The Summer's Child Page 3

  What did that mean? What was Charlie talking about? Was Charlie talking about Roelle? Or was there another girl that Samantha was trying to woo?

  This was too much. Roelle rubbed her eyes and took a sip of Samantha’s coffee.

  “We’re sharing my coffee now?” Samantha asked, raising an eyebrow. Roelle smirked weakly.

  “You’re the one who wanted us to look like a well established couple,” she pointed out, handing back to the coffee.

  “And so the student becomes the master. Or, coffee-stealer, whichever one is preferable.” Before Roelle could come up with a smart response, the flight attendant began to announce their boarding schedule. Samantha jumped up and pulled her passport from her little neck pouch. Roelle rolled her eyes, and walked over to the priority line with Samantha.

  Perhaps this vacation wasn’t going to be that terrible after all?

  They settled down in the plane with minimal problems; Samantha checked their tickets and asked Roelle to trade her window seat, and Roelle, who preferred aisles anyway, graciously agreed. Once they settled and Samantha pulled out not one but two inflatable pillows from her rucksack and arranged a nice sleeping den. Just as she arranged everything perfectly, she turned to Roelle.

  “You know, I was a big deal in France,” she told her. Roelle grinned.

  “You were?” She asked.

  “Don’t look so bemused!” Samantha complained, making a face. “They loved me.”

  “I know!”

  “I was very good!”

  “I know! We were in the same film once.” Samantha blinked in surprise.

  “We were?”

  “In ‘Time is Flowering’? Don’t you remember?”

  “Oh my god, yes! Yes, I do!” Roelle grinned. “Well, I just wanted to warn you. We might get recognized.”

  “Because of your days acting in an indie film in France, not your Oscar winning role in ‘Love Like that’?”

  “Yes,” Samantha said decisively, unpacking her airplane blanket and draping over herself. She frowned at her pillows, shifted them slightly, smiled, and leaned against them.

  Within minutes she was asleep.

  Roelle couldn’t believe this. She knew Samantha could sleep at the top of the hat, but the plane hadn’t even started taxi-ing yet! Roelle had kind of assumed that the ‘sleeping everywhere all the time’ was a skill thanks to her career; when one worked oneself into exhaustion, it was hard to get enough rest. So she had always sort of assumed that during her breaks, Samantha would sleep less.

  But it didn’t seem so.

  Roelle spent the first hours of the flight in a grueling combination of anxiety and boredom; her stomach twisted in knots with every mile they came closer to France. Then she remembered that Alise, a star, had packed her sleeping pills; she took one, and was out like a light.

  Samantha woke up for both dinner and breakfast as served by the airline, and when Roelle didn’t wake for her own meals, Samantha ate hers too, not wanting them to go to waste. A lifetime of flying had taught her never to let food go to waste, and never to complain about airplane food; she had definitely eaten a lot worse food in some of the places she had been sent to.

  Roelle woke up right when the plane was starting to make its descent. She used the last 10 minutes of free time to change clothes, put on some makeup, and freshen up. Samantha stared at her in surprise.

  “Wow, you look nice,” she admitted. Roelle snorted at her.

  “You look like someone who slept for nine hours on a plane.”

  “It’s my new look. What do you think?”

  “I’m glad you have the snapback.”

  “Rude.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Biarritz airport was pretty small - they got through passport control without any issues (“wow, you travel a lot,” the man at the desk noted, looking through all the visa stamps in Roelle’s passport. She grinned.

  “I’m an actress,” she explained. He hummed, nodded, and stamped her into the country).

  At the baggage claim, there was a man holding a sign for “Sweep Stake Winners 209”, which Samantha assumed to be their ride. The man confirmed the name of their hotel, nodded curtly, and carried their bags out to a small black Lexus for them. Samantha hummed at the car appreciatively, and get in. She leaned back against the plush leather seats and glanced at Roelle, who watched the road thoughtfully as they pulled out of the overpass of the Arrival Lane and into the slowly lightening French skies.

  “What’s on the agenda today?” Samantha asked, stretching out. “Can we sleep once we get to the hotel?” Roelle raised an eyebrow.

  “Samantha, you slept the entire flight!” She pointed out. Samantha grinned. “Well, I know, but I like sleeping. Also, it’s 4.45AM. What else do we do?” Roelle scoffed.

  “Please,” she said, rolling her eyes, “The activities start at 8am today.” Samantha blinked in surprise.

  “Oh no,” she whispered.

  “It’s a walking tour of the city until 12.” Samantha’s eyes widened in horror.

  “A walking tour?” She asked, incredulous. “I thought there was a segway tour!”

  “That’s one of the options,” Roelle conceded with a small smile, “but we’re not doing that one.”

  “Roe!”

  “Segways scare me,” Roelle explained with a small shrug.

  “I can’t believe you sabotaged me like this,” Samantha grumbled, sinking into the seat. Roelle narrowed her eyes.

  “Samantha, do you remember when you told me I had final call on all activities?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow. Samantha huffed.

  “Yes,” she murmured.

  “Is this an activity?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are we doing a walking tour of the city?”

  “Yes.” Samantha was sullen, but Roelle could tell it wasn’t a permanent sullenness. She grinned.

  “Great! I’ll even buy you some pastries.” Samantha immediately sat up in delight.

  “Yay!” She said, clapping her hands together excitedly. Their driver coughed, and looked back in the rearview-mirror.

  “Ma’am, you are aware the hotel provides you with complimentary breakfast, right?” He asked smoothly. Roelle smirked.

  “Yes, I am,” she assured him. “That’s just not enough for her.”

  “I’m a bottomless pit.” The driver blinked, clearly slightly taken aback by this language. Samantha smirked and leaned back in her seat. She rolled down her window, and snaked her arm through the air.

  “Do you smell that? That’s the south of France,” Samantha said happily.

  “It smells like the countryside to me,” Roelle commented dryly.

  “Yes, but it’s the French countryside.” Roelle laughed. Samantha did have a point; it was beautiful. The sun was still only just starting to rise; the rays were still pink and red, as well as orange and gold, and they were bathing the large fields into some pretty colors. Roelle was surprised by the flatness of the land; she could see the electricity pylons stretch on for miles as they towered over them. She decided she liked this; the quiet French Autoroute, the sunlight, the way the light filtered through the light of Samantha’s hair, and the way the air smelled fresh and promise and something different.

  The drive was about 45 minutes - they hit some traffic, but other than that it was simply that their hotel was located directly in Biarritz, but rather in a small historic village outside it.

  The drive was totally worth it though - when they arrived at the hotel, Samantha whistled quietly between her teeth. It was a fair reaction, Roelle admitted: the brochures weren’t kidding. It was an amazing five star beach front hotel, and Roelle felt a little thrill when she saw it. They didn’t pay for this, she realized. Immediately she started panicking; she needed to look like a real couple. She grabbed Samantha’s hand. Samantha looked down at their hands, raised an eyebrow, but led Roelle into the lobby.

  “Hey we’re the winners of the sweepstakes,” Samantha told the woman at the re
ception cheerfully, handing over a bunch of paperwork. “Me and my girlfriend are here.” She added quickly, holding up her hand, which was still holding Roelle’s. Roelle laughed nervously and shot Samantha a small clear.

  “Subtle,” she hissed.

  “Yes, of course,” the woman smiled, her English only slightly accented. “We’re very excited to have you here for an entire week!”

  “We’re very excited to,” Roelle replied with a small fake laugh, letting her hair fall in front of her face to hide her nervousness.

  “Genuinely thrilled,” Samantha agreed cheerfully. She looked around the lobby expectantly. “When does breakfast start?” The receptionist smiled.

  “In about thirty minutes,” she said, without missing a beat. Samantha tapped her fingers on the desk.

  “Perfect.” She flashed the girl another grin.

  “Though…” The receptionist shifted uncomfortably, breathed out, and then leaned forward. “There is a dress code for breakfast,” she admitted. Roelle nodded; she knew this. It had been in the brochure. But Samantha’s face fell. Samantha hadn’t realized.

  “What kind of dress code?” She asked.

  “Business formal,” the receptionist replied with an apologetic smile. “No hats, jeans or sports clothes.” Samantha opened her mouth, probably to make some smart reply about how that was all the clothing she owned, but Roelle intervened.

  “We can manage,” Roelle interrupted before Samantha couple reply, grabbing her by the shoulder. “We’ll see you in half an hour.” Samantha grabbed both their suitcases while they walked over to the elevator.

  “I don’t have anything to wear!” Samantha complained. Roelle sighed.

  “You can borrow one of my dresses.”

  “And shoes?” Roelle sighed, and rolled her eyes as the elevator doors opened and they stepped in.

  “You’re so lucky I always bring a spare,” she muttered. Samantha grinned.

  “I am,” she hummed happily. Roelle bit her lip, and tried to push out the warm bubble that created in her chest. She was stone cold - she didn’t need this - Samantha’s smile wasn’t the most beautiful thing in the world. The mantra really wasn’t working for her. She frowned at Samantha, trying to channel her anxiety into something more useful. Like whether Samantha had brought anything suitable for this trip.

  “Who helped you pack?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. Samantha brightened.

  “Marlene,” she said cheerfully. “She was the only one left in Portland.”

  “Well,” Roelle sighed and the elevator doors opened again, “then I don’t know why I expected anything better.” Samantha rolled her eyes.

  “Wow,” she said in mock offense. “Rude.” Roelle said with a small shrug, grabbing Samantha’s arm as she was about to walk down the wrong direction in the corridor. Once she righted them and were walking in the right direction, she clarified.

  “I love Marlene, but she’s nearly as bad as you,” she said with a fond smile.

  “Nearly being the operative word there,” Samantha pointed out as they stopped in front of their door and Roelle swiped in the room card. “I nearly forgot to bring my toothbrush, but she reminded me.” The door buzzed open, and Roelle held it open for Samantha, who was still carrying the bags.

  “You’re a wreck, Samantha,” she said with a small tsk. Samantha grinned.

  “I know!” She said cheerfully. “This room, however…” she trailed off happily. She had a point. The room was pretty awesome.

  It was a large, fancy room, with a four poster bed (Roelle didn’t know those still existed!) and a large wooden desk, and a sofa in one corner.

  Wait. There was only one bed. Roelle sighed. This was going to be harder than she anticipated.

  They had their own bathroom about the size of Roelle’s apartment in LA, and a large balcony that looked over the ocean. Samantha walked over to the window, entrance, grinning as she slid open the doors and a salty breeze wafted in.

  “This is so cool,” she whispered, and then she stepped out on the balcony. The sun was just cresting the low foothills towards the East, which Roelle realized must be the foothills of the alps (was she getting her geography right?) and the light played beautifully on Samantha’s skin. Samantha stood out on the balcony and closed her eyes, grinning against the warm sunlight, and Roelle felt her chest constrict again.

  No.

  She wasn’t going to think about how warm Samantha’s smile was, or how she relaxed into the warmth, or how she wished she could hug her, bury her face in her neck, breathe her in.

  She was going to organize her clothes instead.

  Roelle carefully laid out her clothes on the bed, piling them up, and then putting them into the large chest of drawers the hotel had for them. As she pulled out her three dresses and hung them in the closet, she realized something. She glanced at Samantha, who was still standing on the balcony. She frowned down at her dresses, and then glanced back at Samantha.

  “Wait, Samantha, don’t you have a fancy dress for the fancy dinner?” She called out. Samantha glanced behind her.

  “Yeah, I do!” She replied, walking back inside and rubbing her arms. The crisp morning chill had given her goosebumps. “The same one I wore to the White House,” she said with a shrug. Roelle smiled.

  “That’s business formal,” she told her.

  “It is?” Samantha lit up.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, well great!” She rubbed her hands together, and then glanced at the show. “I’m gonna shower real quick and then go grab breakfast.” Roelle pouted.

  “You’re not going to wait for me?” She asked. Samantha blinked, and then laughed.

  “Oh. Yeah, sure, I’ll wait for you,” she said cheerfully, sitting down on the bed. “Then you should go first,” she decided, gesturing towards the bathroom.

  “Really?” Roelle tilted her head, surprised. Samantha smirked.

  “Yes,” she said. “You take ages in the bathroom.

  Samantha had a point; Roelle showered first, and yet Samantha was done first. It was good they had so much practice living in insanely close quarters with other players; it made their toeing the invisible line throughout the bedroom very easy. Roelle decided not to mention the single bed issue yet; they had twelve hours to come up with potential solutions for that. No reason to stress now.

  Breakfast was a fancy affair; Samantha didn’t grumble once about having to wear nice clothes once she saw the varied and rich collection of foods. Roelle didn’t realize just how much she had missed French bread until she bit into a perfect French croissant which was equal parts buttery and light, and it was perfect.

  They ate mostly in silence; Samantha seemed to be intent on shoveling every breakfast option as quickly as possible. Roelle watched her with silent fascination.

  “What are our plans for the rest of the week?” Samantha asked, through a full mouth. Roelle hummed, picking up the last flakes of the croissant from her plate regretfully.

  “Well, today it’s just the city tours,” she hummed, trying to remember the full schedule. “And then tomorrow is snorkeling.” Samantha grinned.

  “Oh,” she said, excitedly. “I’ve never done that.”

  “I did it once in the Caribbean and it was super fun,” Roelle said thoughtfully. “I saw turtles!”

  “Oh man, that sounds so awesome.” Roelle chuckled.

  “I have no idea what kind of wildlife there is in the Mediterranean though, so I’m excited.” Samantha nodded, moving on to eating her sausages.

  “Are we surfing?” She asked.

  “Yes, on Friday.”

  “Great.” Samantha’s phone vibrated on the table, and she glanced on it, and her brow furrowed. “What day do we not have dinner plans?” She asked without looking up.

  “Tuesday and Thursday,” Roelle replied, watching as Samantha quickly wrote out a reply on her phone. “Why?”

  “My friend from Lisabeth, wanted to have dinner with us.” Roelle tried to ignore the lit
tle skip her heart made when Samantha said ‘us.’ “I’ll tell her Thursday is her chance. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah,” Roelle smiled, “totally.”

  “She’s super cool, I think you’ll like her. She’s an actress too. And she’s cool with the gay thing.” Roelle looked down at the table, tracing out imaginary patterns in the white table cloth, and took another sip of strong coffee.

  “Great!” Roelle didn’t know why her voice was rising in pitch, or why the idea of meeting Samantha’s friends was freaking her out so much. She distracted herself by pulling out her phone and reviewing the calendar for the day. Everything was in order. Today would be a good day.

  The city tour was terribly boring for Samantha, and fascinating for Roelle. Samantha whined quietly when they stopped in their fourth church, and Roelle just grabbed her elbow and lead her through it, quietly promising Samantha an ice cream from the next shop they walked by.

  Roelle wasn’t the only girlfriend who had that idea; while the crowd continued, a young man appeared at Samantha’s elbow as she walked into the next small cafe for gelato. They were waiting in line for a small ice cream cafe, and he grinned at her.

  “You couldn’t stand the idea of visiting a fifth church either?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Samantha smiled at him tightly. He was wearing a Ralph Lauren shirt and a jumper slung over his shoulder. He did not look like someone she wanted to hang out with.

  “Yeah,” she said with an empty smile. “But you know -”

  “Your girlfriend obsessed with churches too?” He asked, talking over her. He smiled at her in a gesture that was clearly met to show his camaraderie with her. “I saw you two together; you know, my wife’s uncle is gay.” Samantha continued to give him her stiff smile.

  “Cool,” she said, hoping to end the conversation.

  “So I’m totally cool with that stuff,” he added. The smile remained strained and frozen.

  “Cool.”

  “I’m very liberal.”

  “Nice.” Perhaps changing the monosyllabic word would do the trick?

  “I think we’re the only two American couples here,” he continued. No such luck. “What do you do?”