‘We’ve never had that issue before today.’
He looks over the top of his glasses at me. ‘Maybe you just understand me a little better.’
I roll my eyes and then fix them on a cloud that I hope might shield the sun for a moment and give us a break from the heat that feels far too intense for early May. ‘I don’t think I understand you at all.’
Florian lets out a sharp exhale of air. I ignore it, choosing instead to search again for Archie who is now sunbathing on the platform.
‘Is he your boyfriend? It must be serious if you’ve brought him all this way.’
‘No,’ I say quickly, all my coolness and mystique evaporating. ‘I mean we’re dating, that’s all.’
‘Doesheknow that?’ Florian gestures to the picnic blanket with a sarcastic flourish.
‘Of course he does.’ My eyes return to the river where Inés pulls off an impressive dive.
‘She’s peppy.’ I don’t like how bitter I sound.
‘Well, I just figured it might save a little on the awkwardness if it wasn’t just us three like some strange little ménage à trois.’
‘Ah, that’s why you bought a gorgeous young girl to the beach with you, how wonderfully considerate of you, what a hardship.’ I catch his eye then, the same wry smile he has mastered reappearing in the corner of his lips. I know that my own lips are pulling up into the same little grin even though I try to wrestle them back under control. ‘Fuck I’m warm,’ I groan, downing the last of my beer.
‘You should take your shirt off,’ Florian shrugs.
‘Sorry?’
‘You’re wearing a swimsuit, so wear your swimsuit. No point coming down here if you’re going to just sit here in all of your clothes.’
‘You’refuntoday.’
‘What, hasn’t “monsieur picnic blanket” seen you in your bra before?’
I sense an opportunity. It’s childish, slightly pathetic, but it’s there and I know it might make Florian at least blush. ‘Not really no, they don’t tend to stay on very long around him.’
I enjoy that his lip twitches before he regains control of his apathetic frown. ‘Well, don’t worry about me.’ Florian holds out his hands, his voice a little louder than before. ‘I couldn’t give a shit what your tits look like.’
It feels like a challenge. I get to my feet, work at the buttons on my linen shirt and then strip the fabric clumsily from my shoulders until I’m there, in front of him in my bikini top, praying that everything is still fastened into place. I finish my beer, drinking it down to its dregs and then I toss the bottle in his direction. He catches it with his fingertips and he looks up at me, bemused, until I can feel his eyes roll over me. He takes me in, inch by inch, and then his face falls a little. For a single guilty moment, I’m upset. But I look at him again, closer this time, and realise that the look writ large on his face isn’t disappointment, it’s something else entirely. I falter, feel the heat in my cheeks, feel something else snake down my body until I realise quite how wrong this is. Florian seems to notice it too; in a quick movement he rolls over. I clear my throat, the confidence vanishing. I look over to the water, where Archie is bobbing around entirely unaware of what’s just happened, or not happened. I hurry to the shoreline, let the cold water dull the heat and wade over to Archie, who wolf whistles his appreciation. When I get close, I throw my arms around his neck, weaving my legs around his waist.
‘Hey,’ he croons as I kiss him, his skin cool and wet and his touch is not laced with any other intentions than to be exceptionally nice to me.
‘Hey.’
‘What about your sun cream?’ he jibes.
‘Fuck it.’ I shrug and kiss him again. When I cast a glance back to the beach, Florian is still lying face down in the sand.
We switch between swimming and sunbathing until the light fails and everything begins to chill down. We start gathering our things, Florian and Inés standing by the car smoking yet another cigarette whilst Archie and I squish down the picnic blanket on top of all of the food we never ate.
When we finally clamber into the car and Florian begins to point the Citroën in the direction of home, Archie clears his throat. ‘You guys should come for dinner.’
‘Tonight?’ I hear the abject horror in my voice and try to tame it back. ‘Sorry, it just feels late.’
‘Yeah! Why not?’ Archie shrugs. ‘It’s my last evening when I can have a few drinks. I’ll cook, my treat,’ Archie persists.
‘I don’t have any plans,’ Inés smiles.
I try to catch Florian’s eyes in the rear-view mirror like before, but he doesn’t reciprocate. Instead, he nods. ‘Yeah, fuck it. Why not.’ Florian throws away the comment as if it’s nothing, as if he says yes to random dinner party invitations all the time.
I look at Archie, how bloody blind he is to what he’s just walked into. I remember then, how sometimes it’s so much easier to be single, how you never had to factor the wild card of someone else into your daily decisions. You can only blame yourself when you manage to fuck things up.
