27. Esmé
27
ESMé
I left the storeroom, crossing the gallery to my desk. When I reached my chair, I let out the breath I’d held since Matteo and I bumped into Lola at the door. Talk about a close call. Honestly, I had no idea if limescale build up was even a thing.
I pulled out the pen I’d used to secure my hair and searched my desk for a ribbon or even a rubber band. As I glanced around, a prickle ran down my neck, drawing my gaze to a pair of sparkling eyes.
Iris.
She stared at me from across the gallery, arms folded over her chest. A huge grin decorated her face.
I froze, my cheeks blasting hot. She raised an eyebrow before joining me.
“I wondered where you’d got to. Your hair looks a bit dishevelled. That’s not like you.”
I ran my palm over my wayward waves, pushing them into some sort of order as best I could. “Humidity. There’s a problem with the boiler. I had to check it out. Steam. That sort of thing.”
Her smile widened even more. “Steam? Who knew? ”
“Yes. I lost my clip in the fog. I’m just trying to find something to tie a ponytail.”
Iris gave her head a little shake. “Well, it’s a good thing you have a friend like me to rescue you.”
Her hair gleamed in the gallery lights as she crouched behind my desk. She’d left her bag there first thing. She and Luc were at the gallery surveying the final exhibition preparation. Keys and perfume bottles clinked together as she rummaged through her purse.
“Es,” Matteo’s husky voice reached me, and I turned to find him standing behind me. His eyes glowed as he handed me my missing claw clip. “I thought you might need this.”
I took the clip like a robot, all too aware of Iris’ proximity “Thank you. I don’t know where I could’ve lost it.”
I widened my eyes and nodded behind me, trying to alert Matteo to her presence, but he just grinned. “Lola found it in the storeroom. I had to come up with some crazy story about the boiler and using the clip’s teeth to work some screws loose …”
That second, Iris popped up from behind my desk. “Oh, hello, Matteo. Who’s been loosening Esmé’s screws?”
At her words, I strongly considered melting into a puddle and seeping through the floorboards. I’d never seen Matteo’s cheeks fire so red.
“I was just returning … that,” he mumbled, pointing to the clip in my hand.
“So I hear. Those old boilers can be so … unpredictable. Prone to sudden bursts of heat when under pressure.”
His eyes widened, and he shuffled from foot to foot.
Iris chuckled and took the claw clip, putting it on my desk. “Esmé, can I speak to you about something? I believe I left some papers in your apartment.”
I nodded, devoid of a sensible response .
“Wonderful,” she said, taking my hand. “It’s lovely to see you again, Matteo. Though you might want to re-button your shirt properly and clean the lipstick from your neck.”She looked at my mouth and smirked. “Pink really is your colour, Esmé.”
Matteo opened his mouth, but I could only stare at him as Iris led me through the gallery and up to my apartment.
The second we stepped inside Iris closed the door behind us. “What the hell is going on?”
“Sorry?” I asked, heading to the kitchen and running the tap for some much-needed water.
She followed me, her grin imprinting onto my back. “Okay. I’ll just come out with it. Am I imagining things, or did I just witness a very guilty-looking exit from a compromising situation?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, my voice far too trembly to plead innocence.
She huffed a laugh and sat down on a stool at the kitchen bench. “Esmé, your hair looks like a family of sparrows could take up residence. Matteo was covered in your lipstick. And is that stubble rash on your cheeks?”
I brought my hand to my face, my stomach in freefall. “Oh, God.”
“I doubt he can help you now,” she said. “I think it’s time to come clean, don’t you? Think of me as your confessor. I’m very forgiving.”
I pulled up the other stool and slumped into it. “If I’m in confession, what I say has to remain private, right? Just between the two of us?”
Iris shrugged. “Of course.” She grinned at me like I was about to spill the winning lottery numbers. “And don’t deny anything or give me a toned-down version. I’ll know.”
Looking at the mischief in her eyes, I didn’t doubt it.
“Are you and Matteo up to something?” she asked .
I shifted on my stool, its metal legs squeaking under the movement. “What do you mean, up to something?”
She rolled her eyes, slapping the countertop, making me jump. “You know what I mean. That man is gorgeous and follows you everywhere. Have you seen the glow in your cheeks? I thought you looked chipper this morning, but I assumed it was the spring air. Now I know exactly what—or who—has put a spring in your step.”
I pulled in a breath, grasping for an explanation, or even just words. Her eyes bored into me and under her playful gaze, I knew I was toast.
“Yes,” I ground out, covering my face with my hands. “Matteo and I are up to … something. Anything. Everything, really. Merde , what have I done?”
I lowered my hands. Iris sat on her stool, a look of joyful triumph on her face.
“I daren’t ask,” she said. “But just so you know, I whole-heartedly approve.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. Like I’ve always said, your assistant is excessively easy on the eyes, and he obviously has a thing for you.”
I swallowed. “He does?”
Iris took my hand. “Absolutely. His eyes are glued to you like tiles on a wall.” She squeezed my hand. “I’m still waiting for the details. This will only be a successful confession if you provide full disclosure.”
I shook my head. How the hell did I get here? “Okay. The whole situation is very new, very awkward, accidental really, and all kinds of wrong.”
Her brow creased. “Why wrong?”
I slipped my hand from hers, braced myself against the table, and palmed my forehead. After a moment, I peeked at her through my fingers. “He’s younger than me. ”
She shook her head like she was trying to rearrange her fringe without using her fingers. “Remind me how much younger?”
I pushed out a bitter laugh. “I never told you in the first place. He’s twenty-seven.”
She held up her hand, counting on her fingers. “And you and Luc are the same age?”
I nodded. We even shared a birthday.
“So, it's only a four-year difference?” She stopped to double check her finger-math. “Yes, four.” She shrugged. “Well, that’s hardly illegal. I have to say, he seems a very mature twenty-seven.” She wiggled her eyebrows, nudging me in the arm.
“Stop it.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, draping her arm around my shoulders. “But are you seriously worried about that? It’s only a few years, and both of you are solidly out of your teenage angst.”
I chuckled and shook my head. “I know. It’s just that everyone in my world—the customers, critics, the people who matter, are so conservative. Being a single woman, I can’t afford to put a foot wrong.”
“Or a stiletto,” she said, glancing down at my sky-high shoes. “But honestly, who said having a bit of fun with a toy-boy is wrong?”
I sighed. She meant well, but her choice of words was anything but reassuring. “No one’s said it outright, but I can already feel the judgment. And he’s not my toy-boy.”
“Who are you worried about? Whose judgement?”
I waved a hand around the kitchen. “Oh, I don’t know. Anyone who realises I’m having a raging fling with the grandson of the man I want investing in my next gallery.”
“Oh,” she murmured, her thumb massaging the tightness in my neck. “I forgot about that. But are you really just having a fling? I haven’t known you that long, but a quick roll in the sack doesn’t seem your style. ”
“It’s … it doesn’t feel like a fling. But we only kissed for the second time a week ago.”
“The second time?”
I smiled. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, if you ever want to tell me, I’m all ears, and judgement free. Now that I’m married, I need to live vicariously through my single friends. So, how do you plan to proceed? I assume you won’t be disappearing into cupboards long-term?”
“I hope not. Dust makes me sneeze. But I do have a favour to ask and it’s a little unfair. Please don’t tell Luc. Not until after his exhibition. I know he can be a bit dramatic and moody when he’s under pressure.”
Iris giggled. “Yes, and I love it. Look, I won’t go out of my way to tell him, but if he asks, I can’t lie.”
I nodded, a weight tugging on my heart. I didn’t want to lie to my best friend, either. “I’ll tell him after tomorrow night.”
She nodded, but after a beat, her face brightened. “What are you planning to wear? Luc wants me in silk. He says it’s his lucky fabric. But I had a fancy for something a little more frivolous. Maybe something in polka-dots. What do you think?”
I chuckled. Oh, the delights of a life without a guilty conscience. “I’ll probably wear something sedate and boring.”
She nodded. “Like a nun’s habit?”
“Pardon?”
“Well, at the very least, your dress needs a high neckline. You don’t want anyone to catch Matteo staring at your boobs. Any stray glances could blow your cover.”
I stared at her in shock, and her face dissolved into a grin. “I’m only kidding.”
Teasing or not, she had the right idea. I needed to play it safe until after the exhibition—no mistakes, no drama, and nothing to arouse suspicion. I only hoped Matteo would be on the same page.