Page 56 of Wilder at Heart
No gimmicks or tack: check.
Just close friends and family, great food and wine, and one of the most gorgeous locations in the world: check.
And while I think it’s slightly co-dependent of Miles and Saoirse to be doing their hen and stagtogether, it’s also sweet. And the vibe they’ve mandated means it’s more like a pre-wedding icebreaker weekend than a crazy single-sex binge.
Miles flies us all out to Nice via two jets. The guys take the Montague Group’s jet, and he charters another one for the girls. I’m on duty, so I’m planning on monitoring the amount I drinkverycarefully, but I can’t help being swept up in the excitement. Because I definitely got on the best jet. I should have known Saoirse’s friends would be down to earth, but they’re hilarious.
On the Pink Jet, as Miles christened it, are Saoirse, me, Margot, Saoirse’s sisters Clodagh and Eimear and her former flatmates, Keeley and Becky. The latter are both from New Zealand and work in the creche at the Montague Hotel. Saoirse’s younger sisters are fit to burst with excitement, having flown over from Dublin yesterday. Clodagh’s only eighteen, and I getthe impression she’s feeling like she’s entered some kind of parallel universe. I can relate.
With Margot hitting the champagne like only someone who’s been relieved of her twin babies for the weekend can, I’d say it’s on me to be the sober adult on board (except for the pilots. Hopefully).
‘I have to say,’—Keeley raises her flute—‘I never expected to be getting on a fuckingjetto go party in the south of France with Miles Montague. We were all totally terrified of him till you turned up and got in his pants, Sorsh.’
We all laugh, and Saoirse buries her face in her hands. ‘I was pretty scared of him, too. I always thought he disapproved of me. But now he’s like a teddy bear.’
‘Poor fucker,’ Becky says. ‘He totally eats out of the palm of your hand. But the burning question is, will there be any single hotties there? I’m desperate for a shag.’
‘You’re sharing a room with me.’ Keeley mock-glares at her. ‘So if you want a shag, it’ll have to be on the beach.’
‘A couple of months ago, I would have volunteered Theo for the job,’ Margot says. ‘But sadly for the rest of you, he’s smitten with the lovely Nora here.’
I blush and once again curse the level of deception we’re pulling on these good people.
‘Honestly, I’ve never seen him like this,’ Margot continues, ‘and I’ve known him for five years. He’s so sweet with you, Nora. I thought he was going to try to smuggle you on the guys’ jet just now.’
‘He was being ridiculous.’ I roll my eyes. He was. He made a big song-and-dance about saying goodbye to me in front of everyone and even swung me down into an admittedly enjoyable Hollywood kiss on the tarmac. If he keeps up this level of affection all weekend, I’m screwed. He may be faking it, but the guy’s seriously infectious, and I’m only human.
Clodagh pipes up. ‘He’s such a ride. You’re so lucky!’
Saoirse’s mouth drops open. ‘Oh my God, Clodagh. You stay away from men like Theo Montague, you hear me? He’d eat you for breakfast.’
‘Let’s ask Nora if he eats her for breakfast,’ Becky quips, and everyone screams with laughter.
And I want to die.
Because that’s a visual I can’t even begin to allow.
I relax as the conversation thankfully turns away from Theo’s speculated affection (and appetite) for me towards the Percival brothers, who are on Miles’ jet with Theo, Stephen and Saoirse’s two brothers and are apparently family friends of the Montagues. Theo’s already filled me in on them a little. The five of them went to school together and, as Theo tells it, used to hit up the exclusive nightclubs of London for years before Miles and Stephen settled down. If the girls here are looking for someone to show them a good time this weekend, I suspect the Percival brothers may be just the ticket.
There aremoments when I look around me and wonder how different my life would be if I’d stayed at theTimesinstead of striking out on my own.
Trusting my gut.
Tonight is definitely one of those moments. One of those times where I can feel proud that I followed my heart and chose a path that was far less trodden but would offer me a richer experience.
The resort Miles has booked out for the weekend is magical: a shady pine wood comprising a beautiful central villa anda rambling assortment of standalone, one-storey chalets, each housing a single suite. Saoirse and I planned a welcome bag for every guest, and they were waiting on everyone’s snowy pillows when we arrived. The chalets are beautiful, with pale blue shutters and a terrace outside and classic Provencal interiors in shades of white and grey. The linens are intricate, and the furniture is wooden, which puts paid to the idea of my sleeping on the sofa.
Within the no-organised-fun remit of the weekend was tonight’s dinner, which took place outdoors on a stunning terrace by the hotel’s pool. The pines were illuminated, the distance between them strung with fairy lights, and the pool glowed turquoise. Fifteen of us sat at a long table and got stuck into huge carafes of local rosé and excellent claret while we ate a typically Provencal feast of snapper and ratatouille and sauteed potatoes and a rack of lamb.
To my disappointment, Saoirse didn’t separate me and Theo when she did the table plan, so I spent the whole meal with his arm around me or his hand on my thigh. He nuzzled into my neck, he whispered in my ear, and if I were anyone else at the table, I would have been perfectly sure that he and I were completely in love.
Since dinner, we’ve drifted over to the fire pit at the edge of the terrace that overlooked the inky Med, and as the wine has switched to cognac and whisky, the noise levels have increased.
I’m gossiping with Eimear and Keeley about the fact that Becky and Jimmy Percival are nowhere to be seen, and thinking that it’s far too warm a night to have the fire lit, when Theo appears behind me. His arms snaking around my waist. His hand warm against my stomach. His lips move to my ear, and I catch a wistful look from Keeley that I’ve become all too familiar with these past few months. Because I have no doubt that Theo looks every bit the adoring boyfriend just now.
‘Fancy a dip?’ He punctuates his question with a kiss to my neck.
That is a terrible idea. Terrible. ‘Er, no.’ I pat the hand on my stomach. ‘Not a good idea.’
