You Had Me at Chateau, page 24
I burst out laughing. Now there’s an image.
‘Yeah, I think that would test any potential relationship,’ I tell him. ‘Do you think we ought to try to break them up again?’
Tom almost cackles with laughter because that one caught him off guard.
‘You’ve got a plus-one too, you know,’ Tom adds, glancing at me as he pulls out of the car park. ‘You could invite Caleb.’
I shake my head.
‘I don’t think so, we only really had a working relationship,’ I tell him. ‘Plus, he has a lot going on. His girlfriend wants him back, and he is busy dealing with a PR problem. It turns out the guy who runs the place where we were staying set him up and tipped off the paparazzi about him being there.’
Tom’s eyes widen.
‘Wow. How do you know?’ he asks curiously.
‘The guy told me himself,’ I say, shaking my head. ‘He lived in the château where I was staying. He just proudly blurted it out to me.’
‘He sounds like a dick,’ Tom replies.
‘Yeah, I guess he was,’ I agree, feeling absolutely zero regrets that I didn’t spend more time with Henri.
‘Ah well, at least it’s Christmas,’ Tom says, giving me a nudge with his elbow. ‘Let’s go to our no longer broken family home, start drinking, and not stop until the new year.’
‘Sounds like a good plan to me,’ I say, trying to snap myself out of my funk. ‘Did my shopping all arrive?’
‘Yeah, there are loads of packages for you,’ Tom replies. ‘I hope you got me something decent. I think I’ve got something great for you.’
‘I can’t wait to open it,’ I say, finding a bit of genuine enthusiasm.
Despite feeling down in the dumps and a bit sorry for myself, maybe Christmas is exactly what I need. I’ve sent my latest (car crash of a) book to my editor, so I can stop thinking about that disaster. Spending time with my family is the perfect escape. I can take a break from reality, reset, and hopefully, in the new year, I can be a whole new me.
Yep, that old one. I don’t believe it either.
48
Tom wasn’t kidding when he said our parents were having a big Christmas Eve party – the house is practically bursting at the seams. Mum has gone all out with the decorations this year. The hallway is decked with garlands, each one twinkling with so many fairy lights they’re actually brighter than the big light in there. There’s a gigantic tree in the living room, adorned with a mishmash of old family ornaments, and new, shiny baubles ping light around the room like a disco ball. Honestly, the whole place looks like something she should have charged admission for, like a Christmas wonderland, if wonderlands were full of random friends and family who are all drinking way too much.
Hilariously, you can’t really see the decorations any more. The place is overflowing with people, all talking and laughing over each other. I cradle the super-strong cranberry cocktail that Tom made for me – he called it a ‘Cranberry Death’, which sounds like, well, something that will kill me with Christmas. I nibble on a mince pie as I scan the room for a familiar face. Well, someone familiar who I actually want to talk to, at least.
It weirdly feels like everyone and no one is here. I know my auntie and cousin are somewhere in this sea of festive cheer, but I haven’t seen them for ages. The local vicar is chatting animatedly with Val from down the street. Oh, and there’s her husband, Pete – the one who always asks if I’m still a writer and, when I say yes, gives me a patronising pat on the back and tells me to hang in there. He once suggested I apply for a job at his son’s garden centre. Hey, I wonder if it’s still going…
With no one I really want to engage with, there’s only one thing for it: hit up the buffet table again. It’s Christmas, so all conventional food rules are out the window. Despite just finishing a mince pie, I pick up a giant Scotch egg and start munching on it like it’s an apple. If you were supposed to eat beige snacks five times a day then let’s just say I’m smashing all expectations.
I spot Mum and Dad across the room. Dad’s hands are on Mum’s hips, and they’re swaying to the music. It’s like they’re loved-up teenagers again. Who knew Dad even knew Mum had hips? They’re acting like newlyweds, in a way I suspect they didn’t do when they were actual newlyweds. Say what you want about Caleb – and believe me, I’ve been saying a lot, none of it flattering – but he’s done something right. If nothing else comes from this whole mess other than my parents giving things another go, then maybe it was worth it. It might not feel that way now, but maybe in the future I’ll see that everything happens for a reason.
I pull out my phone. The one thing I told myself I wouldn’t do is check my work emails. It’s unlikely Jen will read my book until the new year anyway. But here I am, bored enough to break my own rule.
There is an email from Jen, it turns out, with the subject line ‘New Book’. I open it, and my face contorts with confusion. Eh? None of this makes sense. Jen says she’s read my book – my awful, purposefully bad book – and she loved it. She’s signing off for Christmas but is excited to discuss new contracts and advances in the new year.
What? Advances? I don’t get advances, I’m not important enough, I’m an author, not a celebrity. Plus, I only sent her it yesterday, so she can’t have sat and read the whole thing? Even if she just read the new bits, it still doesn’t seem likely, because I’ve changed little bits here and there all the way through. Has Jen started on the sherry early or something, or has she just had enough of me to the point where she’ll publish any old shite I write? But, then again, why would she give me an advance, if that were true?
‘How would you like your present early?’ Tom asks, snapping me out of my thoughts.
I decide to keep the email to myself. There must be some kind of mix-up.
‘I should wait until tomorrow,’ I tell him. ‘Them’s the rules, right?’
Tom grins.
‘I’ve got two presents, so you can have one today if you follow me,’ he replies.
‘Okay,’ I say with a heavy sigh, grabbing my cocktail and half-eaten Scotch egg, and following him through the house. ‘Where are we going?’
‘To the garage,’ he tells me.
‘Ooh, have you got me a BMW too?’ I joke.
‘Could you drive one even if I did?’ he laughs. ‘But no. I just put it in there because it’s the only part of the house without people in it.’
‘Fair enough,’ I reply with a laugh.
‘In there,’ Tom says, pointing to the garage.
‘I know where the garage is,’ I laugh.
‘Yeah, I know, I’m saying go in there. I’ll wait here,’ he continues.
‘Is this something awful? Is something going to go off or go “boo” or… I don’t know?’ I ask suspiciously.
‘It’s nothing bad,’ he insists. ‘Merry Christmas.’
I give him a sceptical look but my curiosity gets the better of me.
‘I will throw your present in the pond if this is a prank,’ I warn him.
I step into the dark garage but pause for a moment.
‘Can I have the light on?’ I call back.
‘I’ll turn the light on when you close the door,’ he insists. ‘Humour me, it’s just because I haven’t wrapped it.’
‘It better be a car,’ I mutter under my breath.
The door clicks shut, the light flicks on, and there he is – Caleb, standing next to the deflated inflatable Santa Claus that Dad retired once he stopped warring with Mum.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, almost accusingly.
‘Tom invited me,’ he says simply.
‘How?’ I blurt.
‘He had my number, from when you used my phone to call him, so he gave me a ring,’ he explains, like it’s a perfectly normal thing. ‘We had a chat, about a few things, and then he invited me, so here I am.’
‘But why did you come?’ I reply. ‘Why didn’t you say no?’
‘Because I wanted to see you,’ he tells me.
I pull a face, somewhere between confused and irritated.
Caleb laughs, probably at my teenage-girl level of moodiness, and steps forward. He takes my cocktail and my Scotch egg, placing them on the side before taking my hands. ‘I owe you a few apologies,’ he begins, taking a deep breath. ‘That morning when Annabelle turned up, I saw a photo of myself online, taken from the château window. I assumed it was you who had taken it because, well, who else could it be? You told me you had seen me out of the window, and then a photo of me out of the window was leaked to the press, so I put two and two together, but I was always better at English than maths.’
‘Oh,’ is all I can say. ‘No, that wasn’t me. That was Henri, the guy who runs the place. He told me it was him, that he did it because you wouldn’t post promo stuff about the resort. I tried to come see you after, to tell you, but Annabelle was still there and you were kind of rude, so…’
My voice trails off.
‘I should have known you wouldn’t have done that,’ Caleb tells me. ‘Instead, I acted like a baby, and I’m sorry. I think it just freaked me out, how much I was enjoying spending time with you, and then thinking that you might have sold me out, and then Annabelle turning up… Look, when you came back, we were in the middle of talking. I was telling her that she and I were over, apologising for making it seem like I was still with her, but making it clear it was only for the money. And she’s not that bothered, it turns out, because I offered her my share of the money, and she took it, and she left.’
‘And they say romance is dead,’ I manage to joke.
‘I can send you your share now, by the way,’ Caleb says.
‘Keep it,’ I say with a shrug. ‘I never really deserved it in the first place. Plus, I had an email from my editor, and I think her brain must have malfunctioned because I sent her my godawful book, and she reckons she wants to give me an advance for it. It makes no sense. I’m sure she’ll realise her mistake in the new year.’
‘Amber, wait, is that all she said?’ Caleb asks.
‘Yeah,’ I reply. ‘I think maybe she meant to send it to someone else or something, because she can’t have meant it for me.’
‘Or, maybe, it’s because I sent my manuscript to my editor and told him that I had co-written it with you. That you had added the extra scenes. And then maybe I pitched our other idea to him, and he loved it, but I said we came as a team, so we would have to write it together,’ Caleb explains.
‘You did what?’ I blurt. ‘You did that for me?’
Caleb shrugs casually.
‘Oh, I only did it so that you would be stuck with me,’ he jokes. ‘If you want to be partners in crime, that is.’
Imagine, not only getting to write the kind of books I want to, but doing so with someone like Caleb who is not only genuinely talented but a big enough name to get actual marketing, Tube adverts, TV spots – the works.
I grab him and give him a squeeze.
‘I would love that,’ I tell him. ‘Thank you.’
‘No, thank you,’ he replies. ‘I would have put out a crap book and it probably would’ve flopped. You’ve made it something special.’
I can’t wipe the smile from my face.
‘You didn’t have to come to my mum and dad’s weird party to tell me that,’ I point out.
‘No, I didn’t,’ he replies. ‘But when Tom set me straight, saying you seemed like you might miss me, I knew what I needed to do, if I wanted to win you back.’
My breath catches in my throat, not that I let Caleb see that.
‘You’re here to win me back, huh?’ I say.
‘Yep,’ he replies. ‘I had hoped the book deal would do it but you’re tougher than you look so, I don’t know, name your price.’
‘I don’t have a price,’ I tell him. ‘I have a punishment. If you’re serious then I want you to walk into that house and meet my parents and all their weird friends. If you survive that then maybe, just maybe, we can talk. What are you doing for Christmas?’
‘No plans,’ he says. ‘I got a bit too distracted to make any, with any of my friends, so…’
‘Oh, so you’re here for a dinner,’ I tease.
‘You know I love a free dinner,’ he replies with a smile. ‘And I love a weird family party so, let me at them.’
‘Are you sure?’ I reply.
‘I’ve never been more sure,’ he tells me. ‘Look, I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but can I please kiss you already? I don’t mind if you taste like a Scotch egg.’
‘Shut up,’ I say, pulling him close, making the first move.
Just like that, everything feels right again. It’s like I’ve never been away from him, like I didn’t feel a second of heartbreak. All that matters is now.
As our lips part, Caleb grabs my cocktail and knocks it back.
‘Okay, show me the way to the parents, I am raring to go, and I can’t wait to meet them,’ he says, willing to boldly go where I have never dared to let any man go before.
We hold hands and leave the garage together, only to find Tom and my parents standing there, waiting for us.
‘Caleb, hello,’ Mum greets him.
‘Great to finally meet you in person, lad,’ Dad adds.
‘Come on, come with us, we’ve got so many people we want you to meet,’ Mum continues.
They take Caleb away, dragging him off into the crowd, and he almost vanishes like he’s crowd-surfing, only this has to be much less fun. This will really test his commitment, that’s for sure.
‘Well, well, well,’ I say to Tom, now that we’re alone. ‘You’re a dark horse, aren’t you?’
Tom just shrugs but his smug smile says it all.
‘Who knew you were such a romantic?’ I say.
Tom leans in and lowers his voice.
‘I will deny this if you ever tell anyone I said it but sometimes the people who write the best love stories are the ones who need a little help writing their own,’ he tells me, with a profoundness I didn’t know he possessed. ‘Now, get after him, and make sure those two nutters don’t undo all my hard work.’
‘Thank you,’ I tell him, kissing him on the cheek.
I can’t believe I’m saying it but perhaps Tom is right. Maybe I’ve been so busy trying to write love stories for the page that I’ve been thinking about my own all wrong.
Yes, this week has been messy, but the future is looking a little clearer now. And that’s the best Christmas present of all.
49
EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER
I’m currently on my knees, searching the carpet for my earring. One is in my ear, the other is nowhere to be seen.
I’m in a hotel room, and I was wearing it earlier, so there are only so many places it can be.
I thought this five-star room came with everything but, sadly, there is no way the concierge will send someone up here, to hunt for my earring – although, now that I’ve said it, I’m sure they would.
It really is gorgeous here. Plush cream carpets (that I’m terrified I’m going to cover in make-up), elegant mahogany furniture (that I’m also terrified I’m going to cover in make-up), and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of London’s skyline – which are actually covered in make-up, because the first thing I did when I arrived here was press my face up against the glass to admire the view.
Caleb emerges from the bathroom, looking dapper in his tux, holding my small gold hoop delicately in his hand.
‘It was next to the sink,’ he tells me. ‘I was going to give you a lecture, on how it could have gone down the drain but, wow, you look beautiful.’
‘Do you think so?’ I ask, taking the earring from him.
I look in the full-length mirror, carefully putting it in my ear. The dress I’m wearing is a floor-length silky black gown that magically clings in all the right places and flows elegantly as I move. The dress is doing a lot – other dresses could never.
I smooth the fabric down, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement.
‘You’re going to knock them all dead,’ he says. ‘We both are – killing people is what we do.’
I laugh.
‘It’s okay for you to say, you’ve been to a million award ceremonies,’ I point out.
Caleb smiles at me in the mirror as he adjusts his cufflinks.
‘But this is my first book award ceremony,’ he reminds me. ‘And the first time I’ve been nominated.’
‘At least we have that in common,’ I say, my heart pounding.
It’s still so surreal, that our book has been shortlisted for an award. Almost as shocking as the fact that it’s topped every chart going and that it has already been optioned by a Hollywood production company. Imagine seeing our book on the big screen! And I love that we did this one together – it’s our baby, and we’ve got another one on the way. A book, that is. You would definitely be able to tell if I had a baby on the way in this dress – you can almost see the outline of my lunch in my stomach.
‘Oh, while I was in the shower, I thought of a way to seed our twist in Chapter One,’ Caleb says, lacing up his shoes.
I laugh, loving how we can switch from typical couple talk to getting excited about plot twists, clever motives, and creative murders.
‘Tell me about it later,’ I say, glancing at the clock. ‘We need to get going, or we’ll be late.’
‘Let’s do it,’ Caleb says, kissing me on the cheek, careful not to mess up my make-up.
We head down in the lift, towards the ballroom where the ceremony is taking place.
The grand chandelier-lit bar is packed with elegantly dressed people, all chatting and clinking their glasses, as they wait for the ceremony to start.
As we make our way through the crowded bar, a familiar voice catches my attention.
‘Amber! Amber, darling, hello.’
‘Oh boy, here we go,’ I whisper to Caleb through gritted teeth as Mandy hurries over to greet us.
