7. Iris
7
IRIS
“ W hat the actual hell?” screeched Chloe, her mouth gaping wide.
With a loud “Shh,” I shut our room window, pulling closed the thin curtains for good measure. I spun around to face my friend. “Please keep your voice down! But that’s exactly what I said. He passed the whole idea off like we were going to the cinema or for a pizza.”
Chloe stood at the foot of her bed, arms outstretched and fingers clasping the air like a demented crab. “This is crazy! You can’t pretend to be engaged to our boss. I’m sure there must be laws against it. Forms to fill out. I mean, he’s not just anybody. He’s Luc Du Comtois, the pouty love god. France’s answer to Rudolph Valentino, or Henry Cavill, except without the oversized-biceps.”
I had to giggle. Chloe always had a way with words. “Well, allowed or not, that’s what he suggested.”
“And he’s paying you? Does that make you some kind of working girl? Like an escort?” Her eyes were wide and manic.
I scoffed, but she had a point. This whole undertaking might look a little morally grey in certain circles. I could imagine Nathan’s reaction to the whole thing. His sneer. He’d roll his eyes and say something disparaging about having more self-respect and a stronger moral compass. After what I witnessed on the kitchen counter, he wasn’t one to talk.
“I’m thinking of myself as an actress and he’s paying me to perform a part.”
“For one night?”
I nodded, throwing a few clothes into a cloth bag.
“And he asked you to move to the chateau?”
“Yes, but only until his grandmother leaves. He told me to send my bag up with one of the staff.”
Chloe sat down on the end of her bed with a whomp. “I don’t know how you do it. I really don’t. First Thierry and his cushy bottle sorting gig, and now one of the hottest men in Europe has plucked you from obscurity to be his fiancée.”
“His pretend fiancée.” Why did I have the feeling that Chloe would need constant reminders of that detail?
“It’s not fair. For one night, you get to be engaged to a bloody millionaire. Probably a billionaire. I mean, have you seen the cars parked out the front? How much did you say he was paying you?”
“I didn’t. And just so you know, I didn’t ask for much. Just enough to get Nathan off my back and cover a deposit on a new flat when we go home.”
Chloe opened her mouth to speak.
“And no. I won’t ask for anything else. My priority is getting Stuart back.”
The floorboards creaked under her feet as she circled me, running her eyes over my cut-off shorts and T-shirt. “So, what are you wearing?”
“Sorry?”
“If you’re going to masquerade as a rich heiress or one of the elite, you can’t go to dinner dressed in shorts. ”
I ran my hand over the wooden end of the bed frame. “I have sundresses.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. “All of which have seen better days. No. You’ll need something better. Fancier.”
She was right, but very few backpackers carried cocktail dresses in their rucksacks. “Then what do you suggest? I could borrow one of Thierry’s white shirts. Throw a belt around it, and go for the rich, bohemian look. Or I could sneak into the chateau and borrow one of Agnes’ blouses. Luc’s grandmother would probably appreciate the buttoned-up collar.”
“Luc,” Chloe giggled, trying her best to mimic my clipped English accent. She teased me mercilessly, saying I belonged in a period drama.
“Stop it,” I said, sitting down next to her and batting her arm with my hand. “I’ll use the dress with the least creases and scuffs.”
She shook her head. “No. I can’t let you go into the lion’s den unprepared.” She glanced around the room, her gaze resting on the windows. “You know, I’ve just had a brilliant idea.” Chloe stood and crossed the room, running the fabric of the curtains through her fingers.
“No,” I ground out.
She turned to me, a glow in her eyes. “It’s muslin. Nice quality. And it’s white, which is very virginal. It’ll make dear Grand-mama weak at the knees. She’ll start to visualise what you’ll look like on your big day.”
“I’m not getting married, Chloe, and certainly not wrapped in curtains.”
Why did I get the impression Chloe wasn’t listening to a word I said? She stood still, passing the fabric through her fingers, as if contemplating the meaning of life. “It’s very Jane Austen, and I know you love Pride and Prejudice. ”
I huffed a laugh. “It’s more Maria Von Trapp than Lizzie Bennet. ”
She tipped her head to one side. “Well, hopefully you won’t have to hike the mountains to escape Luc Du Comtois. I think we could make you something quite presentable.”
I ran my eyes over the curtain. The fabric was clean with an intricate weave, and there was a lot of it, in case I made mistakes. But no. It was a silly idea. “I’m hopeless with a needle, and I can’t cut a pattern for my life. I never even got my sewing patch in the Girl Guides.”
“But I did. Honestly, with a few stitches and tucks, I could make you look like a Grecian goddess. Like you belonged with our friends down in the Garden of Girth. Look, I have the afternoon off. At least let me try? We’re roughly the same size. You don’t even have to be here. If things don’t work out, I’ll stitch a couple of pillowcases together instead and make you a tube-dress.”
I mulled over my options. Chloe was right. My sundresses were threadbare, and I didn’t have time to go into town. “Are you sure you can pull it off?”
She grinned, her smile brightening the bland cream room. “Absolutely. I promise I’ll whip up something fabulous.”
“Nothing too fancy. It’s not a ball.”
Her face fell. “Something slinky, then?”
“No.”
“Matronly?”
“Definitely not.” For some reason, I didn’t want to look matronly in front of my boss. “Just something passable that won’t fall apart if I have to move suddenly.”
She chuckled. “Why would you have to move suddenly?”
“Despite her age, if Luc Du Comtois’ grandmother finds out what we’re up to, I think I’ll have to make a run for it!”