The Summer's Child Page 10

"What do you want to talk about?" She asked carefully. She tried to channel Giselle. How would Giselle deal with this situation? Well, first off, she would never have gotten into this situation. Giselle was way too sensible for this. Samantha forced herself to meet Roelle's eye as she settled opposite her in front of the window. They room was cold, and Samantha shivered a bit, tucking her feet under her butt. She really wished they could have had this conversation in bed. Under the warm covers. Roelle let out a steady breath, and then pushed her hands down on the floor. She took another deep breath and looked at Samantha.

  "You kissed me," she said. It was spoken. The fact was out there. Samantha squirmed under it anyway.

  "Well, I mean, I thought you said we needed to have a celebratory kiss," she pointed out, shrugging. Roelle looked down at her hands.

  "You kissed me the first night too," she murmured. Samantha swallowed.

  "It seemed only proper," she murmured. Roelle looked up, and her expression was serious.

  "You need to stop kissing me," she said steadily. Samantha swallowed.

  "Okay," she said, forcing her voice to remain steady.

  "It's...not good for our friendship." Samantha opened her mouth to say something, to protest, to explain that she didn't want to be Roelle's friend. She wanted to wake up next to Roelle and nuzzle her neck and tell her she was beautiful and kiss her and kiss her again. But then she remember the look of panic in Roelle's eye when she pulled away last night, and she nodded.

  "Okay." Roelle looked up from her hands, still pressed into the floor, and watched Samantha for a second.

  "That's all you're going to say?" She asked. Samantha bit her lip, and sighed.

  "I promised you that you were going to get to call the shots,” she explained, maintain Roelle’s eye contact. “I promised you that if anything I do made you uncomfortable, then I would stop. You’re saying this makes you comfortable, so I’m going to stop."

  "Oh." Roelle deflated. Something twisted in Samantha’s heart again, and she wished she could make this all go away. Whatever was causing Roelle to be stressed - it needed to go?

  "Do you want us to stop this entire vacation? We can fake sick, and go home. Cancer, maybe?" Roelle laughed wryly.

  "This isn't a YA movie, Samantha," she pointed out. Samantha dismissed that with a wave.

  "I don't care,” she said earnestly. “We can call it all off." Roelle sighed and stared at the floor again.

  "No, it's okay," she decided.

  "Roelle,” Samantha murmured, leaning forward to touch Roelle’s knee so she looked up at her; “you don't need to assure me of things. I'm a grown up.” Roelle snorted, but Samantha continued regardless. “I can afford to come back here and pay for my stay in the spring. I can't afford to lose you, or even see you unhappy." Roelle shook her head before Samantha even finished.

  "I'm not unhappy," she assured her. Samantha raised an eyebrow.

  "You look pretty unhappy right now," she pointed out. Roelle gave a small hollow laugh.

  "I'm just stressed," she admitted, picking at her cuticles. Samantha batted at her hand lightly to make her stop.

  "Why are you stressed?" She asked when Roelle dropped her hands back to the carpet. Roelle sighed.

  "Because I'm bad at lying," she murmured.

  "Then we won't say anything that isn't true anymore,” Samantha decided. “Not a single word." Roelle raised her eyebrows at Samantha.

  "We have dinner with your friend tonight," she pointed out. Samantha shrugged.

  "I'll tell Lisabeth everything." Roelle frowned.

  "No, you don't have to do that," she mumbled, staring back down at the carpet. Samantha touched her hand again.

  "Elle,” she murmured once Roelle looked her in the eye again; “I'm not going to put you through a night of pretending if that makes you uncomfortable."

  "I hate it when you call me Elle," Roelle mumbled, but Samantha bit down on her smile and tried to stay serious. She was maintaining Giselle, and Giselle was very good at Not Smiling In Important Situations. But then Roelle smiled, and Samantha smiled back, despite herself.

  "Well, it just means I'm serious," she said. “I’m going to tell Lisabeth everything, and it’s going to be okay.” Roelle titled her head.

  "Are you sure?” She asked. “I mean, we can just...not tell her anything. It’s not like she reads the American tabloids, probably.” Samantha laughed.

  "Good point.” She agreed. “Let’s do that. But if she asks -"

  “We can deny,” Roelle confirmed with a small nod.

  “Okay.” Samantha breathed out, and tilted her head at Roelle. "Can I help somehow?" Roelle forehead furrowed.

  "With what?" She asked.

  "The anxiety?" Roelle laughed hollowly, and looked down at her phone. "Alise has been texting me for the last hour, and that's helped." Samantha smiled, and stretched.

  “That’s good,” she murmured, arching her back to the top of the room. "What time is it?" She asked, after she watched the pale morning light play on her skin.

  "Five in the morning." Samantha made a face.

  "Oh man, Roe. Come back to bed immediately. We still have like three full hours of sleep!" Samantha complained, unfolding herself from the floor and offering Roelle a hand.

  "I know,” Roelle said, accepting Samantha’s hand, “but I wanted to catch Lise before she went to bed."

  "Has she gone to bed now?"

  "She's about to."

  "So so should you.” Samantha touched the bed cover, and then spun around. “If you want me to lie on the floor, I don't mind -"she started, but Roelle rolled her eyes.

  "Don't be an idiot,” she decided. “I don't mind sleeping with you."

  "Are you sure?"

  "There's nothing weird about sleeping with someone." Samantha bit her lip. This was probably not the time to raise the concern of how wonderful and warm Roelle was to sleep next to. Or how she smelled wonderful, and muttered ever so often in her sleep, and how that made Samantha's heart clench. There was no time for any of that. Instead, she injected her voice with some forced joviality, and smiled.

  "Okay. Let's get some shut eye, and then we can have some fun this morning. What's on the agenda?" Roelle raised an eyebrow.

  "Art museum," she said, slipping into the bed.

  "Oh, that sounds fun." Roelle snorted.

  "You're a terrible liar."

  "Mmh, whatever. I'll just tell you all the weird shapes I see, and Snapchat the rest of it for Giselle."

  "Do you have any more Giselle baby pics?"

  "Good question." Samantha grabbed her phone from the nightstand, and frowned at the dark screen. It refused to turn on. "Oh frak, I forgot to charge it. Can you plug it in?"

  "Of course."

  "Thanks, Roe. I don't know what I would do without you?" An odd expression crossed Roelle's face, but it was brief, and Samantha just bit her lip. Okay, don't say things like that either, she schooled herself. Roelle sighed, and lay back, staring up the ceiling.

  "Can I put on my podcast?" she asked quietly. Samantha yawned and shut her eyes.

  "Of course," she mumbled, already falling back asleep. "You know I can sleep through anything."

  So Roelle turned on her podcast, and regulated her breathing and forced herself to relax, while Samantha fell into an unsettling and very light sleep. She dreamt of her parent's pursed lips when she finally came out to them, and her sister Mina's annoyance. "They decent thing would have been to tell them before the rest of the world found out," she had said simply, but those words still cut Samantha.

  Why was she such a coward?

  When Roelle's alarm went off for real, Samantha was more tired than she had been earlier. Light sleeping and vivid dreams never much agreed with her. She sighed and rolled out of bed. In the three extra hours they had slept, the sun had risen, and the clouds that had loomed on the horizon had rolled in.

  When Samantha's phone flickered back to life, it had a text from Giselle on it. "Stop being a baby, and f
ess up," the text read. When Samantha read it while she was brushing her teeth, she bit her lip in annoyance.

  Fessing up would ruin her friendship with Roelle, and she just wasn't brave enough yet to destroy the best thing in her life right now.

  It was a grey day, and according to Samantha's phone, there was some chance of rain around noon. She sighed at that as Roelle, then she, showered. She put on her White House Dress, frowned down at herself, sighed, and then texted Lisabeth.

  "Everything set for tonight?"

  "Yes! I'm very excited!!" Samantha made a face. She really hated it when people used emojis in messages. Her phone was never able to transcribe them for some mysterious reason. She threw the phone on the bed, and flicked on the TV.

  She wished there was an easy way to resolve this. Some way to slip Roelle a note that said "do you like me that way or no" and then, if she ticked no, for her to somehow miraculously forget Samantha ever asked her anything. She looked back down at Giselle's text, and swiped it away. She just wasn't going to respond. Odds were that she was sleeping, anyway, so what was the point.

  "You're quiet today." Roelle frowned at her over her coffee. Samantha smiled weakly.

  "It's nothing," she promised. "I'm just preoccupied."

  "With what?" Samantha sighed.

  "How I've been a shitty friend to you," she mumbled into her usually heaped plate.

  "You’re not shitty," Roelle assured her.

  "I'm sorry, Roe."

  "Stop it, Samantha. It's fine. We're going to be fine."

  But were they? Perhaps this entire rouse had ruined their friendship already, and it didn't matter whether Samantha had a crush on Roelle or not. They were definitely going to grow apart, and Roelle would never lean into her again when they were out with the team, or sit on her chair, as if there weren't already enough seats. Samantha sipped her coffee, and pushed those thoughts out of her head.

  That was a useless train of thought. She was here, and they were going to have fun now. It would all be good.

  "The art museum is walking distance from here," Roelle explained as they were getting ready in their room, "so I was thinking we could leave early and walk there, and then meet up with the group while we're there. We can have a guided tour." Samantha made a face.

  "How intent are you on that guided tour?" She asked. Roelle narrowed her eyes.

  "Why?"

  "We can get those audio guide things, and then walk off on our own."

  "Do you not want to do a guided tour?" Roelle asked, surprised.

  "I kind of don't want to be with the whole group," Samantha admitted, scrunching her face.

  "Oh,” Roelle smiled; “that makes sense."

  "I mean if you want to -"

  "No, that actually sounds like a way better idea. Guided tours can be so frustrating when you're in the wrong company."

  "Right? People can ask so many dumb questions," Samantha sighed.

  "Do you remember that one time -"

  "-with Emma?" Samantha finished, smirking.

  "Yes!"

  "Oh man, that was so embarrassing."

  "That woman is one of the best actresses I know, and also one of the most ignorant people in the world," Roelle said with a sigh. Samantha grinned.

  "She tries so hard," she said indulgently. Roelle laughed.

  "It's true!” she said, sighing. “And I love her for it."

  "She's so sincere, you know? You can't help but adore her for that alone."

  "Right?" Samantha glanced at Roelle, who was just slipping into her shoes. "Should we get going?"

  "Yes!" Samantha held the door open for Roelle, and Roelle grabbed their key with a small smile. Once they got down to the lobby, Samantha frowned in annoyance.

  "It looks like it’s raining," she murmured, looking out of the window.

  "This is a fancy hotel,” Roelle said with a small smirk. “Do you know what that means?"

  "No." Roelle strode over to the reception and grinned at the man behind the desk.

  "Hey there," she said, "can we borrow an umbrella for the afternoon?"

  "Of course, Ma’am,” he replied in flawless English; “Do you want an umbrella or a brolly?"

  "An umbrella."

  "Here you go, ma'am.""Here you go, ma'am." The man looked over Roelle’s shoulder at Samantha. "Do you want your own?"

  "No, it's okay,” Roelle dismissed him before Samantha could open her mouth; “We can be under the same one." She smiled at him, and then hooked her arm through Samantha’s and lead her outside.

  "Are you sure?" Samantha asked as Roelle opened the umbrella.

  "Stop second guessing me,” Roelle murmured, sliding her arm through Samantha’s again and holding the umbrella over their heads. “It's rude."

  "I just - I want you to have fun."

  "I am having fun." Samantha opened her mouth to interrogate Roelle on that, but then closed her mouth. Roelle was right - she needed to trust her a little bit more. She offered to carry the umbrella.

  "So chivalrous," Roelle said, beaming and leaning into Samantha. "I honestly didn't expect it to get this cold out here."

  "It's only chilly because of the sea breeze," Samantha explained, crooking up the collar of her sports jacket.

  "Yeah, probably.” Roelle smirked. “I hate it when places have temperature fluctuations." Samantha rolled her eyes.

  "You're too Californian," she teased. Roelle giggled.

  "Of course I am," she said, grinning.

  The art museum was surprisingly big in relation to the size of the village. It turned out that the museum was the private collection of the very rich count whose palace they had visited yesterday; when his children had given the palace over to the French National Trust, they had decided to also donate all the artwork to museums. Then, when they found out that the artwork included some early Picasso and some really rare pieces of Degart, they decided to instead make their own museum "in honor of their father." They charged nearly twenty Euros for entry, so Samantha didn't think their reasoning was entirely to honor their father, but she didn't voice that.

  They got an audio guide (an extra five Euros, which, according to Roelle once Samantha pointed that out, was a very Jersey thing to say) and then walked into the museum.

  Samantha held true to her promise - while Roelle listened to her audio guide, Samantha Snapchatted her time at the gallery, mainly taking pictures of everything except the art. ([Cool ceiling bro] [do you think i could be a museum security guard] [is this blank wall art too]).

  After about an hour and a half, Samantha noticed that Roelle was looking more bored, so she decided to break her silence.

  "This is weird," Samantha said, making a face as she saw one of the sketches. Roelle walked over to her as Samantha leaned forward to read the description. "Is this really Picasso?” she asked Roelle, skeptical, as Roelle came to stand next to her. “I thought he drew those people with weird faces. Cubism?"

  "That's his later stuff," Roelle explained. “This is early Picasso.” Samantha gaped.

  "So you're telling me that when Picasso started he sketched like ordinary artists?"

  "Yes." Samantha made a face.

  "What's this?" She asked, gesturing at next sketch. It showed a part woman, part...horror creature.

  "It's one of Picasso’s contemporaries," Roelle said, reading the label. Samantha shook her head.

  "It's weird."

  "I think that's the point of all art of the 30s."

  "Weirdness?" Samantha quirked an eyebrow.

  "Yeah, they wanted it to be uncomfortable."

  "Oh. That's...weird."

  "No, it makes sense. They wanted to shock you into thinking."

  "Did they think that pretty landscapes didn't make you think?"

  "Something along those lines,” Roelle stepped away from the sketch and made to walk into the next room. “Didn't you go to any art museums while you were in Paris?" Samantha scrunched up her face.

  "I must have gone to at least, one
, right?" She asked. Roelle covered her face with her hands.

  "Oh my god, Samantha,” she said, in mock desperation. “The Louvre?" Samantha chuckled.

  "I must have gone,” She said with a shrug. “I really - I think I did?"

  "You're so terrible,” Roelle berated, lightly slapping Samantha’s arm. “I can't believe great art was wasted on you."

  "Wow, rude,” Samantha grumbled, rubbing her arm. “

  “And I specifically sought out art.”

  “Well, that was silly of you. I was in Paris for work, and nothing else.” Roelle laughed.

  “Why are you like this?” She demanded. Samantha grinned, and skipped forward.

  “Science can’t explain me,” she hummed cheerfully. She looked behind her, where Roelle was lingering by some more paintings (a man with a dove on his face?). She looked so cute, with her glasses on and her beautiful summer dress as she leaned over to read the small plaque beside the painting. Samantha felt herself blush and looked away. She needed to concentrate on something else. Anything else.

  They decided to walk from the art museum directly to the restaurant - it was only another 30 minutes, and the rain had let up and now the air was starting to warm up as the sun poked out between the clouds.

  The bistro that Lisabeth had selected for them was small, and quaint, and very French. Samantha stumbled over pronouncing Lisabeth’s last name, and after she finished the maitre d’ nodded, and lead them to a small table.

  They sat down, and Roelle looked down at the menu in trepidation.

  “It’s all in French!” she hissed at Samantha. Samantha waved her aside.

  “Lisabeth can help us,” she promised. “There she is!”

  The young woman who approached their table was tall, with the best mane of hair that Roelle had ever seen. She was imposing, and Roelle felt herself shrink in her own chest. She was graceful, and when she said Samantha’s name it sounded less like Samantha, and more like Sam-en-ta, though it gracefully slid off her tongue as if she was born to say the name. Her husband was tall, good looking, and affable. Roelle felt her shoulder hunching forward defensively.

  “I Googled you before I came out tonight,” Lisabeth admitted in a conspiratorial whisper to Samantha as they sat down. Samantha gasped, and looked at Lisabeth in mock horror.