You Had Me at Chateau, page 15
‘I don’t suppose you will tell me what it was?’ he asks curiously.
I mean, I can’t tell him that I wished for a little inspiration to write spicy book scenes. Henri thinks I need romantic scenes, not horny ones – to be honest, I think if I told him I needed spicy inspiration, it would only sound like a dodgy chat-up line anyway.
Next, he leads me to a quaint little chapel nestled among the trees. It’s simple yet beautiful, with a bell tower and stained-glass windows.
‘This is the resort chapel,’ Henri tells me. ‘It has seen countless weddings over the years. It was here long before the resort was. We are very fortunate to have our own chapel – if you ever want to get married. My sister married here, it was beautiful.’
I smile. I’m glad he only flirted with the idea of me getting married, rather than asking me my thoughts on it, because I don’t even know what I’d say. Well, as the saying (sort of) goes, those who can, do. Those who can’t write stories about it.
‘That’s so touching,’ I say, feeling a lump in my throat.
‘Let’s move on, before you get ideas,’ he teases.
Nearing the main hotel building again, Henri takes me towards the ice rink – which unsurprisingly is empty at this hour in the morning. The pristine-looking ice sparkles under the lights. I’ve never actually been ice skating but I suspect Tom would have made me promise not to do it, along with skiing, if he had known it was on offer.
‘This ice rink has a special place in my heart,’ Henri says, his eyes twinkling. ‘My family has used it for years – for generations. Of course, we have modernised it, and made it safe, and family-friendly, but it still feels like the one I used to use, when I was a child.’
Interestingly, as well as working here, Henri seems to have a lot of history with the place.
‘Do you like to ice-skate?’ he asks.
‘I, erm, I’m not sure I’ve ever tried,’ I reply – well, I am actually sure that I haven’t, but I feel like a dork admitting it, so I guess this is me playing it cool.
‘Would you like to skate now?’ he asks. ‘Just me and you.’
Oh, God, what a spectacular opportunity to embarrass myself.
‘I’m not sure I’m any good at it,’ I say, my confidence fading fast.
‘I could teach you,’ he suggests. ‘It will be like the movies. I’ll hold your hands, keep you steady, if you fall I will catch you, dip you, make it seem like I’m going to kiss you – all for your book, and for inspiration, of course.’
Biting off his hand is just one of many physical things I could do with him that are springing to mind right now but – oh God, shit, crap. It’s Caleb, he’s coming this way. He looks like he’s out for a run, and he’s fussing with his headphones so he hasn’t seen me yet, thank God, and I don’t want him to. Well, how do I explain my relationship with Caleb to Henri? Obviously we don’t want anyone to know what we’re doing, because I’m trying to pass myself off as Annabelle, which means we’ll have to say we’re just friends, who arranged to be here at the same time, and because that’s not true then I’m going to be all shifty about it – it’s going to seem like something sus is going on. Best no one who knows me connects me with Caleb, just in case. Sometimes the harder you try to explain things, the worse they sound. Also, I really, really don’t want the other writers finding out about this, because I think they already think I’m a weirdo, and this will only add to that.
I hook my arm with Henri’s and pull him close, practically dragging him behind a tree until the two of us are tucked away in a clearing. I hold my finger to my lips, as if to say: shh.
My heart is beating so loud I can hear it in my ears. Henri steps closer to me, almost like he’s leaning in, smiling.
‘Amber?’ he says softly.
I notice, over his shoulder, that Caleb has headed the other way. I think we’re in the clear.
I step back from him, worried it seems like I was about to put the moves on him.
‘Sorry, I thought I saw a moose,’ I tell him. ‘I must have imagined it. Do you have those here?’
‘The dessert?’ he asks, puzzled.
I can’t help but snort.
‘No, you know, a moose,’ I say again, holding my open hands up on the top of my head, trying to make them look like antlers. I’m still not sure he knows what I mean.
‘Erm, no, no moose,’ he replies. ‘Sorry, perhaps my English isn’t that good.’
‘Are you kidding? Your English is perfect,’ I insist. ‘Where did you learn to speak it?’
‘At school,’ he tells me simply. ‘We all learn English at school.’
‘Right, but I learned French at school, and I barely remember a thing,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t remember them teaching us anything really useful, like how to order a croissant, but randomly I can remember how to briefly describe my bedroom. Oh, and how to say goldfish, for some reason. But I’m not holding any conversations anytime soon.’
Henri just laughs.
‘Then it is lucky for us I speak English,’ he tells me. ‘And that I can order your croissants for you.’
I feel like a genuine Brit abroad right now.
‘Perfect,’ I reply. ‘Maybe we could do that now, actually, because I’m starving, and kind of dizzy, and don’t they say you should never skate on an empty stomach?’
Henri laughs again – I assume all this laughing is with me and not at me.
‘Okay, so, let me walk you to the resort village, and get you something to eat,’ Henri says, ushering me back towards the path. ‘Then I have to go for a meeting but perhaps we can visit the hot springs later, see if we can see the moose.’
I laugh because he still has no idea what that means.
‘Okay, sounds great,’ I tell him.
I actually have a meeting too, with Caleb – and I need to pop to get my nails done first, apparently – so it seems like I might have timed things just right.
Well, almost just right. I never thought I would be in my thirties and hiding behind a tree.
25
It’s a big resort, so it makes sense, but it turns out there are more places to eat and drink than there are (exaggerating slightly) people. Restaurants, bars, cafés, stands – I don’t know if there is anything you can’t get here, which is wild because you would think being stuck up the Alps might limit what was available. Heck, there’s even a sushi bar, which looks phenomenal, but it’s not the first thing you think of eating when you’re up a mountain.
I’m in one of the smaller, more intimate cafés with Caleb, our lunch laid out before us like something out of a glossy magazine about French living.
It really doesn’t get more French than this. We’ve got a fresh baguette, a selection of cheeses, a plate of charcuterie, a salade niçoise, and a small pot of creamy pâté. Caleb looks a bit like a DJ as he spins the plates, making sure everything is just right.
Finally happy with the layout, he starts snapping flat-lay photos, some just of the food, others he strategically manages to work his watch into. We’re also both wearing some kind of smart rings, the kind that monitor your heart rate and all sorts, so I need to try to work mine into some of my snaps. I’m also taking a bunch of food photos for my own Instagram because, even though I don’t have many followers, I love to post food pics.
‘Wow, this looks so good,’ I say as I follow his lead, positioning my phone above the table.
Caleb, like the pro that he is, gently nudges a piece of cheese into place, making sure everything is arranged just right.
‘Here’s a tip,’ he says, glancing up at me. ‘Natural light is your best friend but these spotlights above us could ruin your shot. Make sure you’re not casting any shadows over the food. And try different angles – overhead shots are great for flat lays, but sometimes a close-up can capture the texture and details better. Just watch for those shadows.’
‘Ooh, thanks,’ I reply. ‘I never thought an actual influencer would be giving me tips on how to take my foodie pics.’
I adjust my position, taking a few overhead shots before moving in for some close-ups of my wine glass – while I hold the stem with my smart-ring-clad hand, of course.
‘How’s this?’ I ask, showing him my screen.
‘Not bad,’ he says, studying my photos. ‘Try angling the glass, just a little, but wait for the wine to stop swirling around in the glass before you take the photo. Oh, and someone told me this one, and I don’t know how professional it is, as far as advice goes, but it has always helped me. When you go to take your photo, always do it while you’re breathing out, and breathe out nice and slowly. That’s the best way to get the steadiest photo.’
‘Wow, okay,’ I say, keen to give it a try.
I hold my glass, as instructed, my ring clearly on show. I wait for the contents of my glass to settle, take a deep breath in, then as I slowly breathe out I hit the button.
‘How’s that?’ I say, showing him the new photo.
Caleb leans over to inspect my work, a smile spreading across his face.
‘Look at that, it’s perfect,’ he tells me. ‘See how you captured so much more detail?’
‘It’s the best photo I’ve ever taken in my life,’ I say, semi-seriously. I was joking but the more I look at it, the more I think it actually might be. ‘Boys can be dicks, when you take too many food pictures.’
Caleb laughs, I think because I said boys instead of men, almost like I’m chatting to him like we’re teenage gal pals.
‘Men, I mean,’ I quickly correct myself. ‘On dates and stuff. I think some of them see it as a red flag.’
‘Do you know what I see as a red flag?’ he replies. ‘People who care about stuff like that. If someone wants to take a fucking picture of a slice of cake, let them take a fucking picture of a slice of cake.’
I laugh.
‘Anyway, now for the easy part,’ he continues. ‘We get to eat it.’
I do not need telling twice.
‘So, are you ready to talk about your book?’ he asks as he digs in. ‘You made it sound like you might be struggling. Plus, I figure if you’ve taken yourself up a mountain, you must really need to concentrate.’
‘My editor sent me here, thinking it might help,’ I reply. ‘The problem is that my first books did really well, so my editor wants me to write more romcoms, but now she wants me to add in sex scenes. She doesn’t think what I’m doing is spicy enough.’
‘Oh,’ he says simply. ‘Do you not really get into the nitty-gritty with that stuff?’
‘I don’t,’ I reply. ‘Not because I’m opposed to it, because I’m just not a sexy human.’
He laughs.
‘I think I get what you’re saying,’ he replies. ‘So, what do you have so far?’
‘I have the bones of it, I just need to up the word count, and that’s where my editor wants me to add in the spicy scenes,’ I reply. ‘About 20k worth.’
‘Twenty thousand words of shagging?’ he replies. ‘Is that normal?’
‘Is any of this normal?’ I reply with a shrug.
‘Fair point,’ he says, thankfully understanding what I meant. ‘Perhaps I could help you?’
‘Oh yeah?’ I reply.
‘Yeah, when we’re done here, come back to my chalet,’ he suggests. ‘We can take some more photos – I’ve got more jewellery, clothes, face and body products, books, all sorts – and between shots maybe I can help you with your writing. Two heads are better than one, right?’
Of course, the first thought to pop into my cynical little brain is to wonder whether or not I really want to take writing advice from a celebrity who is publishing a ghostwritten book, but I guess two heads are better than one – the more head the better, as I’m sure my editor would say.
‘Okay, sure, thanks,’ I reply. ‘Maybe if we bounce off each other…’
Caleb’s eyebrows shoot up.
‘Not like that,’ I quickly add with a laugh.
‘You never know, it might work,’ he jokes. ‘But, hey, look, you’re talking dirty already. How hard can it be?’
‘Now you’re doing it,’ I point out, sniggering at his choice of words.
‘See, we make a great team,’ he points out.
We do. We’ve got the fun, flirty banter down for sure, but I’ve always been great at that part. It’s what happens next that I can never quite pull the trigger on.
26
I’m sitting in Caleb’s romantic chalet, with Caleb (who is objectively gorgeous), by a lovely warm fire, eating chocolate, drinking wine, surrounded by a whirlwind of free products, clothes, accessories – all sorts of things. Oh, and I’m getting paid for it. A situation like this should, in theory, make any woman the horniest she has ever been, right? At least from the point of view of writing spicy scenes, but despite Caleb agreeing to help me try to get the ball rolling, nothing is happening.
‘I hear it happens to everyone,’ I joke.
Caleb smiles. He’s lounging on the couch, looking every bit the cool-guy influencer he is, while I’m staring at the empty notebook he gave me, trying to figure out how to even begin writing a spicy scene.
‘Tell me what the characters are doing,’ Caleb suggests.
‘Well, they’ve just found themselves trapped in a beach hut together, and it has forced them to talk about their feelings, and they can’t resist each other any more so they end up kissing,’ I tell him. ‘And then it sort of fades to black.’
‘So your editor wants you to actually write the sex scene,’ he replies.
‘Yeah, but I’ve seen the amount of detail these spicy writers go into, and it’s a work of art,’ I tell him. ‘But it feels right. It doesn’t feel right for my book – take this scene here for example. The two of them were chased into the hut by a giant crab carrying a broken bottle it picked up from the beach. It would be weird and jarring to suddenly launch into a graphic description of her riding him reverse cowgirl.’
Caleb snorts so hard his wine looks like it’s about to come out through his nose. He coughs and splutters.
‘You have to warn a man, before you say something like that,’ he says with a laugh.
‘I’ll know for next time,’ I reply with a smile.
At least he finds me entertaining.
‘Honestly, Caleb,’ I sigh, pushing the notebook to one side. ‘These scenes are so much more difficult to write than you would think.’
‘Really?’ he says, disbelief edging into his voice. ‘Isn’t it just like… descriptive dirty talk?’
‘Oh boy,’ I say with an overly dramatic roll of my eyes. ‘If I even dare to think that is true, and I try to write something, I am quickly reminded that it’s basically a skill people either have or they don’t. And I don’t.’
‘All right, let’s give it a shot together,’ he says, sitting up and grabbing a notebook. ‘How about: “She gazed into his eyes, her heart pounding as he leaned in closer…”’
‘“…and then the giant crab sideways walked in, and asked them if they wanted him to hold the camera”,’ I add.
We both burst out laughing.
‘Go on then, what happens after she leans in?’ I prompt.
‘He takes off her bra?’ he suggests.
‘Does he take off her top first?’ I ask.
‘No, she does,’ he continues, like he might be on to something.
‘And then?’ I press him.
‘And then he… he… sucks her tit?’
My sharp intake of breath is louder than I intended it to be.
‘Okay, even you don’t sound convinced by that,’ I tell him with a laugh. ‘That sounds so blokey.’
‘Well, how else do you say it?’ he replies.
‘I don’t know, that’s the problem,’ I insist.
‘If you were going to ask me to do it, how would you ask?’ he says, trying a different route, but it’s a route that makes me think of Caleb ‘sucking my tit’ and it takes all of my strength not to blush or babble.
‘I wouldn’t,’ I reply. ‘I would just sort of… have it exist near your face.’
‘Have it exist by my face?’ he repeats back to me. ‘Okay, yeah, you’re right, you’re terrible at this.’
I can’t deny that, as bleak as this situation is, it is very funny.
‘See? This is what happens every time I try,’ I say between giggles.
‘Okay, okay, let me try again,’ he says, still chuckling. ‘“He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered… Do you want to see my… Pokémon card collection?”’
Now it’s my turn to be unimpressed.
‘Pokémon card collection?’ I echo.
‘Yeah, I panicked, I didn’t know what word to use for…’ He nods at his crotch. ‘What word do women prefer?’
‘Squirtle?’ I suggest, smug that I have just enough knowledge of Pokémon to crack a joke. ‘I have absolutely no idea. I even gave dong a go.’
Caleb smiles and cocks his head curiously. Lord have mercy, every word I utter is phallic.
‘Amber, you’re right,’ he concludes. ‘I can’t think of a word to say that doesn’t sound like I’m trying to parody something I heard in a porno.’
‘I can write the part of the dialogue where he says he’s here to fix the washing machine,’ I offer up.
‘Fix the washing machine?’ Caleb replies with a snort. ‘How old is the porn you watch? That’s one from the archives.’
‘What would you have said instead?’ I reply. ‘Bearing in mind this is going to tell me a lot about the kind of guy you are and what you’re into.’
He looks at me with those cheeky eyes of his, narrowing them slightly, as he grins.
‘Yeah, I’d stick to the influencing,’ I tell him.
Honestly, I know I’m not one to talk, but this just reminds me that Caleb publishing a book, just because he’s a big name, is so unfair. Still, we move. Technically, I’m muscling in on being an influencer, rather than staying in my own lane, so on this very rare occasion it’s a two-way street at least.
‘Let’s just do some photos,’ I suggest. ‘At least we know that’s worthwhile.’
