French Summer (eBook)

- Sapphic romance
- Holiday romance
- Sexual awakening
- Secret identity
- Starting over

Nathalie was welcomed by a warm breeze and the smell of freshly cut grass when she exited the arrivals hall at Nice airport. Her tired, sore eyes scanned the area, searching for car rental signs. It had been a long flight from Chicago, with a tight stop-over in Paris, forcing her to sprint towards the gate, arriving just before it closed. Following the arrows along the parking lot, she smiled and sighed at the sight of the palm trees that surrounded the modest airport, and the flower beds with bright pink oleanders on the roundabout, leading to the motorway. Nathalie stopped for a moment, rolled her shoulders and leaned onto her baggage trolley, which was stacked three-high with cases. Her feet were killing her in the high heels, still swollen from the flight. She wasn’t looking forward to driving in a strange country, and the stories she’d heard about French traffic hadn’t exactly boosted her confidence either. But there was something about the unknown that made her smile, despite her nerves. She was in France, of all places.
She picked up the keys to her Mercedes, bought herself a coffee and waited in the carpark for assistance with her baggage. Three staff members and a security guard stared at her blankly while smoking a cigarette in the shade of a tree. When no one moved a finger to help her, she reluctantly opened the trunk and loaded the heavy cases into the car herself. Fine. I guess service is not a thing here.
“Could you please point me in the general direction of Valbonne?” She asked the security guard, after rolling down the window by the gates of the parking lot. He frowned and waved a dismissive hand.
“No Anglais,” he said, stubbing out the cigarette on the sole of his shoe.
“Valbonne?” Nathalie tried again. She held up the print-out with the directions the caretaker of the estate had sent her, after strict instructions not to rely on her satnav in the mountains. The man took the piece of paper from her and read the address out loud, wiggling his well-groomed mustache. Then he nodded and pointed towards the third exit on the roundabout, holding up three fingers.
“Merci beaucoup,” Nathalie tried. She blushed in embarrassment when he grinned at her poor French, while checking out her breasts. So much for French charm. She could feel sweat dripping down her back as soon as she drove off, and it wasn’t just from the heat. Nathalie rarely drove herself. Back home in Chicago, she took cabs to work or used the company driver. Come on, Nat. You can do this. You’re heading in the right direction, that’s a start.
Nathalie’s vacation to France was the most out of character thing she’d ever done. She rarely took vacations and when she did, she had always traveled with Jack, her ex-husband. She had pictured herself arriving at the airport, flaunting her white and navy striped boat-neck top and oversized shades, speaking French fluently. Instead, she was still in her pant-suit and she couldn’t remember anything from the intensive French classes she had taken in the past weeks.
Nathalie struggled to get off the roundabout with all the cars zooming past. Her hands were shaking on the steering wheel, clamping onto the leather when cars sped past her on either side. I should have taken my jacket off. She felt clammy and warm, and was on the edge of a panic attack as she double checked the exit number on the directions lying next to her in the passenger seat. Finally, she exited the motorway onto a quieter road that took her through smaller towns and villages. She allowed herself to relax a little bit, and opened all the windows, letting in the scent of lavender fields, bakeries, and a faint hint of the ocean that lay behind her. Most villages were small and sleepy, with ivy-covered stone houses, colorful flower beds, small boutiques and family-run grocery stores. One blended into another as she followed the only road that would lead her to her destination. The instructions the caretaker had given her were clear, and she only had to stop once to double check that she hadn’t gone too far wrong. Driving through a sweet little town, lined with garden centers, she pulled over and opened a pack of cigarettes, leaning out of the window as she lit one. There was no phone ringing, there were no urgent matters, and nowhere to be apart from wherever the hell she wanted to be. For some reason she felt more accomplished driving in France on her own, than she ever had building a successful global company from scratch. She watched herself in the side view mirror as she blew out the smoke, smiling at her own rebellion. She hadn’t smoked in a while. Not since Jack, her ex-husband quit two years ago. She had agreed to give up too, to make it easier for him. But Jack’s opinion didn’t matter anymore, and as soon as she’d landed, and spotted the slim, French cigarettes, the craving had returned. Nathalie pulled up her shades, wiped the mascara stains from underneath her eyes and secured the loose locks of blonde hair that had fallen out of her bun. Watching the locals walk by, she felt out of place in her big, flashy car and business attire. Some older ladies stared at her, suspiciously. Others, mainly men, smiled or winked when they passed. She had packed casual clothes, but it hadn’t felt right to wear them at the airport in Chicago, and so she had put on a suit one last time.
Nathalie looked down at the piece of paper in the passenger’s seat. Watch out, the next part will be steep and narrow, the directions told her. Be careful in the bends. She threw the cigarette stub into her half-empty coffee cup, took a left turn and braced herself for a bumpy ride. Although she’d read about driving in rural France, nothing could have prepared her for the spiraling sandy road that felt more like a rollercoaster, winding up and down around the mountains. The Mercedes was nothing short of impractical in the sharp bends, and too large to let other vehicles pass, but it had been the only automatic available. Nathalie was used to comfort, with all the business travel she’d been doing throughout her career, and she never shied away from an upgrade. This time around however, her choice of comfort was down-right silly. The TV screens in the back were of no use, and the drinks cooler in between the two front seats couldn’t help her either as she clumsily reversed into someone’s drive to let a truck pass, almost taking down a fence in the process. But the view was breathtaking. Hills and valleys stretched out in front of her with only the odd church tower here and there, marking a village. The bright-green from the forest roof, the wild river and the sun-baked farms with cows and pigs lazing on the surrounding land was something she could get used to, and Nathalie stopped several times to take it all in. She felt calmer already. Wherever she would end up, it was bound to be secluded.