French Coast (29 page)

“It helps to have an unlimited budget—wait until you see the wedding cake.” Zoe grinned. “Oh, God, it's my turn to give a toast.”

*   *   *

Serena sat next to Nick and saw Zoe take the stage. She watched her friend smooth her hair and gingerly tap the microphone.

“I never thought I'd walk my mother down the aisle. Thank God she's too old to have babies; I'd be useless in the delivery room.” Zoe paused while people laughed. She glanced at her notes and squinted at the crowd. “If a parent's job is to teach their children, my parents get an A plus. They taught me to be independent and hardworking and loyal, but most important, they taught me about love.

“Twelve years ago I was kidnapped and my parents thought they lost the most important thing in their lives. Now I know how they felt, because recently I thought I lost what I valued most: my family. But tonight we are here together, celebrating with our dear friends. They showed me with love you can accomplish anything, and I hope I have a marriage that lasts as long and brings joy to so many people.” Zoe paused. She looked up from her notes and her hands were shaking.

“They taught me something else.” Zoe grinned, her shoulders relaxing. “If you want people to fly halfway around the world at a day's notice, you better throw a great party. May I introduce the one and only Sir Elton John!”

*   *   *

“How did you get Elton John to sing at your parents' wedding?” Serena asked when Zoe joined them at their table.

The room had erupted in applause and waiters popped bottles of Dom Pérignon. Malcolm wiped his eyes with his gray handkerchief and Laura twisted her new five-carat diamond ring.

“He's staying at the Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc; I ran into him in the lobby.” Zoe guzzled the champagne. “We met when my father received his knighthood, we all had tea with the queen. He loves Violet Crumbles and he has the coolest collection of glasses. We're going to carry them at the store.”

“I'd like to propose a toast,” Nick said as he raised his champagne flute. “To a fairy-tale wedding and two beautiful bridesmaids.” Nick leaned forward and kissed Serena on the lips. “I'm the luckiest guy in the room.”

*   *   *

“I'm sorry I disappeared, it was so much to take in,” Nick said later, leaning against the glass railing. “I was out of my mind, I felt like my whole childhood had been obliterated.”

They had nibbled caviar and duck pâté and Russian foie gras. They ate lobster soufflé and lamb medallions with stuffed red peppers. They watched Malcolm and Laura glide across the dance floor and saw Zoe standing on the side, holding back tears. After the first dance, Nick grabbed Serena's hand and led her to the balcony.

“I know.” Serena nodded. She gazed at the glittering lights of the Côte d'Azur and wished they could talk about selling Nick's boat and her promotion at
Vogue
.

“I walked for hours in the hills and then I went home and drank a bottle of scotch.”

“Where did you see Zoe?” Serena asked.

“She came to my apartment,” Nick replied.

“She shouldn't have done that,” Serena murmured. Suddenly the breeze picked up and she wrapped her pink pashmina tightly around her chest.

“She said I shouldn't be angry at you, you were hurting as much as me,” Nick replied. “Then she said you might have forgotten to tell me something.”

“What?” Serena asked.

“That you were falling in love with me.”

Serena looked at the stars forming constellations in the sky. She gazed at the moon glinting on the sea. She felt Nick tuck her hair behind her ear. He gathered her in his arms and held her against his chest.

“Let's go,” he whispered.

“They're about to serve cake,” Serena mumbled. Her head buzzed from the champagne and she felt like there was an electric current coursing through her body.

Nick took her hand and ran through the ballroom and into the hallway. They ran through the ornate lobby and down the stone steps. They ran over the lush green lawns until they reached the driveway.

“Where are we going?” Serena slipped off her sandals so she could keep up with him.

“I didn't leave my car with the valet.” Nick grinned. “It cost a fortune.”

They hopped into his blue Renault and drove fifteen minutes to Cannes. Nick parked at the bottom of the alley and they ran over the cobblestones to his apartment. They raced up the stairs and Nick opened the door.

Serena took a deep breath and glanced around the room. There was an empty bottle of scotch and an uneaten slice of pizza. The curtains were closed and the air was warm and dank.

Suddenly she thought she shouldn't be here. She pictured her father and mother in the drawing room of the Presidio Heights mansion. She saw the photo of Chantal and Charles at the Antibes villa. She turned to the door but Nick caught her hand. He slipped one hand under her dress and touched the soft silk of her panties.

Serena bit her lip and froze. He slipped off her panties and stroked her thighs. He moved his fingers slowly, thrusting them inside her until her body became liquid and she clung to his shoulders. He moved faster and she felt the pleasure well up and tip her over the edge. She felt the waves wash over her and the breath leave her chest.

“Come here,” Nick whispered. He entered the bedroom and unbuttoned his shirt. Serena fumbled with his belt and unzipped his slacks. She lay on the bed and pulled him beside her. She opened her legs and wrapped her arms around his back. He plunged into her, picking up speed and carrying her with him. She felt the explosion, the long, endless shuddering, and burst into tears.

Nick pulled her close, waiting for her breathing to subside. He tucked her against his chest and whispered, “I told you there were some things better than cake.”

 

chapter thirty

Serena opened her laptop and clicked on her to-do list. She twisted her ponytail and scrolled down the page. She poured a cup of black coffee and walked to the balcony.

She had spent the night in Nick's apartment and in the morning they ran along the beach and ate crepes at Z Plage. They talked about Yvette's story and Serena's promotion and the count who bought Nick's boat. They talked about Veronique's summer tour and the Cannes Film Festival and their favorite types of fondue. They sat with their hands entwined and talked about everything except their parents and the fact that Serena was leaving in two days. Then Nick had to leave for an appointment and Serena returned to the Carlton-InterContinental.

She walked back to the glass dining-room table and glanced at the computer screen. Serena had one more meeting with Yvette and the memoir would be complete. She glanced at the smartly dressed flight attendants and smiling travelers on the Air France site and wished she felt anything but dread. She pictured Nick's broad chest, his lips on hers, and shivered.

Her phone rang and she answered it.

“How's my little girl?” a male voice asked. “I was expecting you to say hello in French.”

“Dad?” Serena asked. “Where are you?”

“At the Hilton in Dakar. Your mother is punishing me for giving her a scare by traipsing around the outdoor markets. We're going to need a camel to carry home all the knickknacks.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I told the doctors it was nothing,” Charles replied. “Anyone's heart would race if you saw a herd of water buffalo bearing down on you. He won't let me go back on safari; we're flying home tomorrow.”

“To San Francisco?” Serena asked.

“We're hoping you'll be home soon.” Charles paused. “Unless you've fallen in love with some European playboy and are staying on the Côte d'Azur.”

Serena clutched the edge of the desk. “I booked my ticket, my flight arrives on Saturday.”

“Kate will be thrilled, she's already planning a dinner party,” her father replied. “All she talks about is Niman Ranch steaks and Bolinas endive lettuce and Sonoma goat cheese. I caught her looking at photos of Just Desserts raspberry cheesecake on the hotel computer.”

“I miss Peet's coffee and Lappert's strawberry ice cream.” Serena smiled.

“It's going to be all right,” Charles said quietly. “Everything will get back to normal.”

Serena gazed at the pink marble floors and the striped silk sofas of the Cary Grant Suite. She glanced at the sleek white yachts in the harbor and the Île Sainte-Marguerite shimmering on the horizon. She shut her laptop and nodded. “I know.”

*   *   *

“I'm starving,” Nick said over the phone. “I'm picking you up for lunch.”

“I have to edit two chapters before I meet Yvette,” Serena replied, glancing at her laptop. “I barely have time to eat a crustless cucumber sandwich.”

“The lunch special at Vesuvio is salmon pasta with niçoise salad and caramel flan,” Nick insisted. “V is going to join us; I told her everything.”

Serena's heart beat faster. “What did she say?”

“V is a ballerina, she wraps her toes in bandages every night,” Nick said slowly. “She's the strongest woman I know.”

“She still wants to have lunch with me?” Serena asked.

“She'd do anything for Vesuvio's calamari pizza,” Nick told her. “And she thinks you have beautiful eyes.”

“Okay.” Serena nodded. “What time should I meet you?”

“I'm in the lobby, I'll be upstairs in five minutes.”

*   *   *

“When I was young my father was my hero,” V mused, peeling the crust off a piece of pizza. “He bought tickets to Les Ballets de Monte Carlo for my eighth birthday. I wore a red velvet dress and gold slippers and a satin bow in my hair. He wore a black tuxedo and a white tie. We drove in a town car and had box seats; it was one of the best nights of my life.”

They sat at an outdoor table at Vesuvio, sharing a pizza topped with calamari and sun-dried tomatoes and green olives. There was a platter of salmon linguine and a green salad with anchovies and peppers. Serena was afraid V would be devastated, but she gave Serena a quick hug and spread butter on a crust of bread.

“As I grew older, I became obsessed with ballet and didn't spend as much time with him. Every night I knelt next to my bed and prayed I'd become a ballerina.” V stopped and her face clouded over. “I'm lucky, my wish came true.”

“I'm sure if Dad knew you were a ballerina he'd be proud,” Serena said awkwardly.

“In ballet there's always something you crave: the principal role in
Romeo and Juliet
or to be the guest ballerina at the Kirov. I've learned to appreciate what I have.” V looked at Serena. “Now I have a sister, or at least a friend.”

“I'd like to be friends,” Serena said, and nodded, sipping her sparkling water.

V ate a bite of pizza and grinned. “You have the best taste in clothing, and I bet we're the same shoe size.”

*   *   *

The waiter replaced their plates with bowls of coffee-flavored gelato and caramel flan. They shared a bottle of chardonnay and Serena began to relax. V told stories about dancers purposely tripping other dancers at rehearsal and shrinking their leotards so they thought they had gained weight.

“Ballet dancers are the most competitive people I've ever met,” V said as she licked gelato off her spoon. “Sometimes they'd replace your point shoes with a smaller pair while you slept.”

“In racing we worked as a team.” Nick finished his glass of chardonnay. “The best part about sailing was always knowing someone had your back.”

“I would have loved to see you race.” Serena nodded.

“Grant Simmer came to see me this morning,” Nick said. “He's the manager of the Oracle America's Cup team.”

Serena put her spoon down. “He came to Cannes to see you?”

“He kept calling, so I agreed to meet him.” Nick shrugged. “They've almost finished putting together the team for the 2016 Cup. They've got the best sailors from Australia and New Zealand and a new state-of-the-art training center in San Francisco.”

“What did you say?” Serena felt a shiver run down her spine.

“When my father died I thought life was all about luck—when your luck ran out you had to change direction,” Nick began. “I was wrong; life is about finding what you're passionate about and embracing it. I told him yes.”

“What about the huge catamarans?” Serena asked. “You said they tip over too easily and they're impossible to steer.”

“They're not racing them anymore, they've designed a smaller, lighter boat.” Nick touched her hand and his eyes flickered. “I couldn't think of a reason to turn him down.”

Serena pictured having picnics at Golden Gate Park and buying sunflowers at the Flower Mart. She saw candlelit dinners in her apartment and weekend trips to Muir Woods. She pictured Nick on the hull of a catamaran, racing against the wind.

“Where am I going to stash my stuff when I'm on tour?” V interrupted. “I'm going to have to behave like a grown-up and get my own apartment.”

*   *   *

“When do you leave for San Francisco?” Serena asked.

Veronique had gone to soak her feet, and Nick and Serena strolled along the dock. It was early afternoon and waves lapped against the shore. Serena saw seagulls skim the water and sailboats tip gently in the breeze.

“In two weeks; I can't wait to test the new catamaran.” Nick's eyes sparkled. “It's going to be the best-designed craft in America's Cup history.”

“I'm glad you're joining the team.” Serena smiled. She wore a yellow-and-white cotton dress and her hair was tied with a yellow ribbon. She wore silver Gucci sandals and a silver Tiffany locket around her neck. She felt Nick's hand on her back and felt young and happy.

“I have to make sure my mother has everything she needs,” Nick said, squinting into the sun. “I'd like you to meet her.”