Page 64 of You Had Me at Chateau
‘Lovely,’ I lie, smiling weakly.
Bette, not missing a beat, smiles back with a touch of understanding.
‘Don’t worry, dessert doesn’t have any meat in it,’ she tells me. ‘Sticky toffee pudding with custard.’
I never thought I’d say this but no more fucking dessert, God, please.
I continue trying to make it look like I’m eating, in the hope I can say I’m too full for dessert. I feel like I’m a kid again, trying to hide the peas under my mashed potatoes, only I’m trying to hide everything under everything else.
What’s more sickening than the food, though, is their attitude. Not that there is anything wrong with it – it’s jealousyI’m sick with. Everyone seems so settled, stable, and happy, with their nice lives and their lengthy deadlines.
Mandy and Gina are back to swapping notes on their upcoming projects, while Bette listens happily. It’s a cosy, idyllic scene, and I can’t help but feel like an outsider looking in.
Here I am, sitting among accomplished, popular authors, and I’m trying to write a bad book on purpose just to get my contract cancelled.
Still, it’s the best idea I’ve got, and it sounds a lot easier than trying to eat a sticky toffee pudding right now.
32
Absolutely stuffed from trying to eat when I wasn’t at all hungry, I drag myself upstairs, each step feeling like a monumental effort. My stomach churns as I walk, gurgling and bubbling, warning me that I’m in for a night of discomfort and acid reflux.
‘Amber!’ Henri’s voice calls out from behind me.
I turn to see him hurrying up the stairs to catch up.
‘Hey, Henri,’ I say, trying to smile through the discomfort – and hoping he doesn’t hear the alien noises coming from my tummy. ‘How’s it going?’
‘I feel like I haven’t seen you all day. No one’s been walking in on me in the bathroom, and it feels strange,’ he says, his grin widening.
As someone who has seen him in and out of clothes, it has to be said, he looks great in them too. He dresses in trousers and shirts that could look like workwear or formalwear, depending on what he was doing. It’s that easy French charm that makes him look great in (or out of) anything.
I laugh, shaking my head.
‘Some days I leave people to shower in private,’ I joke. ‘Sorry.’
‘No need to apologise,’ he says with a chuckle. ‘Actually, I have an invitation for you.’
‘Oh?’ I say curiously.
My tummy gurgles, as if it’s echoing my words.
‘I was wondering if you’d like to see my private cabin,’ he offers. ‘It’s such a romantic space that I’m working on, and I thought you might find it inspiring.’
‘Yourprivatecabin?’ I reply, more than intrigued.
‘Yes, it’s my current project – new accommodation for the resort,’ he explains. ‘It’s not creepy, I promise – I’ve just realised it might sound creepy, in my English.’
‘Not at all – that sounds amazing,’ I say. ‘I’d love to see it.’
‘Great,’ he says, his eyes lighting up. ‘It’s a special place. I’ve been putting a lot of effort into making it perfect. There are stunning views of the mountains, and the surrounding area – it’s incredibly peaceful.’
‘Wow, it sounds dreamy,’ I say, already picturing the scene. ‘When were you thinking?’
‘I could take you there tomorrow afternoon,’ he suggests. ‘We can take a walk through the woods, and maybe I’ll even tell you some more stories about the area. Perhaps there will be food involved.’
Normally a phrase that would be music to my ears, but I really am so full.
‘That sounds great,’ I say. ‘Can’t wait.’
