Chapter 5

Vince

T he moment I got back to the villa, I stripped off my clothes and had a shower. Unused to this heat, I was sweltering, my shirt drenched.

The salad at lunch had been the best I'd ever eaten, and the bread was better than anything in the world, especially served warm with proper butter.

We didn't have bread like that at home. I'd move here for that alone.

I'd had a couple more beers and chatted to the waiter, Fabien. He'd told me about his uncle's restaurant, suggesting I visit one evening. If I mentioned his name, his uncle would see me right, he'd said with a wink.

Seemed like a good idea, but not today. After hardly sleeping last night and travelling today, I was still knackered. Even a cool shower had done nothing to chase away my exhaustion.

Coffee. That was what I needed.

Dressed in a loose pair of cotton shorts, I walked to the kitchen, where I found the instructions to the coffee machine in a drawer and set to work. The instructions were more difficult than launching a space shuttle. Push this button, pull this lever. Jesus, I just wanted a cup of coffee!

Ten minutes later, I sat on the deck with my steaming cup of black coffee, my lily-white skin on show. I'd religiously applied sunscreen. Lexi had lectured me on and on over the perils of skin cancer.

She was like an old mother hen sometimes.

I closed my eyes, relaxing for the first time in I didn't know how long. I had nothing to worry about. Mum was being taken care of. I'd left a to-do list for work, and other than Theo and his wedding, I didn't have a care in the world.

The singing of birds and chirping of insects lulled me to sleep.

This was the life.

"Oui, I know." An irate French voice shattered the silence. "The job needs completing, and I'm the only one to do it. You already said this." My eyes flew open. Who the hell was talking?

I sat up straight. The man from the airport walked along the path at the edge of the garden. And here I was with no shirt on. God, hopefully, he didn't see me, but I daren't move.

He ran his fingers through his hair and halted a few feet away.

"I've just come back from England. Why do I need to go again? The job is complete."

A barrage of French followed, words I hadn't any hope of understanding. He turned suddenly and looked straight at me, his eyes wide.

"Hi." I lifted my hand in a wave. Could I be any stupider? Now what?

He frowned.

"I'm just going to…" I pointed back towards the villa and stood, the chair scraping noisily on the deck. I mouthed "sorry" and scurried back inside.

Way to go, Vince.

This was why I didn't go out. I was an embarrassment, even to myself.

I hid behind the curtain and watched him. How did he look so cool and collected?

Gesticulating wildly, he continued to talk, this time in French. He sounded so sexy and looked it too. His pink-and-white-checked shirt pulled across his chest and around his tanned and firm forearms. He still wore his sunglasses. What colour would his eyes be? He glanced over to where I was standing, and I backed away quickly. Hopefully, he'd not seen me spying on him. He walked away and disappeared from view.

Now that was a shame.

Unable to keep my eyes open, I yawned, tiredness creeping in.

Time for a nap.

I closed the sliding door, locked the remaining doors, and went to the bedroom.

Clothes lay scattered on the bed, and I pushed them to one side. Some things never changed.

I dropped my shorts and climbed into the bed, the crisp sheets cool against my warm body. This bed was more comfortable than my own at home.

I sighed contentedly and fell into a deep sleep.

I woke up with a start, the room in darkness. What time was it?

The illuminated clock on the bedside table showed eleven, and once again, my stomach rumbled. Lunch had been hours earlier. No wonder I was hungry.

I fumbled for the light switch and turned on the bedside lamp, squinting at the bright light.

Time to find some food and a drink. I was parched.

I walked naked to the kitchen. Not something I would do at home, but here, with no responsibilities or obligations, I felt freer than I ever had. No one telling me what I could and couldn't do or telling me how fat I was.

I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. How about that? I'd shed a fair few pounds. Yes, I was still chubby, but not half as bad as I had been. Arguing with Theo had awakened something inside me, and even though I'd binged on pizza and doughnuts after our set-to, I'd realised that if I wanted to make something of myself, things needed to change.

I still jiggled, still had a way to go, but it was a start.

Moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting an eerie glow in the lounge. In the semi-darkness, I opened the fridge, which was, to my surprise, full of food.

Ham, cheese, butter. Everything I needed to make a sandwich. If only I had some of the delicious bread I'd had earlier. Further searching revealed a small baguette, some fruit, and bottled water. I'd still need to shop, but this went some way to hold me over until breakfast.

I dressed in shorts and a T-shirt and took my food outside. It was peaceful, not a sound to disturb the silence.

I answered a couple of texts from Lexi. She'd still be up, never going to bed before midnight.

Another from Callum, hoping I liked the villa and the food. I thanked him, took a picture of the baguette, and sent it to him.

Last, there was a text from Theo, sent about an hour ago.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and stared at the unopened message.

" Vince, please talk to me ."

Well, he'd changed his tune, although I doubted he realised how much he'd hurt me that morning at the hotel. His words had stung. Why should I talk to him?

He should fucking apologise. That was what he should do, and only then would I consider talking to him. I wasn't usually this stubborn, but this time, I was adamant I wouldn't cave first.

Yes, I'd been lukewarm about his announcement, but how would he have felt if the shoe had been on the other foot?

Enough regrets, though. I refused to have them, and while I considered deleting the text, I left it unanswered. Perhaps in time I'd respond, but this week was for me, and fuck everyone else.

Except Lexi.

God, she'd never forgive me.

I sat for a while longer and finished my sandwich. I yawned again, still tired but pleasantly full. I'd clean up tomorrow, but now, it was back to bed.

The following day, I got up early and strolled to the local supermarket. I picked up some fresh croissants and a few bits to get me through the week. Thankfully, the checkout staff spoke English and were more than happy to help me.

I'd planned a bus ride into Cannes, determined to see as much as possible while I was here. I'd hoped to rub shoulders with some celebrities, but other than a few expensive cars, I saw no one I recognised.

People flocked to the beaches with barely any space between them, but no one seemed to mind. I wandered the marina, gawking at the massive yachts.

I took a few pictures and sent them to Lexi with a message.

How the other half live, eh?

She responded with a laughing emoji. and I belatedly realised she'd be at work.

The town was beautiful, but everything here was way out of my league from the expensive cafes and restaurants to the designer stores like Louis Vuitton and Jimmy Choo.

Theo and Glen would love it here, but it wasn't for me. This wasn't my world. I wandered around some more, visiting the famous theatre where they held the film festival and laughed with the crowd at the antics of a mime act.

Glad that I'd visited, I fired off a text to Lexi with a few more pictures, telling her I was having a great time.

Not a lie but also not quite the truth.

Having someone to share this with would have been the icing on the cake, but instead, I walked the promenade alone.

But I refused to let my mood ruin the rest of the day, and I took a ride on the sightseeing train. I finished off my explorations with an ice cream in the sun. Here, I'd seen the other side of life. The expensive cars and clothes, the best hotels, and so many people crammed into one place it was a wonder they weren't claustrophobic.

On the bus back to the villa, I let the voices of the people around me wash over me. An eclectic mix of French, English, and a smattering of Italian. Not too surprising, as we were quite close to the Italian border.

I'd planned on visiting Monaco later in the week. If funds allowed.

Tonight I was visiting the restaurant of Fabien's uncle. Fabien had reminded me this morning to mention his name and had winked again, a smirk on his face.

If I was less cynical, I might have thought he was flirting, but he was probably doing it to get more business into the restaurant.

The uphill walk from the bus stop to the resort was exhausting, and by the time I arrived, I was hot and sweaty, my shirt sticking to my back.

I rounded the corner, straight into the hard body of a man.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry." I stepped back.

Fuck me. If it wasn't the man from the airport and the garden. What the hell was going on?

I'd seen him not once, not twice, but three times now and each time was more awkward than the last.

"You again." He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow.

At least now I could see the colour of his eyes. Why had I thought he'd have piercing blue eyes or eyes so green they were the colour of moss?

I'd been reading too many romance books.

But they were brown, much the same as mine, and in a way, that made me happy. Not everyone was the perfect specimen.

Try as I might, I couldn't tear my eyes away from them, from the flecks of amber dancing in the sunlight. The five o'clock shadow was gone, and full lips twitched, lifting on one side.

Was he laughing at me?

I puffed out my chest and stood a little taller. Hell, if I would be intimidated by the handsome Frenchmen before me.

He stood a few inches taller than my five feet ten. The smile became a full-blown laugh, and he threw his head back, one hand to his chest, the other resting on the wall next to us.

I frowned, not liking being laughed at. I'd encountered enough of that in my life. What gave him the right to do it?

Unsure where my newfound confidence came from, I opened my mouth, about to give him a piece of my mind, but he spoke before I could.

"You, I like. What's your name?"

Flustered, I struggled to speak. This man, who I found highly attractive, told me he liked me and asked for my name. In all my twenty-eight years, that had never happened.

"I…I…" Trust my stutter to make an appearance. I took a deep breath and started again. "My name is Vince."

"Good to meet you, Vince. I'm Sylvain. Sylvain Ducasse."

"Vince Murphy."

"Well, Vince Murphy, it seems we keep bumping into each other. First at the airport, then outside your villa, and again just now."

So he remembered me from the airport, even though it had been the briefest of encounters.

"I'm clumsy. What can I say?"

"Sylvain, if I could have a moment of your time." An angry-looking man waved him over, and if I was very much mistaken, a flicker of annoyance crossed over Sylvain's face.

"If you'll excuse me. Seems my colleague would like a word." He nodded and once again disappeared.

Things like that didn't happen to me. I was the one who people ignored, the forgettable one.

But it was time for me to shower and get ready for my night out at the restaurant. Maybe my luck was changing, and things were starting to look up.

Wouldn't that be a turn-up for the books?