by Anna Bloom
“No, not in the way you think. I’m glad for the holiday. I need it.”
Ah, wrong thing to say. His expression clouds. “You look tired.”
“Being here will help.”
Another sweeping gaze runs across my pale skin. “I’m going to feed you up, tan you at the beach, and make you so tired every night you’ll sleep like a princess.”
A laugh blasts from my chest. “You make me sound like a project.”
He’s not laughing. “I can see the changes in you, Julia.” The way he says my name makes me warm and gooey. Shuulia. “I know it’s been weeks, but it’s not that long since I was last with you.”
“I’m here now. You can feed me up like a Christmas turkey.”
“Goose,” he corrects and we both pull faces at one another’s choice of festive meal. Maybe it’s a good job that I won’t make it until then. The thought catches me unawares, simply, sneaking in—if I wasn’t dying then I can’t think of any future Christmases without him at my side.
It’s earth-shattering, blasting from nowhere.
This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done in my life. To fall in love just in time to break my own heart. That’s going to hurt.
To my surprise, Henri pulls the car over onto a small and uneven layby at the side of the road. “What are you doing?”
Twisting towards me, he catches my face in his hands. “What are you thinking of?”
With a smile, I lean forward and kiss his mouth. “Nothing, just that I’m pleased I’m here. I don’t do things like this, it’s not who I am. Getting on that plane, it took all my guts.” And determination, and obsessive need to see you one last time.
“You look so sad, Julia, and it breaks my heart.”
“I’m not sad, I promise. Right now, I’m filled with joy, the utter joy of being here in this beautiful place, in the moment with you. I’ve missed you more than I can say, Henri. It felt so stupid because we were only ever a one-night stand that became two, that became…”
His hands cradle my face. “Became everything? Unexpected but true, no?”
“Yes, but I hardly know you. All I know is the bits I’ve seen. We’ve spent more time kissing than we have talking. It makes all of it seem like a fairy tale.”
“Aren’t fairy tales the best? Aren’t you pleased that we haven’t met in the mundane and boring way that will make for a dull tale to retell? Fate played a hand in this. Whether you believe in fairy tales that’s a mighty thing.”
“You really believe that? About fate?”
He nods, face solemn and so beautiful it makes the landscape dull in comparison. “You want to know things about me, and believe me, I want to spend all our time getting to know you. But you can’t keep blocking what this is. Oui, we met by chance, but every man’s destiny is his own.”
My head drops as I try to force the sadness out of my heart. Live, Julia. Just damn well live. Though I know it’s unfair for me to not tell Henri the truth, I just want to experience that living a little while. Because while he will recover from my not being honest from the beginning with time, I only have now.
With his fingertip he forces my gaze to meet his. “And the first thing to know about me is that,” slowly, he turns my head, “is my home.”
I blink in surprise, exhaling, “What the fuck?” with my breath. Holy shit balls.
“You live in a castle?” I breathe out my words, making Henri snigger and kiss the top of my head like I’m an adorable child.
“It’s a chateau. We don’t have castles in France, and we don’t live in the whole thing anymore. Come, you will see.”
Grinning, he fires the engine again, the vibrations running beneath my thighs.
“I thought you lived on a farm. You said you make cheese.”
“I do make cheese, ma petite. The very best cheese.”
Eventually, we turn off the winding road down a sun-baked driveway. The air is fresh with pine needles, tall trees standing sentry and dappling the road into splotches of light and shade. The drive curves into a circle in front of the grand fascia of the building, complete with fountain to drive around. I’m drawn away on a dream of balmy nights, carriages circling sparkling water as guests walk up the wide stone steps to the entrance in their finest ball gowns. “Henri,” I whisper so low I’m not sure if I’m talking out loud. “It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
A couple walk down the front steps, arms linked around one another, skin sun kissed. Everyone here is beautiful; it makes me feel drab and grey like London. “Who are they?”
I turn to see his shrug. “Guests.” His smile turns cheeky. “We don’t live in the whole building anymore. Maman converted it into a holiday destination thirty years ago, when she decided that being married to a cheese man wasn’t going to provide the life stimuli she required.”
“People come here on holiday?” I look up at the grand old building, beautifully preserved. His gaze must follow mine because he adds.
“She saved the building really. We would never have been able to keep it going without the foresight she had.” Opening his door, he comes around to my side and opens mine. Awkwardly, I step out, but then breathe a sigh as he takes my hand and relinks our fingers. “Come, I’ll show you.”
I swallow, his mother sounds formidable and frankly terrifying if she runs this single-handedly.
“Don’t look so nervous. No one bites here. Well, apart from me.” He winks and my stomach give a little dive straight down to my toes.
Under the scorching heat we follow a golden pathway around the side of the building. When we’ve turned the corner my feet grind to a halt. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,’ I gasp.
In front of what once must have been a large patio for holding parties on, overlooking immaculate lawns and fancy shaped bushes—seriously is that a swan?—is now a fine dining area. Silver cutlery shines, almost blinding as it reflects the sun, laid on crisp white tablecloths. The dining area is set under a large rustic wooden structure and as I peer up, holding my hand against the glare of the sun, I can see where canopies must stretch over the whole space.
“What is this place?” I turn, trying to take it all in.
“A,” he swirls his hand while he thinks of the word. “Gastronomique, you know, gourmet holiday destination. People come here to stay and eat well.”
“A food holiday?” I quirk a brow. “Normally when people have a food holiday it means they are starting a diet.”
He drops his head to one side, flashing me a white smile. “Mmm, not so much here.”
“So, gourmet food?” There are immaculate waiting staff putting out glassware.
He answers with a typical shrug.
“Exactly how gourmet are we talking?”
“Dominique!” he hollers at a young chap sweating under a white shirt and black tie before firing off some quick instructions.
It really is too late for me to learn French properly. It seems almost a shame.
“You will find out tonight,” he turns back and slips his hand into mine again. “I don’t normally eat out here, but tonight for my guest I will. Maman will be pleased. She always wants me to show my face more.”
“Your face should be seen everywhere,” I blurt, earning me a warm press of his mouth on mine.
“With you by my side I will willingly oblige.”
“I didn’t bring anything posh to wear. This is as smart as it gets.” I motion to my now creased sundress.
He shrugs. “Not to worry. We will find you something.”
Okay… in a closet full of ex-lovers’ clothes? Stop it, Julianna.
“So, if you don’t like the dining bit, which is your domain?”
His eyes linger on my mouth for a moment, and I find myself holding my breath. “Come, I’ll show you, and then I will introduce you to Maman. She’ll curse my manners, but I’ll take the wrath.”
He really isn’t helping—at all.
“Excellent. It sounds like I’m going to be served fo
r dinner.”
He roars a laugh startling some doves in one of the sculptured trees. “You’re so adorable it’s almost addictive.”
I sneer a smile and wait to be led to his side of the family business, foolishly and totally unprepared for anything I might find there.
“So, three years ago I convinced Papa to turn organic.”
I try not to laugh at hearing the brooding man mountain call his deceased father Papa. Try but fail, letting a small smirk escape my lips, which I then wipe away as quickly as I can. Have some respect, Julianna, for God’s sake.
We are standing in the middle of an enormous kitchen garden where it seems every vegetable known to man is growing. Purple things I don’t even know the names of shoot from the ground, different brassicas that would make Charlie die on the spot.
“Charlie would love this. You should invite her to see it, when…” I trail off because I almost say, when I’m gone.
His gaze searches my face, lips pursed.
“She owns a failing organic vegan restaurant in Notting Hill.”
He nods, face brightening. “I know. I spoke to her about it at Paige’s birthday. I’ve had some ideas for it while I’ve been back here in fact.”
“You have?”
“Sure.” His hand catches mine. “It’s kind of what we do.” Pointing to the vegetables and then back to the main house he adds, “Everything that gets cooked in there, comes from this land.”
“Everything?”
“Oui.”
“Even the meat?”
“Even the meat. We keep our own organic herds, ethically farm them, using them for different things. We make sure they eat the very best, so their lives are the happiest. It makes them taste so much better.”
My stomach turns and I get a bit hot and sweaty. “Vegetarian, ma petite?”
“I’ve never been a declared veggie, but I like to mentally distance what’s on the plate from its origin.” I grimace trying not to think of the cows batting their long eyelashes. “This really isn’t cheese is it?” I clarify.
“Ah, the cheese is my domain. Call it a passion, just like my fathers. But now we do things my way.”
“Your way, what’s that?”
“I’ll show you.” With a tug on my hand, he’s dragging me off again, this time in the direction of a cluster of large sheds. We pass a herd of cows, all bellowing as they are urged along by a farmer in wellingtons. Henri speaks to him while I do the Julianna tune out.
“They’ve just been milked.”
“So, they aren’t eating cows?” I breathe a sigh of relief. Jeez, I couldn’t meet their wide, brown-eyed stare there for a moment.
With a grin he presses his lips to my hair. “No, ma petite, they are worth much more for cheese.”
“How so?”
“They are very rare, almost extinct. We feed them well, play the lullabies to make them relax, and in return they give us the best cheese in the south of France.”
“You play them lullabies?” I ask as I squint up at his towering shape.
Clearly, I’m funny because he rolls his eyes. “You British are so pragmatic.”
“What makes the cheese so special?”
“Every herd is fed in a different field. It means the grass is different. They only eat natural fauna, so the milk they produce is unique.”
Wow. Who knew cheese could be so complicated? “So not the mafia then?”
Henri’s mouth falls open and then he roars a laugh, bending at the waist. “The mafia?” Yep, there he goes again. It might be his heart close to giving out not mine. “Julia, you are truly unique.” He sobers enough to wipe his eyes and straighten. “What convinced you I was mafia?”
“Well, you’re very cagey about your cheese.”
“Cagey, ma petite?” He wipes his eyes. I’ve made him cry laughing. “I just didn’t want to bore you with cows. Cheese isn’t the best chat-up line?”
“Chat up line, huh? Do you use them a lot?” I mean, I’m sure he probably does, but it doesn’t mean I can stop my face from dropping.
Laughing again, he pulls me closer. “No. You think I have time for chat-up lines? Look at all these cows I have to sing lullabies too.”
I snort a laugh and he catches it with his mouth, reeling me in close to his body, pressing me into what has become my favourite place. “Mon dieu, Julia, you’re a breath of fresh air in this life I’ve found myself in.”
I glance up and try to read his expression, but with his back to the sun all I see is shadow. Reaching onto tiptoes I seek out his lips again. Kissing really is a superior way to communicate. It’s taken me nearly thirty years to find this out.
The kiss aches with hunger. I can’t taste enough of him. His hands slide down my back, strong and firm, pushing me into the blatant evidence that he’s missed me too. “I need you,” I say into his mouth. My body is burning with the intensity of a bonfire on a crisp November night.
“Let’s get back to the house.”
“Too far.” I wind my fingers into his shirt, pushing my lips into the small triangle of skin exposed at his throat where his pulse beats, strong and even. My own pulse is doing something that’s making my head spin, but that might not be failing heart syndrome and more a Henri one.
“The barn?” he doesn’t sound convinced.
“How many steps?”
“None.” He lifts me easily in his arms and I wrap my legs around him, mouth firmly fixed on his, tongue dancing into his mouth as he stalks us for the large green shed. He breaks his mouth from mine to demand something rapidly in his native tongue and there’s the scatter of feet followed by the clang of the door.
“This will give the hands something to talk about for a while.” He backs me onto a workbench and I peek a glimpse over his wide shoulder. No cows, not that it probably would have stopped me anyway. “This isn’t what I wanted for us, Julia. I wanted to do this right for once.”
“Henri. Every time is right.” I can say this hand on heart and hope not to die. “Now fuck me quickly before I have to meet your mother.”
Who the hell is this woman and what’s she done with Julia Brown? Who cares? I don’t.
To live I need to feel. To feel I need to have Henri inside of me, right damn now.
Impatiently, I slip my hand under my skirt, exposing my thighs, making his eyes burn as I lift up and pull my knickers down. His hands palm my skin, pushing my legs apart as he stares at my exposed core, the lick of fresh air foreign against the apex of my thighs. “I don’t know who you are, or what I’ve done to bring you into my life, but fuck, Julianna—” I cut him off, grabbing his face roughly and bringing it to mine while his fingers skim high, brushing my thighs, seeking out my wetness and slipping inside, arching me backwards as long fingers hook and curve. Closing my eyes, I moan deeply and the sound rumbles from my chest as his free hand slides down the front of my dress and roughly palms my tit through the material, squeezing and making me cry out.
“Henri,” I gasp. There’s a burning need inside, unquenchable and so low it’s on the point of pain. “I swear you can take your damn sweet time later, but right now I need you inside me.”
His hand slips out of me and he steps back, eyes on the prize. “Don’t move an inch.” It’s a guttural demand I have no plans on breaking. Unfastening the waistband of his chino’s and then swiftly pulling out his trusty wallet and condom supply, he pushes his trousers down just enough for that beautiful big cock of his to spring free, standing to attention between us. I lick my lips but don’t move as directed while he puts on a condom. He hauls me forward and lifts me into his arms and then gently drops me down, one long hand reaching around and down to connect us together. I gasp as he fills me, stretching me wide. It’s been weeks and the sensation is enough for me to throw my head back. Sure, we are connected, he paces a few steps from the bench to the wall, pining me between him and it, like I’m stuck between the very best of a literal rock and a hard place. His hips drive, while his hands push down on my s
houlders, ensuring that every thrust is so deep it makes me whimper. My shoulders scrape the wall, a mild sting overridden by the sensation of him inside me. The fire stokes quick, burning bright and making me push down harder, so every stroke is hitting the place I need it most.
“Oh God,’ I cry as a wild and fast climax begins its journey from the tip of my toes. In response, his hips buck faster, his mouth falling to my neck, sucking the skin on my collarbone. Inflicting another perfect pain that has me shouting out. “Henri!” I scream his name.
“Julia!” He chases fast behind me, thrusting deep inside as he collapses us against the wall, whooshing the air out of my lungs. “Jesus, Julia.”
We both still, breathing fast, in and out, in and out, and then I kiss his cheek and clutch him tight, my faulty heart bursting at the seams, while silent tears, a lethal cocktail of disappointment and joy, slip down the back of his shirt.
21
Féroce Mama Bear
“Stop fidgeting.” Henri squeezes my hand as we walk down the hallway of the inner house. The family apartment is on the west wing. Yep—they have a wing.
And no wonder he’d looked at my small grey box of a flat with such horror.
“I can’t help it.”
With a tug of his fingers, he wheels me around and puts his hands on my shoulders. “It’s just a meal.”
“In a two Michelin starred restaurant in a hotel that you own.” Ah, the secrets have unravelled while we’ve been locked in his private quarters. I wish we still were there, naked preferably. Instead, I’m wearing a midnight-blue silk dress that belongs to his sister and a pair of heeled sandals that his friend Odile has loaned me.
Getting dressed up for dinner is a new experience. I suppose I did say I wanted to live. Another thing to tick off my half-arsed bucket list.
“Would you prefer the mafia?” His smile widens, which is total cheating because it steals thoughts and words directly from my brain.
“Yes, I’d rather be stuck in the middle of a mafia turf war.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
