Page 88 of One Last Thing
He’s standing in reception greeting other guests as I descend the stairs. In a tailored tuxedo, he looks up and stops mid-sentence. His eyes widen and his lips part a little as he breaks into a smile, excusing himself from his current company to step around them and come over to greet me at the bottom step without breaking his gaze once. Butterflies dance uncontrollably around my stomach. My hand sliding down the banister, my heart thuds so hard against my rib cage it feels like it might burst right out my chest. I stop in front of him.
‘Hi,’ he says in a raspy voice.
‘Hi,’ I say, feeling shy at the way he’s looking at me.
He breaks into a wide grin, the dimples appearing and making my breath catch. I love his smile. ‘You are beautiful.’
Later, I’ll think about the way he said it, those exact words, and I’ll decide wholeheartedly that it’s much betterthan someone describing me as anything else because he knew me during my awkward early teenage phase when I thought chokers were flattering and has seen me first thing in the morning after a night camping and has witnessed me snap unfairly at my mum and get upset over my dad’s wishes from beyond the grave and he’s seen me approach a hot air balloon as though I’m walking to the gallows and paddle on a homemade raft like I’m rowing for Oxford and he still said, ‘You are beautiful’ as though he meant it.
***
Nico and the team at the chateau have brought the ballroom back to life. Warmly lit by the sparkling chandeliers and atmospheric flickering candles, elegantly dressed guests roam its polished floor, sipping champagne and admiring the golden-gilded decoration of the walls and the ornate detail of the ceiling. The tall windows are open, letting in the cooler evening air and the area outside is covered by a canopy of festoon lights. It’s magical, like something out of a live-action fairy-tale movie.
Nico led me in, having offered me his arm, and I’d hoped we might be able to spend time together, but he was soon approached by a waiter who whispered in his ear and he consequently apologetically explained that he was needed elsewhere. He didn’t leave me deserted though, he brought me over to a group of men I recognised straight away –my winning teammates from the raft race, who spotted me approach and gave me a hero’s welcome, throwing out their arms and cheering.
Nervous at first to tag onto their group with no friends of my own, I soon relax into their company and they’re kindenough to speak English to each other while I’m around. We toast our win and they ask me about my life and I ask about theirs, and I end up having a lot of fun and laughs with them. As the host, Nico has to do a lot of mingling, but I notice that he continues to return to my side whenever he can. And on one occasion, when the band has got the majority of the guests up on the dance floor, I’m lingering at the side with one of the guys, Rahim, and I’m laughing my head off at one of his comments about his mate’s dancing and Nico comes over to check in, asking what we’re talking about and placing his hand on the small of my back. He leaves it there, my whole body tingling at his touch. A tiny gesture, but it feels like a statement. It feels . . . territorial almost.
Mum appears in a striking grey-silver, long-sleeved silk dress and incredible statement diamond earrings that catch the light and blind everyone when she shakes her head. With her dazzling smile and confident presence, she looks so elegant that it doesn’t surprise me she’s soon surrounded by admirers, some of whom I learn are fans of her books and have been told in advance that she’d be here. I’ve managed to have about two minutes of conversation with her before Laurence, the hot air balloon pilot, muscles his way through the crowd to take her hand, kiss it and guide her towards the dance floor.
‘Very smooth,’ I comment with a smile to no one, watching them go.
The ball is a huge success, the band is brilliant and the atmosphere in the room is electric. The guests get louder and rowdier as the lights dim and the night goes on. It feels like someone’s wedding. Everyone in the roomwantsto have a good time, they want to dance and drink and eat and be merry and happy. Nico has given them an excuse to dressup and feel good about themselves, and I have no doubt that, from now on, the Château du Chèvrefeuille black-tie ball is going to be an annual event.
Later in the night, when it’s dark out, Nico finds me sitting alone outside beneath the canopy of lights. The smell of the honeysuckle along the walls of the chateau is particularly potent in the warm evenings and I’ve been sitting out here, inhaling its lovely scent and finding a strange comfort in it.
‘There you are,’ Nico says, as though he’s been looking for me. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I wanted some air,’ I assure him, while he takes the seat next to me. I hold up the glass of rosé I’m currently enjoying. ‘This was definitely the right choice.’
‘It seems to be going down well.’
‘The whole night is going down well,’ I say as he tugs at his collar and exhales, like he hasn’t had a moment to stop and think about it. Before I can stop myself, I reach over and take his hand, prompting him to bring his eyes up to meet mine. ‘Congratulations, Nico. You did it. You made this a reality.’
The corners of his mouth pull up into a smile as he gazes at me and heat flushes up my neck and into my face as I think about our night in the ballroom when he discussed this dream fifteen years ago and I wonder if he’s thinking about the same thing.
‘Megan,’ he says in a thick voice, ‘would you . . . would you like to dance?’
Not really, I never like to dance. But with Nico?
‘Yeah,’ I say.
He doesn’t let go of my hand as we stand up, moving his fingers to link through mine and leading the way back insidewhere the band is playing an upbeat song. But instead of dancing like the rest of the guests happily crooning along and wildly flailing their arms in the air, Nico turns to face me and, with one hand clasping mine, the other moves around my waist, pulling me close and we sway slowly together, my cheek against his jawline. My head spins from being so close to him, consumed by how good his cologne smells, how warm and strong his hand feels as it slides from my waist round to my back.
I swallow. ‘Nico?’ I say without moving my head, keeping my eyes locked over his shoulder at the guests dancing giddily around us, the music blaring but somehow faded in the background thanks to the intensity of my feelings.
‘Yes?’ he replies, his breath tickling my ear and sending a shiver down my spine.
‘Do you ever think about that night? When we came here to this room?’
He takes a moment and then says quietly, ‘All the time.’
Neither of us says anything else, but I grip his shoulder that bit tighter and he pulls me that bit closer, and I don’t want this song to ever end. But, like everything, it has to, and when everyone breaks into applause, we do the same, pulling apart to join the clapping and then Nico is needed again elsewhere and he apologises and I smile and say that’s fine, even though I feel cold and bereft without him near.
I realise Mum isn’t anywhere to be seen and I choose to think she’s gone to bed earlyalone, rather than the other option which is that Laurence has whisked her upstairs – there’s got to be something tragic about my mum having a better sex life than I do –and as the night begins to wind down, I feel a sadness that this surreal evening is soon going to be over.
Before the last song is played, Nico is dragged on stage by the staff and applauded while he looks suitably embarrassed, thanking everyone for coming and then getting off the stage as soon as possible. I hope he might find his way back to me, but he’s surrounded by others wanting his attention and by the time the last song ends, I’ve lost sight of him. I say goodbye to my raft teammates who speak to me in a combination of slurred French and English and I linger a little while guests filter out the ballroom and the band packs up. I spot Françoise helping the staff clear the tables and head towards her.
‘Have you seen Nico? I wanted to say congratulations. For tonight,’ I say casually.
