Page 86 of You Had Me at Chateau
I force a smile, trying to act like things are normal.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice casual, even though my heart is playing battering rams against my ribcage.
Caleb sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. He seems frustrated and kind of disappointed.
‘I’m sort of in the middle of something, Amber,’ he tells me plainly. ‘I have a big mess to clean up, given that I’ve been photographed here at the resort.’
He surely can’t think this is my fault, can he? He approached me, he stalked me across Europe, and he took me on the kind of dream date that would make a woman pounce.
Desperation claws at me, and I grasp at humour like a lifeline, like I always do.
‘Need a maid to help clean up?’ I joke, flashing what I hope is a disarming smile.
But he doesn’t laugh. Not even a glimmer of amusement is anywhere to be found on his face. Instead, he just looks at me, his expression unreadable, almost distant.
‘I really need to go back inside,’ he says, his voice flat.
‘Okay, see you later then?’ I say, trying to mask my disappointment with a breezy tone – everything is normal, everything is fine – but it comes out sounding forced.
‘Yeah, see you later,’ Caleb replies, already turning back to the door.
And then he leaves me standing there, out in the cold, the door clicking shut behind him with a finality that really stings.
I stand there for a moment, staring at the closed door, as though I’m expecting him to come back out, to tell me it’s all okay, but he doesn’t. I still can’t get over that he really does seemmad at me. What did I do wrong? Maybe he feels guilty about last night and doesn’t want Annabelle, his true love, to find out what happened. Which is just, wow, chef’s kiss, great. Perfect ending to this twisted fairy tale.
Oh, well, at least now I know where I stand, and I can go home, back to my life, and focus on me and my family. I need to be a big girl, to pick myself up, and remind myself that no one died. I guess, if they had, he could use it as inspiration for one of his books, like the one I helped him to write, the arsehole. I can’t believe he’s dropping me like this.
No. No, no, no. I’m not doing this. I’m going home, with my head held high, I’m not beating myself up over someone else’s love story.
Timing is just as important in romance as it is in comedy and, as perfect as Caleb and I seemed for each other, we just had bad timing.
Sometimes it’s as simple as that but, wow, what a waste.
46
After dragging my feet back to the château, with my tail between my legs and my heart pretty much in my arse, I get to step into the warmth of the hallway – probably for the last time.
I’ll miss that feeling, of leaving the cold air outside, to step into the warmth of the château, the smell of burning wood greeting me, making me feel like I’m home.
However cold it is outside today though, honestly, Caleb was colder. Now that I’m back here, and the icy winds have blasted some sense into me, it’s a little easier to remind myself that I don’t need him, and that I don’t need anyone treating me this way. I don’t deserve it, and I can do better.
I mean, I didn’t need him, I wanted him, but… yeah, I can do better, I can do better. And if I chant it enough, I might believe it.
I need to pack my bags but, before I do, I’ve got some goodbyes to say – and maybe some apologies to make.
I step into the inviting glow of the lounge. Mandy, Bette, and Gina are sitting around the fire, drinking wine and nibbling on olives. They’re laughing and chatting, clearly enjoying their evening, but the moment they see me their mood shifts and their laughs fade out into awkward silence.
‘Hey, ladies,’ I say, attempting to muster up a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes – hopefully they can’t sense my fear, or tell that I have a nervous lump in my throat. ‘Listen, I’m really sorry I’ve been MIA for the last few days. I’ve had some things going on, and… long story short, I think it might be time for me to step back from writing for a bit.’
Mandy raises an eyebrow, her lips flickering a hint of smile for a split second, before she settles on something that looks more understanding.
‘That’s all right, Amber,’ she tells me. ‘This job isn’t for everyone. Not everyone is cut out for this life.’
So nice of her to make this a personal failing on my part.
Bette nods in agreement, reaching for another bottle of wine and expertly popping it open with ease.
‘She’s right,’ Bette chimes in, her eyes firmly on her glass. ‘This job is so hard. Sometimes I wonder how we do it.’
