by Holly Rayner
Alain was already pushing Julien into the crowd before I could protest, so I gave them both a feeble wave as the party consumed them and I was left alone.
Walking through the party, I decided that French people were some of the most beautiful people in the world. Every woman I saw had shiny hair and perfect skin. They were all at least six inches taller than I was, their limbs long and willowy. I felt like the runt of the litter running around with a group of show dogs.
Aside from the few people who recognized me from my performance and offered me thickly accented congratulations, no one seemed to pay me any attention. And that was perfectly fine by me. I hovered near the bar for a little while, alternating flutes of champagne with sparkling water until my insides felt like a sixth-grade science experiment ready to explode. Then, I shuffled through the French doors and into the outdoor pool area.
Lights turned the water a sea-glass blue and sent light rippling along the undersides of the trees that hung over the water. Guests in swimsuits were piled onto floaties shaped like race cars and yachts. Others floated along the edges of the pool, their arms resting against the concrete as they held their drinks out of the water. Many others, like myself, simply milled around the edge of the pool, contemplating whether they should slip their shoes off and put their toes in the water.
“Are you here with Julien?”
I turned to find a beautiful brunette standing in front of me. Freckles were brushed across her nose and cheeks like fairy dust and she cut a fearsome shape in a plum dress that hugged her every curve.
She was intimidating, and I didn’t even know her yet.
“Well, he gave me a ride to the party,” I said. “So, I suppose I am. Though, I’m really here on my own, as you can see.”
She nodded, unconvinced. Her nude-colored lips were pursed together, bringing out the dimples in her cheeks.
“I hear you opened the race with a song?”
“Yeah. A few songs, actually,” I said, trying to figure out why the woman seemed moderately displeased. She looked down at me like I smelled bad and she was trying not to breathe through her nose.
“I’m sorry I missed it,” she said. “I was out giving interviews before today’s race. Some journalists wanted an opinion of a former racer for their articles.”
“You used to race?” I asked.
“Most of my life. I only recently gave it up.” She nodded smugly and then held out her hand. “I’m Geneviève.”
“Ashlynn,” I said, taking her thin fingers in my own. “Why did you quit, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“The lifestyle wasn’t for me, anymore,” she said with a shrug.
“The lifestyle?” I asked.
She leaned towards me as though she were going to whisper, but then continued talking at normal volume.
“All the racers are total playboys. I got to the point where I wanted to settle down and have a family, and I knew that would never happen if I kept surrounding myself with drivers.”
I nodded, trying to understand what the woman was suggesting—because it was clear by her raised eyebrows that she was trying to lead me to something.
“Surely, they can’t all be like that,” I said, half-laughing, the other half drowning in a cold kind of dread.
“I suppose they aren’t all playboys, but most of them are,” she said. Then, she turned to me, her mouth open like she’d just remembered something. “You know that Julien and I used to date, right?”
Her words opened up a scary place inside of me, awakening fears I’d been pushing down. Julien was gorgeous and famous across Monaco, not to mention wealthy. I knew it was naïve to believe that maybe he spent his Friday nights on his couch watching movies or reading a good book. He was young, so of course he’d be out on the town with someone most nights.
I had just kind of hoped that the “someone” he did things with would be a malformed murderer. I could easily exceed those expectations.
“Umm…no,” I said, trying to act nonchalant about the somewhat devastating news. “We haven’t known each other very long, so we aren’t really sharing that kind of information yet.”
“Oh,” she said, eyes wide. “Well, prepare yourself.”
I let out a quick laugh, hoping to end the conversation.
“His list will be pretty long,” she whispered.
I nodded my head along to the music playing in the other room, working desperately to find anything to distract myself and end the conversation. But Geneviève seemed insistent upon ruining my night.
“Here’s another of Julien’s ex-girlfriends, now,” she said, waving at a busty brunette as she passed by carrying a drink in each hand. “And he had an on-again, off-again thing with the girl dancing on the bar. And I think he dated a few of the cocktail waitresses working the party tonight.”
“I need another drink,” I said cheerily.
I wasn’t thirsty at all, and I was honestly already a little tipsy, but I needed something to do with my hands. My body wanted to fidget.
“Good thinking,” Geneviève said, following along behind me.
She waved to people as we moved through the party together. Everyone seemed to know her, and everyone seemed to like her. Watching her move with such effortlessness and grace made the fact that she and Julien used to be together that much worse.
Geneviève ordered a drink for both of us and then turned back to me, elbows resting on the bar like she was in a magazine photoshoot.
“Since things between the two of you are relatively new, let me be the first to warn you: Julien Garnier will break your heart.”
Geneviève had eased back into the conversation as though we’d never stopped talking about it. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and looked down at me.
I felt two inches tall. I wanted to tell her that she didn't know Julien. Or me, for that matter. What could she know about our relationship? But the truth was, I barely knew Julien.
I knew his smile made my stomach flip. I knew he smelled like a forest after summer rain. I knew about his hobbies and his career. But I didn't know him or his past. Geneviève did, though. So, even though what she’d said felt like a knife in my gut, I felt like I had to trust her.
“I don't mean to step on any toes,” she continued when I didn't respond. “From woman to woman, I just felt you should know. Julien is an adrenaline junkie who is always looking for the next shiny thing. It makes you feel special at the time, but when it's over, you'll be tossed aside without a second thought. So, feel free to enjoy the ride as long as you can, but don't get too attached.”
Geneviève left not long after that, though I couldn't say exactly when, and I was left alone to watch the women who were once in Julien's life wander around the party. They were all leggy and gorgeous with warm smiles. And the fact that they were at this party spoke to their station in life. All of them had to be accomplished in one way or another.
What did I have to offer that could beat that?
If Julien had grown tired of being with those women, how much more quickly would he grow tired of a washed-up opera singer and divorcee?
I was sitting by the edge of the pool feeling insignificant and miserable when someone settled next to me. I expected it to be Julien, so I didn't look up, not yet ready to see his face.
“Are you not having a good time?”
My head snapped up to find Alain, his blond hair fluorescent from the blue light off the pool. He rolled up the bottoms of his pant legs and dipped his feet in the pool.
“It's a great party,” I said.
“You didn't answer the question.” He tipped his head closer to me until I could feel his breath on the side of my face.
I smiled and casually scooted away from him. “I'm just tired. Have you seen Julien?”
Last I knew, the two men were together—yet here was Alain, and Julien was nowhere to be found. Had he forgotten about me so quickly?
Alain wrinkled his forehead. “Not for a while, no. I'm sure he’s ming
ling with his adoring fans.”
I understood what Alain meant, and all at once, he seemed to regret saying it, trying to walk back his words. “He could also be in the bathroom. Sensitive stomach, that one.”
I gave my best approximation of a smile, but it felt sour on my lips and I gave up.
“If I see him, I'll send him your way,” Alain said, placing a warm hand on my shoulder for a second before pulling his feet out of the water and jumping up to rejoin the party.
I was just trying to decide whether I should leave or not when I heard my name being yelled.
“Ashlynn!” Alain was standing on the opposite side of the pool, his hands on Julien’s shoulders. “I found him for you.”
Julien smiled back at his friend and then tossed the same winning smile at me. He was the life of the party. The beau of the ball. People clapped him on the back as he walked towards me, and I noticed his feet swaying from their path occasionally. The set of his shoulders, usually stiff and business-like, had relaxed. It was obvious he’d had a few drinks while he’d been away. I wondered what else he’d had time to do while he was gone.
A woman in a cocktail dress was pushed into the far end of the pool, the culprit following after her with a cannonball. The water sloshed up against the concrete as Julien lowered himself next to me and sighed.
“Sorry. I had a few drinks with some friends,” he said. “They caught me at the bar and wouldn’t let go. I only just managed to escape.”
“That’s all right.”
My lips were pulled tight into a smile. I didn’t want to feel this way. I wanted things to go back to the way they’d been before I’d talked with Geneviève. I wouldn’t be in Monaco long and I wanted to enjoy it. However, the mix of jet lag and alcohol and romantic feelings I didn’t know what to do with made me emotional and vulnerable.
The music over the speakers shifted from mindless techno to a salsa tune, and Julien jumped to his feet in one quick movement and held out his hand.
“Do you want to dance?”
Couples around us were already beginning to move towards a makeshift dance floor—a clear patch of grass in the corner of the pool area beneath a web of glass bulb string lights. An hour before, the idea would have sent my heart racing and made me nearly delirious with excitement. Now, the thought of being close to him—especially in front of so many women he’d had dalliances with in the past—felt humiliating.
“Actually, I’m feeling a little tired,” I said, moving away from the pool to put my shoes on.
Julien kept his hand extended towards me for a few more seconds before letting it fall against his thigh.
“But the night is still young. We just got here.”
“We’ve been here for over an hour,” I said, trying and failing to slide the strap of my heel into the buckle. My fingers felt like sausages.
Julien bent down and began to help me. I wanted to push him away, but I knew it would make me look like a petulant child. So, I leaned back on my palms and let him slide the buckle into place. Goosebumps moved up my leg when his fingers brushed against my ankle, and I was annoyed at my body for responding to him. For letting him win me over, even when I knew the truth about what we were to one another.
I was the latest shiny object in his collection.
“But we’ve spent hardly any time together,” he said. “I mean, I know that’s my fault, but still, I’d like to see you. Your flight leaves tomorrow night.”
“All the more reason to get a good night’s sleep,” I said tightly. “Thanks for everything, Julien.”
Before he could say anything, I walked back across the patio and into the main reception hall. Geneviève, who was having a drink with Alain at the bar, waved at me as I passed. I pretended not to see her. The last thing I needed was for her to see me cry.
Chapter 10
Julien
When Ashlynn’s voice had broken through the noise of the crowd, just before the race had begun, a warmth had spread through me. Even when she’d been singing the opera-inspired pop in Vegas, her talent had been obvious. But when she had finally been able to let loose and sing the songs she’d been trained to sing, it was an entirely new level. For a few minutes, the race had ceased to exist, and everyone had been there just to watch Ashlynn perform.
Though I knew I didn’t have any claim on her talent—I hadn’t discovered her or anything—I’d still felt proud as we’d moved through the after-party. Ashlynn couldn’t understand most of what was being said, but everyone had been raving about her, going on and on about how beautiful her voice was and how she’d given the race a touch of class.
And then, Ashlynn had run out of the party so fast, I didn’t get a chance to follow after her. I couldn’t understand what had happened. When I’d left her just an hour before, she’d seemed fine. I knew she didn’t know very many people at the party, but everyone was drawn to her. I could tell she was a little reserved, but she had already come out of her shell so much since I’d first talked with her in Las Vegas. I’d assumed she’d make friends easily.
But then, I’d come back, and she wouldn’t even look at me.
I grabbed another shot from the bar, knowing I’d regret it in the morning. I always made it a rule not to drink much during the tournament. Having a hangover and driving at three-hundred kilometers per hour did not mix well. Still, I needed the burn of the alcohol to clear my head.
“What happened to your good luck charm?”
Alain was at the end of the bar, next to Geneviève. She winked at me as I looked over, and it was all I could do not to scowl at her.
“She was tired,” I said, using Ashlynn’s excuse, which I knew was fake.
“She seemed fine when I was talking to her,” Geneviève said quietly.
I snapped my attention back to her. “You talked to Ashlynn?”
She nodded and grinned. “We got a drink together. Lovely girl. You sure know how to pick them.”
“Not always,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “But Ashlynn is great.”
Geneviève’s smile cracked around the edges, but she took another drink from her glass and looked off towards the party, suddenly very intrigued by the crowd of people drinking and dancing.
She and I had gone out for a few months. It had never been anything serious. Not to me, at least. Geneviève had been a fellow racer, which I’d thought would give us a lot in common, but it turned out that a love of moving fast was the only thing we’d shared.
Geneviève had liked the lifestyle that being on my arm could offer. Every weekend together had been spent at the biggest parties, eating the finest food, and shopping at the most exclusive stores. Most of the time, it hadn’t even seemed like she noticed I was there with her. For Geneviève, it had all been about the status of being with Julien Garnier, rather than actually being with me.
Still, when I’d told her that I thought we should stick to being friends, she’d taken it harder than I’d thought she would. I suspected she was a large reason so many people believed me to be such a heartbreaker. When I had no longer been willing to provide the lifestyle she’d wanted, she’d used our “breakup” to garner sympathy.
Since then, she and I hadn’t had much to say to one another. So, the idea that she had been talking to Ashlynn brought nothing but dread.
“I saw her, too,” Alain said, wrapping an arm around Geneviève’s waist and pulling her against him. She nestled into him automatically, though didn’t take her eyes off of the party. “She was looking for you, and I told her I’d drag you away from your many admirers.”
I groaned internally. That made it sound as though I’d been surrounded by a group of women rather than talking with fellow racers. Ashlynn probably thought I’d ditched her, and had only come back when Alain came looking—when really, I’d been trying to pull myself away from my friends for the better part of thirty minutes, desperate to get back to Ashlynn.
I had less than twenty-four hours to spend with her, and I wanted to make the most of it. A
nd now, it didn’t seem as though I’d get to spend any more time with her at all.
Geneviève and Alain, whether they’d meant to or not, had ruined everything. What could I do to make things right again?
Chapter 11
Ashlynn
Despite the jet lag that burned my eyelids, I didn’t sleep much that night. I tossed and turned amidst the luxurious bedding, thinking every noise in the hallway would be Julien coming to make things right. But he never showed.
I wasn’t sure whether that was a relief or not. If he had shown up, I wasn’t even sure I would have answered the door. And if I had, I don’t know that I would have been able to accept any apology he made. How could I know that he meant what he said after everything Geneviève had told me?
When he didn’t show up, it only confirmed that he didn’t care for me. And that made me wish more than anything that he did. I wanted him to care enough to leave the party and knock on my door and fight for me.
But what would he even be fighting for? I was leaving that night on a flight back to America. We would probably never see one another again. The whirlwind romance between us had been in my imagination.
So, unable to sleep and incapable of thinking about anything but the words I wished Julien would say to me, I decided to get out of bed and pack for my flight.
I hadn’t unpacked much at all, considering I’d only been in the country for two days, but still I pulled everything out and refolded it. I showered and then gathered together my small bottles of shampoo and conditioner and face wash in my makeup bag. When all of that was done, I tried to lay back in the bed and watch TV, but my head hurt too much to read the subtitles at the bottom of the screen.
So, I called Brianna.
She finally answered after a dozen or so rings, her voice hoarse.
“Oh my gosh,” I said, slapping my forehead. “It’s only one in the morning there.”
