You Had Me at Chateau, page 16
‘I’ve got some wellness books we can pretend to read by the fire and snap some pictures,’ he says, pulling out a couple of books with colourful covers.
‘Wellness books?’ I reply, raising an eyebrow. ‘Sounds… interesting.’
We arrange ourselves in front of the fireplace, trying to look all cosy and relaxed, like we’re engrossed in our books, but all the while making sure my face isn’t in any of the shots of me, and as intellectual as possible.
Unsurprisingly, it turns out that my face isn’t the only part of me that gives away that I’m not actually Annabelle – my fashion does too. Thankfully in Caleb’s bag of tricks he has all kinds of clothing for me to wear, and while none of it is my usual style, at least no one knows it’s me.
The book I have is all about how to manifest your inner goddess – and I know that you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but neither the cover nor the blurb gives any indication of how exactly it’s going to teach people to do this.
‘Let’s see what pearls of wisdom this one has to offer,’ I say, flipping open my book at a random page.
I clear my throat and read aloud: ‘“To truly connect with your inner goddess, you must first reset your aura by bathing in moonlight, on the third day of your menstrual cycle, while chanting the following words…” – Caleb, at best this is shit. Worst case it’s kind of offensive and totally stupid.’
‘I don’t even know when the third day of my cycle is,’ he jokes with a heavy sigh. ‘I know, I know. Obviously I think that’s a load of shit too.’
‘I don’t know if I want to read more or throw it into the fire,’ I say.
‘Isn’t that the sign of a good book?’ he replies.
‘Just hurry up and take my photos, before I destroy it,’ I insist.
He snaps a few photos of me, pretending to be deeply engrossed in the book. Then he takes a seat next to me, and we take a few more shots together, trying to look like the epitome of relaxation and enlightenment – still while hiding my face, of course. Holding up the book actually comes in really handy.
‘Do you really agree with everything you plug?’ I ask, setting the book down – on the table, I’ve managed to resist cremating it.
Caleb shakes his head.
‘If anything goes against my morals, I obviously say no,’ he says firmly. ‘But for things like this, I just find a way to have a disclaimer. Like, I’ll say, “Looking forward to reading these and seeing what they’re all about” – showing that I haven’t read it yet, but if anyone ever asks me if I recommend them, I’ll be honest.’
‘That’s smart,’ I say, nodding.
‘Exactly,’ he replies, snapping a few more candid shots of me – arty ones, with the fire in the background.
Just as we’re finishing up our photo session, my stomach decides it’s the perfect time to make its presence known with a loud rumble.
‘Sorry about that,’ I say, blushing slightly. ‘My stomach knows it’s on holiday, and all it wants to do is eat.’
Caleb laughs.
‘I’m hungry too,’ he replies. ‘How about we go for pizza? There’s a great place at the top of the mountain, you have to go up the gondola to get there.’
‘Well, I’ve never said no to pizza but I’ve also never been on a gondola,’ I reply, feeling ever so slightly apprehensive about trying something new.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he assures me with a warm smile. ‘And if you’re not, well, the pizza will be worth it.’
I laugh, following his lead, grabbing my coat.
‘Okay, let’s do it,’ I say, with a confidence I don’t really have. I am excited though.
It’s actually quite fun, being an influencer. Who knew?
27
I can now add a gondola ride up a mountain to the list of things I have done. Granted, it’s not a long list, but this would definitely go near the top.
As the doors closed and the gondola began to climb, I watched the ground slowly pull away from us. The snowy landscape, with skiers and snowboarders carving graceful lines into the powder, looked more like a work of art the higher we climbed. The people below grew smaller and smaller, until they looked like tiny, colourful dots dancing around below us. Honestly, it was so beautiful, my nerves disappeared in an instant. It was almost too surreal to be scary, because it was a sight I had never seen before, it was like my brain didn’t recognise the fact that we were dangling from a great height.
The air feels so much crisper, and so much colder up here. I feel like I’m up in the sky, like we’re standing where the snow comes from – like, if it were to start snowing now, it would be something that happened beneath us, sort of like when you’re in a plane high above the clouds.
And now here we are, at the pizza place, and it was definitely worth the climb.
It’s so charming, and rustic, with wooden beams and traditional décor but then it has these huge windows with panoramic views of the surrounding mountains. A roaring fire crackles in a stone fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room, and then there’s another fire – the real MVP – roaring in the wood-fired pizza oven. The smell of fresh dough, rich tomato sauce and melted cheese is filling the place and I’m breathing it in like I’m in a sauna.
Caleb and I found a table near the window, the view of the snow-covered peaks serving as the perfect backdrop for our meal (and background for our photos). We ordered a couple of pizzas: one classic margherita and one with prosciutto and brie, deciding to share them both. Now we’re chatting while we wait and, as fun as Caleb is to chat to, my stomach is calling out for pizza.
‘This place is incredible,’ I say, looking out the window at the unreal view. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever eaten anywhere like this before.’
‘It really is,’ Caleb agrees. ‘There’s something about being up here, away from everything, that just clears your mind.’
‘That’s exactly what I need right now,’ I say with a sigh.
‘You don’t need to clear your mind, you need to make it dirtier,’ he jokes.
I laugh.
‘If I’m being honest, it’s not just the spice that is the problem,’ I confess.
‘Oh?’ he replies curiously as he sips his Coke.
They serve them nice and cold, in glass bottles – why does Coke taste so much nicer from a glass bottle?
‘The main problem with the book I’m writing is that it’s not really what I want to be writing,’ I tell him.
Caleb looks at me, tilting his head, his expression suddenly more curious than ever.
‘Okay, so what do you want to be writing?’ he asks.
‘Funny murder mysteries,’ I tell him. ‘Basically, I want to write what you write, just with a bit more of a romantic comedy vibe. But my editor won’t let me switch genres because my romcoms did so well.’
And apparently only celebrities get to write fun, trending books – or pretend to at least.
Caleb nods thoughtfully.
‘That’s tough,’ he says. ‘It’s no fun when you’re not feeling it. Have you talked to her about it?’
‘I have,’ I reply, frustration creeping into my voice. ‘But she’s not interested. Sex was all she really had to offer me.’
Caleb laughs at my choice of words as he leans back in his chair. He rubs his chin thoughtfully for a second or two.
‘You know, if you’re really not happy doing what you’re doing, or what she’s asking you to do, then you shouldn’t do it,’ he says.
I laugh – oh, to be a rich man in this world – shaking my head.
‘I can’t just breach my contract,’ I tell him. ‘As much as I would love to right now.’
‘Who said anything about you breaching your contract?’ he says with a mischievous glint in his eye that kind of excites me. ‘Contracts work both ways – and yours probably favours your publisher anyway. You don’t need to break it. You need your publisher to break it.’
I look at him, intrigued. He’s definitely right about my contract favouring my publisher, and I wonder if his is the same because he’s a big name. To be honest, it probably is. With these big publishing houses, I very much get the sense that the house always wins.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask.
‘Write them a book so bad that your editor thinks you’ve lost your touch,’ Caleb explains. ‘Make it so unbelievably terrible that she couldn’t possibly publish it, or want you to write another one like it. She’ll either drop you or let you switch genres. Either way, you’re free to do what you want.’
I’m laughing but the more I think about his idea, the bigger the smile on my face grows.
‘That’s… actually brilliant,’ I tell him. ‘Manipulative, kind of terrifying but, yeah, brilliant. But how easy is it to write a bad book on purpose?’
Caleb grins.
‘It’s probably easier than you think,’ he replies. ‘And I can help you.’
I can’t help but laugh. Now that I can probably trust him to do, ghostwriter or not.
‘You must know your genre inside and out,’ he points out. ‘So you’ll know what not to do, what doesn’t work, the things that your editor hates – just do all of that stuff.’
‘And what about the spicy scenes, do I just not bother?’ I say.
‘I guess you could leave it out but, I suppose, if you want her to believe that you’ve really tried, just keep doing what you’re doing – which doesn’t sound good – and throw those in,’ he says.
‘I could put my dong back in,’ I say excitedly, not realising how my choice of words sounds, as usual.
Caleb laughs.
‘Yeah, exactly, put your dong back in,’ he says with a snigger.
Oh, and right on cue, our pizza arrives. However, in a twist on the usual, it’s Caleb who the server overhears saying something dodgy, not me. Usually in situations like this I curl up and die but Caleb just owns it.
‘Ah, cheers, buddy,’ he says. ‘These look great.’
He’s not wrong. Both pizzas look absolutely incredible, with just the right balance of toppings, cheese with the perfect level of pull, and basil that smells as fresh as it did when it was still on the plant.
‘Dig in,’ he says. ‘Pizza first, book sabotage later.’
‘Sounds good to me,’ I say with a smile.
Oh, and it tastes good to me too. I would crawl up this mountain on my hands and knees to get another one of these – that good.
We chit-chat about anything and everything while we eat but, honestly, I cannot get Caleb’s idea out of my head. I hadn’t even thought about it – but why would I? Why would I think to write such a crappy book that no one will want to publish it? I’ve been so focused on working out how to do a good job that I hadn’t even considered doing a bad one on purpose.
I’ve got my original draft still, but there’s no harm in saving a copy, and adding in some awful scenes, right? It’s something to think about.
28
I arrive back to the château to hear the muffled sounds of laughter and conversation drifting through the hallway. I follow the voices to the dining room, to say hi, and find Mandy, Bette, and Gina, sitting at a beautifully set table, glasses of wine in hand, chatting animatedly.
‘Amber!’ Mandy calls out, spotting me in the doorway. ‘We’ve been waiting for you to eat. Where have you been?’
‘I went for a walk,’ I reply, hesitant to mention that I’ve already eaten. ‘Sorry, I didn’t know you would be waiting for me.’
‘We always eat together,’ she reminds me. ‘So, unless we hear otherwise…’
I force a smile and take a seat at the table, feeling the pressure to join in.
‘Great timing,’ Bette says, uncovering a hot plate filled with… with… I’m not even sure what it is. Some kind of casserole. ‘We were just about to dig in.’
It does smell nice, and even though I’m not hungry, I load a small portion onto my plate.
The chatter resumes around me, and I find myself gradually relaxing.
‘So,’ Mandy says, topping off everyone’s wine glasses, ‘we’ve been talking about setting our next books here at the resort. See whose story turns out the best.’
‘I bet Bette’s will be the most scenic,’ Gina chimes in, nodding towards Bette.
‘Oh, definitely,’ Mandy agrees. ‘The worlds you build and your descriptions are always so vivid.’
‘And Mandy’s will of course be the funniest,’ Bette says with a smile.
‘And Gina’s book will be the spiciest,’ Mandy adds, winking at Gina.
They laugh and toast each other, but no one mentions me. Well, I doubt any of this lot have ever even touched one of my books, still, it would be nice to be included in the conversation. Pointing out that they’re kind of excluding me probably isn’t the best way to fit in. Plus, they did wait for me for dinner, I guess.
After a few bites, I clear my throat, and dare to speak.
‘I just wanted to let you know I’m planning to sleep in tomorrow, I’m feeling quite tired,’ I tell them. ‘So feel free to have breakfast without me.’
‘Okay, but make sure you’re in for dinner,’ Bette says, her tone leaving no room for argument. ‘I’m cooking dinner for us all tomorrow night.’
‘And I’m pouring the wine,’ Mandy jokes – topping up her glass for dramatic effect.
‘Okay,’ I reply, mentally acknowledging that this definitely doesn’t sound optional. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’
As the evening ticks along I find more and more that, in all of their conversations, even the ones about writing, there isn’t really much room for me. No mention of me, no one asks me questions, and it’s impossible to get a word in.
I know, I shouldn’t be complaining, because I’ve been asking Jen for months if she could get me a seat at the table, and now I have one but… I don’t know. Just because you’re sitting at a table, doesn’t mean you have a seat at the table. I’m going to have to work on that one.
29
As I try to steady myself on my skis, my brother’s warning echoes in my head. I did promise him that I would stay away from skis and yet here I am.
Caleb stands beside me, looking effortlessly cool in his ski gear.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asks, concerned but amused.
‘I’ve never skied before,’ I admit, wobbling slightly.
‘You still haven’t,’ he teases. ‘You’re just standing still.’
We’re at the bottom of the slopes, standing on relatively flat land, in hired ski gear that does not look cool in my opinion. Around us, seasoned skiers glide by with ease, their colourful jackets creating a vibrant blur against the white snow. And then there’s me, standing still, and just about upright – probably not looking cool at all.
When Caleb said that taking some pictures of some ski content might be good for him, to unlock future opportunities, I said that I was happy to help. It turns out I am neither happy nor helpful, though.
‘In that ski mask you could pass for Annabelle from pretty much any angle,’ he jokes. ‘It’s a great time to take photos – in fact, it’s a shame you can’t wear it all the time.’
‘We just need to do more masked activities then, I guess,’ I say – obviously not serious. ‘Fencing, perhaps?’
‘Good idea,’ he replies. ‘Maybe a bit of bondage? That could be good for your book. Two birds.’
‘Two birds, ay?’ I tease him. ‘We’ll see if I survive this first.’
He moves closer, positioning himself behind me.
‘Okay, here’s what you need to do,’ he says. ‘Bend your knees slightly, lean forward just a bit, and keep your weight centred.’
Fuck, is this supposed to be so hot, or am I just sex-starved? I swear, his hands are warm through my jacket as he helps adjust my stance, like he’s leaving a big, hot handprint wherever he touches me. It feels kind of nice having his hands on me, guiding me. Jeez, maybe it really has been too long since I had a boyfriend.
‘Like this?’ I ask, my voice wobbling, as I try to do what he’s telling me.
‘Perfect,’ he says. ‘Now, just pretend you know what you’re doing. Smile for the camera.’
Caleb snaps a few photos, and I try to look as natural as possible, which is harder than it sounds when you’re balancing on two thin planks of… wood? Plastic? Either way, they don’t feel at all sturdy. Still, perhaps if I act confidently, I’ll be more balanced, whereas if I’m timid and shaky I’ll probably make a mistake.
It turns out trying to be confident in skis is the mistake.
I slip almost immediately, and as Caleb lunges to save me, he loses his balance too. We both go down in a heap of skis and limbs, landing on the soft (ish) snow below.
It feels like the world is spinning, and for a second I panic because I can’t see out of one eye – only to realise that my goggles have got turned around a little.
Finally certain that we’re okay, we both burst out laughing.
Caleb turns to me, snowflakes clinging to his face.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘Yeah,’ I giggle. ‘I think so. Wow, skiing really is an adrenaline rush.’
‘You still haven’t skied,’ he laughs as he grabs me, pulling me close.
True.
‘How about we take a selfie?’ he suggests, holding up his phone.
‘Oh, go on then,’ I reply. ‘Cheese.’
We both grin at the camera, our faces close together – so presumably this photo is for personal use, rather than for his Instagram.
I’m surprised to admit it but I’m having a great time. It feels so nice, having someone to share this with. To be goofy with, to roll around on the floor with. Of course, Caleb isn’t actually my boyfriend. He’s just pretending. I need to remember that. Still, it really is nice.
30
I don’t mean to sound like I’m exaggerating when I say this, but the food here at this resort restaurant (one of many) is nothing short of incredible, and this might be one of the best meals I’ve ever had in my life.
