Page 83 of The Last Kiss

“People come here on holiday?” I look up at the grand old building, beautifully preserved. His gaze must follow mine because he adds.

“She saved the building really. We would never have been able to keep it going without the foresight she had.” Opening his door, he comes around to my side and opens mine. Awkwardly, I step out, but then breathe a sigh as he takes my hand and relinks our fingers. “Come, I’ll show you.”

I swallow, his mother sounds formidable and frankly terrifying if she runs this single-handedly.

“Don’t look so nervous. No one bites here. Well, apart from me.” He winks and my stomach give a little dive straight down to my toes.

Under the scorching heat we follow a golden pathway around the side of the building. When we’ve turned the corner my feet grind to a halt. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,’ I gasp.

In front of what once must have been a large patio for holding parties on, overlooking immaculate lawns and fancy shaped bushes—seriously is that a swan?—is now a fine dining area. Silver cutlery shines, almost blinding as it reflects the sun, laid on crisp white tablecloths. The dining area is set under a large rustic wooden structure and as I peer up, holding my hand against the glare of the sun, I can see where canopies must stretch over the whole space.

“What is this place?” I turn, trying to take it all in.

“A,” he swirls his hand while he thinks of the word. “Gastronomique, you know, gourmet holiday destination. People come here to stay and eat well.”

“A food holiday?” I quirk a brow. “Normally when people have a food holiday it means they are starting a diet.”

He drops his head to one side, flashing me a white smile. “Mmm, not so much here.”

“So, gourmet food?” There are immaculate waiting staff putting out glassware.

He answers with a typical shrug.

“Exactly how gourmet are we talking?”

“Dominique!” he hollers at a young chap sweating under a white shirt and black tie before firing off some quick instructions.

It really is too late for me to learn French properly. It seems almost a shame.

“You will find out tonight,” he turns back and slips his hand into mine again. “I don’t normally eat out here, but tonight for my guest I will. Maman will be pleased. She always wants me to show my face more.”

“Your face should be seen everywhere,” I blurt, earning me a warm press of his mouth on mine.

“With you by my side I will willingly oblige.”

“I didn’t bring anything posh to wear. This is as smart as it gets.” I motion to my now creased sundress.

He shrugs. “Not to worry. We will find you something.”

Okay… in a closet full of ex-lovers’ clothes? Stop it, Julianna.

“So, if you don’t like the dining bit, which is your domain?”

His eyes linger on my mouth for a moment, and I find myself holding my breath. “Come, I’ll show you, and then I will introduce you to Maman. She’ll curse my manners, but I’ll take the wrath.”

He really isn’t helping—at all.

“Excellent. It sounds like I’m going to be served for dinner.”

He roars a laugh startling some doves in one of the sculptured trees. “You’re so adorable it’s almost addictive.”

I sneer a smile and wait to be led to his side of the family business, foolishly and totally unprepared for anything I might find there.

“So, three years ago I convinced Papa to turn organic.”

I try not to laugh at hearing the brooding man mountain call his deceased father Papa. Try but fail, letting a small smirk escape my lips, which I then wipe away as quickly as I can. Have some respect, Julianna, for God’s sake.

We are standing in the middle of an enormous kitchen garden where it seems every vegetable known to man is growing. Purple things I don’t even know the names of shoot from the ground, different brassicas that would make Charlie die on the spot.