy every second of it—it was the last real time alone we’d have. I’d be leaving the château a week from today, but I refused to think about that now. We had the weekend stretched out in front of us. It was our final adventure together, and I intended to make the most of it.
I’d written the entire first part of the musical score, and though my heart beat quickly with barely controlled hope, I also breathed an internal sigh of relief that the writer’s block had lifted. Not only had it lifted, but I thought the piece showed promise. I wouldn’t allow myself to get too excited because I still had such an uncertain grip on the entire score. But if I could just continue with the same inspiration and determine how to bring it all together…it might…it might not just be good, but great.
I had Jessie to thank for what I’d accomplished so far. She was my muse, and I couldn’t have done it without her. Something about her drowned out the self-contempt. Whereas awards, accolades, even a million screaming fans couldn’t convince me I had talent, Jessie’s sincere smile made me feel as if I could do anything. As long as she believed, I could as well.
What will you do when she’s gone?
Stop. Don’t think about that.
The beautiful scenery whipped by, gently rolling hills, small farms, fields of wildflowers, and quaint towns. Jessie and I chatted about mundane things as the radio played French ballads. I felt a sense of peace, of rightness with the world, and I wondered about the last time I’d felt this way. Had I ever?
The GPS led us off the main highway, down a winding road to a vineyard, the rows and rows of grapes stretching into the distance. A gleaming white stone castle loomed high in front of us, its turrets touching the clouds. “Oh my gosh,” Jessie breathed, leaning forward and gazing at the ancient structure. “This is gorgeous. A winery?”
I nodded. “A wine tour and an early dinner.” Nick had helped me find the perfect spot to take Jessie, something that might appeal to her love of history and love of all things French. I’d made reservations for a wine tour and then booked us into another fancy château an hour away. Nick had laughed, saying he’d never seen this romantic side of me, and I’d told him it was a one-time deal. I certainly didn’t tell him that I’d felt a thrill of excitement at the prospect of pleasing Jessie, and even more so in the surety that I knew what she liked and had the ability to provide it for her.
Nick had clapped me on the shoulder. “It happens to the best of us sooner or later,” he’d said, a mock look of pity on his face.
�
��What is that exactly?”
He’d winked. “I’ll leave you to define it for yourself, mon ami.” I could only roll my eyes. The man had barely left his room the entire trip, and yet suddenly he was French.
A staff member at the winery greeted us as we stepped from the car, and we followed her inside the castle, stopping to marvel at the impressive foyer with its antique-looking table in the middle of the space and a grand staircase rising beyond. The rooms to the left and the right had been turned into what looked like a restaurant and gift shop. “Your self-guided tour starts in the courtyard, monsieur and madame. Dinner will be served in the garden, and your tasting will follow.”
I took Jessie’s hand, and we followed the older woman outside to a bike rack that held numerous bicycles. Uh. My heart dropped. I looked around, but the woman was already unlocking a bike, which she leaned toward us. Jessie took the handlebars and sucked in a breath of excitement. “It’s a bike-riding tour? This is amazing!”
The woman wheeled a bicycle over to me, and I took it with a tight smile, thanking her. It couldn’t be that hard, right? Even six-year-olds figured it out. She pointed off in the distance to where the gardens began, the rows of grapevines in the distance beyond. “There are bike trails all the way through, and you are free to use any of the paths. Your dinner will be set up in Lumière de la Rose. You cannot miss the sign.”
“Merci,” I murmured, bringing one leg over the bike as Jessie had done and walking with it until I made it to the edge of the stone patio area where the bikes had been stored. The gravel under my feet crunched softly as I rolled/walked over it, and I felt even less sure about attempting to balance on what felt like an unsteady surface.
As the woman turned toward the building, Jessie was looking back at me curiously, the bike balanced between her legs and one foot on a pedal, obviously ready to hop on and go.
I attempted an easygoing smile, but it felt more like a grimace. Jessie turned more fully and tilted her head. “Don’t you know how to ride a bike?”
I ambled closer to her. “Not exactly.”
Her brows came together. “You never learned how to ride a bicycle?”
My chest tightened, and I felt embarrassed, or maybe ashamed. I didn’t know what the fuck I was feeling because the truth was, I hadn’t been raised in the sort of household where a dad took his kid out on the sidewalk and clapped for him when he finally teetered shakily ahead on two wheels for the first time. My dad had never thought I deserved more than a smack upside the head and his everlasting disappointment. “No.”
She must have sensed the underlying emotion in my tone because her eyes softened, and she swung her leg off the bike and smiled. “Let’s just walk, then. It’s a beautiful day.”
I looked at her and knew she was being nice, trying to accommodate for my lack of experience. But I’d also seen the genuine excitement in her eyes when she’d realized we were going to take a bike tour. I couldn’t take that from her. “No. I can do this.”
She studied me for a moment. “Of course you can. But do you want to?”
“Yeah. I mean, how hard can it be?”
“It’s not hard. It just takes some practice. Here, watch me.” She showed me where the brakes were on the handlebars, and then she got back on the bike and pushed off with her foot on one pedal. When she’d gained a little bit of movement, she put her other foot on the pedal and took off. I tried to do as she’d done, and after several miserable tries—that made me want to wrestle the bike to the ground until it was a bent and broken heap of aluminum—I finally managed to balance and gained some speed, steering shakily to where Jessie was waiting.
She grinned. “You got it. Come on. We’ll go slow.”
I followed behind her as she pedaled, and after a few minutes I felt more in control, getting the hang of both balancing and steering at the same time. I couldn’t help the grin that spread over my face as I pulled up alongside her, and she glanced over at me and laughed. Just like the kite, this felt like another form of flying: the breeze in my face, the rich scent of earth and the sweet scent of flowers in the air, and my own pride at having accomplished something. I thought of the way Jessie had described her childhood swing—like every good and beautiful thing in the world coming together all at once.
We rode slowly through the flourishing gardens, stopping here and there to look at something or another, chatting easily, Jessie’s laugh floating back to me as she pedaled ahead. And I felt that same mindless elation that I’d only ever achieved at the bottom of a bottle or through momentary physical pleasure. But this wouldn’t bring the eventual shame and self-hatred. This would bring memories I’d want to revisit again and again.
Because memories would be all I had.
The realization made my stomach clench, but I pushed the thought away again, reminding myself that this weekend was ours, not for regrets, but as something happy to hold on to.
“Hey,” I called ahead. “Are you hungry yet?”
Jessie glanced back and pulled to a stop at the side of the path, where I joined her. “Starving.”
“We’re supposed to look for a sign for the loom whatever garden.”
She laughed. “Lumière de la Rose. It means Light of the Rose. It was back there.” She started turning and I followed, and we made our way back to the turnoff for the garden where I’d arranged dinner to be set up.
I smelled the roses long before we arrived at the garden, a sensual smell that filled the air with a light, spicy sweetness. “Mmm, do you smell that?” Jessie asked, tipping her head up and inhaling deeply. “Nothing smells better than real garden roses.”
“Look over there.” I pointed. “I think that’s where we’re eating.” There was a round table set for two shaded by a willow tree on the edge of the garden. The table was adorned with a white tablecloth, two place settings, and a vase of roses probably freshly picked from the garden.
Jessie followed my gaze and stood staring at it for a few moments before she looked at me, her expression full of so much pleasure, my throat constricted. “You did this for me?”
“Well, the vineyard did it. I just ordered—”
“Thank you,” she said, her eyes alight with joy. “It’s beautiful.”
I smiled, and we propped our bikes against the opposite side of the tree and took a seat at the table. There was an ice bucket with champagne between the table and the tree, and I picked up the bottle, popping the cork and holding it out over the grass as it bubbled over. Jessie laughed and held out her glass, the bubbly liquid rising to the top before falling. After pouring my own, I held up my glass. “To what?”
“To never being too old to learn new things,” Jessie said, winking and clinking her glass to mine. I smiled, inclining my head in agreement. After taking a sip, Jessie sat back in her chair and sighed, looking around. “This is perfect. One perfect moment in time,” she murmured. There was something in her expression I wasn’t sure how to read, but I agreed with her words. It was perfect. Here there was nothing but us, nothing except the earth beneath our feet, the sky over our heads, the deep serenity of nature all around. It felt as if we’d traveled back in time to where no troubles, no mistakes, no past existed. Only now.
The rose garden where we sat butted up to the back of the castle. A moment later, a waiter in a white apron appeared at the doorway carrying a tray and then moved toward us. When he arrived he greeted us in French and set two covered plates on the table, removing the lids as a waft of something rich and savory greeted my nose. “Bon appétit,” he said, bowing. Then he turned and left.
“Wow. This looks amazing,” Jessie said as she dug in. It was some sort of chicken dish in a rich cream sauce, and I almost moaned when I took a bite.
“Goddamn, this is delicious,” I said, and Jessie laughed. Just as I took another bite, I felt a drop of rain and set my fork down, holding up my hand as another few raindrops touched my skin. A glance upward showed storm clouds previously hidden by the tall castle moving in quickly.
I looked down at my plate regretfully, not wanting anything to interrupt the delicious meal but deciding he was probably right. “Okay,” I said, and he nodded, clearing our plates and the other dishes from the table quickly and hurrying back toward the castle. My heart sank with the knowledge that our day had been interrupted by bad weather.
“Do you want to hang out inside until this passes and then we can still try to see the vineyards and do the tasting afterward?” Jessie asked.
I looked up, assessing the clouds, trying to determine what direction they might be heading. Maybe it would just be a brief rain shower, over as quickly as it seemed to have begun. For a minute there were only a few drops here and there, and I looked at Jessie, about to agree with her suggestion. Suddenly, the heavens opened up and it began to pour.
We both jumped up, Jessie letting out a shriek as we fumbled for our bikes, pulling them away from the tree and running for the path. The rain increased, drumming noisily on the ground around us as Jessie screamed but then laughed, ducking her head against the onslaught as she jumped on her bike. “Come on!” she called, her voice practically lost in the sound of the rain pounding all around. Holy fuck, it was a torrential downpour.
I got on my own bike, feeling wobbly and unsure, as if I might steer myself into a wall of rosebushes, practically blind, sheets of water obscuring my view. I saw the watercolor shape of Jessie riding in front of me and followed her outline. We turned out of the garden and onto the main path, and I pedaled quickly to catch up with her. I wobbled precariously, catching myself and letting out a huff of relief right before my front wheel slipped on the side of the path. I let out a yell as my bike went down, me underneath it, sprawled in mud. Oh Christ.