Just as I was turning around to leave, trying to calm my nerves and act normal after everything that had just happened, I caught Camille glaring at me. She didn’t say a word, but instead narrowed her eyes, then swiveled around and began scrubbing a platter so furiously I thought it would break in half.
I shuddered. Camille knew the truth. She knew I was engaged. She knew Julien and I weren’t really together and that we’d just lied to her entire family. And she clearly wasn’t happy about it. I couldn’t blame her. If someone did this to my family, I’d be furious too.
She didn’t know that I’d called the police and given them Claude’s license plate number, or that Julien had used his last favor from Guillaume on me. And as I walked out of the kitchen and headed toward the stairs, I realized Julien had been right about not telling Camille or his mother about my run-in with the law today. No need to complicate the already insane situation any further.
Just as I was half-way up the creaky staircase, Julien’s mother called my name. “Chloe, is that you?”
I turned back around and found her resting on the couch in the living room, sipping a glass of water and looking through a dusty photo album.
“Come sit with me,” she instructed, patting the cushion next to her.
She had such a kind air about her with those warm brown eyes and that sweet, light voice that I couldn’t help but feel a massive pang of guilt for lying to her. I reminded myself that I would be gone the next day, and that Julien would handle everything with his family. It wasn’t my job.
But still, I’d lied to her. And just because I’d spent the past three days lying didn’t make me any happier to be doing it.
She smiled gently as I sat down beside her. “Since I first saw you last night, I thought to myself, there is something about this girl. Something familiar. I could not figure it out, but I knew it right here.” She placed her hand over her heart. “Do you ever get this feeling?”
I nodded and smiled, having no clue where she was going with this.
“So, I thought about it all day. Even at the hospital, I was thinking about this, about you. Wondering why I feel as though I have seen you before. But when I watched you dancing with Julien tonight, it came to me. Here, look.” She tapped her finger on one of the photographs in the album that rested on her lap.
I leaned forward, wondering what Julien’s mother was getting at. But my breath refused to exhale when I saw her.
Her green eyes danced for the camera. Her long, wavy, auburn hair blew in the breeze, the rolling hills of the vineyard just beyond her. She smiled blissfully, looking young and happy, as if life was hers to capture. As if nothing could stop her.
She was my mother, just as I remembered her when I was a little girl.
And when I noticed the woman standing next to my mom in the photograph—her short frame, wispy dark hair, big brown eyes and a sweet grin on her face—I realized it was Julien’s mother.
“The woman in the photograph is your mother, no?” Julien’s mom asked, breaking me from my trance.
I lifted my eyes to hers, my breath still on hold, my heart speeding up. “Yes, that’s my mom.”
And then it all came flooding back to me. My mom’s conversation with me right before she’d died giving birth to my youngest sister. Her trip to France. The woman she’d met, who she’d named my baby sister after.
“Is your name Magali?” I asked, still not able to wrap my head around the fact that my mother was standing in an old photograph with Julien’s mother, at this very vineyard. That this could be the Magali she’d spoken of that day by the Potomac River, when she’d held my hand and told me that sometimes a girl just needs to spread her wings.
Julien’s mother nodded. “Yes, I am Magali. Did she tell you about me?”
“Yes, she did. And she named my baby sister after you. Before she . . .”
Julien’s mom covered my hand with hers. “I know, chérie. I know about your mother’s passing.”
“Oh,” I said, feeling a couple of salty tears spring to my eyes. I glanced back down at the photograph. “I can’t believe this is her. I can’t believe she was here, at this vineyard, with you. That you are the Magali she told me about.”
Julien’s mother removed the photograph from the album and handed it to me. “This is for you.”
“Thank you,” I said as one of the tears rolled down my cheek. I continued staring at the photograph in disbelief, overwhelmed at the sight of my beautiful mother so long ago, at Julien’s home.
“Your mother was one of the kindest, sweetest women I have ever met. We had an instant, how do you say? Connection? Yes, a connection. We became friends the minute she visited the vineyard. And she loved it here, you know. She said this vineyard was one of the most beautiful places she had ever been. She loved the wine too . . . yes, if I remember correctly, we drank a lot of wine during her stay here.” She chuckled to herself.
“My mom stayed here, in this house?”
“Yes, at this time, Julien’s father and I used to take guests. Your mother was the last person to stay with us before I had Julien.”
I looked back down to the photo in my hand, and I hadn’t noticed it before, but there it was. A tiny bump protruding from Magali’s stomach. “You were pregnant with Julien when this photo was taken?”
“Yes.” She patted her stomach. “It is hard to believe it has been over thirty-four years since this day at the vineyard. Your mother and I, we wrote letters to each other after she left France. I heard about her marriage to your father, and all about you.” Her eyes lit up then as if she’d remembered something else. “You know, I still have them. The letters.”
“Really?” My hands shook at the thought of touching a letter my mom had written so long ago.
“Yes, I had forgotten about them. About our letters. It has been so many years. But I think I know exactly where they are. Come, I will show you.”
I followed Julien’s mother back into a small office where she opened up a rickety filing cabinet and pulled out an old shoebox. She sifted through it for a few moments, when finally she produced an old, folded piece of paper and smiled.
“Voilà.” She handed the letter over to me. “There are more in here, I know it.” As she kept digging through the box, I took a deep breath and gazed down at the letter.
My mother’s loopy handwriting popped right off the page, just as it always had, making me remember her soft, pale hands and her warm, bubbly personality.
Dear Magali,
Ça va? Okay, I know I’m terrible, but that is still the extent of my French. I’m so glad you speak English, otherwise our beautiful friendship wouldn’t be the same. I’m writing to tell you that just three weeks ago, I gave birth to my precious Chloe. I never knew I could love anyone so much until I set eyes on her. She is an angel, Magali. I hope you get to meet her someday. You were right, being a mother is the greatest gift I could ever imagine.
I hope your little Julien is doing well, and I look forward to the day when I can bring my baby girl to your magical vineyard, my favorite place in all the world, and she and Julien can play together (while we enjoy a bottle of your amazing wine, of course!).
Bisous to you and Jacques, and à bientôt,
Claire
I blinked back more tears as I gazed down at my mother’s words. This was unbelievable. Unfathomable.
My mother had wanted to bring me here, to this exact vineyard.
And here I stood, seventeen years after she’d gone.
I looked to Magali, my eyes glazed over, lost in thought, in memories, and in the gravity
of what this all could mean.
Magali regarded me softly, then reached out and wiped a tear from under my eye before handing me the stack of letters. “Claire would have wanted you to have these.” Then she took my hand in hers and squeezed it. “I have never seen my son happier than when he danced with you tonight. We have your mom to thank for bringing you to us.”
My lips formed a shaky smil
e as I stood there with Julien’s mother, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with gratitude for her kindness, for the way she’d brought me this gift from my mother so many years after she’d gone.
But then my stomach turned when I remembered I was lying to Magali, allowing her to believe that her son and I were a couple, that I would be staying in their lives.
And I couldn’t do it anymore.
“Magali, there’s something you need to know.” I gripped the letters and wiped the lingering tears from my cheeks.
“Yes?” she said, her gaze still soft and warm, making my heart sink even further.
“I’m engaged to someone else back in the States. Julien and I . . . we aren’t really a couple. I’m so sorry for not telling you the truth.”
She arched her eyebrow, just like Julien always did, the kindness in her eyes dissipating. Then she reached for my hand and turned it over, revealing the diamond engagement ring I’d been hiding all evening. “I see.” Her face drooped in disappointment. “I suppose Julien knows about this?”
I nodded and stared down at the floor, unable to face her a moment longer. “Yes, he knows.”
“Who knows what?”
I turned around to find Julien staring at the old letters in my hands, the lines in his forehead revealing his confusion.
“I know that you have not been telling me the truth about your relationship with Chloe,” Magali responded, her voice not as soft and warm as it had been just moments before.
“Maman—” Julien began, but Magali held a hand up to quiet him.
“I have no idea why you would lie to me about such a thing, but I am too tired and have been through too much this week to worry about it. Julien, if you have feelings for Chloe, like I suspect you do after watching you dance with her tonight, don’t be a coward. And Chloe, my dear, engaged or not, there is a reason your mother brought you here. I do not believe in coincidences.”
And with that, she let out a little huff and left us alone in the office.
I felt like a little girl who had just been caught kissing a boy in the coat room at school. Except that I was an adult, and I’d lied to a woman who’d just lost her husband, who’d been friends with my mother no less, and I felt horrible.
“What are these?” Julien reached for the letters in my hand.
I didn’t want to tell him what they were. I just wanted to let myself believe that my mother coming to the vineyard all those years ago was a big coincidence. One of those crazy, freak things that could never be explained, but that also carried no real significance.
“Chloe?” he prodded, taking the letters from me. “What are these?”
“They’re . . . they’re letters from my mom.”
“To you?”
“No, they were written a long time ago, to your mother. It turns out our moms were friends.” I handed him the photograph.
“She looks just like you.” Julien was breathless, his eyes fixated on the photo. “Is this why you told my mom the truth about us?”
“I couldn’t lie to her anymore. It felt wrong to let her believe that you and I were together, and that the fact that my mom visited the vineyard so long ago has anything to do with why I’m here now.”
“Do you honestly believe this is just a coincidence?”
I thought of how I’d felt my mother’s presence so strongly since I’d first stepped foot on this vineyard. How her unmistakable scent had come to me several times in the past twenty-four hours, when in all the time I’d lived just a stone’s throw from where she’d raised me in DC, I’d never felt her in this way. But I couldn’t admit that to Julien. Because if my mother really had brought me here, if it really had been her presence I’d felt, then what did that mean for my life back at home?
“I mean, sure, it’s crazy that our mothers knew each other,” I said, trying to sound convincing, trying to believe my own words, “but it doesn’t mean anything.”
Julien laid the letters down on the desk and took a step closer to me. I could smell his warm, musky scent, feel his hot breath on my lips. “Chloe, tonight, when we were dancing, when I kissed you, you cannot tell me you did not feel what I felt.”
I avoided his sultry gaze and fidgeted with my hands, keeping a firm distance between us. “It was just an act, to make your family believe we were together. You didn’t feel anything, and neither did I.”
Julien stepped an inch closer, his chest meeting my nervous hands. “Stop lying, Chloe.”
I lifted my eyes to his for a brief second, and something about the way he looked at me made my legs feel like they were going to collapse beneath me. I had to get out of here.
“I can’t do this,” I said, pushing past him.
I ran down the hallway and out the back door, letting it slam behind me. Sucking the balmy night air into my lungs, I skimmed over the grass toward the table where Julien’s family had sat just hours before. I plopped down in one of the chairs to catch my breath, noticing how quiet and empty it seemed now without the passing of wine bottles, the incessant French chatter, the laughter that had filled up the night air like a song.
But before I had a chance to process the confusion swimming around in my head, to gather some sort of clarity from this inconceivable situation, the back door clattered behind me.
I didn’t need to turn around. I knew it was Julien. I’d known he would come out here for me, that he wouldn’t let me get away so easily. And while part of me wanted him to turn back around and leave me alone, I couldn’t ignore the other part of me—the part that wanted him to be near me, to never leave my side.
Julien stood before me, his head blocking the iridescent moon that shone over the dark vineyard. “Walk with me,” he instructed, nodding toward the vines.
And so I stood on wobbly legs and followed him down the path in silence, the night breeze whistling through the vines to either side of us. I wasn’t sure why I stood. Why I followed him. But with my mind an eternal pool of unanswered questions, it was all I could do.
“Tonight was not fake.” Julien’s firm voice cut through the silence. “It was not, as you said, an act.”
“Well then what was it?” I asked, not sure I was strong enough to hear the answer.
“It was real, Chloe. I know this is fast, and it is not the way you are used to things happening, but I have feelings for you.”
I swallowed hard and picked up my pace. “You’re crazy, Julien. We’ve only known each other for a couple of days. There’s no possible way you could have real feelings for me. And even if you think you do, I’m getting married Saturday, so it doesn’t matter anyway.” I stormed away from him, my hands trembling, my cheeks as hot as a chili pepper.
“Chloe, this thing with your mother, it means something. You can’t deny that. It’s not a coincidence that we met. I know you think it is impossible to fall for someone so quickly, but you’re all I can think about. And I don’t want this to end.”
I kept walking ahead of Julien, not sure what I felt, what I believed, or what I should say. This was all too crazy. My life wasn’t like this. It was orderly, stable, planned. And Julien was the exact opposite of all of those things. He was unpredictable and dangerous. And being with him made me feel volatile and out of control. Made me do things that just three days ago, I never would’ve dreamed of doing.
“Do you love him?” Julien called out to me, his footsteps following closely behind.
“What do you know about love?” I called over my shoulder. “You’re an ex-con for God’s sake. You’re an expert at fooling people, and apparently, you even know how to fool yourself!”
“I’m not fooling anyone,” Julien said, falling into step next to me. “You are the one who is afraid to admit that you are about to marry a man you are not in love with.”
“You have no idea what you’re—”
But before I could finish my sentence, Julien’s strong hands planted firmly on my shoulders. He flipped me around to face him, and the look in his eyes stopped me cold. It was the s
ame look he’d given me earlier in the night, right after he’d kissed me—a mixture of passion, of lust, of need.
He moved closer, not giving me time to finish my sentence, to catch my breath, to list all the reasons why he needed to leave me alone this instant. He grabbed the sides of my face and pressed his firm, rock-hard body up against mine, making my breath plummet through my chest.
Then his thick, moist lips hovered over mine for a few seconds before he covered my mouth with his, a burst of passion so strong I couldn’t have stopped it if I tried.
And as I found myself kissing him back, my fingers running through his hair, goose bumps forming on my skin as he ran his hands down the front of my chest, over my trembling stomach, and then stopping at my waist, I realized I didn’t want to stop him.
Because nothing, and I mean nothing in my life had ever felt so good, and so bad all at the same time.
Julien pulled his lips from mine, our heavy, hot breath filling up the space between us. I gazed into his eyes, my head dizzy with desire. My body ached to let him take me, right here in this vineyard, to make me forget about the fact that I had to leave this house in less than twelve hours, that I was about to fly home and . . . oh God, get married.
As Julien’s hungry lips plunged down my neck and made their way to the top of my chest, his hands roaming down to my hips and eventually to that space in between my thighs, I felt my engagement ring on my left hand.
What was I doing?
I thought of Paul, back home. Of how angry he’d been on the phone with me earlier. Of how I’d been lying to him, deceiving him.
It wasn’t fair, not to Paul or to Julien.
I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t.
“We have to stop,” I told Julien, a mixture of relief and regret engulfing me as the words escaped from my lips. But Julien kept kissing me, kept touching me, kept making me want to forget I had a life before I met him.
“Julien,” I said more forcefully. “Stop.”
He lifted his face to meet mine but kept his muscular arms wrapped around me, his breath fast, his eyes not hiding their disappointment.
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