Page 65 of One Last Thing
Confusion flits across her expression. ‘Nico chose the wine weeks ago for the ball. I haven’t had anything to do with it.’
‘You . . . huh?’
‘Why, did he want my opinion on the wine? He hasn’t said anything.’
‘Oh, uh, no, I don’t know. I . . . I must have misunderstood. Sorry.’
‘Hi,’ Nico says approaching behind me, making me jump. ‘You ready to go?’
‘Yes, yeah, I’m ready,’ I say, doing my best to ignore his aunt’s eyes darting suspiciously from me to him and back to me again. ‘Mum should be here any minute.’
‘Here I am, darling! Sorry I’m late,’ Mum calls out right on cue, gliding down the staircase in an all-white flowing ensemble, holding Dad’s box of ashes up as though she’s fulfilling some kind of ancient prophecy.
When she gets to the bottom step, she reads my expression and says, ‘What?’ defensively.
‘Nothing. You look glamorous,’ I remark, which is true.
She looks amazing, actually. Her skin is glowing, her minimal make-up flawless, her hair blow-dried, her jewellery sparkling. I feel drab next to her in my black strap top and orange and pink floral skirt, the box of ashes in a shoulder bag.
‘Nico has assured me that this activity does not involve a horse, so I have dressed appropriately,’ she reasons.
‘What if it’s water rafting? Then it’s not appropriate,’ I point out.
She turns to Nico in horror. ‘Isit water rafting?’
‘I can’t tell you anything,’ he reminds her, before glancing again at her expression and taking pity, whispering, ‘It’s not water rafting. You look great.’
Nico and I share a smile as Mum turns and swans out of the chateau towards his car, and I allow myself to think that he might have made up the wine-tasting problem so that he could spend time with me – the idea sending my heart into such a frenzy, I sit in silence for the entire drive, too happy to trust myself to speak soundly.
But then we arrive at our destination.
My happiness deflates rapidly.
‘Nico, is that what I think it is?’ Mum gasps as we come to a stop.
‘You ever done this before?’ he asks, laughing at Mum’s excitement.
‘Never! And I’ve always wanted to.Henrydid this?’
‘Last year,’ Nico confirms. ‘He said he’d always wanted to as well.’
They both get out the car and Nico goes to the boot to get us some coats and hats that I hear him tell Mum might be necessary, while I numbly open the door and force myself out. Nico comes to stand next to me.
‘A hot air balloon,’ he states, beaming at me. ‘It’s a perfect evening for it.’
He leads Mum over to the man, who I assume to be the pilot, standing by the basket. He’s in his fifties I’d guess, with tanned skin and dark hair peppered with grey and crinkles around the corners of his striking green eyes. I follow the others towards him slowly and silently, the terror already making my hands tingle and bile rise in my throat.
With the blood pumping through my veins so loudly my ears are ringing, I can’t really hear what they’re all saying, but as I approach, Mum bursts out laughing at something the pilot says, before she turns to Nico and says, ‘Did you know about this?’ while he shakes his head.
‘Megan, darling, this is Laurence, our pilot,’ Mum announces when I reach them. ‘He was under the impression that this was a romantic sunset ride for two and has prepared the trip as such. He’s brought a post-flight feast of champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries and all sorts.’ She cackles with laughter. ‘How funny!’
I attempt a smile but it doesn’t work. Nico looks at me strangely.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know,’ Laurence says apologetically.
‘Laurence, I think it all sounds fabulous,’ Mum insists, reaching out to touch him on the arm. ‘Champagne after a sunset hot air balloon! The idea is so romantic, I might end up proposing to you!’
He laughs loudly, replying in flawless English, ‘I might be in danger of saying yes!’
