A Beautiful Day for a Wedding

by Charlotte Butterfield

  ‘White wine?’ Bruno asked. ‘Are you sure you would not like to try an excellent red? Perhaps you’ve just never tasted the best reds before, which is why you think you don’t like them?’

  Despite having a day of drinking little else, Eve still found herself saying, ‘I’ll stick with white, and I think I’ll let you choose it if you don’t mind, even though I am now an expert of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Bruno smiled as he read down the wine list before ordering in spine-tinglingly seductive French. Eve had scraped a C in GCSE French and while she couldn’t quite remember how to reserve a bedroom in a hotel or say that her tyre needed changing, both of which she clearly remembered writing out countless times on little white index cards, she was pretty sure that Bruno had also said the words for prawns and duck while he was ordering the wine.

  ‘Are you too cold, Eve?’ he said her name like it was made of syrup.

  ‘I’m fine, it’s warm out. What a lovely place.’

  They both looked around at their surroundings then, Eve for the first time and Bruno seeing the familiar setting through Eve’s eyes. ‘My uncle runs it as a creperie during the day, and my cousin as a bistro in the evenings. It has a cellar where my great-grandfather hid many of the town’s families during the occupation.’

  Not for the first time Eve was in awe at how so many of France’s historical villages and towns had such sad histories attached to them, yet seemed places of purity and beauty just a few decades on.

  Their wine arrived, and Bruno underwent the formal protocol of label checking, swilling around the bottom of the glass and tasting, before he shared it out between their two glasses. ‘So, tell me what brought you and your friends here today,’ Bruno asked. ‘I was expecting two men, and then got a lovely surprise.’

  ‘It’s my brother’s wedding to his boyfriend at the end of August, up at the chateau, and they were planning on coming out here to sample the food and wine choices, but couldn’t get away, so I stepped in with my friends. The short brown-haired one is getting married in a couple of weeks and so it’s sort of a hen weekend for her.’

  If Eve noticed Bruno’s blink-and-you-miss-it eyebrow-raise of surprise at the mention of a gay wedding she didn’t mention it.

  ‘And you? You are not married? At least, I hope you are not, he might be angry with me, if you are.’

  ‘God no. I’ll leave that to my friends and family.’

  ‘You do not want to get married?’

  On all the dates Eve had been on, though admittedly none of them had been with French men before, not one had started off talking about Eve’s thoughts on marriage. Bruno didn’t even know her surname, her hometown, her hobbies or political persuasion, but he was asking about her marital intentions.

  ‘I’m not against marriage per se, I think it can be lovely for some people, not so much for others.’ Her mum and dad flitted into her mind, Tanya and Luke, but then so did Becca and Jack, Ayesha and Amit.

  ‘I will get married in the next two years,’ Bruno announced with a certainty most people reserve for meal choices. I will be having a roast dinner on Sunday. I will be ordering chips with my burger. Speaking of which, Eve thought, why hadn’t they been given menus or placed their orders yet? She wasn’t particularly hungry, but after the mountain of bread and cheese they’d been given with the wine, she wouldn’t say no to a nice salad.

  ‘Do you have a lucky lady in mind?’ Eve said, visibly wincing at how overt and flirty that sounded when it was meant to be just a question.

  ‘It depends how tonight goes,’ Bruno replied, very much being intentionally overt and flirty.

  The candlelight was casting shadows over his face in exactly the right places to highlight his cheekbones, his dark long eyelashes, his smooth tanned neck – there would be many worse sights to wake up to every morning for the rest of her life. Eve hoped the flickering flame was having the same effect on her own looks.

  ‘Do you believe in God, Eve?’

  Crikey, Eve thought, he was pulling out all the big gun questions early on. ‘Um,’ she stammered. ‘I don’t disbelieve. Is that the same thing? I mean, I don’t go to church or anything, except for the huge amounts of weddings I seem to go to, but I think it would be a bit sad if this is all there is in life.’

  ‘This? Aren’t you having a good time?’ Bruno smiled, poking fun at her flustered embarrassment.

  ‘I didn’t mean this, as in this,’ Eve made a sweeping gesture with her arms, almost knocking over the waitress who was approaching behind her with a big bowl of pink king prawns in her hands. ‘I meant this life, earth, you know, this.’

  ‘I know what you mean, I am just teasing you. I hope you like prawns.’

  Thankfully she did, but it irritated her fleetingly that he didn’t check with her before ordering them. On the plus side, at least her recollection of GCSE French food was up to par.

  ‘What would you have done if I didn’t?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘If I didn’t like prawns, or had an allergy to them?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Bruno shrugged, his turn to look a bit embarrassed. ‘Most women like it if the men take charge.’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s the case any more,’ Eve said. ‘But I am teasing you a little bit. But next time, I think I’d like to choose my own food.’

  ‘Next time?’

  ‘Yes,’ Eve said decisively, locking smiling eyes with Bruno. ‘Next time.’

  Before Eve had broken even one tail off the end of a langoustine, Bruno had motioned for the waitress to come back with a menu, which he handed immediately to Eve. ‘I ordered us both the duck salad, but you might want something else.’

  Annoyingly, after a cursory scan of the main courses the duck salad was the dish that Eve would have chosen herself given the option. Which left her in a bit of a quandary, order something else just to prove her now heavily laboured point, or go with his suggestion, which diluted her feminist stance somewhat. A date was no place for politics, thought Eve, handing the menu back to the hovering waitress with a smile. ‘The duck sounds lovely, thank you.’

  ‘So,’ Eve continued. ‘God.’

  ‘You can call me Bruno.’

  She’d heard that the French sense of humour was questionable but Bruno clearly was the exception. Eve now added funny to his growing list of glowing attributes.

  ‘So, like the Monkees say, are you a believer?’

  ‘Monkeys?’

  A sense of humour he may have, a knowledge of bizarrely-named Sixties bands maybe not. ‘Doesn’t matter. So, you asked the question, God, oui or non?’

  ‘Oui. There has to be a purpose for everything. Everything learned, every person in our lives, every sadness, every happiness, every achievement, it is all for a reason. It has to be. There are too many coincidences in life, too many crossed paths for it to mean nothing.’

  Eve chewed thoughtfully, that was what she thought too, or at least used to think; now she didn’t really know. One thing was for sure, she much preferred Bruno’s chat to Blake’s or Bryn’s.

  ‘Like you being here instead of your brother. That did not happen by chance.’

  ‘Maybe not.’

  ‘How are your prawns?’

  ‘Annoyingly delicious.’ Eve and Bruno shared a smile. They both reached for the bottle of wine at the same time to top up their glasses and their fingertips brushed each other’s. It was like an electric shock that made them both recoil and lock eyes. It was him. He was the B.

  Chapter 28

  The bistro had shut to the public an hour ago, but still Eve and Bruno sat in their cosy window table, large amber brandies in front of both of them. Bruno’s uncle and two male cousins had joined them from the kitchen, all still wearing their distinctive chef’s checkered trousers. Eve was getting a lesson in French male chivalry firsthand, and she’d never felt so beautiful or interesting. Bruno was the designated translator, so whatever he was saying she had said was eliciting loud guffaws and very obvious adulation
.

  They’d already ascertained that yes, she was a natural redhead, and yes, that was a little unusual, particularly when teamed with bright green eyes; no, she wasn’t married, yes she did want to be, maybe; she was a little concerned at the rise of the National Front in both their countries; yes, Bruno was indeed a lovely man. If she hadn’t started making noises about the lateness of the night, Eve knew that they would have also got out of her her thoughts on climate change, gender selection and the long-lasting appeal of Edith Piaf.

  ‘I’ll walk you back to your hotel.’ Bruno said, rising from his seat, before going round the table to pull Eve’s chair gently out too. A flurry of kisses and promises to return to say hello when she came back for Adam’s wedding followed, and then Eve found herself and Bruno on the deserted street, empty except for a few teenagers sitting on the bench where the cantankerous old woman had been a few hours before.

  Bruno manoeuvered her to the inside of the pavement, so he walked on the outside, closest to the road. He then took her hand, threading her fingers through his, and they fitted perfectly, as Eve knew they would.

  ‘I’ve had a lovely evening,’ Eve began. ‘Thank you for asking me.’

  ‘Thank you for saying yes.’

  ‘I don’t usually go out for dinner with complete strangers.’ It wasn’t strictly true, she’d been out the previous week with a man she’d never met before too, but Bruno didn’t need to know that. And actually, if it was a question of semantics, Eve thought, justifying her fib to herself, she only went for a walk with Bryn, so no dinner was had by anyone.

  ‘I am very pleased to hear that. I hope that remains the case.’

  And you? Eve wanted to ask. Are you in the habit of finishing off a wine tasting session with a romantic dinner a deux? But she never got the chance to ask. They’d stopped in front of her hotel. An unassuming double fronted townhouse, the only indication that it wasn’t a private house was a discreet plaque by the front door with three little stars on it.

  ‘We’re here.’ Bruno announced, bringing their joined hands up to his lips and kissing hers. As he brought their hands down, still locked together, his dark brown eyes stayed firmly on hers. His intention was clear, and whether it was the combination of wine, brandy, being in France, being heartbroken, being lust-struck and being lonely … well, she didn’t know what it was, but she found her mouth moving slowly towards his.

  His lips were soft, and his tongue gentle as it circled hers, and his other hand reached around her back and pulled her into him more. Very few dates of Eve’s had got to this stage since Ben, and she had forgotten the rush of adrenaline a kiss like this gave you.

  ‘Monsieur Dupont,’ came a disapproving female voice from the porch behind them. ‘I was just locking up and wondering about the location of my guest.’

  ‘Madame Villeneueve, I apologise.’ Bruno then swiftly swapped to French to say the next few sentences, the rapidness of his delivery making it impossible for Eve to follow. Whatever he said made the formidable landlady disappear back inside, saying ‘deux minutes’ as she left.

  ‘Where were we?’ he murmured, locking his hands behind Eve’s back.

  ‘What did you say to her? It’s rude to speak a language not everyone involved in the conversation understands.’

  ‘The way you get angry with me is funny.’

  ‘It’s not meant to be funny.’

  ‘I like it. You are fiery. Is that the right word? You have fire inside you. It is, sweet.’

  He didn’t mean sweet, Eve thought. He meant enchanting. Captivating even. She couldn’t expect him to understand the nuances of the English language, but regardless he was still streets ahead of her in the language department. She was still chuffed that she remembered that canard meant duck.

  ‘I should go,’ she said.

  ‘Can I see you tomorrow?’

  ‘We leave in the afternoon,’ Eve said. ‘And we have lunch at the caterers, but I am free before that if you are?’ She felt a pang of guilt at planning to spend the last morning of the friend-bonding mini break with a man, but also knew that Becca would be squealing with excitement for her.

  ‘Bon. I will come and meet you for a coffee in the morning, around eleven? Good night, Eve.’

  ‘Good night, Bruno.’

  Eve took the front steps two at a time, and even the reproachful look and cluck of condemnation the stern hotel owner gave her as she breezed past her in the hallway couldn’t change the width or brightness of Eve’s smile. First kisses were awesome. Much more so than last kisses because you rarely knew when a kiss was to be the last. First kisses were filled with expectation, newness, novelty. They had none of the weight of experience and history, they held nothing but potential and promise. And Bruno’s kiss had both in spades.

  The corridor was quiet. She, Ayesha and Becca all had adjacent rooms in the eaves of the tall house, and Eve was desperate to shake them both awake for a post-date workshop like they used to do at university. She paused, pressing her ear to each of their locked doors, confirming that her friends were sleeping and would probably be unreceptive to Eve bouncing on their beds. She’d have to settle for bouncing on her own bed. By herself. Had the landlady cum headmistress not been lurking downstairs, Eve may well have acted entirely out of character and smuggled Bruno in, and as she thought about it, Eve didn’t know if she was disappointed she hadn’t.

  She’d even had a leg and bikini wax a few days before coming away to France, so her body was prepared though she had no idea if her mind was. She didn’t have a bad body, Eve knew that. She was long and lean and thanks to Juan’s bossiness had turned at least half her wobbles to muscle, so it wasn’t prudishness that had stopped her stripping off and throwing her bra round her head like a lasso. She’d just rarely met anyone that made her feel inclined to do that. Not since Ben. But tonight, tonight she really had.

  ***

  ‘I think I love him,’ Eve confided, leaning in over her croissant. ‘Well ok, not love, not yet, but I really like him.’ Eve broke the end off her pastry, smothered it in jam and popped it in her mouth.

  Completely true to expectation, this declaration prompted girlish screams and much bottom-hopping on the dining room chairs from her two breakfast companions who were sat facing her. ‘Eve’s got a boyfriend, Eve’s got a boyfriend,’ Ayesha sang.

  ‘So will you be needing a plus one for my wedding now?’ Becca asked with a wink.

  ‘Don’t be daft.’

  ‘Why not? It’s perfect! Ask him, it’s a cheap flight away, and it’s not as though I’m being strict with numbers is it?’

  ‘I wish you were being, but that’s a different story.’

  ‘Think of it for a second Eve, your first time doing it with him could be under canvas.’

  ‘I am not sleeping with Bruno in a tent.’

  ‘Oh, it’s so romantic,’ Ayesha said, with one hand on her heart. ‘Weddings bring out the best in people.’

  ‘Except brides.’ Eve said sarcastically, before adding, ‘present company very much excepted.’

  ‘I have sex camping all the time,’ Becca said. ‘As long as you’re quiet, and don’t have any interior lights on in the tent, it’s actually really fun.’

  ‘I’m not sure Bruno’s the camping type,’ Eve admitted. ‘His shoes were patent leather.’

  ‘My favourite shoes from childhood were black patent leather,’ Ayesha said.

  ‘The difference is, he’s a heterosexual male in his thirties,’ Becca replied.

  ‘He’s French,’ Eve retorted a little more haughtily than she’d planned to. ‘That means that ordinary clothing rules don’t apply to him.’

  ‘What about ordinary dating rules?’ Becca said, nodding over Eve’s shoulder making her turn around. Bruno was an hour and a half early for their coffee date. Eve offered up a silent prayer of thanks to the gods that she’d decided to get properly dressed and brush her hair before coming down to breakfast – she’d been so close to coming down in her zebra print
pyjama bottoms and a sweatshirt.

  ‘Hey Bruno,’ she greeted him with a much more nonchalant tone than she was feeling.

  ‘Bonjour Eve, ladies,’ he replied. ‘I hope you don’t mind me interrupting your breakfast, but we have a late booking for a wine tasting session at eleven. I did not want to miss my chance to see you this morning, and I realised that I do not have your number.’

  He didn’t want to miss his chance. ‘It’s no problem, will you join us?’ Eve said, motioning to the empty seat beside her.

  ‘As long as you’re sure it’s ok?’ He gestured for the young waitress to bring him a small coffee.

  Becca and Ayesha said ‘of course’ in tandem and then proceeded to kick Eve under the table.

  ‘Eve was just telling us what a great evening you had last night,’ Ayesha said, fluttering her eyelashes. If Eve didn’t know better, she’d say that she wasn’t the only one to be charmed by the wiles of the handsome Frenchman.

  ‘And I said to Eve that she should ask you to be her date for my wedding in a couple of weeks,’ Becca said, choosing to ignore the wide-eyed look of horror Eve had on her face. ‘It’s on August 6th. In Devon. In England. You’d have to sleep in a tent though. Is that ok? Do you like camping?’

  Now it was Bruno’s turn to look horrified, which he deftly changed to a blasé expression. ‘A tent?’

  ‘Yes,’ Becca replied. ‘Is that ok?’

  ‘You don’t have to say yes, think about it,’ Eve said.

  ‘If Eve would like me there with her, then I think it sounds fun.’

  Eve wondered why he was talking about her in the third person when their shoulders were touching, but then again, maybe it was a language thing. She’d have to learn to be more forgiving on the grammatical front if they had any chance of a future. She suddenly realised that three pairs of eyes were looking directly at her.