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“Yes,” I say, feeling as blown away as she sounds.
Over the next half an hour, we meet the three other couples that are joining us on this retreat, all of them from different places of the globe: Italy, Canada, and the UK.
The conversation is flowing, when suddenly, a whirlwind of colorful fabric sweeps into the room. The woman approaching the table is a vision in a purple velvet kaftan, adorned with jangling bracelets. Her hair is swept up in a wild bun, and her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm.
“My darlings! Welcome to your weekend of love!” she sings, rolling her r’s with dramatic flair. “My name is Madame Amour, and I will be your instructor for the weekend.
When I hear Emma mutter, “Oh, Lord,” under her breath, I struggle not to burst out laughing.
“You will all be my darling duos this weekend,yes?” She clasps her hands, scanning the table and catching everyone’s eyes.
“Ready as we’ll ever be,” Greg, the guy from England says.
Brown-noser.
“Excellent, darlings!” She claps her hands again. “This evening, I want you all to relax and enjoy your meal. The real work will begin tomorrow. I will see you all at eight a.m. sharp.”
“Oh, I can’t wait,” Emma mutters sarcastically.
I didn’t realize she was so witty, and swallowing another chuckle, I’m now looking forward to the next couple of days.
*****
Madame Amour is just as enthusiastic the following day, but that much energy at this time in the morning is a bit much for me.
“Now, let’s get you all out of those comfort zones, hmm? Love is all about trust, about letting go, about surrender!”
And then she tells us that we’re starting with a trust fall, and I suddenly feel like I’m on the same page as Emma. This really is ridiculous.
Emma stands facing away from me, her arms crossed awkwardly over her chest.
“Darling, you must let go!” Madame Amour calls over when Emma hesitates. “Trust is the foundation of any love that lasts, yes?”
I’m standing, waiting and ready, and then I see her “let go.”
Catching her feels like nothing. I mean, she’s pretty slender, and my bad knee doesn’t impair my upper body strength. It does, however, impair my balance, and I feel myself having to step back.
“Sorry,” Emma says, glancing down at my leg. “Are you okay?
“Will you quit worrying?” I smirk. “I’m a big boy. I can handle myself.”
When we’ve done a few falls, and thankfully not dropped each other, Madame Amour leads us out of the resort and towards the beach. As we approach, there are three rowboats all painted different colors and decorated with ribbons and flowers.
“Today, my loves, we learn about partnership!” she says, flourishing her arms toward the boats. “For in love, you must row together, yes? Paddle in harmony, or you go nowhere at all!”
Emma blinks at the boat, then at me, while I’m stifling a laugh.
“Does she really expect us to—?”
But before she can finish, Madame Amour ushers us toward the boats with surprising efficiency, and five minutes later, we’re out on the water with paddles in hand.
But it becomes immediately apparent that “harmony” is an overly ambitious goal. While I’m paddling to the left, Emma’s paddling to the right, resulting in a rather ridiculous series of circles.
“Left, right, left… Let’s try going left first?” Emma suggests, frowning as we spin in another lazy arc.
I nod in agreement, and matching my paddle with hers, we manage a few decent strokes before a particularly enthusiastic one sends a wave of water over Emma’s arm, splashing her shoulder.
Not that the water is cold, but naturally, Emma freezes before staring at me.