had happened, an olive-skinned hand was taking a delicate hold of hers, as if handling the most fragile of objects.
‘I’m so sorry… We play too hard… I should take more care,’ he said, his hand resting in hers.
She couldn’t speak. His beautiful face was only inches from hers, his blanket of chestnut-brown hair flopping forward over his cut-glass eyes. He could have been reciting Shakespeare and she wouldn’t have heard it. She was struck dumb, mesmerised by his spell. All she could see were his deliciously full lips as he mouthed the word care and all she could feel was the slight pressure of that tanned hand in hers.
‘You OK, love?’ her dad said again looking at her bewildered expression with concern.
He probably thinks I’ve taken a blow to the head, Emma thought, realising her blue eyes were wide from staring at the French boy and her mouth was parted in a rather pathetic pop-star groupie kind of way.
She closed it and struggled to get to her feet. He helped her. He took her arm with one hand, righted the camping chair with the other and then, supporting her with both his hands, he lowered her into her seat. If she died now, gave in to the heart attack she was surely having, she wouldn’t care. She’d be content to go just because he had touched her.
He picked her book up off the floor and ran his fingers over its cover, removing the dust.
‘Chow-cer,’ he said, looking at the illustration and trying to get the pronunciation right.
‘Chor-cer. It’s not my book of choice. I mean I have to read it, for school. It’s for A levels, you know, exams,’ she babbled. She knew her freckled cheeks were reddening. She knew it wasn’t because the factor-thirty sun cream was wearing off. It was him. She was blushing. It was hormonal. Ally had told her all about it.
‘I love to read. Not Chow-cer perhaps, I do not know. You think I would like this book?’ he asked, flicking open the pages and observing the text.
The only thing Emma was observing was him. The way his fingers stroked each page, the way he was looking at the words. He looked at them as if they were important, as if they might move something in him.
‘I’m not sure I like him, I mean his style of writing. It’s all in really old English, like relic stuff. No one talks that way now. Well, apart from Mr Devlin who seems to revel in it. But he’s like a character out of Dickens… on skis.’ Emma added as Guy raised his head to study her.
He threw his head back and laughed, his green eyes alive, his hair drooping over onto his forehead.
‘On skis? What is this on skis?’
‘We just say it, in England. Well, me and my friends back home. It’s just like saying someone is something and then a hundred per cent more,’ Emma attempted to explain.
Why had she said that? Stupid Ally Thomas and her made-up phrases to try and sound cool. It didn’t sound cool. Not when you were trying to explain it to a hot French boy you couldn’t keep your eyes off.
‘Like… how you say? The girl is beautiful – on skis,’ Guy said, his eyes locking with hers.
‘Yes, just like that,’ Emma agreed, having to force the words up her throat.
‘I’m Guy,’ he said. He extended his bronzed hand towards her.
She knew this. Everyone knew who he was and what he was called. He was the pin-up of the campsite, the person everyone wanted to know and be known by. But she loved the way he pronounced it, to rhyme with ‘key’. To her it was the best name in the world, oozing his laid-back coolness.
‘I’m Emma,’ she said. She took his hand and gave it a professional handshake she might have reserved for a careers advisor.
‘I know,’ he answered, smiling.
Chapter Two
Present Day
Marry me.
The words were bumping around in her head, stopping anything else from getting through. Sometimes when Emma replayed the phrase it filled her with excitement, joy and a thrill she hadn’t felt for years. Then, when her mind repeated the question again it was spoken by a different voice. Marry me. It sounded wrong, almost like a jailor talking before the shackles were attached.
‘Well? How does it look?’ Ally Thomas barked.
‘It looks like a gym.’
‘Argh! Emma! A little more enthusiasm please! It is a state-of-the-art sports facility. A gym conjures up images of strongmen, puffing, panting and