The rain was warm and fell in rhythmic patterns across the square, fat drops plopping into the fountain in the center. I lowered the cardigan down off my head and allowed myself to close my eyes, tilt my face up, and take it all in. Raindrops slid down my forehead, into the creases of my lids and lashes, and sloped down my cheeks and neck. My clothes soaked up the moisture, the layers growing heavier with the passing time. I inhaled a deep breath and looked out into the distance: the lush fields of green and violet, the cypress trees, and Saint Orens in the distance on the hill.
Iâd learned so much since arriving in Provenceânot all lessons Iâd volunteered to learn, necessarily, but they came nonetheless. I learned about the AdĂ©laĂŻses, and the Resistance, and the brave people who fought back in spite of the repercussions they knew theyâd face if caught. I learned about the heartbreak of betrayal (intimately), a lesson it seemed the universe was insistent I hadnât mastered quite yet.
I wiped my hand across my face, picked up my bag, and went inside to take a hot shower and give careful consideration to a decision Iâd already subconsciously made.
The silver bell chimed above the inn door, a sound Iâd miss once I was back at home, and I noticed Odette hustling around the dining room, moving small buckets around the floor and up onto tables to catch the drops of water leaking through the roof. As soon as she placed them, it seemed another leak opened somewhere else across the room. It was like watching a much less humorous game of Whac-A-Mole.
âDo you need some help?â I asked, instinctively grabbing a bucket and moving it to a stream of water that started to pour out harder than before.
Odette didnât even lift her head to see who was speaking. She was too busy trying to balance three buckets in her arms to dump some of the caught water into the side sink. âYeah, I do, actually. Any chance you have a new inn on you? In a pocket somewhere or in your luggage? Or a new roof at least?â she joked.
âActually, funny you should ask . . . ,â I joked back.
Odette lifted her head at the response. âOh, Plum, hello. Yes, I guess you do have a chĂąteau . . .â Odette laughed. âSorry, that comment wasnât meant for you, I was just making a general joke. But, as you can see, we need a bit of renovation work ourselves if we hope to stay open for much longer.â She repositioned the newly emptied buckets back under the leaks and grabbed a dish towel to mop up any puddles left behind. âItâs one of the many reasons why I cannot return to Paris. It feels so selfish. Clearly, my parents need me here. With the state of the inn as it is, itâs all too much.â
âI can understand that,â I said and nodded.
âAnd I couldnât think to move them to Paris. This is their homeâMaubec, our neighbors, every piece of this town. I could never do that to them, no matter how much my dreams and future may live outside Provence.â She took a deep breath and continued, âActually, since itâs just the two of us down here, I do have something I wanted to broach with you.â
She used the dishcloth to wipe off the chairs once more to ensure no wetness was left and then gestured for me to take a seat. She plopped herself across from me and fidgeted with the rag in her hands. âIâve been giving it some thought, and though I know I was initially upset that you wouldnât be staying in Maubec, Iâve come to realize that maybe it is the opportunity weâve all been waiting for.â
Her eyes burned with anticipation and optimism. âNot that I wouldnât love for you to stay,â she clarified and continued, âitâs just that, if youâre not, then I have a proposition for you. I was wondering if you would consider selling the chĂąteau to us once itâs finished. We never could afford the renovations that property needed, and the project, quite frankly, was just too big and overwhelming for my parents to take on before. I know youâll probably have your share of offers for it, many of them way over asking, but I just would like to throw our hat in the ring, and though our offer may not be as tempting, I was hoping that now that youâve gotten to know us and the town, youâd see it as a sound investment. You see, if my parents were able to run a property that didnât need quite so much upkeep, then perhaps I might be able to return to Paris and finish my studies with greater peace of mind.â
The idea tumbled out of her mouth like she was afraid if she didnât get it all out in one breath, sheâd lose her nerve. Once finished, she drew in a long breath and set her hands on top of the table, wringing her fingers with anxiety. âWhat do you think?â
How was I supposed to answer Odette with the future of the property and the show so up in the air? Where did I even begin to explain?
âOdette, I love the idea of ChĂąteau Mirabelle being run by your family, but . . .â My chin began to quiver, and I was afraid I wouldnât be able to get the words out before completely breaking down. âThe house. Itâs not . . . It wonât . . . Itâs just a mess.â
She reached across the table and squeezed my forearm jovially. âOh, Plum, I know. Itâs okay. I mean, once itâs finished,â she laughed, clearly misunderstanding.
âNo, I mean, it wonât ever be finished. Iâm leaving the show. It was all a setup, and the renovations were all staged, just a backdrop for a love-story gotcha moment they dreamed up to embarrass me on a national stage . . . all for TV ratings.â Fresh tears sprang to my eyes, the hurt still a raw ache.
âWait, what? No. That canât be true. How cruel!â Odette swung her chair around the table to scoot closer to me and slung an arm around my sunken shoulders.
âItâs true. And I feel like such an idiot. Now even more so in learning the project had gotten your hopes up about a possible future for you and your family.â The tears started to spill in steady streams, and I hid my face in my hands in embarrassment.
Odette was maybe the last person I thought Iâd be crying to, but alas, here we were, and I couldnât keep the floodgates from opening again. âWhatâs worse is that the house,â I continued, âat least aesthetically, is in just as poor a condition as when it started. They fixed the foundation and the mold problem and the plumbing. But those things pushed the schedule so far off course it never found its way back. There are no floors or walls, no decor. No charm or flavor. It is a blank and chaotic canvas, and after everything they put me through, I may need to walk away from the project to preserve what little dignity I have left.â
âOh my God, Plum. I had no idea. I am sorry to have even asked.â She lowered her head, unsure of what else to say and how to proceed. âAre . . . are you okay?â
I looked up at her and into her brown eyes. Before I answered, I surveyed the dining room again. Amid the buckets rapidly filling with water from dozens of leaks actively pouring from the roof, Odette was asking about me. About my troubles. About my mental health. Her selflessness was jarring, yet incredibly appreciated, and I felt a hollowness of regret for not warming to her sooner. Perhaps it was jealousy in seeing how Elliott behaved around her? I didnât know. All I knew was that I suddenly felt a deep remorse for the time weâd lost. Itâd been a long time since Iâd had a real and genuine friendship, and if I hadnât been so caught up in myself, I couldâve been building one with Odette.
âActually, I donât know how I am, quite honestly. I feel pretty lost right now, and Iâm trying not to act rashly and make a decision I may live to regret. But I feel like Iâm hanging upside down. The world is present, as Iâve always known it, but itâs all wrong. Itâs inverted and confusing and out of balance. I feel like Iâm looking at a Jackson Pollock painting that someone is telling me is a Renoir.â
She squeezed my fingers supportively and did not let go. She stayed quiet, not trying to dispense advice or empty encouragement like so many would; she just stayed by my side and listened.
I continued, âSo now Iâm left at a crossroads. Do I allow Tributary to air this fabricated season, complete with the mortifying gotcha moment in Paris with Rhys they are sure to include, or do I back out of my contract, chalk it all up to a very arduous learning experience, return to LA, and never look back?â
âYou know I canât answer that for you,â she said, her eyebrows woven together in sympathy.
âYou sure? At this point, Iâm thinking of flipping a coin. At least you are a bit more qualified.â I cracked a smile. âThank you, though. For listening. For understanding. And for giving me the benefit of the doubt.â
âI had a feeling that once Elliott and I started to become a little closer, you pulled away. But nothing is going on or has ever gone on with us. Actually, I think he is quite taken with someone else.â She lifted her eyebrows at me, an obvious hint at who she meant.
âNo,â I said and shook my head. âI mean, maybe? But I canât even think about all of that right now. I need to close this Bastien chapter first, figure out what Iâm doing with ChĂąteau Mirabelle, and then maybe I can sort out whatever is going on or not going on between me and Elliott.â
âOuais, I understand, but donât take too long. Donât throw away this entire experience because it ended up not being what you expected. Sometimes lifeâs greatest treasures are the ones we donât expect.â
I smiled and nodded. âIâll try to keep that in mind. Can I ask you something?â
âAnything,â she replied.
âCan you tell me more about Bastien? I just feel so blindsided, like I never knew him at all. You tried to warn me, didnât you?â
An expression of guilt washed over her face. âListen, Bastien and I have a long historyâun peu compliquĂ©. We grew up together. We were young and in love as high school sweethearts, but he had a difficult time growing up in this town, and it has haunted him, dictating his actions and forcing him to live in survival mode ever since he was a little boy with the last name Munier.â
I pressed my lips together and nodded in contemplation. âIâve been trying to put this puzzle together, and Monsieur Grenouille just slid the proverbial last piece into place by telling me about Bastienâs grandfather. I canât tell you how shocked I was to learn that he was the one who turned in the AdĂ©laĂŻses and the rest of the townspeople involved in the Resistance.â
âOuais,â Odette consented, âcan you imagine living in the shadow of such a treacherous betrayal? Bastien had nothing to do with it but was forced to pay for the sins of his familyâs past. It was one of the biggest wedges that existed in our relationship early on. He wanted to run away from Maubec and start a new life, somewhere the story couldnât follow him. It had always been his dream to be a vintner like his grandfather, but no one would give him the chance to apprentice in this region, a necessary step.â
âIt doesnât excuse what Bastien did,â I responded coldly.
âNon, of course, it doesnât. But perhaps it may justify it a little. He tried to hitch his wagon to your star, or maybe tried to right the wrongs of the past through rebuilding what his grandfather was responsible for destroyingâwhich isnât right, but is maybe at least a bit more understandable given the circumstances.â
âYou are undeservingly gracious with him. He said it was you who wanted more, who needed to get out of Maubec, who left everyone behindâruthlessly and selfishly. When given the chance, he threw you right under the bus. So, why, after all that happened, do you still defend him?â
âBecause he is a genuinely good man. He is just a product of his family and his history. Like you. Like me. Like we all are. And he is a hell of a vintner to boot. Itâs a shame no one ever gave him a real shot. He is actually quite talented.â
Odette stood from the table and pushed in the chair. âWhatever it is you decide, Plum, donât let it be because of what Bastien or Rhys did or Kate . . . or anyone else in your past. Let it be your decision, wholly and completely. Itâs the only way it will ever be the right one.â
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Before I could change my mind, I sent a text to Bastien asking him to meet me at Chùteau Mirabelle in an hour. In the meantime, I needed to take a walk to clear my mind. The landslide of the past several hours was almost too much to believe, let alone bear. Between the show turning out to be a prank, the revelation about Bastien and his grandfather, the heartache of learning about the Adélaïses, and my complicated feelings for Elliott, I was hitting my limit on things I could handle.
It was still raining, but significantly less. And what was a little rain? I was already soaked from when Iâd left Monsieur Grenouilleâs shop and helped Odette in the dining room. In fact, the warm summer shower felt cathartic, like a baptism washing away my troubles and sending them in rivulets down the cobblestone road. I walked past Monsieur Grenouilleâs shop and waved with a smile when I caught his eye through the window. He returned the gesture, and I immediately felt lighter.
I continued my stroll, passing Le Coquelicot floral shop and a few other storefronts that lined the townâs main street. The stores werenât busy; in fact, they looked a bit like they were taking a siesta in this afternoon rainstorm. For the almost six weeks Iâd been in Maubec, Iâd walked down this road before, many times, but Iâd never really surveyed the town as a whole. It was quiet and insular. It looked like a movie set built on a film stage in LA, but one that had been constructed years ago and then left to wither away, unattended and overlooked.
It had all the makings of a beautiful, luscious tourist destination, one that would bring along with it the money and the attention that could reinvigorate Maubec back to its original glory. The potential was there. The story was just waiting to be written. I sighed, heavy with the weight of my impending decision about airing the show. It would change so much for this town and these people, but greenlighting its broadcast also would force me to take a hit from which I wasnât sure I could recover.
After a quick shower and a change of clothes, I met Gervais out in front of the inn. For the entire twenty-minute drive, I mentally rehearsed my speech. And every time I did, it took on a new inflection. Anger turned to hurt, hurt turned to sadness, and then sadness turned back around to rage. I wasnât sure if, once I was actually face-to-face with Bastien, Iâd lose all sense of the self-control I was mustering and instead, go simply ballistic. I guess once the time came, I would be just as surprised at what would come out of my mouth as he would.
Gervais was able to pull up the full length of the driveway this time, as almost all the trucks and crew had left for the day. There was only one work vehicle left, the workers marching in and out loading up the back with their tools and excess materials, and one small car that I recognized as Simoneâs. Most of the rain had cleared since my walk in town, and the clouds were finally breaking just in time for sunset.
I walked in the front entrance and gasped, clasping my hands over my mouth in awe. The space was stunning: intricate area rugs and lush Queen Anne furniture, golden fixtures and rich tapestry drapes that hung the length of the full picture windows. The light from the descending sun streamed in, casting everything in a warm, hazy hue. I caught a glimpse of Simone walking gingerly around the space, adjusting the floral arrangements that adorned all the tabletopsâtall yellow sunflowers paired with lavender sprigs and clusters of hyacinths.
âSimone, I canât even believe this. How? How did this all get finished? This house was a disaster just this morning!â I exclaimed, still marveling at the amazing art on the walls and the meticulous detailsâlike the fully staged dining room complete with place settings of bone china.