[nice] sunshine is like lovers; some summers just pretend { montse }

“I still can’t believe it’s actually happening,” Prosper said, squeezing Camille’s shoulders with the arm he’d draped around them. He shook his head, a bright smile on his face. His other hand held aloft his third or fourth glass of champagne, and he lifted it up for yet another toast to the little group that had gathered on the balcony. “To Camille and Anton,” he said, resting his cheek on the top of her blonde head affectionately before releasing her with a smile. The rest of the group echoed his words, smiles all around.

The afternoon had been sunny and warm – so much warmer and brighter than London. Even though he split his time between London and Paris these days, recently he’d been in England’s capital city a lot more. He’d barely noticed the days getting shorter and shorter, or the bleary weather, or the general greyness of it all, but it was quite stark when juxtaposed with where he was now. The south of France was like that though, he thought distantly. Almost designed to make you hate your usual life.

The group had spent the afternoon at the beach. It was a little chilly to swim, but Prosper could never say no to a dare – he’d tried it anyway. They’d all caught the train – the magical one – along the azure coast to a private wizarding beach and picnicked there. Then they’d come back to Nice for the evening, to drink and celebrate Camille’s engagement in her parents’ apartment in Old Town.

“You’ll be next, Prosper,” Camille said, nudging him with her shoulder before drawing away with some of the others to head inside. He smiled, but said nothing. She and Anton had dated in school – they were a couple of years older than him, but he knew Camille through summer theatre training. They’d broken up as teenagers and only reconnected earlier this year, but were already engaged. He tilted his head back and finished his drink, moving over to the balcony rail instead of heading inside with most of the others.

“Seven months,” he said, resting his forearms on the ornate black railing, his empty glass dangling from a couple of fingers. “Only seven months – but childhood sweethearts,” he clarified with a smile, turning his head to look at the pretty brunette standing nearby. “It’s good to see you Montse, a shame you couldn't make this afternoon. The beach was gorgeous."

Although Montserrat had always been proud to call Spain her home, there was a sort of otherworldly force that often drew the witch to France. For the better part of her adolescence, the country had served as her nurturer, and within its borders, she had faced the challenges that would prepare her for life as an adult. Leaving France for England after graduation had not occurred without a sense of bittersweetness. It was more than just space where she had formed her childhood memories, it contained people, knowledge, and ideas that would surely change as most things did when put to the test of time.

With the passing of time, also came a better understanding of why the change was essential for personal growth. The way things now did not have to be directly connected to the way things were before, it was possible for those thoughts to coexist without them negatively influencing one another. Therefore, when the opportunity to return to France arose, in the company of the same group of friends and conversation and the life she had associated with for a large part of her life, it was difficult to find an excuse not to attend. It was not just anything, after all, it was the joining of the lives of two people that were particularly important to her.

Even if she had not been able to attend the afternoon at the beach, having been held up at St. Mungo’s longer than she had initially anticipated, Montserrat had met her group of friends at Camille’s place, and that of her parents, in Nice. The young witch had regretted not having planned her day to better accommodate the plans of her friends and briefly thought about how things might have been different had she chosen a different career path. But the witch did not allow herself to drift to those sorts of thoughts for too long, reminding herself that her reality was just as happy, just as exciting, and more importantly, was more reflective of her own choices.

She had spent part of her time with Madeleine about a new art project she had been working on, a series of watercolor paintings on street cats in their natural habitat then had been joined by Gabrielle who had found a way to highlight his illustrious career as a lyricist by mentioning something completely related. He was the sort to start sentences with That reminds me of… and go into rants of self-aggrandization. He was not Montserrat’s personal favorite, but it was difficult to deny that the man had talent. In this room, her career as a healer felt particularly pedestrian. Either way, Montserrat was not completely invested and found more pleasure in observing, or better yet listening in onto what was happening.

When Prosper said her name, however, she immediately turned in his direction. The witch had been accustomed to the way he spoke, after all. She gave him a dimpled smile, “I know, I tried to leave St. Mungo’s earlier but as you know, I must go where I am needed,” she explained simply. “Surely you all took pictures? You’ll have to show me, I haven’t been to the beach in some time, which is the true shame,” she added, feeling much more relieved when she could speak in French.   

“Yes I think Anton had two cameras, actually,” Prosper said with a smile, his eyes bright and charismatic. He watched her as everyone headed back inside, finding himself alone with her for the first time in a long while. It wasn’t polite to let his gaze linger, so he looked out intentionally toward the street that stretched out from a couple of floors below where they were standing. As the doors shut behind him, the balcony was suddenly a lot quieter. “The polaroids are on the table by the drinks, actually,” he added, still not looking her way. “We’ll have to take one later.”

It was night now, but the lanterns hanging from buildings all down the narrow streets kept things bright. An old couple was walking their dog below along the cobbled streets, and he could hear the laughter of a few teenagers as they passed nearby. Prosper couldn’t help but feel a swell of nostalgia. Dahliental had an old town too, and it wasn’t so different from this. He had no desire to return to his hometown to live – or even to visit, these days, given what was happening with his parents – but again, he could feel the allure of the south contrasting harshly against his current home city. The disparity was like a nettle caught under his clothing; unimportant, but difficult to ignore.

“Isn’t it beautiful, Montse?” he asked. Nice was a tourist trap, but people flocked here for a reason. The wizarding section of the old town wasn’t so bad, either. The coloured buildings stretched out in front of him, all lit with a warm orangey glow. Prosper felt a sudden desire to get out there, away from the party, to walk the streets for a little while. He glanced over his shoulder, back through the glass door to the people inside. “Isn’t London so dull in comparison? This time of year especially,” he added, turning so he could lean his back against the railing, folding his arms together.

While everyone else had returned inside, Montserrat stood there, a little caught up in her own nostalgia as the two of them conversed over something as simple as a set of photographs. The woman had anticipated that Prosper would be here, after all, it was mostly due to him that she had managed to overcome her own fears when it came to building relationships with others. In fact, compared to the last time the two of them had been alone, Montserrat’s life had considerably changed and as she had anticipated, his own had as well. They were with different people now, at different points in their careers, things did not revolve around the two of them as it had years ago when they had been stuck in their little bubble.

Though they had met several times in the company of their friends, Montserrat wasn’t yet sure how to feel about this. “I’ll have to take a look,” she said with a smile, even if he was not really looking in her direction. Montserrat wasn’t sure how to feel about that either. “But yes, let’s take one! It’s been a while since we’ve had a photo together,” she said enthusiastically. There was no ulterior motive in her words apart from the desire to keep a small reminder of someone from her past close to her. Prosper had at one point (and still to a certain degree) been a very important part of her life after all.

Montserrat moved closer to the railing to look out into the distance, observing the people beneath the streetlights and how they moved about, unaware of the spectacle they had become for the two of them. There was much to be said on the idea of looking in from the outside and it was with that thought that Montserrat considered what they might look like to their friends. She turned towards the glass door separating the outside from the inside only to realize that none of them were actually looking in their direction. “Terribly dull,” she agreed, “I don’t get to come to France much, but I’ve missed it,” she expressed, her feelings and associations with the country complicated at best. “But my life is there now, and I guess over time I’ve realized it has its own set of charms,” she continued. “Are you settled in London now or are you still traveling back and forth?” she wondered. The two of them had discussed this before, almost a year ago in fact, and in between then and now she considered how much things much have changed. 

He felt a touch vindicated when she agreed with him. It wasn’t the kind of thing he liked to say to Ariana, or his English friends, but if he complained about London to his French friends like Zara or Diederik, they either agreed too much and it made him feel bad about it or they didn’t really understand where he was coming from. He nodded when she said she missed France. He missed it too, probably for some of the same reasons she did, but other as well.

Then again, he thought, he didn’t usually hate it so much in England. It was more of a side-effect of being here, in Nice. Something to keep in mind, he thought, before the rationalisation quickly slipped away from him.

“Mostly in London, now,” Prosper answered. “Now that summer’s over, you know…” He glanced at her, the first time in a while, and smiled a bit. “I didn’t tell you, did I? Oh.” He straightened up, his energy perking a bit, too. “I was teaching a dance class over the summer – the exact same one that we did back in the day.” He laughed lightly just thinking about it. He’d been such a cocky little shit back then, hadn’t he?

Prosper glanced down into his empty glass. “I’m going to…” He held it up, then started walking back towards the doors to inside, where the drinks were. He made sure she was following before speaking again. “No Jeremy tonight?” he asked. He didn’t really need to ask why, he thought. This wasn’t really her boyfriend’s scene, he thought.

Of course, how could she forget that the two of them had taken that dance class together? A seemingly insignificant and distant part of her past reminding her of the circumstances under which they had met. It hadn’t exactly been a first meeting she figured, though at this point, Montserrat had spent such a long time try to let go of the past they shared that the little details had blurred in between the lines. But she remembered enough to react to the statement, “Oh that’s lovely, Prosper!” she replied enthusiastically. In the past she might have gone on to add that he should have invited her or that they should have met up. Realistically, however they had little to discuss outside of their shared circle of friends.

Time had taught her that no matter how hard she tried, they simply were no good at being friends. It was really a pity when she considered how effortlessly time had been spent with him, how it had seemingly ticked along free from worry. And yet, the last time she had spoken to him privately things had felt so tense. At that point she was still stuck in time and he had moved on already.

She waited a moment, observing him as he moved towards the glass door and followed him. “Right,” she nodded, it had been obvious that she had come alone but it was polite of him to ask, “I only decided last minute to come and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable or worse, to inconvenience him,” she explained. The two of them had become increasingly more comfortable in their relationship as it progressed but Montserrat still felt guilty when it came to things like this, didn’t want him to think that she was dragging him along with her. “And Ariana?” she asked in return, looking around to make sure that she had not in fact missed the girl’s presence in the room.

“Remember?” he prompted, “I was what, fifteen then?” He laughed, “Trying hard to act older to impress you of course.” He’d seen her around school back then but she hadn’t known who he was. He’d tried to trick her into thinking they were the same age during a summer dance class. "Would have done anything to make an impression," he added quietly, giving her a charismatic half-smile before glancing away. “My students were younger though, mostly,” he clarified. He’d had the elevens-to-fourteens most of the time. “But anyway,” he waved a hand, “now that summer classes are over, I’m in London most of the time.”

She didn’t want to inconvenience him? Prosper felt amused and couldn’t keep the knowing look out of his expression, but he did have the grace to look ahead instead of looking at her as he felt it settle on his features. What was so inconvenient about a holiday to the French Riviera, one of the most beautiful places in the world? But they’d both know the real answer, if he pressed, and that was that Jeremy didn’t really fit in with these people. Prosper reached for the champagne, gesturing wordlessly at the polaroids taken today that had been scattered around the table.

He wondered how much he did these days, too. He glanced at Montse again, thoughtful this time as he poured his drink. “Working,” he said with a small shrug. At least Ariane spoke French, he thought. If she were here though… He’d already been teased enough by old friends about having been with her for nearly two years and not yet proposing. Everyone who knew him in school seemed to have predicted he’d either end up immediately married and madly in love or stringing along a multitude of partners, and he was not quite ticking either box.

"How's that going anyway?" he asked; it had been a little while since they'd been at trivia together, and while Ariane was a rational and level headed girl, he wasn't exactly asking about his ex girlfriend through his current one's social networks. "Any plans? Meeting parents? Anything like that?" Her parents had loved him when he'd met them. Prosper poured her a drink too, and handed her the glass. He glanced towards the balcony, eyebrows raised in question.

Montserrat smiled a little in return, just enough of one to let him know that she knew exactly what he was talking about. At the time, the witch had been two years older, and maybe a little too old to be engaging a younger teenager in conversation. But it was difficult to stand in a room with Prosper and not feel undeniably attracted to him; he was charming in the sort of way princes were in tall tales, and it was nice to know that men like that existed beyond the fairy tales of one’s childhood. Everyone simply fell in love with him; all their friends had, and Montserrat had too, just a little more strongly than anyone else. “Well you certainly made an impression,” she reassured him soon after he spoke about it but she figured he knew that already.

Although the witch speculated briefly on why he had not spoken about his girlfriend at a greater length, she figured it was only because what he had said on the issue had been enough to express it in one word. She wasn’t sure how they were doing, though she only really cared because he had told her that she was important to him and Montserrat only wanted the best for Prosper, even if at one time that had hurt her. When she saw them at trivia, the couple looked fine, or as well as any one couple could be. Montserrat had always felt fine when her and Prosper had been together, her thoughts only regressing to the more negative aspects of their relationship when she considered the little things, a majority of those issues just her own insecurities.

“It’s going great,” she said, her smile widening enough for her dimples to become more prominent as she thought about how pleasantly simple her relationship with Jeremy was. He was incredibly sweet to her, always found ways to make her smile, and had not entered the relationship with nearly as much emotional baggage as she had. Time spent with him truly felt like time well spent, and though they had been taking things slowly, it worked.

Being with Jeremy had not filled her with the same sort of nervous energy that she had had with Prosper, but maybe that was a testament to how much she had grown from her previous experience. Or maybe it was just a reminder that she had tried too hard to fit into Prosper’s universe and had, along the way, lost a part of who she was. “My parents know of him,” she stated plainly. It wasn’t as if she was hiding Jeremy or his existence from her family, but she also didn’t want to scare him away. “Plans for what, exactly? It’s only been a few months, I’d rather take things slowly,” she said with a laugh.

“What about your plans? You’ve been dating for a while, and you know what we all used to say…” she trailed off, hoping he wouldn’t be offended by her question but also very curious to know if this girl would be the one.

“Really?” he asked, amused and unconvinced that things could really be that good. He felt a little smug about it though somehow; they certainly hadn’t taken anything slow when they’d been together, and a lot had happened over a few months. Was it that he thought she was more attracted to him than her current boyfriend that was fueling this feeling right now? Or that he thought her parents had liked him more than they would like the other man? There was something there where – specifically in relation to her – he just knew that he was better. Something fuelling his self-importance.

In the back of his head, he sort of knew he was being an asshole but he also didn’t really care? He was drinking, and his girlfriend was busy and his parents were getting divorced. He was feeling entitled and cocky and not at all self-reflective. He drank more.

Prosper took a deep breath, sighing as his gaze wandered out into the small crowd. They were lingering by the drinks table, but it was okay; everyone else had broken into smaller groups, too. The odd person who’d come to the small gathering and gotten too day-wasted was probably sleeping it off in one of Camille’s parents’ spare rooms. “Twice the time of Camille and Anton,” he confirmed, half-agreeing with her. Prosper didn’t think Ari wanted to get married anytime soon. At the moment, he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted to get married. Thinking about his parents left a bitter taste in his mouth, he felt compelled to change the subject.

“Are you happy?” he asked, turning his focus back to her, properly. His voice was low – just for them. “With work, life, him?”

Really? did not feel like the concern of a friend or conversation filler in between two complete strangers, it felt like an accusation of sorts as if Prosper had taken a look at what her life had become and doubted that she’d ever find happiness after him. Montserrat supposed that he had a reason to feel entitled to an explanation; even months ago, the witch would have been anything to spend one more night with him, to undo all of the things that they had done wrong. It had been a short but very intense relationship, and with him, Montserrat had felt a plethora of emotion she was not sure she would ever feel again. And maybe, that was for the better, because no matter how hot of a fire her heart had burned for Prosper, it had not been enough to make him stay. “Really,” she said plainly because it was true, but she figured it wasn’t the explanation that he might have been looking for.

But, did she own him an explanation? It almost felt as if he wanted to find holes in her story, maybe he wanted clarification on whether she had left her feelings for him behind or if they could be reignited should the circumstance allow. However, that behavior seemed unlike him; Montserrat had known him to be a flirt, but it had all been so harmless. After they had separated, the witch had considered that it was this that had hurt her the most; it was always harmless with Prosper.

“Well there’s no rush,” she continued, her smile dimpling just slightly, wondering if he had not gotten married because of his girlfriend or because he couldn’t quite settle down. He was young and had his entire life ahead of him after all.

“I love my work,” she started, feeling it the safest topic to tackle, “it’s demanding but very rewarding. I’m not quite used to the English way but it’s been an interesting experiment. My father still wants me to go back to Spain and work at his practice but I haven’t the heart to leave England behind, I guess all the dreadful weather has grown on me,” she paused, but really there was no need for hesitation. “Jeremy is amazing, things are so straightforward with him, I enjoy spending time with him,” she continued. “We are different I suppose, but it only adds to the interest. And how about you? You seem sort of…off,” she started, wishing she could be brave enough to touch him to get a better sense of where he was mentally. But it always felt like cheating, using her abilities in this way. “Is everything okay?”

He nodded when she mentioned work, smiling a bit. He’d never doubted that she’d make a good healer; if any argument was to be made for the existence of destiny, then hers was surely intertwined with helping people, saving them. It was something that he’d always admired about her; she was genuinely, indisputably good. Prosper raised his eyebrows at the comment on dreadful weather, his smile fading a touch.

Straightforward. Very romantic, he thought sarcastically. He glanced down at his drink, some subconscious part of him not wanting her to read his thoughts in his expression. He couldn’t quite help his eyebrows from raising a little though, or his smile from shifting to a slight smirk. “Hmm?” he asked, distracted. “Do I?” he couldn’t quite make the question sound more genuine than deflective, so he drank at the end instead of answering it right away, and composed himself.

"I'm fine?" he said, glancing her way, this time making sure to look a little puzzled, as if she'd said the wrong thing. Their gazes lingered on one another and Prosper raised his eyebrows a little, challenging her to question him. Or something. "Anton's back, look," Prosper said, finally glancing away from her as a couple of people came in through the front door. He nodded across the room before turning back to the table, pouring himself another champagne. "Have you said hello to him yet?" It wasn't quite direct enough to be rude, but there was enough disinterest in his voice to be dismissive.

His reaction to her question caused her mild embarrassment; it suddenly felt out of turn to ask if he was okay, the feeling that overtook her similar to the sort that one might expect after asking something incredibly private. She reevaluated her words, wondering if there had been a hidden meaning in her inflection or her tone that she had missed, one that she should surely feel guilty for expressing. But, she couldn’t find it. Montserrat could not help but feel that he was displeased with her question, and it made her wonder whether the two could not meet anyone without the explicit supervision of the friends they shared back in London, in the company of their significant others.

“Are you?” she asked, before laughing softly, “Sorry, I don’t mean to assume, I just wanted to check in, I guess all the work this morning has me more exhausted than I thought,” she gave him a sad attempt at an excuse. Montserrat did not have the right to make conclusions about where he was in his life, not when it would naturally move into the topic of their previous relationship, whether directly or indirectly. When she thought of how Jeremy might have reacted to this exchange, assuming he would be able to read her thoughts as well, she felt a pang of guilt.

Instead of dwelling on it for much longer, the witch turned towards the front door, and she wished she couldn’t so easily read the way in which he moved from one topic to another, almost as if he was upset with her for questioning his well-being or just inhabiting his space. “I haven’t gotten around to it,” she responded sheepishly, trying to read between the lines but also scolding herself for thinking there was any ulterior motive in his words. Instead, she set down the glass of champagne on the table after a small pause, “I suppose I ought to do that,” and wandered in the direction of their mutual friend.

He watched the champagne in his glass fizzling instead of watching her expression, but he caught the tone of her voice and knew that he’d done what he was trying to. Deflect. Affect her. Whatever. Prosper wasn’t even sure if he had a clear goal, he felt a bit chaotic, and wasn’t thinking especially hard about his actions or their impacts. He didn’t say anything when she left, just drank more.

Then he pulled himself together and went to socialise with everyone – anyone – else.


LATER


The night had gone well; Camille was happy. She’d asked Prosper if he wanted to conjure up a small mattress and stay for the night, like several others were doing. There was plenty of space, she’d said! Earlier, when he’d had too much to drink, he’d spent a moment sitting on the couch upstairs while the room spun around him, thinking he might just take her up on that.

Time had passed, however, and now he just felt a slowly-growing headache spreading from the nape of his neck. He was still a bit drunk, but not so out of it that when he saw Montserrat and Camille hugging goodbye near the door, he didn’t feel a touch guilty. “Just a sec, Anton,” he said. “Sorry,” he added, knowing he hadn’t been listening for the past twenty seconds that his friend had been talking. He made his way across the room, ignoring the inquisitive look Camille gave him as he caught the door before it closed.

“Montse,” he said, stepping out of the doorway. He reached up to touch her shoulder, then thought better of it at the last moment. Her sweater covered her shoulders, but it felt a little intimate, even so. He didn't say anything as she turned to him, there was just a tightness around his eyes indicating he was troubled. The hand suspended halfway to her closed and he brought it back to his side. After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry. For earlier." He moved out of the doorway, letting it close behind him. He deliberated internally before speaking again. "Would you walk with me?" he asked, nodding down at the stairs "Just for a little. Promise I'll let you go soon."

Montserrat had only glanced in Prosper’s direction once or twice as the night progressed, the strangeness of their earlier interaction and the unpleasant feelings it had left her with making it difficult for her to focus on anything outside of the words they had exchanged. A long time ago, Prosper hadn’t felt this complicated. Or had he been this complicated all along and she’d fail to give him the attention that he deserved?

Rather than feeling upset at what he had said, she felt even guiltier than she had earlier. It hurt her to think that the only reason things did not work out between them was that she had been too callous to take his feelings into consideration. So, she spent of her stay thinking about whether it was appropriate to apologize or if it were better to write him a letter when she took the time to sit down and think about it. But then, she would feel compelled to tell Jeremy, and how would he react?

By the time she leaned in to kiss Camille goodbye, once on both cheeks, Montserrat could not decide what to do and had more or less come to the conclusion that maybe things were the way they were supposed to be. Maybe by asking for friendship, she had been pushing things too far. She was no longer a point of interest for Prosper, and it was something she would have to come to terms with.

“I had such a good time, I’m so sorry to be leaving so soon but well, work,” she explained vaguely, though she only said the first thing that came to mind to leave. Montserrat offered a general wave in the direction of her group of friends, before moving out of the door with a vague promise to visit again sometime soon.

She hadn't expected him to be there when she had turned around; there had been a moment of hesitation as she had walked out of the door, a second thought, a need to return as if there had been something left unsaid that she wanted to say though she couldn't really figure out what just yet. But when he apologized, Montserrat lost the courage to bring it up again. “What do you mean? Don’t worry about it,” she laughed, pretending to be unconcerned with the situation. “Of course,” she added soon after, thinking to ask if everything was alright before deciding against it. She had already made that mistake once before and was still in the process of living it down. Montserrat slowed down her pace considerably, silently waiting to hear what he’d say or if she had the right to ask in the first place. Things weren’t this confusing with Jeremy. It wasn't long before she felt the need to fill the silence with her words.

“I wish I had more time to do these sorts of things, I missed spending time with them."

“No, I really do mean it,” he said, shaking his head, trying to impress upon her the weight with which he felt the words. “I’m sorry for being an asshole.” Apologising absolved him a little, at least.

They walked down the stairs, and he held the door open for her as they exited the building. Immediately, he felt a touch calmer. It was nice out here, he thought. The air was cool, but it was still; there was no icy breeze blowing. He wondered if the buildings were a little close together for it to be too windy, even though they were only a few streets back from the beach. The pair of them began to wander mindlessly in that general direction, lit only by lanterns sporadically lining the warm-toned buildings on either side.

There weren’t other people out now; it was quite late, he supposed.

She missed them? “Me too,” he said once they were out in the night air. He glanced up, searching for stars as he rolled his shirt’s sleeves down from his elbows to his wrists. It was too light to see many, but still more than London. Or Paris, a voice reminded him gently. It was easy to fixate on London’s flaws these days. “I miss you, too,” he said quietly, not looking at her. When he was done with his sleeves, he adjusted his collar out of habit, looking ahead as they walked.

“I am glad you’re happy, you know,” he said, glancing at her as they stepped down some uneven stairs. She hadn’t quite said as much, but… Whatever. The path narrowed, and he let her walk ahead until it widened again. “I was drunk, I just…” He trailed off, frowning. “I guess life gets more complicated as you get older,” he said. Prosper probably wasn’t old enough yet to say such things, but it certainly felt true at the moment. He was troubled, and it was tacit in his tone.