Page 68 of Wilder at Heart
The arm I’ve draped lazily over the back of her chair lifts so I can brush her shoulder through the gauzy white cover-up she’s wearing for lunch.
‘How’s the food?’
‘Incredible.’ She brushes the hairs on my thigh with her free hand. ‘I can’t believe how fresh this snapper is. It’s melting in my mouth.’
‘It’s insane, isn’t it? And these courgette flowers are dangerous.’
‘Absolutely lethal. How many times have you been here?’
I think. ‘North of fifteen, probably.’
She raises her eyebrows in amusement. ‘It must be tough being you, Theo.’
It’s a fair dig. Yeah, my family pisses me off, and they don’t take me seriously enough. But come on. They’re all first world problems. Because I live a charmed life.’
Instead of laughing it off, I say, ‘I do appreciate it, you know. Not sure how I got so lucky. Do you know this neck of the woods well?’
‘Cap Ferrat? No. Elle’s taken me to the south of France for a couple of mini breaks before, over the years. She’s so sweet andgenerous. But we usually hole up in some crazily expensive and discreet hotel. Which is amazing, obviously. But the beach club thing hasn’t been an option for her for quite a while. I love the vibe here.’
‘It’s so special, isn’t it?’ I look around, seeing it through her eyes. The sheltered cove. The large, smooth pebbles making up the beach. The rows of sun loungers interspersed with crude wooden walkways. The simple white parasols. The light. The intoxicating scent of seafood and sun cream. The tinkle of laughter and the music of rapid French being spoken. ‘I always try to analyse what makes it work so well, what the secret formula is.’
She twists around in her chair to survey the scene better. ‘It’s weird, because it’s a very aspirational place, but in a low-key way. It’s like everyone’s stinking rich, but they flock here for great, simple food and wine that they can eat in their swimming trunks with a t-shirt chucked on top.’
‘That’s the endless irony of wealth,’ I tell her. ‘You make billions and buy a yacht so you can come and eat snapper barefoot and enjoy the so-called simple life, and pay hundreds of euros for the privilege. It’s what resorts like this, and the Amalfi Coast and St Barths, are built on.’
She sighs. ‘Exactly. And it confuses me. Because I don’t know if it makes me want to succeed, or jack it all in and buy a beach hut.’
I tighten my arm around her. ‘I suspect some combination of the two is ideal. You and I would get bored doing this every day, sweetheart.’
‘Yeah.’ She smiles up into my face. ‘I suppose I’ll just enjoy it while I’m here.’
From the chats we’ve had over our laptops in my flat at night, I know Nora doesn’t make a huge amount from her wedding planning business. It’s growing, and she has a small, flexibleteam, and Miles and Saoirse’s wedding should open the door to more big-budget opportunities, but she won’t be retiring to Cap Ferrat any time soon. Her sole focus is putting money aside for a deposit on a flat.
Her light-hearted dig about my charmed life comes back to me. It’s not fair. She works harder than me, but she wasn’t born with my silver spoon. From the colour she’s given me on her upbringing, it’s clear she’s had far less of a head start than me. She’s done amazingly well, but she has her eye on the prize, and that’s home ownership, and she doesn’t get to fritter money away on overpriced beach clubs. Not like me, Miles, Stephen and the Percivals.
While we’re sitting here, in this magical bubble, our skin touching, it’s easy to forget that what we have is just as temporary as this beach holiday is. Which is why I have to make a real effort to swallow what I want to say to her and keep it locked inside me instead.
Don’t worry, baby. I’ll bring you back here sometime soon.
CHAPTER 27
Nora
Heaven is lying under a parasol on a French beach, my body sinking into a thick mattress, aided by the amount of food I’ve just consumed. I’m on my stomach, my eyelids pleasantly heavy after a few glasses of rosé, and my cheek resting on my hands as the sea laps on the pebbles in front of me and pretty white yachts dot its sparkling surface in the distance.
Heaven is also having a very hot, almost naked man, who could definitely pass for a Frenchman if he didn’t open his mouth, beside me. He’s lost the sexy linen shirt and baseball cap he wore at lunch, and his lithe, tanned, hairy body in pale blue swimming trunks is the only thing standing between me and sleep right now, because perving at him is even better than dosing.
He seems to be feeling the same way, because he reaches across the tiny space between our beds—they really do pack ‘em in here—and plucks at the bikini string across my back.
‘Need any sun cream?’ His fingers play with the knot of my bikini. His mirrored aviators mean I can’t see his eyes, but I suspect they’re twinkling with mischief.
My mouth twists in amusement. ‘No thanks,’ I tell him airily. ‘I’m in the shade, as you can see.’
He tuts. ‘Those pesky UV rays can get you even in the shade. Better safe than sorry.’
He’s incorrigible. I roll my eyes. ‘Go on, then.’
I scoot over a little on my bed so he can plant his gorgeous ass on the mattress.
