Page 61 of Head Over Wheels

‘You’ve looked at my feeds?’

‘Not every day.’ I inwardly winced. ‘I mean, I don’t go on there much. I haven’t posted anything for three years.’

‘That’ll have to change,’ she said pointedly.

I gave an eloquent shake of my head that wasn’t a no or a yes. ‘Let’s start with yours, hmm?’ And never move on to mine.

Ravi might be dreaming of sponsorship dollars, but I’d never see a cent. For me, this would never be about the money. I only hoped Lori didn’t realise. She could keep her pride until she was gone.

Lori

Pretending to be romantic was far more nauseating than I’d imagined. First, Seb produced an actual tandem bike, which was sickeningly couple-y, even before he gently explained that I could rest my shoulder in the upright position behind him and still get some light training time in. Then he took me shopping for underwear and earnestly told me I’d look hot in the no-nonsense sports bra I picked out – before scowling at me when I suggested I could post his blush on social media.

I might have been less volatile about it if he hadn’t taken to this fake romance thing with gusto, peering at me warmly when I took his photo and asking me if it was okay to touch me in front of the camera.Yes, I could have yelled.Touch mebehindthe camera too! Grab me and don’t let go!

I might have snapped a few more pics than were strictly necessary, just to get him to slip his arm around my waist or dip his face to mine.

He even had such incredible shoulders to admire that I didn’t mind relinquishing the steering on the tandem. Seeinghim as a doting uncle that morning had ripped me wide open, even though I had zero interest in procreation right now. His ‘someone very special’ would hit the fucking jackpot, when he decided to settle down – which he would probably do as soon as I let him out of this stupid sort-of-fake arrangement I was beginning to regret.

It wasn’t a good idea to wallow in hypothetical jealousy right now. The way he looked at me, the way I felt, we might have ended up in another Paris-Roubaix finish-line moment and, while I was taking pictures in preparation for outing us on social media, I needed a bit more control over my feelings before I kissed him again.

My shoulder throbbed as we made our way back from the leafy town of stone houses and slate roofs nearest to the farm, but I knew he was riding smoothly, neatly avoiding obstacles so I didn’t jar my arm. The countryside was restful, bright green with spring growth and quietly alive with people either working the land or enjoying the natural environment – walking, cycling, canoeing.

‘How’s the pain?’ he asked.

‘Pfft, it’s just the usual now. Riding this thing barely hurts at all.’ I studied the slim tandem with white lacquer, buttery leather seats and a gleaming vintage Campagnolo chain drive that was a thing of beauty. ‘Where did you even get this bike?

‘It was my grandpa’s,’ he explained casually. ‘I found it a few years back and did it up. I used to work for a bike shop.’

‘Wait, there is an actual man in your family tree? I thought you were all immaculate conceptions?’

He laughed at my joke, but there was a tightness in him that reminded me that he hadn’t invited me here and I had no right to be as burningly curious about his family as I was.

Expecting him to shut down, I was surprised when he explained. ‘Grandpa wasn’t a great guy. He worked in France most of his life and… Yeah, Maman probably has a few half-siblings she doesn’t know.’

‘Wow, that’s… a lot,’ I murmured as my thoughts churned. After Rôsine’s comments, I was beginning to understand his complex family legacy. It was no surprise he was wary of relationships, but it didn’t explain what I was to him.

‘No one’s family is perfect, right? Mine is just particularly screwed up,’ he said with a huff.

‘And I thought it was just me,’ I muttered, thinking of the distance between my parents: not only geographical – the grudges held over so many years.

He glanced over his shoulder at me: warm, curious, wary. I could make an entire Instagram feed of that expression and find nuances every time I looked at it.

‘Your dad’s hard on you,’ he commented.

‘It’s good for me,’ I insisted, but I couldn’t stop adding, ‘most of the time,’ to the end. ‘Your mum said your dad left and you never saw him again.’

The cadence of his pedalling faltered. ‘You guys really had a heart-to-heart.’

‘To be honest, I don’t think she likes me. She was warning me off, saying you need “someone special”.’

A choking splutter reached my ears and he slowed thebike, putting a foot down and turning to face me. ‘She didn’t mean you’re not special.’

The words sent sparks over my skin and my throat grew thick.

‘She just knows you’re leaving – I mean, not staying. You know what I mean. She’s got a thing about people leaving – her.’

Rôsine wasn’t the only one with that ‘thing’.

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