by Chloé Duval
“Thank you, sir.”
“I am glad you are here. I wished to see you. I must leave for a time, and I was asking your daughter whether you would object to waiting for my return before departing.”
“Of course not, sir. Gabrielle and my employee can man the store while I remain here.”
“No!” Thomas exclaimed. “I mean…,” he continued, ill at ease. “I would like for the both of you to be here when I return. I would like to thank you properly for what you have done.”
Surprise painted itself on Maurice’s face, but he did not insist.
“As you wish. I imagine Étienne can manage for a little while longer.”
“Thank you, Mr. Villeneuve. I must leave you now. I have…many things to prepare before I leave.”
* * * *
An hour later, the entire castle staff had gathered before the main entrance, each wishing Thomas a swift and safe journey.
“Would you walk with me to the gate?” he asked Gabrielle as she lingered while the others hastened to return to the warmth inside.
She nodded, and they silently made their way up the path, Duchesse romping through the snow around them.
The sun was high in the sky, and the light reverberating on the snow was so blinding Gabrielle had to squint. A gust of icy wind slithered under her shawl, and she shivered.
“You are cold,” Thomas said. “You should go back inside.…”
“No,” she immediately replied. “I don’t want to go in.”
Not yet…
She wanted to savor every second of his presence.
They walked slowly, silently, as though to postpone the moment of their farewell. Of their goodbyes.
It was only goodbye. He would come back. He had promised. And Thomas wasn’t the kind of man who reneged on his promises, Gabrielle knew that much.
So why am I so choked up? she wondered. Why does my heart feel so heavy?
And if she was so distressed when she knew she would see him again, how would she react when they had to bid each other farewell for good? It was best not to think of it for now. She could barely hold back the tears rising in her eyes as they drew closer to the castle gate where Tornade waited. Closer to the moment he would leave.
“You do know that there are more modern ways to travel, don’t you?” she remarked with a forced smile as she gestured to the black horse, trying unsuccessfully to lighten the mood. “In a few weeks we will be in 1900 and you still ride on horseback.”
Images of their ride through the countryside in the middle of the snowstorm flashed through her mind.
It felt as though an eternity had gone by since that day when he had come to fetch her in the bookstore. So many things had changed.…
“I do know that there are more modern means of transportation,” Thomas replied, “but I prefer Tornade.”
Gabrielle smiled. Of course he would rather take his horse.
He would always prefer animals to machines. And to men, she was convinced of it.
As though she could feel something in the air, Duchesse came up to Thomas and slid her head under his hand. Gabrielle felt a pang of envy.
“She will miss you,” she murmured, stroking the dog’s side.
She wished she could imitate her and cling to Thomas, bury her face in his neck, slide her hands into his hair. And never leave him.
“I will miss her too,” Thomas said softly, and looked at her. “But I will miss you more.”
Gabrielle’s heart skipped a beat.
“Not as much as I will you,” she whispered, throat tight.
It happened in a fraction of a heartbeat. Before she knew what was happening, Thomas cupped her face in his hands and pressed his lips against hers, first gently, then more forcefully, as though he wanted to seal an unbreakable bond between them.
Half a second later, he was gone. He’d leapt onto his horse and galloped away without a backward glance.
Chapter 21
Alexandra
Angers
Present day
Neither the sun nor the birds had risen yet when my phone’s alarm rang a few—too few—hours later.
Exhausted, I had fallen into bed without opening Gabrielle’s diary in spite of my raging curiosity. I had slept fitfully, plagued with dreams I preferred not to recall. As a result, I felt more tired upon waking up than I had the previous evening.
Still half-asleep, I fumbled for my phone and stopped the alarm.
Could someone remind me why I had thought a balloon ride at the break of dawn was a good idea?
Yawning, I staggered upright and into the bathroom, hoping a good shower would wake me up and turn me into something remotely alive.
Once I’d brushed my hair and done my makeup, I was as presentable as I ever would be under the circumstances. I limped down into the hotel entrance to meet Éric. He was already waiting for me, comfortably ensconced in his seat and reading the newspaper. His hair was wilder than ever and his five o’clock shadow more pronounced than usual.
He got up when he saw me.
“Hello!” he greeted me with a smile when I came up to him on my crutches.
“Hello.” I muffled a yawn.
“Ready to go up?”
Where did he get his energy?
“Is it just me, or are you as excited as a child on Christmas morning?” I teased. “You can admit that you’re happy I bullied you into this, you know.”
“Yes,” he confessed. “I think I’m even somewhat impatient.”
“Really?”
“Here you go,” he went on, handing me a tall cup. “This should tide you over. Chai latte, is that okay? You said you loved it yesterday.”
Seriously? One whiff of the delicious aroma and I almost jumped into his arms. Only my cumbersome crutches preserved my dignity.
“Oh God… Thank you!” I moaned. “I could almost build an altar and worship you for this!”
“Only ‘almost’?” he questioned, one brow raised.
I snorted and literally fell upon the cup like a ravenous beast.
“Hold on, it’s—” Éric warned me as I took a large gulp.
“Ouch!” I cried, spitting out the searing liquid almost immediately.
“—hot,” he finished. “Are you okay? Did you scald your tongue?”
“A little, but I’ll live.”
“Want me to have a look? Check if it’s all right?”
“No, no need. Don’t worry!” I hastened to reply.
That was the last thing I needed. If he started to examine me, I might not make it out in one piece. Not so early in the morning, anyway.
“Fine, but tell me if it doesn’t fade.”
“I will.”
Not on your life!
“I also brought a few croissants,” Éric continued. “In case you’re hungry.”
So many attentions made me a little suspicious.
“Thank you…”
“You look surprised.”
“I’m not used to you being so thoughtful.”
“Hey, you said it yourself.” His smile was sardonic. “I’m not just rude.”
That’s kind of the problem.
“Are you hungry? Or do you want to save them for later?”
“I’d rather keep them for later, if you don’t mind. I’m not awake enough to eat anything right now; it’s too early for me.”
“No problem.”
He leaned down to pick up his jacket from the back of his chair. He paused when I spoke.
“Éric?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For the tea and croissants. It’s…really sweet of you.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, embarrassed.
“You’re welcome, princess.”
He smiled at me. It was al
most shy, with a sidelong glance, and it reverberated through every cell in my body, startling the butterflies in my stomach awake.
Crap.
As much to collect myself as to avoid his eyes, I stared down into my tea.
“Let’s go,” he said. “I brought the car up in front so you wouldn’t have to walk too far.”
Okay. So, to recap, he’d gotten up even earlier than the ungodly hour we had to rise at, just to fetch me from who knows where some tea and croissants and bring the car closer. For me.
Crappity crappity crap.
I stifled a sigh and sternly ordered the butterflies in my stomach to stop their shenanigans. And because I did not know how to react to this new, attentive, pleasant and way too attractive Éric in front of me, I reverted to the only type of interaction with him that I knew.
“Who are you and what have you done with Éric Lagnel?” I joked. “Are you trying to butter me up for something?”
“Absolutely not! Can’t even be nice without being told off for it,” he groused. “Next time you can fetch your damn breakfast yourself.”
“Phew, it is you! I was worried for a second that you’d been body-snatched and replaced with a polite pod-person!”
His gaze was deep and inscrutable but suddenly, against all odds, he smiled.
“You really are a piece of work, aren’t you? Come on. You’re not going to succeed in making me angry today, so there’s no point trying.”
Without asking permission, he snatched up my chai latte and my handbag and held the door for me. He escorted me to the car and helped me sit inside, folding the crutches into the trunk.
“Do you have the address?” he asked as I switched on the GPS in my phone.
I nodded.
“I programmed it when we were in the bookstore.”
“Good idea. It’ll save us some time.”
I selected our destination, and the dulcet tones of my fake Jamie rang out. Éric gave me a sideways look, one eyebrow raised, and I scrambled to switch into French.
“What accent is that? Irish?”
“Scottish,” I corrected as I raised my cup. “We all have our fantasies.”
“Really? Redheads in skirts are what make you fantasize?” he said, mockingly. “Good to know.”
Crap! I’d missed an opportunity to keep my mouth shut. I was so not going to discuss my fantasies with him in an enclosed space.
I hid my embarrassment with a shrug and gulped down my tea, now at a more acceptable temperature.
Éric barely contained a laugh, and we drove on in silence. The streets were empty, only a few bakeries and cafés open. On the horizon, the first rays of daylight were pushing back the night.
My cup of tea radiated gentle warmth that wrapped me in a cocoon. Head tipped back, lulled by the car’s rumble, the GPS’s voice and Éric’s presence at my side, I felt my eyelids grow heavier and heavier.
I fell asleep.
* * * *
“Alexandra? Alexandra!”
I felt a hand gently shake my right shoulder. I cracked an eye open and met a sky-blue gaze. A blissful sensation engulfed me, and I smiled. The face smiled back, and the blue eyes sparkled.
“Hey,” said the owner of that beautiful pair of eyes.
“Hey,” I replied hoarsely, still lost halfway between the blue and Morpheus’s arms.
“We’re here, princess.”
His words cut through the fog and sparked something in my brain.
I sat up, blinking, and looked around. I was in a car with an open door, and Éric was crouching in front of me. Everything came rushing back.
The balloon ride! I had fallen asleep on the way!
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “How long have I been asleep?”
“No more than an hour.”
The last dregs of sleep immediately vanished.
“What? Why didn’t you wake me earlier? I—”
“Relax, princess. I was kidding. It was barely twenty minutes. I let you sleep while I looked for our balloon among the others and talked to our pilot. Everything is ready. He’s waiting for us.”
“‘The others’? There are other balloons?”
Éric’s eyes lit up again, and he smiled.
“A whole field of them.”
He stepped aside and opened the car door wide, clearing my view to the field we were parked in.
Dozens of brightly colored balloons rose proudly, their envelopes straining toward the sky, ready to soar up like a flight of exotic birds. In the background, on the horizon, the sun’s soft orange glow stretched shadows impossibly long.
I was spellbound, eyes wide with wonder.
“It’s magnificent,” I breathed. “I didn’t expect so many! I thought it would be just us.”
“So did I.”
“I love it!”
“Okay, princess, ready to have the time of your life?” Éric asked as he leaned down to help me out of the car.
“Sooooo ready!”
I grasped his hand in mine and hauled myself out of the car, smiling like a little girl in front of Cinderella’s castle.
“Do you want your crutches?” Éric asked. He was still holding my hand.
I shook my head.
“They’ll be in the way. I can do without.”
“That’s what I thought. Let’s go, then?”
“Let’s go.”
* * * *
Our hot-air balloon was a rainbow of pastel colors, from pink to green to red and blue. The pilot, Franck, introduced himself and explained the safety rules for takeoff and landing. Then he described the gear he would be using and how it worked. Since we hadn’t been there when he’d inflated the balloon, he summarized the proceedings.
Then came the moment for us to climb into the wicker basket. Franck explained that since there were only two of us, we had enough gas for a two-hour trip. We’d be able to go somewhat farther than he usually did if we wished, a favor he granted us on behalf of Xavier Bourgeois being the one to send us. I immediately asked him if he knew Chandeniers and whether we could fly over it.
“I do know it, and if the winds are with us, we should be able to range that far.”
“That would be amazing! Thank you!”
“It’s time to take off,” Franck decided. “Ready?”
Next to me, Éric shot me a questioning glance. I nodded.
“Ready,” he replied.
“Hang on, then. Off we go!”
And he opened the gas valve, beaming. A flame shot out and heated the air inside the balloon. Gently, the basket began to rise into the air. Several of the aircrafts around us had already lifted off. It was an incredible sight.
A feeling of freedom and elation gripped me, submerging me as we inched away from the ground. I felt like I was flying. The basket was small and the sides were high, yet I could fancy myself standing on a rope, completely exposed to the elements. A cool breeze ruffled my hair.
As we climbed higher I swiveled my head around, trying to take everything in, not wanting to miss a fraction of the experience: the ground falling away, the people shrinking to the size of ants, the slowly expanding view as we cleared the trees, the cluster of balloons gradually breaking apart as they cruised at different speeds and in different directions, reaching for the sun, dozens of tiny shadows in the morning light.
And suddenly everything was silent. Total silence, without a bird or a gust of wind. We were higher than everything else, above the forest and the fields.
We were at the heart of a swarm of hot-air balloons and yet we were utterly alone, in the muffled silence of altitude and soft morning light.
It was astounding, magical. I felt excited, dizzy and incredibly serene all at once.
I turned to Éric, my eyes and smile full of wonder.
“It’s fantas
tic,” I whispered under my breath, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. “Absolutely fantastic.”
“It is,” he agreed, the same expression on his face.
His gaze captured mine for an instant. My heart was pounding in my chest, and my head was spinning slightly. I was suddenly very aware of him by my side, of his shoulder touching mine, of the sound of his breathing, of his dazzling smile. He too looked relaxed. As though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
He seemed happy. At peace.
It was the first time I had seen him look that way.
And it made me happy. Very happy.
It had been what I had been aiming for, after all.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“I am. Very much. Thank you, Alexandra.”
“You’re welcome, Éric.”
* * * *
And so over the next hour and a half, Éric and I discovered the Loire valley as we had never seen it before, admiring the silvery ribbon of a river snaking through the countryside, the vineyards that stretched as far as the eye could see like great stripes on the land. From time to time a cloud caught on a clump of trees, wrapping the treetops in unraveling white strips of cotton.
Then we flew over the first châteaux: Brissac’s square chimneys rising from the slate roof, Saumur’s geometrical towers and pointed rooftops, Montsoreau at the heart of the town on the banks of the Loire. Franck masterfully controlled the air currents and the balloon’s temperature so we could fly as close as possible, offering us an incomparable view of these majestic monuments.
Then our pilot steered us toward the Vienne River, and shortly before we reached Chinon, the castle of Ferté-Chandeniers appeared in all of its splendor.
“Look!” I cried as soon as I caught sight of it. “We’re here! We can see the castle! It’s beautiful from up here.…”
“It is.”
Before I could even ask, Franck swung down as low as he could the way he had with the other châteaux, bringing us just over the fire-ravaged west wing, half crumbled, the dovecote in the inner courtyard, the square tower that marked the entrance to the castle. The path that Gabrielle had ridden up to the castle in Thomas’s arms. The old stables where they had found the puppies.
From up here, the plants that had overrun the castle were even more obvious, green and lush. They spilled out of the windows, creeping over every surface, be it horizontal or vertical, coiled over the walls, disappeared into every crack.
