By the looks on their faces, this seemed to assuage both Odette and Elliott. It was clear from everything I knew about him, plus the look of terrible discomfort plastered upon his face, this was definitely not Elliott’s scene. Bastien opened the door, and the smell of sweat mixed with the heady, sweet aroma of the fog machine, tinted with the earthy scent of marijuana, wafted in our direction. Even more substantial than the smell was the heat. The temperature climbed at least fifteen degrees in an instant, and suddenly my clothes were clinging to me like a second skin.

We wriggled through the crowd of partygoers grinding and bouncing to the techno beats until we finally reached the VIP lounge entrance. I guessed by yet another warm reception of Bastien that this was his VIP buddy, and we were ushered in and took a seat at a small booth tucked into the corner. I wasn’t sure how it was possible, but it was significantly quieter and more intimate in the small space.

“Drinks, yes?” Not waiting for an answer, Bastien was already on his feet heading to the bar. Elliott and Odette seemed to not even notice his departure. They were lost in conversation, looking super cozy as they spoke into one another’s ears over the music.

“So, Odette,” I spoke loudly, “have you ever been here before?”

My question seemed to catch her off guard, and she looked up at me, as if surprised by my presence. “Non. But I have had many friends who’ve organized hen parties here. It’s très chic and bien sur, très populaire. I imagine your life in LA is full of VIP lounges and hot spots like this.”

I wondered if she was alluding to my temporary reign as the Everly “wild child” during my later teen years. Yeah, I did go a little bananas back then, and even a few moments since when my role-of-the-moment called for it. It was as if I were trying to sow the oats I never could while the cameras were constantly rolling on EVERLYday. As Rhys’s popularity grew and he was seeking more time in the spotlight, he and I went out most nights and partied hard. The barrage of tabloid pics and salacious headlines were a far cry from a flattering portrayal of me, and I guess they were also confirmation of my ultimate descent into the role of the black sheep.

While Lemon, Peach, Pear, and Kiwi were spending their time on high-powered phone calls with entrepreneurs working hard to get their businesses off the ground, I was usually nursing a hangover by day, and getting ready for my next alcohol-addled extravaganza by night. Maybe Bastien was under the impression that a place like this might impress me, but truth be told, it wasn’t much my scene anymore, and thankfully hadn’t been for some time. Just another phase, another stab at me trying to find myself.

“Not so much these days, but I have definitely seen a fair share of VIP lounges along the way.”

Bastien, juggling two handfuls of drinks, chimed in, “My apologies if this place is not to your liking. I just figured that our small town is not so impressive as everything you are used to. I wanted to show you that we have some exciting things here too, no? It is not just sleepy, quaint villages full of old people and shriveling grapes. We can be fun, je te promet! I want you to love it here, Plum. Now take a big sip and let’s go dance. C’mon, you two,” Bastien said, looking at Odette and Elliott—who didn’t look at all interested in going anywhere. “Everyone, let’s dance!” he repeated.

I looked at them and tried to help Bastien’s cause. “You guys sure you don’t want to join us on the dance floor?” Maybe if I extended an olive branch, I could smooth out whatever weirdness had been brewing between all of us since the brasserie earlier.

Elliott opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Odette. “We’re going to stay here and chat a bit. You two go ahead,” she said and waved us on.

“Okay then. We’ll be right over there if you guys change your minds.” I pointed to the dance floor, and before I knew it, Bastien had taken my hand again and was pulling me in the direction of the music.

We moved to the corner of the floor and snaked into an open spot. Bastien pulled me close, the pressure of his body on mine like a weighted blanket. Suddenly, I forgot how to breathe, and my legs could no longer support me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my chest against him. I breathed him in; he smelled of cloves and well-worn leather. He held me close with an arm he wrapped around my waist. We swayed together with the song “We Found Love” by Rihanna, losing ourselves in the music, and the beat, and each other.

I glanced over Bastien’s shoulder back to the table. It seemed that Elliott got up to grab some more drinks at the bar, while Odette sat alone, texting away on her cell. Just as Elliott approached with their next round, she tucked it back into her purse and smiled a little too graciously as she took her drink. He sat down next to her, so close their bodies touched, and I could not for the life of me figure out why I was worried about Elliott while in the arms of a very sexy Frenchman. I turned my attention away from their apparent canoodling to my drink and took a few hearty slugs, the cold and bitter liquid burning as it slid down to my stomach.

Shifting back to Bastien, I focused on the music, the feel of his hands on my hips, and relished in the freedom of the anonymity I was currently enjoying, unlike most of my nights in the US. Behind the DJ booth, beams of lights and lasers pulsed in time to the music, and sparks of bright colors zoomed across the dark space like a kaleidoscopic dream. Between the heaviness of my body and the hazy aura suspended around the lights, it was clear that the drinks had kicked in faster than I’d realized. I concentrated on standing upright as the blurred faces around me swirled like the stars of a Van Gogh painting. I glanced back over at Elliott and Odette again, squinting my eyes in their direction just in time to see the outlines of their bodies practically on top of one another.

“I think I need to sit for a minute,” I announced in Bastien’s ear.

“Parfait, I have to make a quick phone call, anyway, but will come right back,” Bastien said.

I made a beeline to the table, and my sudden plop into the booth seemed to stir the little love birds from their nest. “So . . . whatcha guys talking about?” I raised my glass to take a sip out of a need to fill the awkward spaces between our conversation, but then placed it back down when I realized it’d already been drained.

“Here, have mine. I haven’t touched it,” Elliott said, sliding his full glass of wine across the table before continuing. “I was just telling Odette that I was thinking of calling it a night soon. It’s almost one, and we have an early start tomorrow.”

“No way!? It’s one a.m.!”

Elliott’s wide eyes and vigorously nodding head were like a silent um YEAH of incredulity. “I know this is probably your usual MO, to be out partyin’ and frolicking about the night before filming starts, but it isn’t really mine.”

“It isn’t mine either! I mean, not anymore . . . I mean, I can see how it might look that way seeing as we are in fact out at one a.m. the night before shooting buuuut in all fairness, I’m still on West Coast time. It’s only like what? Four in the afternoon? Almost a whole day before shooting! I mean, for me, it’s still yesterday.”

Elliott stared at me for a solid ten seconds, probably trying to figure out if I was being serious or not. But after his rather long pause, he shook his head and barked, “I don’t even know what the hell you just said. But for everyone else here, it’s today . . . and it’s really effin’ late. So can we just go now?”

Bastien, now back from his call and having heard the tail end of the conversation, slid into the booth, wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulled me in close, and said, “You cannot be serious? We need to live it up, especially if you will not be staying in Maubec for long, n’est-ce pas? Isn’t that what you Americans say? Leeeeve eeet up!” he teased, all of his i’s sounding more like long e’s. “C’mon, ma chérie, let’s go back and dance!” His hands reached for my waist, and the warmth of his fingertips sliding over my hips sent goose bumps across my skin.

I groaned, enticed by the insanely good-looking gent who kept sneaking in small touches and was begging me to rejoin him on the dance floor. “Can I take a rain check? I hate to say it, but I think Elliott’s right and we should probably both get some sleep before we begin shooting tomorrow.”

“Of course, of course. No problem.” He grabbed for my jacket that had been folded on the booth’s seat. He held it open for me, and I slung it over my shoulders before following in the wake Elliott was creating with his body through the sea of dancers. Once on the other side of the dance floor, Bastien took my hand and scooted ahead of Elliott. “Come this way, I know a different way out. Much quicker.”

This time, Bastien led us through a few dark hallways to a back staircase that took us up and out to the street. But as Bastien opened the heavy door, flashes of cameras and shouts of my name startled the hell out of me and instinctively, I threw my hands up in front of my face.

“Plum! Plum! Over here!” a voice yelled.

Snap! Click! Snap!

“Is that your new boy toy?”

Flash! Flash!

“Can we expect a new tape from you two later this week? A foreign film with English subtitles perhaps?” another taunted.

Click! Flash! Snap!

“Or by tomorrow, by the looks of it.”

Snap! Flash! Click!

In addition to the small pack of paps, an interested gaggle of clubgoers hovered close with their phones raised in my direction, illuminating the night sky like a spotlight center stage. Sure, I was used to this to a certain degree, but not here. Not when so few people knew where I was. The paparazzi finding me without being tipped off was one in a million. Who could have told them? One of the servers? The taxi driver? The bouncer? It could have been literally anyone. And it was so naive of me to have thought I could be anonymous for even a moment.

Bastien was still leading the way through the crowd as best as he could, frantically searching for a cab amid the chaos. From behind, Elliott shielded me from sight thanks to his mammoth frame and incredibly close proximity.

With his imposing body pinned against mine, my stomach did a little flip. His right arm was raised defensively between me and the photographers, while the other was warm, pressed against the small of my back. The gesture caught me somewhat off guard.

Between my family vying for sponsorships throughout our show’s run and fighting to stay in the top spot on primetime TV, we were never ones to shy away from a photo op. Then as my sisters’ brands began to grow, every flash of the camera meant more exposure for their products and their upcoming launches. Even Rhys. Even my Rhys, who’d been so removed from all of that in the beginning, suddenly was no longer immune to the allure of the attention and fame. By the end of our relationship, I grew almost used to Rhys reveling in the attention and sometimes even orchestrating run-ins with paparazzi and adoring fans. The idea of being protected from all of it struck me as so foreign, and so unbelievably appreciated.

Bastien ran to the street and frantically waved his arms to try to hail a taxi. One finally pulled over to the curb. He gestured to Elliott, who bulldozed through the gathering crowd, using his arms to force them to part like the Red Sea so that we could pass through safely.

“Plum, dépêchez-vous. Hurry. Please,” Bastien cried as he motioned us to the waiting car where he flung open the door and waved us in.

Elliott, almost bearlike, shielded me with his body, positioning himself at the back of our party, allowing Odette to follow Bastien and keeping me closely tucked under his wing. As I held tight to Elliott’s chest, I noticed he carried a robust scent of cedarwood, reminiscent of the dense forests and towering trees of a remote wilderness. I registered that smell as markedly different from the rich, exotic spices I had sensed from Bastien earlier in the evening.

My brain started to sound off like the bells on a slot machine, which paired with the continuous flashing of the cameras and made me teeter on my Valentino studded wedges. At the shifting of my weight, Elliott tightened his hold on me and continued pushing us in the direction of the car. Practically catapulting me and Odette inside with one final shove, he ran around to the other side and folded himself into the front seat before telling the driver to step on it, launching us back down the bumpy roads in the direction of Maubec.

Chapter Fourteen

My head was positively pounding, and the tannins from last night’s wine were still thick on my tongue. I swallowed back a few Advil and chugged an entire bottle of Evian in practically one gulp. It sloshed around my empty stomach before threatening to come back up. Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes and prayed for the room to stop spinning. When I opened them, it took a second to refocus, but when they did, they fell to the television, which was inadvertently airing a rerun of EVERLYday.

It was odd to hear my own voice and those of my family dubbed in French voices that hardly matched their own. By the look of Lemon’s bangs (which took her a full two years to grow out) it was one of the later seasons, maybe season eight or nine? I inched back on the bed, feeling for the remote, and flipped on the English subtitles just as Lemon was telling Mom she was going skiing with her boyfriend and wouldn’t be home for Christmas that year. That’s when Rhys, my “perfect” boyfriend, showed up, offering to spend the holidays with my family, winning everyone (including the audience) over with his thoughtful gesture and bold contrast to Lemon’s lemon of a beau.

I couldn’t help but wonder how much of it was real and how much of Rhys’s performance was for the cameras at that point? Could I pinpoint the moment the switch had flipped for him? When the stardom became more important to him than I was? The lines between reality and performance blurred beyond recognition, and I was left to wonder if I truly knew the person I had once been unable to live a day without. I don’t think I ever really did.

A bit hungover and very dehydrated, I begrudgingly fumbled around the room for something to wear until I found my jean shorts from the other day and a clean black tank top. I felt around in my bag for a pair of oversize sunglasses, slipped them on, and hurried downstairs to meet Bastien. Agnès and Pascal, already in the dining room setting up for breakfast, were turning chairs and setting the tables with utensils and sugar caddies.

“Bonjour, Prune, sleep well?” She glanced up, extending her usual greeting, and quickly returned to her laundry list of tasks. She unfolded a white linen tablecloth and spread it across the table, smoothing out any wrinkles with her hand. “Odette showed you a nice time in Avignon, I hope?”

“Yes, she did. We had a lovely time.”