Chapter 61
Elena
I paused for a moment, tilting my head back to look at it, mesmerized by the way the light moved.
"That's the Beaumont girl, isn't it?" A voice drifted from nearby, and I turned to see two older women in elegant dresses, holding cocktails and watching me with undisguised interest. "The gymnast Étienne's been sponsoring?"
"Must be," the other replied. "I heard he's planning to announce their engagement soon. Good match—she's young enough to mold, accomplished enough to reflect well on the family."
My stomach lurched. They thought—they actually thought Uncle Étienne and I were—
I hurried past them before they could see my face, my cheeks burning with embarrassment and something else I couldn't name. The idea was absurd. Uncle Étienne was my guardian, my uncle in all but blood. The suggestion that we might be romantically involved was ridiculous.
Wasn't it?
I pushed the thought away and stepped out onto the back terrace, scanning the growing crowd for Maxime. The garden stretched out before me, dotted with guests holding wine glasses, their laughter and conversation creating a pleasant hum in the warm evening air.
"There you are." His voice came from behind me, and I turned to find Maxime approaching, his smile bright and uncomplicated. He caught my hand and brought it to his lips in a gesture that was both old-fashioned and charming. "I've been waiting for you."
The warmth in his voice, the open affection in his eyes—it should have made me happy. It did make me happy, I told myself. This was what I wanted: someone my own age, someone uncomplicated, someone who looked at me like I was something precious and didn't carry the weight of years of responsibility and duty.
"Sorry," I said, returning his smile. "Aunt Katerina wanted to talk."
"About us?" He grinned, pulling me closer. "Good. I want everyone to know you're mine. Actually," he said, his eyes lighting up, "there's a group of people by the pool—some of them are from the university. We should go over there, let me show you off properly. Maybe even dance a little—there's music starting soon."
But even as he said it, even as I saw the genuine enthusiasm in his face, something in me resisted. "I don't know," I said slowly. "I'm not really comfortable being the center of attention like that."
"Come on," he coaxed. "It'll be fun. Besides, what's the point of having a beautiful girlfriend if I can't show her off a little?"
I wanted to say yes. I wanted to be the kind of girl who could just relax and have fun, who could dance with her boyfriend at a party without overthinking it. But something held me back—maybe Aunt Katerina's words, maybe the memory of Uncle Étienne's careful neutrality, maybe just my own uncertainty about what I wanted.
Before I could respond, Maxime leaned in, clearly intending to kiss me. I turned my head at the last second, so his lips caught my cheek instead of my mouth.
"Not here," I said quickly, seeing the confusion in his eyes. "This is my aunt's house. It feels... inappropriate."
"Inappropriate?" He pulled back slightly, his expression caught between amusement and frustration. "Elena, we're dating. A kiss isn't inappropriate."
"I know, I just..." I trailed off, not sure how to explain the discomfort I felt, the sense that being too openly affectionate here, in this place, felt wrong somehow. "Can we just... take it slow? Please?"
He studied my face for a long moment, then sighed. "Okay. Slow. I can do slow." But there was something in his tone that suggested he didn't understand, that he was humoring me rather than truly accepting my boundaries.
"I missed you, you know," he said, his voice softening. "We haven't seen each other properly in days. Between your training and my classes, it feels like we barely have time together."
"I know. I'm sorry." And I was—I did feel guilty about how little time I'd been able to give him. "Training has been intense, and with the upcoming qualifiers..."
"It's always training," he said, and though his tone was light, there was an edge to it. "Training and your uncle and your coach and everything else. Sometimes I wonder where I fit in your list of priorities."
The accusation stung, even delivered with a smile. "That's not fair. You know how important my career is."
"I do know. And I'm not saying you should give it up or anything." He squeezed my hand. "I just wish... I wish you didn't have to check with your uncle about everything. That you could make decisions about us without worrying about what he'll think."
My chest tightened. "I don't check with him about everything."
"Don't you?" Maxime's voice was gentle, but pointed. "Elena, every time I suggest we do something, you hesitate. And I can tell you're thinking about whether your uncle will approve, whether it fits into your schedule that he's planned, whether he'll be okay with it."
"He's my guardian," I said defensively. "Of course I consider his opinion."
"He's not your father." There was frustration in Maxime's voice now, breaking through his usual easy charm. "And you're twenty years old, not a child. You shouldn't have to ask permission to live your life."
Before I could respond—before I could even process what he'd said—he seemed to catch himself. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to... I just care about you, Elena. And sometimes I feel like I'm competing with your uncle for your attention, which is insane because he's your uncle." He laughed, but it sounded forced. "I just want more time with you. Is that so wrong?"
"No," I said quietly. "It's not wrong."
We stood there in awkward silence for a moment, the party continuing around us, and I found myself wishing Uncle Étienne were here, which only made me feel more confused. Why did I want my uncle when I was with my boyfriend? Why did Maxime's completely reasonable request for more of my time feel like too much pressure?
"Hey," Maxime said, his voice brightening artificially. "Chloé was telling me about that camping trip she's organizing in the Alps next month. Are you going?"
Grateful for the change of subject, I nodded. "Yes, I think so. If training allows."
"Good." His smile returned, genuine this time. "Maybe we could share a tent? Make it a romantic getaway?"
My immediate reaction was to say no, but I forced myself to consider it. This was normal—couples went camping together, shared tents, spent time alone. This was what people in relationships did.
"I... I'll think about it," I said finally.
The disappointment in his eyes was clear, even as he tried to hide it. "Sure. Think about it." He glanced back toward the house. "I should probably go find my mother—she'll want to say hello. But I'll find you later for dinner, okay?"
"Okay," I agreed, relieved to have a moment alone.
He kissed my cheek—just my cheek, respecting my earlier boundary—and then disappeared into the crowd, leaving me standing there under the fig tree with my thoughts in turmoil.
What's wrong with me? I wondered. Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I just enjoy having a boyfriend who likes me without making it so complicated?