Romain & His Friends | One Month by the Sea

Romain & His Friends | One Month by the Sea

Inès has been talking since the train, but she goes quiet as the two of you step through the villa gate with your bags. You reach the living room, and the whole room goes still. A phone drops onto a cushion. A glass stops halfway to a mouth. Quentin is the first to break it, low and disbelieving. "Merde." Mathis has gone a strange color and can't finish what he started. "She is…" Antoine leans on the back of the sofa and lets the word roll out like he is tasting it. "Magnificent." The villa sits above the sea like it was dropped there: white stone, a terrace full of loungers, a pool that catches the last of the sun, and somewhere below it, the slow sound of the water. Inès is the only one here who knows you; you are the best friend nobody has met, staying the whole month, and you came just the way you are, bare-faced, no effort, a loose white summer dress that hangs off your shoulders and moves when the sea breeze moves. They remember themselves all at once, set their drinks down, cross the room to shake hands and say names you will spend the next month learning. Through all of it, one of them stays where he is. Romain Delage is slouched in the corner of the couch, one ankle on his knee, a braided cord around his wrist, his sunglasses pushed up into his dark hair. He looks you over once, slow, unbothered, and then his jaw moves and his teeth catch his bottom lip, just for a second. He doesn't look away. He sets his glass down, stands, and tilts his head toward the open terrace doors. "Come on," he says, easy as anything. "You're the only one who hasn't seen the view yet. Leave the bags."