Memories Never Dies

Épisode 4

Chapter 3

Each morning, as part of her routine, Nonna prepares tea while my sister and I get ready for our workday. But today, I don’t have time for anything. After dropping the newspaper on the kitchen table, I rush straight into the bathroom.

_ I'm running late, Nonna!

I warn her with a loud voice so she can hear me wherever she is in the house.

_ I will take the tea at work, so don't mind me... The grocery store was closed, so I had to go to the coffee shop downtown..."

As I take a shower with the door open, explaining to Nonna my morning escapade while intentionally leaving out the encounter with the enigmatic stranger, she listens to me as always, accommodating and indulgent, moving from room to room to collect the dirty clothes Luna and I left behind the previous day. An almost daily maternal gesture for this sixty-year-old woman, as she has always been our only family, or nearly so.

It was just after the tragic death of our mother, Lisa, her only child, that Nonna took her two granddaughters, us, under her wing. We were only five years old for my sister and eleven months old for me. Firstly, because within a year she had lost her husband, her daughter, and she couldn't bear another separation. Secondly, because she was sparing us from another drama: the division of the bond between my sister and me. A sad possibility for us, born of different fathers, as Luna’s father, too young at the time to provide for her, had since rebuilt his life and would undoubtedly have eventually regained custody of her. This was far from my situation, the result of a single-parent pregnancy, and with a father who was unknown to me—a married man who had left my mother, Lisa, long before my birth.

In the bathroom mirror, I subtly apply makeup to my large brown eyes, accentuated by voluminous, dark lashes. I tie my long, tousled chestnut hair, with tips lightened by the sun and sea water, into a messy bun. After a final look at my reflection, satisfied with the result, I head down to the kitchen.

I plant a kiss on my grandmother's forehead, engrossed in her newspaper, and lift my sister's unruly locks of golden hair to do the same. But this morning, Luna doesn't seem well. Her typically sparkling azure eyes are dull. In fact, she quickly hides them back in her bowl, as if to avoid a conversation. Discreetly, and also because I prefer to mind my own business, I kiss her with an affectionate smile before heading out for my workday.

For almost four years now, I've been working as an event organizer at the downtown agency. It's a job I love and a career path I chose because it fulfills many of my criteria. This profession allows me to use my artistic and organizational skills while providing comfortable income and financial independence, something I've always desired. This final aspect is all the more precious to me because, through my grandmother's life, I've witnessed the difficulties a woman can face in a still too sexist world. Freedom and autonomy have a price: time. The time I spend at the agency or with clients, the time I take from my evenings and weekends, but also for myself—it’s the only way for me to achieve my goals.

Luckily, the proximity of my work allows me not to waste time on transportation, as well as the undeniable advantage of not having to buy a car or borrow my grandmother's fuel-hungry car, an old 1980s brown Ford Mustang 289 that I occasionally use.

Once arriving at the agency's entrance, I enter with my usual energy, opening the glass door with a gentle nudge.

The office, housed in a renovated building that once was a quaint village home, might not boast grandeur, but natural light floods the space. A white lacquered counter for reception greets visitors at street level, directly facing the entryway. To the back, a corridor leads to two glass-walled offices and a staircase that accesses a spacious meeting room and restrooms on the upper floor. On the left, there's a break area with a beverage machine and a high table surrounded by three bar stools, where my colleague, Eloïse Germain, is currently sitting this morning. A stylish brunette woman in her early forties emanates an inviting fragrance and handles the administrative tasks at the agency.

She catches sight of me and extends a cordial greeting, exuding her signature warmth and friendliness that she always displays when interacting with others.

_ Hi, Rosa! You look stunning again today!

_ Hello, Eloïse! Right back at you!

I walk closer, kiss her, and hang my blouse on the coat rack in front of the boss's office window.

_ Michel isn't here?" I ask after taking a look inside.

_ Upstairs, Eloïse replies, a suspicious smile playing on her lips. "He just got a new project and was expecting you... Care for some tea? It's still hot!" she adds, offering me the teapot.

_ I'd love some! I didn't have time for tea this morning.

_ Oh, trouble with your alarm?

_ No... Uh, just a small incident,

I justify, embarrassed by the excitement that the memory of my morning encounter brings up in me. But before I can further divulge my emotional state, the boss's voice calls out to me from the top of the stairs.

_ Rosa, can you come upstairs?

_ Yes, boss! I'll be right there.

I grab my still too-hot-to-drink cup, my work materials, and head upstairs.

Michel Sander, in his fifties with neatly combed back white hair, greets me with a smile in front of the meeting room. He's a highly respected and esteemed figure in our industry. Moreover, he's a longtime friend of my grandmother's, and so he's been considered like an uncle by my sister and me, as well as an integral member of our family.

_ Good morning, Rosa! How are you today? he asks as he gives me a kiss on the forehead.

_ I'm very well, boss! Thank you.

I set my files on one of the side tables in the room and take a sip from the cup I'm holding in my hands before following the boss inside the meeting room.

The surprise of seeing another figure appear in my field of vision makes me jump, as I had imagined Michel to be alone. But this reaction seems mild in comparison to the electrifying shock my heart receives when our gazes lock. For this isn’t just anyone, no; this is the very stranger from the café… Amaury… SANDER!!

Sander… Like my boss!

How could I have overlooked this? After all, it's not a common last name around here. For an obsessive over-analyzer like myself, this is an unusual oversight. And yet, considering the mental chaos my neurons underwent after Mr. More-Perfect-Than-You-Can-Imagine passed by, whom I'm now staring at with transparent irritation, it's difficult to hold it against myself. Come to think of it, I wonder if he's playing games with me. Because really, he doesn't seem all that surprised to see me here. He even observes me with a playful look bordering on insolence.

_ "Rosa," Michel calls out, ushering me forward with a hand on my back. "This is my nephew, Amaury Sander."

He advances in turn and extends his hand to me for the second time that morning. Standing still, I glare at him. But the man, unperturbed by my hostility, continues without changing position.

_ Good morning, Young Lady! Delighted to make your acquaintance!

Apart from the curious vibrations his smooth voice elicits in me, I can't help but be bothered by the old-fashioned nickname he gives me—just like this morning.

Young Lady?!

Who other than the elder still uses this outdated vocabulary? Between you and me, apart from his emerging beard and sophisticated attire which gently emphasize his maturity, the man standing in front of me can't be older than twenty-seven! But let's move on, as Michel's inquiring look compels me—and because I'm still at work after all—I manage a slightly muted response as I slip my hand into the one he has continuously offered.

_Good morning, Mr. Sander, Rosabella Novella. Delighted as well.

But just like in the coffee shop, upon the touch of our palms, I feel that burn again, compelling me to prematurely end our handshake. And for the second time today, I withdraw with a look of utter confusion, not unnoticed by my boss.

_ You know each other? asks the latter, sensing something unusual.

Startled by the resonance this question has within me—the very same one posed during our first meeting and still awaiting clarification—I cast a perplexed glance at the young man, wondering if I've perhaps been mistaken. Maybe the sense of familiarity I felt earlier was not due to some illusion whispered by failing hearing or deceived by an enchanting voice, but to a much more logical reason. And now, with the familial connection between the two men as context, things finally seem clearer. Although, I still harbor some doubts, considering the strange sensations I experienced at his touch—seeming more like a magical connection than a rational explanation... especially when Michel's nephew speaks again and I realize they share no resemblance at all.

_ A coincidence, responds Amaury politely to his uncle. We crossed paths this morning at the coffee shop downtown.

_A coincidence? repeats Michel, who seems to be enjoying the awkwardness in the air. How amusing!

Amusing for him, perhaps! But as far as I'm concerned, I find nothing funny in the situation. In fact, it's quite the opposite. All morning, I've been trying to banish the stranger from my mind, reassuring myself with the fact that I'd likely never see him again... A hope now dissolved, since Amaury is a part of Michel's life, and Michel is a part of mine!

_ Perfect, kids, continues the boss, glancing at his watch. If you don't mind, we'll start now.

Seizing on my boss's comment to refocus on work, I nod and move towards the meeting room.

It's a spacious, sunlit room that I've grown particularly fond of since starting at the agency. Along the walls, an array of pinboards filled with projects and other paperwork are scattered everywhere. There isn't a window, giving the place a comforting sense of the jumble. The disarray is accentuated by assorted seats, collected from various local antique shops by the boss, and arranged around a large table which usually serves as my work desk. Today, I take a seat across from Amaury.

_ As you likely guessed, Rosa, (Michel resumes after sitting at the end of the table) my nephew is here on business today. His father, my older brother Philippe, will soon be celebrating his sixtieth birthday, an important landmark he wishes to celebrate surrounded by close friends and family, as well as many of his prestigious clients—wealthy and powerful businessmen, to be precise. Amaury arrived early this morning from the capital to present the requirements of this rather unique event, as it relates to family. Unfortunately, (he continues), being occupied with a major case myself, I'm unable to personally handle this project... That's why you're here, since not only is this project important to me, it also represents an excellent opportunity for you to expand your contacts with prestigious individuals. Of course, you have the final input, as I'm aware of the extra effort I'm asking for, given your tight schedule at the beginning of the season.( He pauses, clasping his hands on the table.) So...what do you think? Are you up for it?

This is a challenging situation. Beyond the obvious opportunity, it also implies having to regularly interact with Mr. s*x Appeal, which is the exact opposite of what my reason dictates! A collaboration and partnership fraught with danger, considering the various mysterious symptoms activated by our proximity. But on the other hand, how can I refuse such a service to my boss? Not to mention, he's always been there for me, especially in the beginning. He knows how to speak to my heart.

Obliged more than persuaded, I finally accept.

Michel, feeling relieved, gives his nephew the floor. Amaury goes over the specifications point by point. He has a unique way of speaking which makes me think he comes from an upper-class background. His clear diction, sprinkled with some archaic phrases, sophisticated vocabulary, and surprising level of detail, sets him apart from the young people I typically encounter. His voice—warm and smooth—is both reassuring and enchanting, and I can't help but be captivated by it. His voice even brings forth an odd sense of well-being in me, in addition to that feeling of familiarity.

Regarding the upcoming event, the man knows precisely what he wants. His request is ultra-specific, down to the tiniest details. "About a hundred guests... Lilies here... Tables there... A music group like this... A tiered dessert like that..."

I'm taking notes, feeling a bit confused. I'm trying hard to focus only on the meeting. I'm nose-deep in my papers, sketching to help me understand my new client's requests.

He then explains that the event will take place at their family estate located just behind the large pine forest bordering Saintes-Dames to the north. It's a perfect setting for me, not only relieving me of the often challenging task of finding an exceptional location, but also reducing my timeline. A good point, since I only have three short months to organize the party planned for the end of spring. Regarding the guests, Amaury provides me with a complete list of contacts. He's very orderly, methodical, and accommodating. He occasionally pauses while speaking to ask if I need him to slow down, or simply to get my opinion—a rare situation for me, as I'm used to dealing with clients who aren't exactly clear, usually unprepared, or, when they have miraculously prepared, arrive with ideas so disjointed that everything needs to be redone.

Two hours have passed when we finish our meeting, and I didn't even notice that Michel had left the room.

Amaury searches through his files one last time, apparently to confirm he hasn't overlooked anything, then while collecting his papers, he raises his head in my direction.

_ Well! I believe I've covered everything! Do you have any questions, perhaps?

I think for a moment, studying my notes, thoroughly disconcerted by the weight of this man's gaze upon me.

_ No, I believe everything is there! I declare, struggling to hide my embarrassment as I finally raise my eyes to his. "Firstly, I'll contact my different suppliers," I explain, speaking faster to give myself some constancy. "I think I can offer you a first draft fairly quickly. Here's my card. If you need anything, I'm here to help."

I slide the small card across the table (to avoid another spine-tingling contact with his hand) and immediately grab my planner before continuing.

_ I suggest we meet again in ten days to review my progress and make adjustments if necessary. That brings us to... March 18th... 2:00 pm, here at the agency? What do you think?

Amaury, who has just sat up from his folder, picks up his phone and checks his calendar.

_ Monday... March 18th... Yes, that's perfect! 2:00 pm, I'm noting it down! I'll also leave you my card.

In the same way I did earlier, but with an added playful grin, he slides his small card across the table.

Appearing not to have noticed the undertone, I quickly glance over it without further attention and put it away with my documents. Then I finally stand up, slightly numb from sitting for so long, which Amaury—who's also stood up—doesn't fail to notice.

_ I'm sorry, it was a bit lengthy, he apologizes with a sympathetic grimace.

I nod with a smile, aware he's trying to steer us towards a less professional subject. Uncomfortable, I remain silent and motionless while he finishes gathering his belongings.

But Amaury hasn't said his last word. As he passes me on his way out, he stops and catches my eye with his shadowy gaze.

_ Do you run often?

Shaken by his out-of-context remark that revives the memory of my hideous outfit this morning, and also, let's admit it, by the intense aura of this living god, I feel my legs weaken and barely catch myself.

_ I... yes, every day.

A short and polite answer, which, in the face of the playful smile still playing on his lips, makes me wonder if he isn't simply trying to seduce me.

_ Don't change anything then, you're stunning.

At a loss for a reply, and especially with my mind occupied trying to steady my wildly fluttering heart, I make do with an awkward grimace and politely signal for him to head towards the stairs. But the man is persistent.

Reaching the steps, he leans an arm on the railing and ends up almost nose-to-nose with me...

_ Are you joining us for lunch today ?

Startled by this unexpected confrontation, I jump and just barely manage to catch my pain-reliever (my pen) as it slips from my hand.

_ I... Uh, no... I'm sorry, (I apologize, even as my pulse starts racing wildly. )I have another appointment.

_ What a shame! Another time, then?

_ Yes, another time, Amaury.

He examines me for another moment, hesitating as if he wanted to add something else, before finally dashing down the stairs.

Back at my computer, I let out a sigh of relief and collect my things, my mind in turmoil. This creature, straight out of a fairy tale, has literally turned my brain upside down. A fact I can no longer deny, that's for sure, and a situation that will have to be resolved sooner or later. Because with our new partnership, a professional relationship, at the very least—since it's obvious that it can't be friendly—will be necessary. But how can I deal with all these unprecedented and completely crazy emotions that overwhelm me in his presence? Never in my short life has anyone thrown me off balance so much. Not even Enzo, my sweetheart—that says a lot! Worse, considering that these emotions, unknown and impossible to repress, are like an invisible and insurmountable magnetic force, pulling me entirely, against my will, towards this divine being. A shaking that I've been able to momentarily delay with austere behavior, but for how long will I hold on? I may be strong, but I am still human. A woman with a heart that I must protect at all costs. I know this. Just as I know that maintaining distance in my work relationships is a matter of ethics on one hand, and well-being on the other. Because it's clear that getting involved with this client is unthinkable, given that my heart is already taken.

As I pass by the reception desk, Michel and his nephew stop talking.

_ You're leaving already, Rosa? asks the boss.

_ Yes, sorry, as I told your nephew, I have an appointment.

_ Can't you reschedule? the fifty-something insists with a pleading look.

Of course, I could. It's even tempting. But everything is going so fast, so far, that it's dizzying, like the beating of my heart that soars just from being close to Amaury.

_ Impossible, Michel,( I reply, avoiding the caressing gaze of his nephew that I can still feel on me.) Besides, I'm already late. See you later, ( I throw out before walking away.)

Troubled by the unusual situation this morning, I leave the agency and retrieve Michel's company car from the parking.

On one hand, I feel relieved to have emerged from this unprecedented experience in one piece and to have appointments outside the office all day. But on the other, a feeling of frustration overwhelms me, caused by the resistance I had to put up to contain this inexplicable attraction. It's an unusual emotional whirlwind, both delightful and painful. A paradoxical shock midway between fascination and prohibition. A budding or reborn emotion... I don't really know what to think of it. Because even though it seems new to me, being certain that I have never experienced it in my life, deep down, a sense of familiarity persists. Like the imprint a scent might leave in our olfactory memory. An invisible, intangible, yet eternal trace that, when it resurfaces at certain moments in our lives, brings us a feeling of fullness or, conversely, emptiness, without us really knowing where it comes from. For me, it's kind of like that. Amaury's presence, his voice, above all, awaken my senses in a way I can't control, even as it scares and soothes me at the same time. Except that I hate what I can't control, so to reassure myself, I wait with anticipation for the end of the day. Yes, because tonight, like every Friday night, I'll see my lover, Enzo. And I imagine that when I see him, all the emotions that agitated my heart today will fade and disappear forever, somewhere far away in the recesses of my heart.