22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Hazel

The drive to Champagne is pleasant, and I embrace every minute of it because I know that once we arrive, and Olivier starts speaking French again, my body is going to endure all sorts of fluttering and ridiculous temperatures. Resisting his charm during this trip is going to be particularly excruciating. I just hope he really did leave his beret at home.

During the car ride, we listen to popular French music on the radio, and I discover a couple of artists I really like—Christophe Maé and Vianney. As the music plays gently, we talk about our childhoods. I just finished telling him about losing my mom a few years back and growing up without a father.

"I'm sorry," he says with a comforting smile. "I can't imagine losing my mom, but I grew up with an absentee father, so I know how painful that is."

"But he was working. That's different. He was providing for you and your family. Mine just didn't want anything to do with us."

"It felt like that for us too. Even Matt says it. Our dad was more interested in his work than spending time with us. You've seen him. Always on his own, trying to find something to occupy his time. Anything to avoid being with us because he doesn't know how. Doesn't know us."

"Sorry. That's tough. You still have a shot of changing things, though. You should talk to him about it."

He sucks in a breath. "Well, once I tell him I'm quitting the palace and opening my own restaurant, he's probably going to disown me. So our relationship isn't going to change any time soon."

I snap my head toward him with a gasp. "You're opening your own restaurant? "

He gives me a sheepish smile. "I think so, yeah. I've been looking at a couple of places that have potential, and then I'll get a proposal ready for the banks."

A tingling sensation sweeps through my chest. "Oh my goodness, Olivier. That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you."

His smile widens, revealing that adorable dimple. "Thank you. And thanks for pushing me and reminding me what cooking is all about."

My eyebrows shoot up. "I did that?"

"Of course you did. Last week, we had so much fun cooking together. I'd forgotten about that joy, somehow, and I don't want to lose it ever again."

"I'm so glad I could help, and that you found your passion again. It's going to be fantastic. What kind of restaurant are you going for? What are you planning to serve?"

He shoots me a glance, his eyes sparkling. "I'm leaning more towards comfort food. Well, elevated comfort food. I want to take simple food items and dishes and give them a unique twist. I want to surprise people but still be accessible, you know? I don't want to overcomplicate things. I don't know. Maybe it's dumb, and I should stick to high gastronomy."

"No," I blurt out louder than intended as I almost jump in my seat. "What you're describing is perfect. It's exactly what I picture when I think about you opening your restaurant. Elevating simple dishes. Just like you did this past week."

His eyes land on me again. "Yes. Exactly."

"It's going to be incredible, Olivier. I just know it." My heart warms, but then breaks when I remember that I won't be on this journey with him. "Let me know when you open. I'll definitely fly over and check it out."

He smiles, but it feels forced. "Oh yes, of course." Then, he focuses back on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tight.

Chateau Lacombe is gorgeous. The imposing century-old building made of white stone with creeping ivy on the corners stands on a sprawling property, the closest neighbors being miles away. It's the perfect estate for a romantic escapade. Work. Work escapade .

The owner, Luc—a fifty-something guy with kind eyes and a large beard—welcomes us with open arms, giving us a tour of the place and showing us our separate rooms. Mine is a cute white-and-pink suite featuring a queen-sized bed, a beautiful carved dresser, and a matching dressing table. Very castle-like.

After we settle in, he suggests we go straight for a champagne tasting along with some lunch.

"So," Luc says once we're in the cellar. It's a narrow, windowless room stocked with wooden barrels. The smell of damp wood that mingles with aging wine overwhelms my senses, and I'm already getting dizzy. "We are a very small domaine producing only forty thousand bottles per year."

"That's small?" I ask. It feels like a big number.

"Oh oui ," Luc says. "Moet and Chandon, for example, produce twenty-six million bottles a year. Veuve Clicquot, twenty-two million. So yes, we are very tiny next to them."

I blink a few times. "Oh, wow. Okay."

"We harvest all of our grapes ourselves, which is naturally impossible for the bigger houses, who outsource the production to independent winemakers. We have five acres of vines right here around the chateau, which we'll go see afterwards. I'm the third generation of winemakers in my family after my father and grandfather. We aim to produce a champagne of exceptional quality, and all of our exports are certified high environmental value, the highest level of environmental certification here in France. We also press the grapes in house. Let me go grab a few bottles, and we can start the tasting."

"I'm excited," I tell Olivier once Luc is gone. "Sounds promising. I've only ever tasted brand names when it comes to champagne."

"I always stay away from brand names. They can't match the quality of small houses. Except maybe with their highly prestigious bottles, like Dom Perignon for example, but the price tag isn't the same, and I've tasted far better champagne for a fraction of the price."

"Have you tried Luc's champagne yet?"

"No. As he mentioned, they're a very small producer, which makes them very exclusive. They only sell to people they know. My boss and sommelier have been trying to expand our wine list with smaller brands for a while, but most of them refuse because they don't have enough bottles to sell. That's why my boss asked me to make this trip when our sommelier got sick. It's a rare opportunity."

And once again, I find myself benefiting from Olivier's connections. No matter how many times it happens, it doesn't get easier. If anything, it only twists the knife further into the heart of the liar I am.

I force a smile and take a deep breath. These are my last days with him, and I should try to enjoy my time. Plus, it's not like I'm going to write a review on Luc's champagne.

Yes, I know I'm trying hard to convince myself I'm not a terrible person. And no, it's not working. Yet. But maybe after a few glasses . . .

Luc returns holding various bottles and glasses along with a tray of cheese. I like him more and more by the minute. He brings a cheese plate with bread for the three of us. "First, let's try our ambassador cuvée . It's an extra brut champagne—meaning between zero and six grams of added sugar per liter. Incredibly fresh with notes of yellow fruits, white flowers, and a saline finish."

He pours each of us a glass. "Santé ," they both say as I utter, "cheers. "

Just as Luc said, this champagne is very crisp, and I'm surprised by this saline finish. I've never tasted that before, in a wine or a champagne.

"Très bon, " Olivier gushes. " Parfait pour l'apéritif. A great palate opener."

They dive into a conversation in French, and I try to focus on my food and drink. The second champagne is the same variety we just tasted but in brut , which, as Luc explains, means there's between six and twelve grams of added sugar per liter. The difference is striking. I can still taste those yellow fruit notes, but it's as if they're riper, and the saline taste has vanished, leaving a richer mouth feel.

Then, we move on to their blanc de blanc —which is made only of chardonnay—and their blanc de noirs, made only of their pinot noir grapes. That last one might be my favorite. It's a lot richer and more wine-like than the blanc de blanc, which is pretty dry.

"Délicieux ," Olivier says, licking his lips. Oh, the weird things it does to my body, sending prickles of pleasure all over and leaving me feverish. Olivier is really hot. Like, yeah, I knew he was hot. But not this hot. How have I managed to resist him all this time? If Luc wasn't here, I don't think I'd be able to hold off.

"Should we go for a walk in the vineyard, then?" Luc offers, startling me with the loud pitch of his voice. "We'll try our vintage champagne tonight over dinner. It'll be a more appropriate setting for it."

I glance at Olivier, who's standing up as if Luc's voice didn't just shatter the cellar, making my head pound. There's a slight frown wrinkling his forehead, and he mouths, "Are you okay?"

I nod, eating one last piece of cheese. I need some food in my system ASAP. And some fresh air.

The tour of the vineyard left me enchanted with its endless rows of vines interspersed with towering oak trees. Plus, the chilly weather was exactly what I needed to put my thoughts back in order after the tasting.

Thank goodness for Luc being here, or this whole experience would be way too romantic for my taste. Luc is passionate about what he does, and he's happy to explain everything about champagne and the fabrication process, which has left me enraptured. I love to learn new things, and it was the perfect distraction. From the manual harvesting of the grapes to the aging part, I'm surprised how complex the whole process is, and I found myself eager to know more. He also gives me a crash course on champagne in general, and I'm impressed by the number of varieties packed into such a small region. We drink more and more champagne throughout the tour, and by the time we're done, I can't even feel my feet anymore. Good thing, though, because they must be in bad shape after all the walking we did, not to mention my totally inappropriate flat shoes.

Luc's chef has prepared a dinner for us to pair with their most complex champagne, and Olivier is currently chatting with him while I freshen up in my room. At least, that's what I told them I was doing. In reality, I've just downed half a bottle of water and am now nearly passed out on my bed.

When I stand up, the room still spins a little. Maybe I just need some more food in my stomach. As I trudge down the stairs, Olivier appears at the bottom, looking as sexy as he's been all day with his cute olive sweater that clings to his muscles and complements his eyes perfectly. His hair is tousled from walking against the wind, which leaves me wanting to rake my hands through it even more. Our eyes meet, and I can't break from his magnetic pull. The way he looks at me always makes me feel powerful. Dare I say, wanted ?

I miss the last step and lose my balance, falling straight into the strong arms of Olivier, who was right there to catch me.

"Wow, are you okay?" he asks with a chuckle.

"I'm fine." I steady myself on his shoulders, and we stand there for a second, his hands burning on my waist. "I lost my balance. It might be the champagne," I say with a touch of humor. Either that, or Olivier's stare.

Yep, we have our winner.

"You have to eat and drink some water. Come." Of course he looks perfectly normal, like he hasn't drunk a drop of champagne. It must be a French thing. Their internal systems are practically made for wine tastings.

He takes me by the hand. The gesture feels so natural, I don't say a thing. The dinner table is beautifully decorated, and the scent wafting from the kitchen smells heavenly .

Dinner is sumptuous, and the champagnes Luc pours us are all exceptional, but the last one is definitely my favorite. It beats every wine I've ever tasted.

"There's so much depth and structure. I love it," I say, swirling it in my glass.

Luc beams at me. "Merci . Yes, this one is very complex."

"I agree," Olivier says. "It's round and sensual. Elegant." His eyes are trained on me as he speaks, and my entire body catches fire when I realize he's not only talking about the champagne.

I detach my gaze from his and try to focus on Luc, who's telling us about this specific blend.

"Excuse me. I'm going to offer my congratulations to the chef," Olivier says, finally pulling his eyes away from me.

After finishing his monologue about champagne and answering my questions, Luc decides to call it a night.

"Feel free to stay up for as long as you want. Please, finish the bottle. There's more in the wine cooler if you're interested," he says with a wink. "I'll go say goodnight to Olivier."

" Merci beaucoup , Luc. Bonne nuit . "

Minutes later, Olivier steps back out from the kitchen, and the fact that the two of us are now alone here with a bottle of champagne makes me very aware of how dangerous this situation is. I know I should really go to bed. But at the same time, this is one of my last nights in France. With Olivier. And there's no way we can let the rest of that champagne go to waste.

"Another glass?" Olivier asks, arching an eyebrow as he sits back down next to me.

"Wine not?"