by Stacy Travis
“We can go back to my house if you don’t feel like staying here tonight,” he said after a while.
“No, I’m okay here. Why?”
“I just thought if you’d rather hide out at the house, we could do that tonight. Laur would drive us back.”
I rolled over to look at him. “Please. Don’t feel like I’m such a shut-in that I can’t be taken out in public. I just want to make sure you really want me there.”
“What else do I have to do to make you believe it?”
I thought about it. “Nothing. You’ve done everything.”
“That has been my goal since I met you.”
“You’ve more than exceeded it. I’m done looking for problems where there aren’t any,” I said.
“Promise?”
“I promise.” I really wanted to keep my word.
There was a knock at the door, which Chris answered. He tipped the room-service attendant. Instead of inviting him into the room to set up the table, Chris brought in a tray with covered dishes and silverware wrapped in heavy cotton napkins. The salt and pepper gleamed in tiny glass vials. I hoped it wouldn’t be something too French, like escargots, which required special tongs and forks and a separate ritual for the sauce. But I vowed to eat whatever he’d chosen. I’d already done enough that night to act like a pain in the ass.
A half bottle of wine sat on the tray, but there was no way I’d drink any more. “For me,” he said when he saw me eying it. “Believe it or not, you’re not the only one who gets stressed out at these things.” He uncorked the bottle and poured himself a glass.
“À santé,” I said, holding up an imaginary glass.
Chris brought the tray over to the bed, so I didn’t even have to get up. He spread out a picnic on top of the white duvet and unveiled the plates, on which sat two croque madame sandwiches—basically grilled ham and cheese with a poached egg on top—sliced in half, accompanied by fries. “I figured you might like some comfort food,” he said.
He always anticipated exactly what I wanted. I felt my eyes starting to well up. He looked at me with sympathy even though he couldn’t possibly understand what was going on with me. I didn’t really understand it myself.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Antibes
The next morning, I had a clearer idea of why I’d felt so emotional. We were long past the midpoint of our time together and had only a few days until I had to fly home. I couldn’t believe the past week had flown by so quickly. The days that followed spun by in an equally rapid series of beach walks, time by the pool, trips into town, and sunset dinners.
Before I knew what had happened, only two days and two nights remained before my flight back to the real world. I didn’t even want to think about my life back at home. The routine of going to work, going out with friends, and hanging out on my couch paled in comparison to what I’d seen the past couple weeks. Going home felt like moving backward instead of forward.
We spent the morning on the boat, just sailing south toward Saint-Tropez but not docking or dropping anchor. The point was to be on the boat in the sun, lounging side by side on matching yellow-and-white-striped towels in the front of the mainsail, feeling the salt air on our skin, and forgetting that the day after tomorrow would ever come.
I’d finally relented and tried on the expensive swimsuit with the cutouts and strings, and I had to admit, I felt glamorous wearing it.
Chris almost dropped his coffee when I came down the stairs in it, the caftan tied around my waist like a sarong. “Holy cow, I think my heart just stopped.”
“Turns out maybe I am a caftan kind of girl.”
I did my best to focus on the present because I didn’t want to waste what little time we had worrying about how I’d feel when I got on the plane. No point in that. I rolled onto my side and looked at Chris lying on his back with a second towel rolled up under his head, his sunglasses reflecting the sails, his whole body evenly tanned. He looked content. He’d created a nice life for himself, which I now understood was a needed respite from the crush of publicity tours, twelve-hour, filming days, and paparazzi at every turn. I couldn’t blame him one bit for living the way he did.
“I see you looking at me, but I’m too comfortable to move,” he said. “Everything okay?”
“Everything is great. I was just thinking about how glad I am that I was clueless about buying fruit. Otherwise, I’d never have met you.”
“I’m gonna let you in on a secret,” he said, still not moving a muscle. I couldn’t tell if his eyes were open behind his sunglasses. “I noticed you standing there at Monoprix, and I’d pretty much decided I was going to say something to you—I just didn’t know what. Then you gave me the perfect opportunity. So thank you.”
It made me happy, although I wondered why he hadn’t he told me that before. I rolled closer to him and kissed him. I didn’t feel like I could do more than that without thinking about how our time was running out. And I wanted to do whatever I could to avoid thinking.
I’d finally gotten more comfortable on the boat whenever it heeled, believing it would stay afloat with its giant hunk of metal underneath acting as a counterweight. Later that day, when the breeze kicked up, we sat on the low side, reclining, while Louis and the crew let the sails out and the boat zipped along under the warm sun.
Chris opened a bottle of Sancerre like we’d had the first night in Paris, and we sipped the cold wine and looked out over the hypnotic blue water. I couldn’t imagine ever getting tired of the view or the feeling of the wind and sun on my face.
A couple of hours later, the boat pulled into the slip, and Louis and his crew went about their post-sailing ritual while Chris and I went back to the house to change for dinner. He’d suggested we pull out all the stops and eat at a Michelin-starred restaurant in Juan-les-Pins, not far from his house. How could I say no? Earlier in the week, Laur had driven me to a fancy shopping area, where I’d splurged on a summery yellow-patterned dress that was perfect for a nice night out.
Chris nodded appreciatively when I came down the stairs in it. “Bought a little something the other day. Like it?” I asked, twirling to show him the sash tie in the back.
He nodded. “The dress is great, but like I said before, I like the person in it.”
I took in the full picture of him, tanned and gorgeous in his off-white linen pants and blue shirt. There was never a moment when he didn’t look good. Yes, it was going to be hard to say goodbye. But first, dinner.
Chapter Thirty
La Passagère, Antibes
The restaurant was on the terrace of a hotel, and our table overlooking the water’s edge was set with a white tablecloth and small plates and place settings. A couple was posing for a picture by the rail, which was covered in creeping-ivy leaves and opened out to the same span of water where we’d sailed earlier.
We opted for a tasting menu and wine pairing, which meant we were served an uncountable number of plates with tiny exquisite arrangements of foods in swirls of sauce, sprinkled with herbs and accented with a grapefruit slice here, a cucumber swirl there. With each course, the waiter poured a different half glass of wine meant to bring out the flavor of the food. I ate slowly, wanting to taste every nuance of the oyster, the scallop, and the shaved watermelon radish.
“What do you think?” Chris asked after our second course had been served.
“Everything is delicious. Have you been here before?”
“Once. And before you get all crazy wondering which leggy blond starlet I was here with, I’m gonna tell you I was here with my mom.”
“Thanks for supporting my paranoia, but I think I’m over it now.”
“Good to hear.” He lifted the second glass of wine, which had appeared next to his plate before he’d made a dent in the first. “I’m kinda thinking the wine pairing was a mistake. Neither one of us can keep up.”
“Think it’s too late to just go with wine by the glass?” I asked. He shook his head and called over our waiter, who wa
s more than happy to make the adjustment.
Despite the never-ending parade of dishes, each described in detail by our waiter, I never felt too full, and the wine didn’t overpower me. I was all too aware that the clock had begun ticking on my last hours in France—my last day on the boat, my last sunset. I had to stop torturing myself.
“This two weeks has been incredible. I really can’t thank you enough for sharing it with me,” I said.
“It’s been my absolute pleasure,” he said, looking at me the same way he had every day since we’d met.
“So… what’s next for you? Is there, like, a worldwide tour to promote the movie?”
“Something like that.” He looked uncomfortable, but I didn’t care. It had been eating at me all day.
“Can you elaborate?” I asked, hoping there was a shred of a possibility this wouldn’t have to end just because my vacation was over. Maybe he’d have to be in LA for a week. Maybe he’d want me to meet him…
He inhaled deeply. Then he exhaled and told me more than I wanted to know. “I have more interviews and more publicity in Europe coming up. Then we have the US premiere and a bunch of press in New York, talk shows and stuff, but that will wrap up in a month or so. And… that script I read, the one my agent’s been all over me to make a decision on… I decided to do it. We film on location in Ireland starting in September.”
So I had my answer. There was no point in talking logistics—“Maybe you could fly to visit” or “If you’ll be in LA sometime…” He was headed into back-to-back commitments. That was his job. And I had mine.
“Sounds like you’ll be busy,” I said.
“Always.” His was a life of one.
Our dinner ended with not one, not two, but three desserts. First we were served a small bowl of sliced strawberries in a balsamic reduction. Then we had a sliver of lemon sorbet sealed under a crust of hard sugar. And not to be outshone by fruit, two chocolate mini tortes filled with a mocha ganache arrived on a bed of coffee beans. Looking out across the water, I could see Île Sainte-Marguerite and the coast where we’d been in Cannes the night before. It felt like a world away.
“Are you ever in New York? Or would you want to visit?” he asked.
My heart skipped a beat. Of course, I wanted to say yes. With every fiber of my being, I wanted to know I’d see him again, and I didn’t want this to end. He reached out for my hand across the table. The sun was starting to set over the water in the distance. The clouds were perfectly placed to capture the yellow and pink glowing light in the sky.
“I think that might be too hard,” I said.
“Yeah. I know you’ve got a job. I just figured you might have more vacation days.”
“Sure, in a year. I pretty much used up everything to come on this trip.” That wasn’t what I was talking about when I’d said it would be too hard. I couldn’t be the friend he caught up with on a visit once in a while. I’d never get over him that way.
“Right. I hear you.”
“I wanna see you again… but…”
Maybe I didn’t really have a good reason to turn him down. If we made plans for a visit sometime in the future, I’d have something to look forward to, and leaving might not seem so bad. Instead of goodbye, it would be “See you soon.” That always felt better. Then we’d have a great weekend together in New York, and we’d have to say goodbye again. We’d end up right back where we were now, with him going off for six months to shoot a movie and me going back to my job. I’d feel like I was going in circles. I’d feel like there was no future, just a spread out series of fun in the moment. I’d already had that with Johnny. For once, I needed to feel like I was moving forward.
“I’m not sure it makes sense,” I said finally. “I think I need closure.”
He nodded as though in full agreement but his eyes burned with a pain I understood because I felt it too. He ran a hand through his hair, like he was trying to come up with another way this could go. I’d already thought through the possibilities—I’d been thinking for days. There were none.
“The way I feel about you… it’s not some fling. But my life is… complicated,” he said.
“Because of your job? Or because of some actual dark side you still haven’t told me about?”
“They’re kind of the same thing. I’ve been blessed in my career. I’m doing what I’ve dreamed about since I was eight, and I never take it for granted. If anything, I’m a slave to it because I’m afraid to lose it.”
He’d said it earlier: “If you slow down, they forget.” I remembered the words, but at the time, I hadn’t realized they had him in a stranglehold. It didn’t matter if the fear was real; it was real to him.
“I look at my parents, their marriage… they’ve been together for thirty-six years, and they’ll be together forever,” he said, looking away from me. I didn’t say anything. I was glad he’d finally opened up a little bit, even if what he was saying didn’t bode well for me. “I don’t think I’ll ever have that.”
“Because you’ll never feel that way about a person or because your work comes first?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer, but I needed to hear it. He didn’t speak for a couple of minutes. His gaze never left the water. He seemed to be working out what he wanted to say.
“I’m not sure,” he said finally. “I always thought it was both. Acting takes everything from me emotionally. I’m sure it doesn’t seem like that’s required for some of the roles I take, but—”
“I’m not questioning. I never even tried out for the middle school play. I have no idea what it takes to do what you do.”
He nodded but still didn’t look at me. “So, the only way I know how to do it is… I give everything I have to the work. I have to invest in it fully if I want to do it right—I’ve always believed that. But in the last few days, I’ve been wondering if that’s just something I told myself to let myself off the hook. So I didn’t have to invest in people. Or relationships.” He looked at me for a second, then his gaze went back to the ocean. “Life is pretty easy that way, actually. I’m always in control, and I never go out on a limb, because I’m not looking for anything. You’ve made me think differently about that for the first time.”
My heart overflowed with love for him. I wanted him to say what it seemed like he was trying to articulate. I reached out gently, like I was trying not to scare a timid animal, and touched his cheek. When he turned to look at me, I could see the agony in his face. “You’ve made me think differently too,” I said. But he didn’t look relieved. It seemed to make things worse.
“But I’m not at a place where I can change what I’m doing. Too many people have a stake in the outcome. It’s not just about me.”
“Shouldn’t it be? You’re not a robot. You get a say. It’s your life.”
“Maybe someday. Just not today.”
My heart sank. I’d learned my lesson from dating Johnny that it was better to let people be true to themselves than to try to change them. I had no interest in trying, only to end up exactly where I’d started.
But it made wonder if I’d ever find anything more permanent. Would there ever be a man in my life who could have fun in the moment and dig in for the rest of it?
“If you slow down, they forget,” I repeated, remembering the words of his agent, which seemed to be a guiding principle. “Yeah, I understand.”
Did I? Less than two months before, I’d upended everything, breaking up with Johnny and leaving to travel alone, not sure where that would lead. If I could do that, so could anyone. So could he. At the same time, I knew I’d only broken up with Johnny because I’d been pushed. I’d seen the truth for the better part of our year together, but the harsh words and the cheating gave me the excuse to act. I understood why Chris couldn’t veer from his path. He wasn’t ready. Maybe he’d never be ready.
By that point, I knew what I’d been feeling for him verged on love, if only because I’d been doing my level best to hold back the flood of feelings that would have
pushed it over into forever love. I couldn’t do that to myself. If I invested any more, I’d never get over him. If I’d just gotten a tiny inkling that he felt the same way, I might have considered seeing him again. But if he was feeling it, he kept those emotions hidden deep belowground. I decided I could do the same. I could stay even-keeled and be mature.
“Having a career like yours is a one-in-a-million lucky break. You have to go with it, even if it means making some sacrifices right now. You have a… larger calling,” I said.
“You have no concept of how hard it’s been,” he said, bordering on angry. “Knowing everything I feel when I’m with you has a deadline. Knowing it has to end.”
“But it has to,” I said, though a shred of me hoped that somehow I was wrong. I could have folded and given in to what I was feeling, but by staying resolute, I was convincing myself as much as I was assuring him. “I don’t see how it can’t.”
It was an opportunity for him to change his convictions, but how could I expect him to do that? “I know. It’s just sad,” he said.
It was more than sad because if I was honest, I doubted any guy I’d ever meet would measure up to Chris. How could he?
I’d have thought the rest of our evening would unfold beneath the dark weight of that conversation, but in fact, it was a relief to have finally brought everything into clear light. I didn’t have to wonder anymore about what to say or when to broach the subject of what we could or would be to each other after these couple of weeks together. Now that I knew, I could relax and try to enjoy what was left of my South of France vacation. With our time together fleeting, I wanted to lose myself in these moments with Chris while I still had them.
We stayed at our table until the sun had long since set and the sky had gone from orange and pink to midnight blue. Then we walked on the beach, carrying our shoes and letting the gentle surf run over our feet. Chris rolled up his pants, but I could see water marks along the bottoms. He didn’t seem to notice.
