I followed Bastien through the entryway into the home’s enormous three-story foyer adorned with a sweeping staircase embellished with ornate ironwork. Its sheer vastness took my breath away. Glancing up at the gold-leaf crown molding encircling the ceiling’s entire perimeter, I pushed up on my toes for a better look.

Bastien grabbed me by the elbow. “Attention!” he shouted in French. “Watch out.”

I was about two inches from completely wiping out on a knee-high cannon strewn in the middle of the foyer. Bastien touched my elbow lightly and helped me carefully step over it.

“What is that? It doesn’t look big enough to be a weapon,” I commented.

“Legend has it, the Adélaïse family would shoot the cannon off every time a male family member was born,” he explained.

“Just the males? I wonder what my father would have to say about that tradition? He has five daughters.”

“Of course, the beautiful and renowned Everly sisters.”

Bastien’s directness caught me off guard. Most people either feigned indifference to my fame or brought it up within seconds of meeting me. Bastien did neither, instead behaving in the most surprising way of all, like I was totally normal, nothing special.

“Let’s go this way. I want to show you the rest of the rooms on this floor,” he said excitedly.

Bastien led me through a maze of rooms, each in greater disarray than the one before it, with crumbling fireplaces, mushroom-covered beams, and walls stripped almost down to the studs. There was a huge hole in the floor of what Bastien told me was once the château’s library. If you looked all the way down, you could see straight into the belly of the house. I shivered thinking about all the mice that likely made their way up from below every night looking for a warmer spot to nest.

“Are you cold?” Bastien asked.

“Yes. No. I’m fine,” I said, my eyes now darting around at any small sound with the expectation of seeing a gopher-size rodent in every darkened nook.

When we finished exploring most of the primary space on the first floor, we arrived at the base of the very dilapidated grand staircase. “Do you want to see the upstairs now?”

I hesitated, not sure if the rotted wood and crumbling stone could handle the weight of the mice I’d mentioned earlier, let alone me and Bastien. I suddenly felt like the vast château was closing in on me, and the complete overhaul was a little more than I’d bargained for. I continued to meander down the corridor now, inspecting every detail more closely, the sheer scope of this project overwhelming. “When Kate said the château needed work, I didn’t imagine anything of this magnitude. Are you sure I’m the right person for this?”

Now it was Bastien’s turn to look surprised, his eyes doubled in size and his brows sky-high. “What do you mean? Of course you are.” He grabbed my hand, laced his fingers with mine, and rubbed my skin with his thumb. “I’ll be right here by your side through it all, and when it’s finished, it will be magnifique.” He twirled me around playfully, his hand still holding mine, the word magnifique like a firework of excitement . . . that fizzled to nothing but a fallen ember in the wake of my mounting doubt.

“But this whole house? We can’t possibly renovate this whole house in three months.”

Again, Bastien’s enthusiasm swelled like another display of Fourth of July sparklers as he pulled me into the château’s crumbling library. “Don’t be ridiculous. We will renovate a few rooms, and the magic of television will make it appear as if we refurbished the entire château.”

Wait, that can’t be right. “But I thought—” I started, only to be interrupted by a deep male voice calling through the cavernous halls.

“Hello,” Elliott shouted from the entranceway. “You guys in here?”

My hand fell away from Bastien’s, and Bastien called back, “Oui, come around the staircase to the back room. Oh, and watch out for the low-hanging beam.”

“Huh? What’d you say?” Elliott replied, quickly followed by a booming, “Damn it all to hell!”

“I don’t think he heard what you said about the beam,” I said to Bastien.

“Non. Nor do I.”

Elliott came around the corner rubbing his forehead and joined us in the library. “I got all the footage I needed. Plum, it’s almost two. The van will be outside soon. Are you ready to go?”

“We are finished here for today,” Bastien answered, then turned to me, taking my hands again in his. “Can I ask you, though, are you doing anything this evening? I’d love to continue our talk about the renovation.”

My eyes darted over to Elliott, who looked pained from both the conversation and the bump starting to protrude from his left temple.

“Tonight? Oh, well, I’ve been invited out to explore Avignon tonight.”

“Parfait, I live in Avignon!” Bastien reached into my pocket for my phone. “Here, now you have my number,” he said, typing it into the keypad. “Message me when you know where you are going to be.”

The van honked its horn from outside.

“Plum, that’s Gervais,” Elliott urged.

I unbuckled the hard hat and passed it back to Bastien. “Thanks for the tour and the history lesson.”

“Je vous en prie. See you tonight.”

I climbed into the van and took out my phone to text Kate.

Me: The château is absolutely incredible.

Kate: Isn’t it?! What’d you think of Bastien?

Me: Très charming.

Kate: LOL! That’s one word for it. Don’t you just want to devour him?!

Me: He’s been wonderful. And this project—there’s just so much potential! Thank you for championing me.

Kate: Thank YOU for saying yes. We couldn’t do it without you!

Me: À bientôt. That means “speak soon.” Look at me, one day in and already my French is sooooooo much better!

Kate: C’est FANTASTIQUE! XO

Me: XO

I tucked my phone away, a soft smile on my lips. I was profoundly grateful for my new girlfriend and this chance to start anew, and this time, I wouldn’t screw it up.

Chapter Twelve

Unsure of how the nightlife in Avignon compared to that of LA, I decided to wear a flouncy Balenciaga peasant dress paired with cute (but sturdy) Valentino Rockstud wedge boots to make the cobblestone streets not such a hazardous terrain. Avignon was one of the largest cities in the Luberon region, but even with that title, it was really more of a quaint and charming village. The stone buildings sat perched high over the sweeping views of Provence. And its ancient, paved streets boasted cozy chapels, open-air markets selling lavender-infused soaps and candles, and food stands peddling gamey boar sausages, yeasty breads, and pungent cheeses. The walls and buildings around the city were authentically eroded and cracked from wear over time, and many of the shops and restaurants were inset behind arched entryways made of carved limestone.

The noise, or lack thereof, was perhaps the most surprising of all. While I’d grown up used to the loud shouting of the LA hustle, the village seemed to whisper. Back home, the people were loud, the buildings were loud, and everyone seemed to be jockeying for their moment in the spotlight. But this town was so far removed from that pace of life that just standing in the square felt like taking a big, deep breath for the first time in a while.

“Elliott, nous sommes ici!” Odette waved, her voice interrupting my train of thought and bringing me back to the small entryway of the brasserie where we were all meeting up. Elliott strode over wearing dark-washed jeans paired with boots and a plain dark fitted T-shirt. And he looked good. I suppose when he was covered in camera equipment or when we were busy biting one another’s heads off, I never really noticed the extent of his physique. Whereas Rhys had a spindly construction of lean muscle, Elliott was a hulking man whose size was made even more apparent as he stepped next to Odette, who greeted him warmly, kissing him on both cheeks.

“Elliott, Provence seems to agree with you,” she gushed.

“I don’t know if it’s Provence as much as finally shaking off the jet lag.”

“Well, I choose to believe it is l’air de Provence. It suits you well, I think.” She slid her fingers from his chest and smoothed his T-shirt taut across his shoulder. It seemed like such an intimate gesture that I, in a fluster, turned to look away.