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Seb

I was screwed.

I hadn’t thought it possible that Lori could get any more beautiful than when she was naked and begging me to touch her, but with hay in her hair, holding a baby goat, she could have come right out of my deepest fantasies – my downfall , wherever that melodramatic thought came from.

She was perfect on a bike, her body as powerful as it was beautiful. She was a dream in bed – either blowing my mind or just stroking me to sleep. And now I had to watch her smile brightly at my family as though she belonged in this picture.

I should have told her not to get my hopes up.

She was in a different place to me – younger, tougher, more motivated and successful.

She would be gone from my life even before my retirement.

But she wasn’t in a different place right now.

She was right in front of me and I wanted to take her face in my hands and kiss her the way we’d kissed at the finish line yesterday.

This was bad.

‘Bonjour, sleepyhead!’

Still in a daze, I turned to find Denise grinning at me from behind her broom handle. Luckily, I wasn’t racing, because my reaction time was atrocious.

‘Salut, little sis,’ I managed, looping an arm around her neck when she approached to press a kiss to my cheek. ‘Where are the petits?’ I tried to keep my focus on her, but my gaze kept straying to Lori, as did my feet when I let go of Denise.

‘Alice is at school and Mael is… somewhere here.’

‘Tonton!’ Wobbly steps finally wrenched my attention from Lori and I hefted my nephew into my arms when he threw his little body in my direction. He always felt like the meaning of life and I still wasn’t sure if I was pleased or resented my sister for procreating and doing this to me.

‘Hé, petit gars,’ I murmured into his forehead, giving him a squeeze.

‘Nori!’ he said earnestly, pointing at Lori, and even the baby was conspiring to bring me to my knees.

‘Lori,’ I corrected him gently.

Meeting her gaze, a hundred questions seemed to pull tight in the air between us and I still couldn’t breathe properly.

She wanted different things – from me, in life.

She wanted to use me for team PR. Gulping around my tight throat, I raised my eyebrows at her and jerked my head in the direction of the door, setting Mael back on his feet in the hay.

Feeling my family’s curious gazes, I led her out of the barn so we could talk in private, fisting my hand to stop it from grabbing hers.

Scratching the back of my neck as my chest burned, all I managed to say was, ‘I thought you might have gone already.’

‘Nope. Still here.’

God, I wanted to kiss her, but I thought I was supposed to be angry with her. ‘I can take you back to Roubaix,’ I offered instead.

‘I don’t really want to see my dad or my brother right now.’

‘You want to stay here in the middle of nowhere with goats – and me?’

‘I wouldn’t have put them in that order.’

I didn’t dare react to the joke. ‘There’s no one here to see us together.’

Her gaze clouded. ‘Look, I shouldn’t have said we only kissed for the cameras. I panicked in front of Dad and maybe… it was an excuse.’

For what? Before I could voice the question, my phone vibrated insistently in my pocket and I tugged it out with a frown, since I muted most functions entirely.

My agent’s name flashed up on the screen and my frown deepened.

I didn’t usually warrant much of Ravi’s attention these days, so I connected the call warily.

‘Hey! Seb, my man!’

I nearly tugged the device away from my ear to peer at it in incredulity, it had been so long since I’d heard such enthusiasm from him. ‘Hi, Ravi.’

‘I’ve had quite a few calls this morning.’

Did that require an apology? ‘Yesterday was a big day.’ But I’d thought the team PR would handle any extra media inquiries?

‘Everyone wants to know what your plans are.’

‘My plans?’ I glanced uneasily at Lori. ‘You know what my plans are.’ A peaceful retirement.

He laughed, then the sound petered out to an awkward huff.

He dropped his voice. ‘I mean with your girlfriend. I don’t usually like to pry, but you could have told me you have Lori Gallagher in your back pocket!

If you’re planning to be active on social media, I’ve already got two inquiries about sponsorship. ’

Misgiving skittered over my skin.

‘Think about the options it would give you for next year.’ Ravi knew my financial situation. ‘If it goes well, you could get more sponsorship opportunities even after you retire.’

I couldn’t, if they were contingent on a relationship with Lori that would only exist until my – her – luck ran out. My head swam, remembering her agonised tone as she spoke about letting the team down and wanting to do her bit. Were people really so interested in her love life?

‘Ehm, thanks Ravi. Can we talk about this later?’ How about never ever again? ‘I’m kind of… busy.’

‘Of course, of course. Text me when you’re ready. And say hi to Top Gun for me. I’m a big fan and you’re a dark horse, tiger!’

I blinked at the phone for several vacant seconds after I disconnected.

‘Your agent?’

I darted a glance at her. ‘He says hi. He’s a big fan.’

‘Ah, I landed you in the fire?’

‘No,’ I insisted, but my voice lacked conviction. I drew myself up with a sigh. ‘Do you really think pretending we’re… in love would help you and the team?’ I hoped she couldn’t tell that the words stuck in my throat.

A grimace briefly crossed her features. ‘Now that we’ve kissed, it would probably be better than leaving people wondering. And at least they might stop talking to me about Gaetano.’

That flicked a switch inside me. ‘Maybe it’s a good idea after all. If we do it, am I allowed to text you more than “congratulations”?’

She scrunched her nose at me. ‘Yeah, I suppose so.’

‘Okay, then. This is it. The most unlikely love story in the peloton. Maybe it’ll help with our luck problem too.’

She studied me as though she might question my sudden change of heart, so I rushed on.

‘Just use a filter on me, hmm?’ I posed with my knuckle and thumb on my chin.

Batting my arm away, she gave me a dry look. ‘Use your own filters. I’m pretty real on social media.’

‘I know,’ I said, pausing when I belatedly thought that through.

‘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 me behind the 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.

Seeing him 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 R?sine’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 the bike, 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.’

R?sine wasn’t the only one with that ‘thing’.

‘It’s not personal,’ he insisted, turning back to the path with finality.

I wanted to keep him talking, but he pushed off and we settled into a rhythm again, which felt strangely like riding together online.

‘We’ll have to tell her about the fake thing,’ I mumbled. ‘She won’t be happy, right?’

‘Nope,’ he replied immediately. ‘What about your mum? Is she going to ask? Is she even in Europe?’

He couldn’t have known that the simple question made my spine freeze up. ‘She doesn’t come to Europe much these days. I’ll put her off somehow. She’ll probably be horrified. I promised her I’d focus and not get distracted this year.’

‘ Both of your parents push you?’

‘In their different ways,’ I said quietly. ‘Kind of “good cop, bad cop”.’ I swallowed heavily, hoping he wouldn’t pursue the topic.

‘Well, it won’t be long and you’ll be winning everything again and you won’t need me.’

He spoke brightly, but his words dug deep under my skin.

For the briefest second, I wondered what it would be like if my losing streak continued – and so did this romance.

This fake romance. With a commitment-phobe.

No, I didn’t belong here on a tandem bike with Seb, no matter how good he looked in a white T-shirt and a pair of supple old jeans.

‘It’s so… domestic here,’ I commented, changing the subject as we meandered along a narrow river.

He paused, as though deciding whether to let the topic drop. ‘There’s nothing that will kill you in Belgium, unlike in Australia,’ he joked lightly. ‘We have to make our own excitement.’

His excitement would not include me. Shaking off my stupid thoughts, I pointed out a family wrestling with a temperamental boat that had got stuck in the bushes.

‘You might have to learn to canoe after you retire,’ I teased, my tone dripping with mocking.

‘To guide all the guests at your fucking B&B.’