The Chateau of Happily-Ever-Afters Read online

  ‘That’s very morbid for such a nice, sunny Saturday afternoon, Jules.’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. We were actually getting along there for a moment. I thought I’d better do something to put a stop to it immediately. Getting along with you is unsettling.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ I mutter, unable to stop myself smiling at his light-hearted tone of voice.

  Maybe we were getting along, I think. But I can’t let you in. There’s too much at stake here, and if you’re conning me like my ex did, it’s not just my money I’ll lose this time, it’s Eulalie’s château, and I can’t lose that because of trusting the wrong person again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The library in the château is amazing. It’s on the highest level of the house and covers the entire floor, with one huge window at the back that looks out over our grounds, and another huge window at the front keeping watch over the driveway. Both have cushioned bay window seats installed, which are currently making multiple species of creepy-crawly comfortable.

  Eulalie must have loved it up here. She treasured books. In her flat at home, she had more books than anything else. From new ones she asked me to order online for her, to dog-eared tattered old favourites she’d read hundreds of times. She had two bookcases and enjoyed nothing more than finishing a book and standing in front of her bookshelves, running her fingers along the spines as she decided what to read next. It must have hurt her to leave this gorgeous library and move to such a scabby flat back in Britain.

  I throw open both the windows to air the place out. The sun is nearly setting outside, and despite the ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling in the centre of the room, there’s still no electricity up here, and I know I’ll soon lose the daylight coming in the windows.

  There’s a section of shelves in the middle with books clearly of Eulalie’s choosing, rows stocked with Barbara Taylor Bradford, Jilly Cooper, and Mills and Boon. Some of the other books in here are old, the kind of old that looks like they’ll disintegrate if I touch them, and they have French titles I couldn’t read even if they weren’t disguised by the shadows from the low light.

  The shelves stretch from floor to ceiling and line every wall around the room. There’s everything from Shakespeare to detective stories to what looks like French car manuals. I can’t believe I own a house with this many books in it. It’s a proper library. It’s much bigger than my local one at home. The wooden shelves are set back into the walls in a way that makes it look like the château was built around the library, rather than a library being added to the château. There are wooden ladders attached to the shelves to reach the highest rows, and I can’t resist climbing up one and sliding along, the rollers squeaking against the track as they slip through dust that hasn’t been disturbed in twenty years. I cling to the ladder and lean my weight forward to move it, sliding along with all the squeaky grace of a clumsy walrus. I feel like Belle when the old man lets her keep her favourite book as I slide back the other way, sending dust motes flying in my wake.

  ‘Are you re-enacting that scene from Beauty and the Beast?’

  I jump so much that I fall off the ladder and grab a shelf to keep my balance. ‘Bloody hell, Julian, make some noise, why don’t you?’

  ‘Sorry,’ he says, laughing. He doesn’t sound sorry at all.

  ‘Are you training to be a ninja or—’ I turn and point an accusatory finger in his direction and stop in my tracks. ‘Crikey, what happened to you?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  ‘But you have clothes on. A lot of clothes. And your hair…’

  He looks at the floor and brings a hand up to scratch at his ponytail. ‘Well, it wouldn’t be a day that ends with “y” if you weren’t complaining about my hair.’

  ‘I wasn’t complaining. It looks good, Jules, just… different. I didn’t realise you had so much. Whatever you stick it down with must be, like, industrial strength wallpaper paste or something.’

  ‘Something like that.’ He leans against the doorframe and looks at me, but there’s something in his eyes, something open and soft with no hint of his usual cockiness. I have a weird and inexplicable urge to go over and slip my arms around him in that massive hoody, but I force my feet to stay where they are.

  ‘Since when do you wear glasses?’

  ‘Since I was about ten years old and couldn’t see three inches in front of my face. Usually I’ve got contact lenses in but they irritate my eyes and I hate the feel of them.’

  I look him up and down, taking in the oversized blue hoody and black tracksuit bottoms clinging to his legs. I can’t get over how different he looks, from the messy little ponytail his hair is pulled into, to the glasses, the clothes. Even his stubble is looking scruffy.

  ‘Have we finished the appraisal of my appearance or would you like a scorecard and some kind of points system?’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry, Jules… I wasn’t being horrible. You look nice. I mean, you look the best I’ve ever seen you.’

  ‘I look like shit,’ he says with a self-deprecating laugh. ‘But I can’t be arsed to keep putting on the front. It’s fine to do it for a few days when I’m on jobs, but at home I just relax, and I haven’t been because you’re here, but neither of us is going anywhere for a while, so you’ll just have to get used to me kicking about like a slob.’

  ‘What part’s a front?’ I ask, but even as I say it, I understand. Julian’s guarded, I know that, and his perfect body and model looks are a huge part of his armour. His confidence in his looks means no insults ever hurt him, but standing here in the light of the setting sun through the windows, he looks nervous and insecure. He looks like a soldier without his shield. ‘You don’t have to put up any fronts for me,’ I say without letting him respond. ‘I couldn’t give a toss what you look like.’

  ‘It’s not for you, it’s for me. I don’t do well with strangers and you were a stranger. Looking my best gives me confidence.’

  ‘Ha. Like you need confidence.’ I can see his hands curling around each other in the hoody pocket on his stomach and I regret saying it because, standing here like this, he doesn’t look confident at all.

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s bloody exhausting. All that sucking in my stomach and smoothing my wayward hair down.’

  ‘You suck your stomach in?’

  He grins. ‘Only when I know you’re looking at me.’

  I shake my head but I can’t help smiling. Maybe he’s not so perfect after all. I suck my stomach in pretty often too.

  Standing in the doorway tonight, he’s not just a good-looking guy, he’s magnetic, and I can’t take my eyes off him. His hair is a lighter brown than it looks when it’s covered in gel, a warm tone that suits his skin, his blue eyes look bigger and brighter behind the black-rimmed glasses, even though I can see the bloodshot redness of irritation too. Instead of looking so unnervingly perfect, with his abs hidden under the hoody, he looks gentle and open. Now I understand why someone would find him attractive.

  Not that I do. Obviously.

  ‘So, what are you doing up here?’ I ask, sounding snappier than I mean to in my hurry to think about something other than what that chest would feel like through the buttery softness of his baby-blue hoody.

  ‘Honestly? I’m knackered. I just came to see if there was anything mindless to read for a bit before an early night.’

  ‘You came up here to get a book?’

  ‘No, I fancied supper but we’re out of cereal,’ he says, his voice deadpan. ‘I thought I’d try lightly roasted paperback instead.’

  ‘You read?’

  ‘Of course I read. What kind of person doesn’t read?’

  ‘I don’t kn—’

  ‘Why do you always do that incredulous “you” whenever I say something that doesn’t conform to the idea you’ve created of me? It’s like you can’t handle me not being the stereotype you’ve invented in your mind.’

  ‘That wasn’t an insult. You just do
n’t look like someone who reads.’

  ‘What does someone who reads look like?’ He snorts in disbelief.

  ‘Okay, let me put it another way. You don’t look like someone who has time to read between the four thousand sit-ups and nine thousand crunches and however many million push-ups you do every day to maintain those abs. If you read, I would imagine it’s listening to audio books on the treadmill.’

  ‘When have you ever seen me do crunches? Or any kind of an “up”?’

  I go to answer, but he’s right. ‘Well, you don’t have muscles like that because you eat ten tubs of Ben & Jerry’s a week, do you?’

  He smiles another one of his tight-lipped smiles. ‘I do sit-ups at home and I hate every one of them. Out here, I’ve got enough garden work that I don’t need to do any. Here, I go running twice a day, and that’s it. It’s been heaven.’

  I know he’s being honest about that. He loves being out in the gardens and anyone can see how much he’s been enjoying the lifestyle here.

  Jules goes over to the shelves, and I can’t help watching him out of the corner of my eye. His bare feet make no sound on the wooden flooring as he wanders up and down, running his fingers along spines, occasionally brushing away cobwebs to read a title.

  I force myself to concentrate on the window seat instead. I throw the scatter cushions towards the door to be washed, untie the cushioned seat pad and dangle it out the open window, giving it a good shake and sending insects falling to their deaths. As I start hauling it in, Julian’s beside me, helping me drag it back through the window. His fingers brush against mine on the cushion and it sends a spark through me. His arm is warm through his hoody where it’s pressed against mine, he’s solid and I like him next to me. I shake myself and take a step away, letting him pull it in the rest of the way.

  ‘Thanks,’ I mumble as I tie the cushion back into place on the window seat.

  ‘You’re welcome.’ The smile he gives me makes something in my stomach flutter and I’m going to have to have a stern word with myself. I cannot be thinking about this sort of thing.

  I’m surprised when Julian picks up a book and sits down in the window seat.

  ‘I was going to sit there,’ I say, sounding far more petulant than I intend.

  He holds his hand out, indicating the other side of the wide window bench. ‘Plenty of room.’

  He pulls his legs up and crosses them, leaning back against the side wall, and I once again have to tear my eyes away from him and go back to the books. I don’t know what to read, I don’t even know that I actually want to pick up a book and start reading, and I’m still not sure exactly why I came up to the library in the first place. The sight of Julian looking so good has short-circuited everything in my brain. All I’m sure of is that I wouldn’t mind talking to him more, the real him, the one he usually hides behind abs and hair gel.

  Eventually I can’t make myself stay away from him any longer. I pull the first book my fingers close around off the shelf and go to sit opposite him in the window seat.

  He’s not reading, just sitting with his head back against the wall and looking out of the window. ‘Stunning, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hmm?’ I ask, distracted by how relaxed he looks.

  He nods towards the setting sun. ‘This has got to be the best view in the château.’

  He’s not wrong there. It’s the highest room in the whole place, other than the towers, which are windowless and currently infested with a protected species of bat we’re not allowed to evict. Until now, I’d thought the gigantic kitchen was my favourite room in the house, but this one definitely outranks it.

  I know without a shadow of a doubt that this would’ve been Eulalie’s favourite room. I can picture her here, and although it makes me smile, it also leaves a hollow somewhere inside me. I’ve put off coming up here because I know how much time she’d have spent sitting on this window seat reading these books, and even though I know she’d want me to enjoy it too, I feel sad to be in her favourite place knowing she’s not here and never will be again.

  Julian hasn’t opened his book yet. He’s still staring into space outside the window, and sitting so close to him is doing me no favours on the distraction front. My feet are inches from his crossed legs, and my nose is filled with his aftershave, something ebony dark and musky, and the oak wood of a fallen tree he was breaking up earlier.

  I reach over and gently shake the sleeve of his hoody. ‘Why tonight?’

  ‘Hmm?’ He rolls his head towards me.

  ‘Why did you decide to let a barrier down tonight? What’s different?’ I force myself to sit back and let go of the soft sleeve covering his arm.

  ‘It’s not a…’ He looks down at himself and then back up at me. Eventually, he sighs. ‘I don’t know. I just couldn’t be arsed. I got wood dust in my eyes earlier and they’re irritated as hell, so I couldn’t face putting my lenses back in. It’s windy outside and when I got out from under the freezing cold hosepipe shower, I was chilly, I didn’t want to walk around in nothing but shorts. I started brushing my hair down and I couldn’t think why I was bothering. That’s not me at home. I live like this because there’s no one there to see me. This place is home now for however long, and I can’t keep walking around like I’m on a photoshoot just to annoy you.’

  ‘It doesn’t annoy me.’

  ‘Well, to make you uncomfortable then. I was trying to be the bad housemate and make you leave.’

  ‘And now?’

  He shakes his head. ‘I meant what I said before. I don’t want to fight with you. We’re adults and we’ve got half this place each, no matter what. We may as well get along.’

  Sometimes I’ve wondered if he’d be quite easy to get along with.

  ‘Who knows,’ he says with a grin. ‘Maybe I’ve just got comfortable with you.’

  ‘Yeah, I can really imagine—’ I stop myself because I suddenly can imagine him being uncomfortable with someone. ‘So let me get this straight. When you’re comfortable with someone, you put your clothes on, and when you’re uncomfortable with someone… you take them off? That’s, like, the complete opposite of a normal human being.’

  ‘I know my body is imposing. When I want something to go my way, taking my shirt off often helps.’ He looks down. ‘Sorry, that wasn’t meant to sound egotistical or threatening, but I’m not good at talking or selling myself, and in the modelling industry, you let your physique do the talking. I don’t get myself jobs, my agent and my abs get me jobs. I have nothing to offer but the way I look, it’s what I rely on, and I was trying to apply that to this situation too.’

  There’s that nothing to offer thing again. It bothers me but I don’t understand it. I want to ask him, but I know he’ll cut me off just as sharply as he did in the kitchen the other night. There’s already a redness in his cheeks and a look on his face that screams he’s said too much.

  I decide to be honest too. ‘For what it’s worth, you look a thousand times better tonight. Usually it looks like you’ve got “made in China” stamped on the bottom of your foot.’

  He lets out a laugh that makes his eyes twinkle. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of your insults.’

  ‘That wasn’t an insult. Not tonight.’

  He smiles a tired smile and rolls his head back to looking out of the window. ‘Getting dark.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I’ve left the torch downstairs.’

  ‘I know,’ I say again, because I have no desire to move from this spot. The darkness in the room means there are no reflections in the window glass, giving us the perfect view of the sun descending over Normandy, a gentle breeze rustling through from outside. It’s got to be the most beautiful place in the world, and it makes me want to pinch myself to make sure I’m awake. How can it be possible that my batty old neighbour owned somewhere like this and wanted me to have it?

  ‘Thinking about pinching yourself?’

  I look at him look
ing out of the window. ‘Yep. How’d you know?’

  ‘I’m in a beautiful country, sitting in a beautiful library, on the top floor of a beautiful castle, that I somehow part own. It’s a common feeling.’

  ‘Speaking of pinching, how’s your hand?’

  He sniggers. ‘Nice segue. It’s fine, thanks. See?’

  He holds his hand out to me, and even though it’s dark and I can’t see a thing, I wrap my fingers around his and rub my thumb softly over the holes at the base of his thumb. There’s nothing left of the snake bite but two tiny raised bumps. ‘Good.’

  I should instantly drop his hand, I know I should, and yet when I go to, it’s like I’ve got glue on my fingers.

  ‘I’m glad it wasn’t poisonous,’ I say, still rubbing my thumb against his. I should’ve let go long ago and now I’m just making up words to extend the time I have his hand in mine.

  He squeezes my hand. ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Right.’

  I force myself to let go. I can feel his eyes on me and I’m glad of the darkness to hide my blush.

  ‘Were you planning on reading that?’

  I look down at the book in my lap. It’s all in French and there’s a picture of a dismantled car on the front. ‘How do you know I’m not into French car repair?’

  He laughs. ‘Don’t tell me, it was too dark to see what you were picking up?’

  ‘Yeah. Exactly.’ I get the feeling he knows exactly why I didn’t look at the book I grabbed, and when he looks as soft and tired as he does tonight, I don’t mind him knowing.

  He shifts on the seat and stretches out, uncrossing his legs, and when he recrosses them, his calf lands across the top of my feet, and stays there until the sun is gone and the crescent moon has risen on the horizon.

  I don’t mind as much as I should.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘All right, what’s going on?’ Kat demands as she pushes her cart in. ‘Why are you voluntarily outside? Anyone would think you were waiting for him to come back from his jog…’