Chapter 8 #2
She kept her gaze on her glass as she put it down on the table again, pressing her lips together before she could add that it had always been his planned career, or worse, let a query about how he’d chosen the name for his dark alter ego escape.
Why on earth would she want to remind him of the man who’d been going to be his partner in crime for that chosen food photography career?
Or hear him confirm that he’d chosen the name of Phoenix because he’d risen from the ashes of his torched life?
The life that Sophie had led the destruction of by demanding that he was banned from attending Tom’s funeral.
By standing side-by-side with her best friend as Hannah ended her engagement by almost throwing her ring back at Luc while telling him that she hated him.
That she never, ever wanted to see him or speak to him again.
It would hardly be conducive to a positive outcome to this meeting when his cooperation was the only way she could save her beloved business, would it?
Opening her menu, at least she didn’t need to search for something to redirect the conversation.
‘You’re very talented,’ she told him. ‘These photos are extraordinary. That lobster tail – it looks as if it’s been lifted straight from the sea.’
‘That glaze is actually a spray of glycerine and water,’ Luc told her. ‘One of the tricks of the trade. It’s got more sheen and clings a lot better than water or a glaze.’
The snowy cooked flesh of the luxury food item was clearly visible at the top end of the curl of the tail, presented upside down on a black oval plate.
The blurred background, which could have been the exact sea view Sophie had at the moment, made it even more plausible that the gleam of moisture on the bright burnt-orange and red shell was sea water.
The swirl of yellow lemon butter was eye-catching but not nearly as dramatic as the black tuile.
‘Squid ink,’ Sophie murmured, as she read the description of the featured dish.
Maybe this wasn’t a better direction for conversation, after all. Sophie could feel colour creeping into her cheeks as she remembered Luc asking Tom how he’d made the honeycomb tuile he put with the crème br?lée – the favourite dessert she’d never been tempted to taste since then.
Or was she remembering how it made her feel to watch Luc take a bite of that wafer?
That had been served on a black plate, as well. Maybe Luc still had one of the photos he’d taken of it. Had the plating of the lobster been an idea he’d suggested to the chef as they’d planned the photoshoot?
Sophie closed the menu. ‘It’s so hot today,’ she said. ‘Do you think the chef would be insulted if I just asked for the sucrine and tomato side salad as a main course?’
‘You can ask for anything you like,’ Luc replied. He hadn’t opened his menu and Sophie didn’t need to raise her gaze to know he was watching her face.
It didn’t sound like he was suggesting she asked for a personalised dish that wasn’t on the menu. It sounded like an invitation to get on with why they were together today, so Sophie glanced up as she accepted it.
‘I understand you spoke to Hélène Fournier yesterday?’
‘I did. She has arranged for me to meet le comte later this afternoon.’
‘She said you would make a public apology for the inference that the kitchen staff were neglecting their responsibilities at the castle?’
‘I also said I would contact the DDPP and explain that I created the rubbish.’ He tilted his head.
‘I will not say that the original mess was what had caught my eye in the first place. Or that the publicity they’ve received from the artistic side of my photoshoot might boost their visitor numbers by a considerable amount.
I may even offer them an update of the photography on their website, at no charge. ’
He was prepared to lie, by omission, for her. And to provide time and talent they would be unwise to refuse if their own business, rather than their pride, was their priority.
‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘I really appreciate that.’
If the owner of the Chateau d’Orval changed his mind about cancelling her future bookings, Sophie would be on her way to saving her own business.
There was a bigger favour she needed to ask for, mind you, but she would wait until they’d eaten their meal.
If her suggestion was unacceptable to Luc, she might feel the need to escape his company as soon as possible.
She would be offering him an opportunity for revenge for how she’d treated him all those years ago.
He could take it and still feel as if he’d done the right thing, couldn’t he? He’d come to France, after all, and he was going to smooth the troubled waters between Marry Me in Provence and the destination venue that was a clear favourite with her clients. Why would she expect anything more?
* * *
Sophie was happy with what he was going to do.
But Luc could feel something still hanging in the air between them. As if it wasn’t enough. Or was there something else on her mind?
He ordered the lobster tail, possibly because the photograph of the dish had impressed Sophie so much.
For a while they ate in an appreciative silence.
Sophie’s simple summer salad with fresh, crunchy green lettuce and slivers of avocado and heirloom tomatoes looked just as appetising as the most luxurious dish on the menu that he was eating, and Luc couldn’t help his gaze returning to her plate to watch her carefully load her fork with a small combination of all the ingredients for each mouthful.
He dipped a bite of his lobster into the lemon butter and picked up the jet-black squid ink tuile to add another layer to the flavours, and that was when he remembered tasting that honeycomb tuile that Tom had once made.
He could remember the pride in his best friend’s face that he’d made the favourite dessert of the woman he loved à la folie.
He could remember the way Sophie had been watching him before he closed his eyes and took that bite of the sweet honey-flavoured wafer.
It felt like a cork had been pushed from the neck of a bottle by the pressure inside.
Memories that had been safely contained were foaming into his head.
He could feel them in his body as well, as if the foam was heralding a wave and he was caught in the chill of the water because he hadn’t been quick enough to jump out of its reach.
He blinked as he realised that Sophie had stopped eating. She’d put down her fork and she had been saying something to him.
‘I know it’s a lot to ask,’ she said. ‘You’re already doing enough. You don’t have to say yes.’
Luc blinked. ‘Sorry… I wasn’t listening carefully. Tell me again?’
‘I said that I have clients booked for weddings who are threatening to cancel if they can’t have the same photographer that Zara Beaumont had.’
Luc shook his head sharply. ‘That kind of photography is not done to order. It’s art. It comes from the heart. I’m not a wedding photographer.’
But he’d been thinking of becoming one, hadn’t he?
To increase his income in order to fuel his dream?
With the kind of money people were prepared to spend on destination weddings it would make a lot more sense to consider working part time on this side of the channel. He lived here as well, after all.
‘They don’t want the kind of images that go viral.
’ The way Sophie caught her bottom lip between her teeth for a heartbeat gave away how important this was.
So did the way she was looking at him. ‘They just want the best photographs possible. The kind you took for Zara and Joe and their families and friends. You might be surprised by how many of her followers have raved about those photos. Like the one with her sitting on the steps leaning down to kiss Joe. And that one when he picked her up on the dance floor and whirled her around and they were both laughing? That photograph alone has obviously given so many people a lot of joy. Millions of people.’
The shake of Luc’s head was a little slower this time. He wasn’t sure exactly what it was Sophie was asking for but he was still sure that his answer would be no.
‘Even just one wedding would help.’ Sophie was looking down now, as if already defeated. ‘If there’s any chance you’re available? It would buy us a little more time and…’
She looked up again and Luc knew he’d been incorrect in thinking that she was accepting defeat.
He had asked how Greg was doing during yesterday’s phone call, so he knew that her lead photographer had gone back to Scotland with his son.
He knew how hard it might be to find a replacement while it was still peak wedding season.
He knew it could be another nail in the coffin of Marry Me in Provence, even if he fixed the threat of cancellations from the Chateau d’Orval.
He could see a flicker of something like desperation in Sophie’s eyes, so she didn’t have to tell him that her business could be in deep trouble, but he could see something else as well. A fierce determination to fight for what mattered so much.
For the life she’d made for herself?
A life of celebrating other people’s weddings?
His gaze shifted only a fraction as he tried to shelter himself from what he could see in those eyes that were a shade of blue he’d never seen before or since on another person.
A blue that reminded him of the Mediterranean on a summer’s day, just like today, and maybe that was where he intended his gaze to land.
It got ambushed, however, by a glint of the sun catching the jewel hanging around her neck.
Had she been wearing it the day of Zara’s wedding?
If he’d noticed, he hadn’t allowed its significance to register.
The diamond was the one he’d helped Tom choose as the gift she would receive on the morning of her own wedding day. The ‘something new’ that Hannah would deliver as her bridesmaid. That Luc had known she would treasure. A heart. The ubiquitous symbol of love.
And there it was.
The answer he’d been looking for to a question he’d never thought he’d be asking.
Yes.
Luc had been right to fear that emotional dart that had felt like hope.
He knew why he’d felt it now.
It was still there.
What he’d felt when, for once, he’d been entirely alone with Sophie. On that camping trip to celebrate his engagement to Hannah. Alone in the forest because he and Sophie had been sent to collect kindling for their campfire while Tom taught Hannah how to barbecue the perfect steak.
They’d both reached for the same stick at the same time. Their fingers had brushed and, when they both straightened, they’d been standing too close to each other.
Close enough that it would have taken no more than a sigh of movement for them to kiss.
They didn’t, of course, but that moment had hung in the air between them for what felt like forever. As solid as the force that was making it impossible to break their eye contact.
They’d both known they would be making the biggest mistakes of their lives in who they were choosing to marry. Worse, had he done the unthinkable and revealed to Sophie that Tom wasn’t the only man who was in love with her?
It was blindingly obvious that they needed to kill the moment.
Maybe they couldn’t rewind the clock and make it never have happened but they had to try.
They had to pretend this instant of searing truth had never existed because there was absolutely nothing they could do about it unless they were prepared to destroy people that they genuinely loved. People who were chosen family.
They’d both known that simply wasn’t an option.
They had tried so very hard to get past that. They had got past it. And yet they’d still lost everything.
But then again, who said life was supposed to be fair?
Luc pulled the linen napkin from his lap and dropped it beside his plate.
He stood up. It was time he left, anyway, because he didn’t want to be late for his meeting at the chateau.
That wasn’t what he said to Sophie, however. He only held her startled gaze for a nanosecond but it was long enough to be sure that she was remembering that moment as clearly as he was.
‘I’ll do it,’ he said. ‘I’ll buy you the time you need.’