Page 27 of Meet Me at Sunset

Camille looked radiant. It was the evening before her wedding, and her hair hung loose and glossy, her skin glowing as though she was lit from within. She was wearing a golden slip dress that draped over her body like flowing water, rippling lightly in the evening breeze.

Nicolas watched her, feeling like an outsider. He’d known this woman so well, and tomorrow she would become Andre’s wife. Nicolas had loved her – he still loved her – but now he was about to lose her and there was nothing he could do about it.

The three of them now worked together every day.

They’d founded their own atelier, just like Andre had suggested, though it was still a fledgling company, and trying to get a foothold in the fashion industry felt like climbing Mont Blanc.

For Nicolas, being around Camille every day was torture.

Seeing her, talking to her, laughing with her – but not being able to be with her.

He’d grown almost numb to it, closing himself off as a form of self-preservation, but the recent flurry of activity in the run-up to the wedding seemed to have heightened every emotion.

His heart felt like it was breaking all over again.

Nicolas had succeeded in raising some initial investment, but they were all living on a shoestring and margins were tight.

Camille adored being able to design and create all day long – it was what she’d always dreamed of – but Andre and Nicolas were less idealistic and often clashed over the practicalities.

Andre always wanted the best, regardless of the cost, and Nicolas would encourage him to make a realistic decision – not compromising on quality, but not blowing their budgets either.

Nicolas also highlighted environmental and ethical concerns when choosing their suppliers; Andre disparagingly called him a hippy, arguing that the world was unjust, and a fashion label could do little to change that.

The two men had developed a grudging mutual respect, but there were always underlying tensions – not helped by the fact that Nicolas was in love with Andre’s fiancée.

Tonight, he was unable to take his eyes off Camille as she mingled with the guests at the pre-wedding party, laughing, smiling, perfection.

Andre was never far behind, their eyes and hands instinctively finding one another, always a touch or a glance that kept them connected.

Each one was like a dagger blow for Nicolas.

As Camille leaned up to kiss her future husband, Nicolas averted his eyes.

‘Here, try some of this dessert, it’s delicious.’

Nicolas turned to see Juliette holding a forkful of cardenal de Lloseta out to him enticingly.

She looked at him teasingly, her eyes full of hope.

Not wanting to embarrass her, Nicolas went along with the moment, feeling ridiculous as she fed him the dessert as though he were a child.

There was nothing sexy in it at all, and he turned away before she could see his distaste, not wanting to see the disappointment written across her face.

Nicolas wished he wasn’t here, wished he hadn’t brought Juliette.

No, that wasn’t fair. Juliette was beautiful, vibrant and charming – but she wasn’t Camille.

Nicolas and Juliette had been dating casually for months, but he knew he was going to have to end it soon.

He always did. He would start feeling guilty, unconsciously stepping back, and they would put pressure on him to commit.

To onlookers, he was the eternal bachelor, a smooth-talking playboy with a different girl on his arm every week, his rented apartment a rotating carousel of attractive, intelligent women.

The truth was different: none of his girlfriends ever measured up to Camille, and so he swiftly moved onto the next before he had time to break their heart.

Each assuaged his loneliness for a short time, filling a space in his bed if not his heart, and ensuring he was never without a partner for parties and events.

Juliette was the latest in a long line, and she’d drawn the short straw to be his date for Camille and Andre’s wedding, held at Andre’s mother’s spectacular villa in Mallorca.

Tonight the soon-to-be-wed couple were hosting a dinner for their family and friends, who’d flown in from all over the world ahead of tomorrow’s nuptials.

Camille had said that the wedding was going to be a relaxed, casual affair, celebrating love with everyone they loved, but if tonight was anything to go by, then the wedding itself would be spectacular.

A long table, seating around sixty people, had been set up in the garden beneath an archway draped with roses.

Fairy lights twinkled in the oleander trees, and candles flickered softly in hurricane lamps, casting the scene in a warm glow.

The table itself was dressed in white linen with a profusion of flowers running down the centre, hydrangeas and peonies giving off a heady scent beneath the starlight.

The wine was flowing, the food was delicious, and everyone looked relaxed and happy against a background of music and laughter. Camille was the most stunning of all.

As Nicolas swallowed the creamy dessert, feeling nauseous at the way it slipped down his throat, he glanced over at Camille.

Andre moved across to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, the gesture completely natural between two lovers.

Camille gazed up at him adoringly, and Andre leaned down to plant a kiss on her lips.

Nicolas looked away, feeling like a voyeur, as though he’d been spying on an intimate moment. But that look between the two of them – complete and utter adoration from Camille – was killing him inside.

Nicolas noticed that Juliette had put her fork down and sat back in her seat. ‘Have you finished?’ he asked, the words coming out more gruffly than he’d intended. Juliette nodded, the whisper of a frown crossing her pretty face. ‘Then let’s go.’ Nicolas pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.

‘Back to the hotel? Already?’ Juliette looked at him in confusion with those luminous green eyes, and Nicolas felt a stab of guilt. It wasn’t her fault, but once more he regretted having invited her.

‘Yeah, I’m sure things will be wrapping up soon. It’s a big day tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep.’

‘Goodnight, darling. Sleep well. We’ll see you in the morning – we can’t wait.’

Camille kissed her parents on both cheeks then let herself into her suite.

Béatrice and Albert were staying in the next room at the Palacio del Sol Radiante, and she’d shared a taxi back with them.

Camille could have stayed at the Fontaine family villa, but she preferred her own space in which to get ready.

Besides, all their friends and relatives were staying at the hotel, and it felt like one big party.

Andre would come and collect her in the morning – it was French tradition that the groom presented the bride with her bouquet, which he’d chosen himself – then he would drive her to the venue in a classic cream Mercedes.

It had been so generous of Andre’s parents to offer to host the wedding at their villa.

In fact, they’d been incredibly generous when it came to the entire day.

Camille had designed and created her own dress, and her parents had given her a small amount of money towards the wedding, but with Andre’s extravagant tastes it barely covered the wine budget.

She knew that was all they could afford and was incredibly grateful for it, but Andre’s parents were swallowing the bulk of the costs.

His family were considerably wealthier than hers, and she knew they wanted the occasion to be spectacular.

Camille appreciated the gesture, but she also felt rather uncomfortable with such generosity, and didn’t want to start off married life feeling indebted to her in-laws.

She was about to undress and sink down onto the bed, but found that she couldn’t settle. Her mind was racing, adrenaline rushing through her body after the excitement of the party, and she needed to wind down.

It wasn’t even that late, and it was still warm – it had been unseasonably hot for the last week, Andre’s mother had told her. Acting on a whim, Camille turned and walked out of the door, heading down the back stairs and outside into the gardens.

She followed the winding pathways, small lights along the flower borders offering just enough illumination to guide her steps.

The waves crashed in the distance, and in front of her lay a dazzling sky, a riot of purples and dark oranges, a glorious twilight, which sparked with thousands of pinpricks of light from a descending blanket of stars.

Camille stared up at the sky above. Looking at it brought everything back into perspective; even though Camille was about to embark on the biggest day of her life, she was a tiny part of the universe, her decisions and actions insignificant.

She heard a stone skitter on the path nearby and caught the scent of cigarette smoke. She wasn’t concerned – just surprised. She’d thought she was alone out here.

Then he took a step forwards and she saw him: Nicolas, alone in the darkness, staring out at the black sea.

His features were silhouetted against the moonlight, but Camille could read the sadness on his face.

She hesitated, wondering whether to turn and slip silently away, but before she had a chance, Nicolas looked up and saw her.

‘Camille,’ he said softly.

Camille smiled cautiously and moved closer. This was Nicolas, she reassured herself. Her long-time friend, her former lover, her colleague that she saw every day at the Camille Andre offices. So why does tonight feel different?

‘I thought you’d be asleep by now,’ Nicolas said. ‘Big day tomorrow.’

‘I think it’s the adrenaline. I thought I’d take a final walk before bed.’

They looked at one another, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between them. Nicolas was still in love with Camille, and she knew it. But it was as though they had an unspoken pact between them never to discuss it.

‘Meet me at sunset,’ he said. ‘Remember we always used to say that to each other.’

‘Of course. How could I forget?’

Nicolas didn’t reply. He stubbed out his cigarette, and she came to stand next to him, both staring out into the night. The night air was infused with the scent of jasmine and the incessant hum of cicadas.

‘No second thoughts?’

Camille smiled sadly and shook her head. ‘I love him, Nicolas.’

Nicolas nodded slowly, digesting her words. ‘I know. And if you’re happy, then that’s all I want for you.’

‘Damn it, Nicolas, I want you to be happy too! What about Juliette? Do you think she might be the one? She’s very beautiful.’

‘No, I don’t think she’s the one. But I didn’t want to come alone.’ Nicolas cleared his throat. ‘I just want you to know that if you ever need anything – and I mean anything – I’ll be there for you, OK? I’ll always be there for you, Camille.’

‘Oh, Nicolas …’ Camille linked her arm through his and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling safe and secure and protected.

Being with Nicolas was different to being with Andre.

With Andre, she could shout and scream and throw plates at his head, then the next moment they were in bed, passionately making up, the cause of their argument forgotten.

That had never been her relationship with Nicolas; it ran deeper and defied explanation.

He wasn’t showy, in the way Andre was, but his every action showed he adored her, always putting her feelings before his.

Camille was certain that if they’d stayed together, he would never have cheated on her.

Andre, on the other hand, was a force of nature, and she strongly suspected he’d been unfaithful to her before.

Women were drawn to his magnetic presence, arousing Camille’s jealousy, and bringing out her competitive instincts.

Andre wouldn’t have dreamed of demeaning himself by cooking a meal for her, but he had no hesitation in taking her out to a Michelin-star restaurant.

Camille loved the glamour and grand gestures that accompanied her life with Andre, but Nicolas was always there, strong and steadfast, and Camille was grateful for that.

Perhaps that sounded cruel or selfish, but she couldn’t help how she felt.

Right now, with his solid presence next to her, she could sense how much she meant to him.

They’d once been as close as two people could be, and they would never lose that connection.

He was as familiar to her as her own heartbeat, and she clung to him for a moment, closing her eyes and letting the scent of cigarettes, Guerlain aftershave and Marseille soap wash over her.

Her head slotted perfectly against his shoulder, and everything felt so easy.

‘I love you, Camille,’ Nicolas said simply. ‘Since the first moment we met. And I always will.’

Camille lifted her head and met his eyes. ‘I know. And I love you too, I always will, but—’

Nicolas placed a finger over her lips, cutting her off. ‘I know I’m not enough.’

Camille nodded, sadness and guilt washing over her as she realized how unhappy she was making him. ‘I have to go,’ she whispered.

Nicolas unclasped her. ‘Yes. You’ve made your choice.’

‘Nicolas …’ Camille wanted to tell him that he wasn’t being fair, that he was making her feel bad the night before her wedding.

But she didn’t say a word. Ultimately, she was the one who wasn’t being fair, keeping his heart captive when she should have let him go.

‘Are you coming in?’ she asked, wrapping her arms around herself.

It had grown cooler now, away from Nicolas’s embrace, and the bare skin on her forearms had puckered into goosebumps.

Nicolas shook his head and turned back towards the sea. ‘No, I … I’ll stay out here a little longer. Clear my head.’

Camille hesitated. She longed to hear him tell her once again how much he loved her. But she was marrying Andre in the morning, and he was the love of her life, she told herself firmly. He was the future, and Nicolas was her past.

Camille turned away and slipped silently into the shadowy gardens. Tomorrow she would become Camille Fontaine, and her new life would begin.