The Last Kiss: A Standalone Romance Novel (The Notting Hill Sisterhood Book 1)

by Anna Bloom

  “Oh really?”

  “What are you actually scared of ma petite?”

  “What if she doesn’t like me?” What if she can see straight through me? Can see I’m broken. Knows that in a few days I’m going to walk away from this place and maybe never see you again? What if she knows you might love me, for some crazy reason I don’t yet understand, and she knows I’m going to break your heart the way I’m breaking my own?

  “She’s not going to hate you.” His face falls. “Listen, Julianna, I need to tell you something.”

  My stomach lurches. “What?”

  We are interrupted by the peering of dark-blue eyes around the door frame at the end of the hallway. Eyes exactly the same colour as Henri’s.

  I face him, open mouthed. “Please don’t…”

  Laughing, he clutches my face in his hands and pecks a kiss on my mouth. “Simone,” he beckons the slender child forward once he’s pulled away. “This is Julia, my friend.” The girl, maybe ten I reckon, nods her dark-haired head. “And this is Simone, my niece.”

  She talks in rapid French.

  “Anglais, Simone.” He stops her.

  “Pardonne, Uncle.” She swaps to spotless English. “Grand-mère wants to know when you are ready.”

  Henri clicks his tongue; those lips I want to kiss all day long pressing into a firm line briefly before he smiles. “Right now. On time, as she likes.”

  Oh crap. She’s going to know instantly the reason we are short on time is because we’ve been screwing like bunnies all afternoon.

  His fingers clutch mine again and give a gentle squeeze and we turn, now a party of three, towards the main dining area.

  I gasp as we walk outside, feeling Henri’s gaze landing on me. I don’t have any words, or any reaction at all, because I’ve never seen anything like this. Millions of tiny, warm-hued lights are wrapped around the wooden structure of the terrace’s frame. Crisscrossing above our heads, they create a canopy of twinkling stars below those already lighting the sky. “Oh, my goodness, Henri, this is magical.”

  “Odile designed it.” Simone turns. “She’s very clever at things like this.”

  “She is.” I smile at them both. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

  “Come, let me introduce you.”

  He leads me, not letting go of my fingers no matter how hard I’m trying to slide them from his grip, towards a circular table in the middle of the restaurant. It’s a power position. From this spot you can see everything, and everyone can see you.

  I don’t know what I’m expecting, but maybe given the size of Henri, the last thing is a sparrow-sized woman, her features sharp and quick, dark-slate gaze flitting straight to where our hands touch.

  “Henri, tu es en retard. Trop occupé dans la grange j'entends.”

  I have no idea what she says, but Henri drops his face down and smirks a little.

  “Apologies,” she switches to English. “I said, you are late, but I hear you’ve been busy in the barn.”

  Oh. My. God.

  “My apologies. We had trouble locating shoes suitable for your beautiful restaurant. Your home is beautiful.” Jesus, I nearly curtsey. Henri holds me up straight and squeezes my hand one last time before dropping it and striding for his mother’s side.

  “Maman, you shouldn’t believe all the rumours the staff spread around.”

  Her quick gaze flicks back over to me. “Usually when they involve you, Henri, they are true.”

  He narrows his gaze but keeps his smile firmly in place. “Maman, I would like to introduce you to Julianna Brown. Julia, this is Aline Carré, my mother. Ignore her tongue, she has too much time on her hands.” He gives her an affectionate shoulder squeeze.

  “It is because I’m a widow that I have far too much time on my hands. I only have my Henri here to care for me in my old age.”

  From across the table, I see their friend Odile, shoe saviour, roll her eyes slightly. Ah. I see.

  “I’m sorry for the loss of your husband.”

  “Merci bien,” she starts, but Henri tuts and she switches once again, a look of deploring disregard etched into her smooth skin. If Henri is forty-two she must be nearing seventy, but she looks mid-fifties at most. That’s some face cream and sunblock she uses. “One can only hope to survive such heartbreak. Poor, Henri, my boy. Recovering from his father’s death has been hard, especially considering the extra responsibility he also holds.”

  I shoot him a puzzled gaze while he motions for me to sit in the guest of honour seat at his mother’s right side, pushing the chair in at my knees.

  “Extra responsibility?” I ask.

  “Oui, of course. His guardianship of Simone.”

  I fall onto the chair the last three inches. “Wow.” I hold back my ‘what the fuck’, because I’m sensing a test here from the Mothership and I don’t want to fail. Not that it matters. I’ll never see her again. But I do like the chances of an odds-against challenge. “That is a lot of responsibility.”

  And really, you’d think he’d have mentioned it.

  Especially after the barn this afternoon. I’m pretty sure that was a profound moment. We might not have made statements, but I sure as hell felt them.

  “It’s better for Simone to be in a settled environment.” He quirks his brows together in an almost frown. He’s reading from a script. I can hear it in his voice, so I play along.

  “Oh definitely.” But really what I’m thinking is what on earth is his sister doing in Paris when her daughter lives here.

  “You look tired, ma petite,” he murmurs, leaning close to my ear.

  I nod. “I am a little. It must have been the early flight,” I lie, because truly I’m exhausted, not just tired. My body is heavy, like lead sinking to the bottom of the ocean. It’s a hot mess combination of flying, excitedly walking around Perpignan, and then an afternoon of Henri sex.

  His gaze narrows. “Of course. That’s why I take the Eurostar. It gives me longer to relax.”

  “I see,” his mother, not to be excluded, speaks, “you’re the reason for the extra trips to London.”

  Henri reaches for my hand and gives a squeeze. “I told you, Maman, it’s all about fate.”

  Her small mouth tightens, reminding me for some reason of Barney’s ass. I wonder how he is, and if Liv remembered to give him his allocated number of treats. Or has Paige thrown the whole packet of Dreamies around the place and Liv’s vacuumed them up off her cream carpet?

  “I’m not one for fate or such whimsy,” she clips on in modulated English. “Relationships are things you work at.” She drives a hard stare at Henri.

  My cheeks flame. “Well, we live in different countries.”

  “Exactly.” She waves a dismissive hand in our direction and then adds something in French that makes Henri straighten up while her eyes glitter with fire.

  The fight I’d had climbing onto the plane this morning, surviving the cab death ride, and the drive I’d had since sitting in Dr Francis’ consulting room and deciding that I needed to see Henri one more time, begins to ebb out of me.

  My head weighs heavy, but it’s nothing to do with sensation in my chest.

  “Henri.’ I clutch his hand as my vision darts with black spots.

  “Julia?” He fires off rapid words. “What’s wrong, ma petite fleur?”

  “I don’t feel so good. I’m so sorry.” I whisper through the crowding darkness swimming across my eyesight.

  “Maman, I’m taking Julia to bed.”

  “In a guest room I hope.”

  He explodes from his chair, scraping it back across the floor. I don’t understand a word he says but can put a tenner on the fact he’s just told her to go and do one.

  “Odile, Simone, our apologies.” Gently he cups my elbow, helping me from my chair. “Don’t worry, mon coeur, just follow me.”

  We walk in echoing silence down the enormous and ornate hallways, my vision slowly coming back. My legs are so heavy though, the heels on
the sandals keep scraping the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. The last thing I want is to eat a meal with her when she’s in one of her moods.”

  “For someone so small, she’s fierce.”

  “Lethal.” His smile grows, but then falters. “What’s wrong with you, Julia? And please don’t brush this, uh, under the carpet.” I love it when he has to search for words.

  I open my mouth and then jam it shut again. At the door to his suite he pauses, cocking his head, arching a brow.

  “It’s just from when I was ill. I told you about it. I’ve never quite been the same since.” This is the damn truth. Not the whole truth, but a version of it I can articulate to this beautiful man.

  “You should have said if you didn’t feel good, I would never have taken you to dinner.”

  “I didn’t want to let you down. I hate considering myself as weak.”

  “Weak? Says the woman who flew to France in a bid to find a miserable bastard of a man who’d been too grumpy to call her the last two weeks.”

  “Well, when you put it like that…” I tease a smile. “So, a guardian, hey?”

  He drops his head, fingers looping in mine. “Are you cross?”

  “Cross? No. Surprised maybe.”

  “It was Maman’s idea.”

  Hmmmm… I’m sure it was.

  “You know she doesn’t seem as heart-broken as perhaps I expected her to.”

  “She’s up and down. Grief is a funny thing, no?”

  “I guess.”

  “Come, let’s get you asleep. I’ve got lots planned for tomorrow.”

  Chewing on the side of my mouth, I know I’ve got to say something. “Henri, sorry. I know it sounds weak, but I think I need to take things easy.”

  He watches me carefully in response. “I can see a change in you, Julia.” Plucking up my hand, he presses it against his chest above his heart. “It makes me get this tight feeling here that I don’t know how to explain.”

  I close my eyes to the truth, to his ability to read me. That this man I’ve known a matter of months and seen only a handful of times knows me better than anyone. There’s a bitter tang on my tongue that maybe I wish I’d met him sooner.

  “You are shrouded in grey, when you should be every colour under the sun.” He presses a soft kiss to my mouth.

  “You can make me shine like a rainbow.” Tears sting my eyes. Life, you cruel bitch, you’ve done a number on me. “How many steps to bed?” I smile with my question, already knowing the answer.

  Silently, he lifts me up. Not our usual hold of my legs clamped around his waist, mouths hot and needy. This time he lifts me like a bride and carries me with reverence over the threshold and into his domain.

  The room is beautiful. Everything an old-fashioned, green-hued white: the woodwork, the ceiling, the walls. Simple oak furniture blends in with the setting, while thick brocade curtains block the stars and moon. He places me gently on my feet and I walk for the golden material, sweeping it to one side to fill the room with pale silver. His fingers sweep my hair from my neck, lips brushing my skin with butterfly light kisses.

  “It doesn’t feel real being here.” I say it to the moon.

  “It’s perfect you being here.” His fingers tug on the zip of the dress, slowly lowering it down and then pushing it off my shoulders. “I wish you could stay forever.”

  A sharp stab harpoons my heart, a reminder of all the reasons why I can’t stay. “I wish I could too.”

  He guides me to the bed and lays me down. “Don’t move,” he murmurs, slipping down my body and beginning to kiss every inch of my skin. I don’t move a muscle until his delicate tongue seeks out my core, slipping inside me, making me arch off the bed as I shiver and tremble in a way that etches a profound truth into my skin. When I’m still panting and settling my heart, he gathers me into his arms and holds me tight.

  “If I asked you to stay, would you?” He yawns and kisses my ear.

  “With all my heart,” I say, because I’m pretty sure when I go home I’ll be leaving what little is left of it here with him. I can’t fight the tears, and I know he knows I’m crying, but he doesn’t say anything, just holding me tight as the lie I’ve created between us takes its hold.

  Truth is, I just don’t have a heart to give.

  22

  Wards in the morning

  Sunlight streams through the open gap in the thick curtains, lasering my face with eye-murdering brightness. I stretch, toes and ankles stiff, as I acclimatise to the sound of my phone ringing. While one hand goes to the bedside table, my other reaches for Henri, only to come up empty. Hmm, that’s disappointing.

  “He said to tell you he will be back shortly. He’s gone to check the herd.”

  With my feet scrambling uselessly against the bedsheets I try to sit up, pulling them with me to cover my nakedness.

  Was the cover up or down before?

  Oh God.

  “Hey?” I say and push my hair out of my face as I try to find a surprised smile that doesn’t look like a shocked grimace and paint it on my face.

  “Hi.” Simone is cross-legged at the end of the bed.

  So, this is strange.

  “I got bored waiting for you to wake up.”

  “And you often come into Uncle Henri’s room?”

  Jeez, what have I walked into here?

  Simone laughs. “No. He’ll tell me off.”

  I wait, wondering if she’ll click she shouldn’t be in here now, but the penny isn’t dropping. Thankfully, my phone rings again. “I should get this.” I pick it up and wait again.

  Nope, she’s not going anywhere. She pulls forward a lock of dark hair and starts weaving a fast plait with deft fingers.

  Shaking my head and rubbing at my eyes, I answer Liv’s video call. “Hey, you.”

  “You are so shit at staying in contact.”

  “Sorry—”

  “I’ll call when I land, I promise.”

  “Liv—”

  “I promise if I do this then I will call three times a day to keep you updated.”

  “Shh.” I warn, squinting my eyes. “There’s a child sitting on the end of the bed.”

  “Huh?” She’s brushing her hair, long blonde tangles seamlessly dropping into glossy locks. My fingers automatically drift to my mass of knotted curls. Ugh.

  “I don’t know?” I mime before swiftly turning the phone. “Simone, say hello to my sister Olivia.” Averting her attention from her plait she looks up and gives a small wave. “Hi.”

  “Uh, hi…”

  With a grin, I swizzle the phone back around. “Simone is Henri’s ward, I think.”

  “Only until Mama comes back.”

  Simone drops her bottom lip and chews on it as she refocuses on another strand of hair to plait.

  “Sure,” I say, optimistically.

  Liv’s mouth is hanging wide open. “Ward?” she mouths to which I nod.

  “Niece really…” I trail off, not really understanding the dynamics of it all. I really should spend more time talking to Henri and less having sex. I ponder this for a moment… nah, who am I kidding?

  “Anyway, how are you?” Liv directs us back to the purpose of her call, mainly to over parent me.

  “I’m okay. Sorry I didn’t call yesterday. I got carried away when I got here. It’s so beautiful, Liv. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  She makes a snorting noise and shakes her head. “That’s because you’ve never seen anything other than London.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs World Seasoned Traveller.”

  We both giggle, Marbella at the ex’s family holiday home isn’t world travelling.

  “Actually, it’s going to be Miss soon.”

  “Huh?” I rub the sleep out of my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “I went to see a divorce lawyer at work yesterday.”

  “And you wait for me to leave the country because…” I shoot her my best glare via Apple FaceTime.
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  “Because I didn’t want you getting stressed, you’ve got enough on.”

  “Liv, I haven’t got anything on.” Let this be known as the Gospel truth.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “So, what did they say?”

  “That I’ve got good grounds.”

  “Of course, you have!” I burst out. “He left you pregnant without a damn backwards glance.”

  Liv shakes her head. “Anyway, this is exactly why I didn’t tell you. But enough about me, how are you feeling?”

  I shoot a quick glance at Simone. “Fine. Fine. I got really tired last night and couldn’t make family dinner.”

  “Tired how?”

  “Just tired, Liv.”

  I don’t know what she wants me to say. Am I supposed to report to her every time I get breathless, or my hands lose all sensation, or my heart races so much it makes me think I might be sick or just pass out flat on the floor? “Remember I came here to live.” I frown a glance at Simone who shows no signs of moving at all.

  This is weird right? Why is she sitting on the end of a stranger’s bed?

  “Okay, well don’t forget you’ve got Dr Francis next week. He’s going to want you to keep note of any changes.”

  “Sure, sure,” I say knowing full well that the time for keeping notes is up.

  “And don’t forget to keep your phone on you at all times in case the trans—”

  “Okay, got it,” I cut her off quickly and her face drops.

  “You still haven’t told him, have you?”

  “Ooooh, really bad signal, you’re breaking up.” I cut her off, but then guilt stabs me deep in the gut and I shoot her a quick text: Love you. She sends back the eyeroll emoji and all is right in the world.

  Which leaves me and Simone, two strangers sitting on a bed, one naked, one playing with her hair.

  Sounds like a highly inappropriate kid’s rhyme.

  “I’ll just get dressed.” I say.

  “D’accord. Sorry, I mean okay. Oncle Henri will be back soon.”

  “You don’t have school?” I tuck my legs up. Clearly, I’m not getting out of bed anytime soon.

  “No, I did some lessons this morning.”

  “Lessons?”