Page 38 of You Had Me at Chateau
‘Oh, what did you get?’ Gina asks, her curiosity piqued. ‘Let’s see.’
I know, I didn’t actually buy myself this hamper, but I’ll bet it’s full of fancy, luxury products, and when this lot see it, it’s going to wipe the smiles off their faces. They’ll never know I didn’t actually pay for them. I know, I shouldn’t have to resort to little scams like this to save face, but it will make the week go a lot faster. I need a little win, especially when it feels like it’s me vs. Mandy.
But just as I step closer to the table, placing the hamper down where everyone can see it, Mandy’s eyes zero in on me, her nose twitching like a bloodhound’s.
‘Amber, you’re… you’re covered in something. It looks like pastry flakes. Have you already eaten?’ she asks accusingly.
See, this is why I was worried, about having pre-breakfast breakfast, because Mandy clearly has a tone.
Ah, shit. I forgot to dust myself off after my croissant. Honestly, pastries, Greggs sausage rolls – it’s always the same deal. I always have to do that awkward dance to shake off the crumbs.
‘Oh, you know what, it was the weirdest thing,’ I start, hoping inspiration will strike. I am a storyteller, after all. ‘This bird flew over me, a big one, and it was carrying something in its mouth – it looked like a croissant – and it just sort of rained bits of pastry down above me, like snow. Wow, I thought I’d dodged it. Thanks for letting me know.’
I brush myself down, trying to look as dignified as possible, hoping that they believe my frankly ridiculous story. Mandy narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced.
‘A bird?’ Mandy repeats in disbelief.
‘What sort of bird?’ Bette chimes in, her brow furrowed in confusion.
Honestly, I couldn’t even guess at what kind of birds they have here. We’re in the mountains, surrounded by snow. If we were in London, I’d say it was a pigeon and no one would bat an eye, because everyone knows pigeons have the audacity, but here… do they even have pigeons?
‘It was just so fast, I didn’t get a chance to see what kind of bird it was,’ I reply, hoping that will put an end to the interrogation.
‘And yet you saw what kind of pastry it was,’ Mandy points out, her tone as sharp and knowing as ever.
‘Well, it did land on me, it turns out,’ I say with a shrug, trying to sound casual.
I mean, it sort of did land on me, just, you know, in my mouth.
Mandy purses her lips but doesn’t press further. I can see the gears turning in her head, like she knows I’m lying, she just isn’t sure why.
‘Anyway, come on, show us this hamper,’ Gina says, leaning in with eager curiosity. ‘Get you, spoiling yourself.’
‘I know, it’s naughty of me, but sometimes you need little treats to make you feel good on the inside,’ I say, trying to sound like I do this sort of thing all the time, as I open the hamper.
I throw the lid back, and I can feel every pair of eyes in the room zeroing in on it.
‘Bloody hell, that will make you feel good on the inside,’ Gina says through a snort, clearly trying to suppress a laugh.
All I can do is stare at the contents. Right on top is a big purple dildo. And not just any dildo – it’s huge, and detailed, and flecked with sparkles for some reason. It’s giving Edward Cullen fromTwilight… I’d imagine.
And that’s not all. There are random bottles of body oils, flavoured lubes, nipple tassels, and more types of condoms than I even knew existed before today.
I finally muster the strength to flip the lid shut, my cheeks burning. Bloody hell, France, is this what a romance kit includes here? What happened to a massage and a cuddle?
‘Okay, wow, I must have picked up the wrong hamper, or been given the wrong one because, yeah, no, that’s not what I wanted,’ I babble, hoping they believe me. It’s hard to sound like you’re telling the truth about one thing, when you’re lying about something else.
‘There’s no shame in it,’ Gina insists, patting my hand. ‘If you’ve read one of my books, you’ll know I’m all about the self-love.’
‘What did you think you were going to do with the condoms, alone?’ Mandy asks, eyes narrowing with faux innocence. ‘Unless… no! Is this all to woo Henri? Wow, you are taking this competition seriously.’
She lowers her voice as she says this. Even though there are no staff members currently in the room, she is in touch with reality enough to know that, to other people, there’s something very weird about her ‘race to shag the caretaker’ wager.
‘No, God, no, nothing like that, it was supposed to be bath stuff,’ I insist, trying to salvage what’s left of my dignity.
‘Oh, you can use those in the bath,’ Gina informs me earnestly.
I place the box on the floor – out of sight, out of mind – and take my seat. I pick up my coffee and take a big sip. Right now I wish mine was Irish, it might help me feel less mortified.
