8. Iris
8
IRIS
I pulled at the fabric that only hours ago hung in my bedroom window. Chloe had worked hard all afternoon pulling together a dress to dazzle my fiancé’s grandmother. I hoped her eyesight was failing. If I hung around in the dark corners, maybe she wouldn’t notice the patchy stitching.
In the grand scheme of things, Chloe had done a good job. The dress fell to my ankles and was gathered at one shoulder. The flimsy material draped my body nicely, and she’d tied one of her silk ribbons around my waist to hold it all together. I looked presentable, but just as Chloe suggested, I rocked major Grecian goddess vibes. I only needed an urn to carry on my shoulder.
For the last few minutes, I'd been hanging out in the bushes at the bottom of the terrace steps. I could hear the murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the occasional laugh. I could make out Luc, Apollo snoozing on the rug, and his grandmother through the branches. It was like peering into another world. A whole different realm. One full of shiny plates, lanterns, and flowers, not to mention a hot-as-hell fake fiancé. But I couldn’t stand here all night drooling. I had to earn Stuart’s ransom money.
At a lull in the conversation, I stepped out onto the path, trying not to trip. Chloe had borrowed a pair of strappy sandals from one of the friendlier maids. But they were at least two sizes too big and threatened to take me down at every step. I walked barefoot from the staff accommodation, quietly uttering prayers to Saint Crispin, the patron saint of shoemakers, for a safe arrival.
With butterflies bashing against my ribs, I channelled my inner Princess Grace and placed a foot on the first step of the terrace. As I did, two heads turned in my direction. One, incredibly handsome, blank and somewhat stern. The other looking as if they’d just stepped in dog poop. I flinched inside. Her puckered lips couldn’t be a good sign.
Luc stood, straightening his impeccably cut jacket. “Here she is. We were worried, Cherie. I wondered if you’d lost your way.” Despite the softness of his voice, his reasonable words, his eyes contained no warmth as he moved towards me.
Picking up the hem of my curtain dress, I started up the steps. “I’m sorry. I wanted to take a walk before dinner.”
“In the dark?” came a piercing voice in a rich French accent.
My cheeks heated, and I gave Luc’s grandmother a tight smile. She met my gesture with a steely gaze. “Yes. My family are great nature enthusiasts. I’m not sure if you know, but there’s a colony of rare moths in a tree by the river. They only come out at night.”
The old woman tilted her head, as if examining my statement. “I see. I’ll have to ask the gardener to show me.”
Luc raised an eyebrow as his eyes swept over my dress, lingering at the knot of fabric resting on one shoulder. His intense stare made my skin needle. Chloe mentioned that the stitching had been tricky, so I’d secured the knotting with a white scrunchie. I prayed I’d rubbed all the dust off. Spiderwebs weren’t on trend on the Paris catwalks the last time I’d checked.
He took my arm and led me up the steps, his face a mask of calm and collected hauteur. Apollo hauled himself to his feet as we stepped into the soft light of the lanterns that hung above the table. He ran his white muzzle over my fingertips, and I scratched his ears in return. While I hadn't fully forgiven him for our unscheduled swim, I needed all the friends I could get right now.
“Grand-Mère, may I re-introduce you to Iris, my fiancée.” He turned to me. “You remember my grandmother, Estelle?”
There was a definite edge to his voice. I swallowed hard. Every time he used the word “fiancée,” my gut flipped. If I hoped to make it through the evening unscathed, I’d better get used to it.
It was the old lady’s turn to run her eyes over my dress, then my face and my hair. Chloe had really gone to town on the whole statue “look,” and she’d pinned my long, blonde locks to the top of my head in a fancy pile of curls.
After lingering on my hair, Luc’s grandmother continued her examination, all the way down my body, ending at my ridiculously oversized sandals. “Your feet are dirty,” she said.
I pulled in a breath, my cheeks heating. “The moths were a way off the path. I didn’t want to ruin my shoes, so I took them off.”
A muscle ticked in Luc’s jaw, and I could almost hear his brain pleading with the heavens to strike me down with a thunderbolt. Disappear me. He’d probably subject himself to a hundred loveless marriages than have to explain away his shambles of a bride-to-be. He stepped forward, his brows drawn tight. “Grand-Mère, I apologise….”
His grandmother tutted, waving him away with a hand, before turning back to me, a smile on her lips. “I like her spirit. I’m also a nature lover, but only from afar. Luc, please get us some champagne. I’d like to get to know Iris better.
Three glasses of champagne later, Estelle and I were becoming great friends. Despite her haughty demeanour, she had an amazing wit. Perhaps the bubbles helped, but I was actually enjoying the evening, listening to scandalous tales of her younger days in Paris.
Luc’s face remained steely and guarded. He hardly smiled. Instead, he gently drummed his fingers against the white linen tablecloth, occasionally glancing at his watch, sipping on a glass of something dark and strong-looking. My blood simmered in my veins, like milk boiling on a stove. If he wanted to pass me off as the woman he adored, he was giving me nothing to work with. I couldn’t be convincingly in love with someone who barely looked at me.
But I needed money to get Stuart back and Nasty Nathan out of my life. If Luc wouldn’t help, I’d have to take matters into my own hands and put on a good show.
A silent member of staff cleared away a platter of oysters, giving the sandals on my feet an obvious double-take. My cheeks fired hot. What if they were hers? Chloe hadn’t said which maid she’d borrowed them from. What if she demanded I give them back? Wrestled them from my feet even? The maid stood still, brows furrowed, but before she could say a word and give my identity away, Luc’s grandmother spoke.
“Tell me, Iris, how did you and Luc meet? I’ve never seen you at any parties or charity functions.”
I smiled and shook my head. I’d spent most of the afternoon coming up with sensible stories for these types of questions. Practical ways we could have met. But with Luc giving me absolutely nothing to work with, a bubble of mischief fizzled in my chest .
“Unlike your grandson, I shy away from the limelight.” He glared at me, but I ploughed on. “We met at a polo event. In Beverly Hills. There were a few celebrities there, a few royals.” I grinned at Luc, hoping to make some sort of connection, but his pained face, his absolute refusal to smile, lit something deep in my gut. For some unknown reason, I wanted to get a rise out of him. To make him see that if we had to pretend to like each other, we could at least have a bit of fun. Besides, his grandmother wasn’t that bad, and the facade would be over tomorrow, anyway.
I reached over and placed my hand on his, stilling his fingers as he continued his tapping. “Anyway, the game was deep into the third chukka when one pony, a massive beast, took a liking to the flowers in my hat. He raced across the field, towards the stand. Honestly, if Luc hadn’t swept me up and carried me off to the champagne tent, the pony would’ve trampled me to death. Tell me, does the rest of the family have such broad shoulders?”
I ran my hand up Luc’s arm and across his back. His body tensed under my touch, but not before I detected the solid bulge of a bicep and the rock-hard curve of muscle under his jacket. I pulled in a gentle breath, turning to him. “Darling, why have you never taken up polo? I can imagine you astride a stallion, in control and masterful.”
Something flared in his eyes, and he opened his mouth to respond, but I didn’t give him a chance. I was having too much fun. Completely in control of this situation. He was at my mercy, and for some twisted reason, I liked it. “No, it’s probably for the best. All those flying sticks and mud. You wouldn’t want to break your nose and ruin those good looks.” Right now, with his narrowed eyes and gentle sneer, those good looks were more like a simmering mass of displeasure.
Estelle’s laughter carried across the table. “You know Luc very well. He can ride, but I’m not sure he’d be up to the rough and tumble of the game. Luc is more of a creative than a man of brute force.”
The tiniest flash of something crossed across his face, and he looked away towards the garden.
At that moment, one of the staff placed a steaming plate of something resembling beef in the centre of the table. A crisp salad joined the dish, and potatoes doused in cream. My stomach rumbled. I hadn’t eaten since lunch. Not that I was starving myself to fit the curtain dress, or anything. But, I’d once read that rich Frenchwomen had the appetites of sparrows. I’d pull off this role if it killed me.
After being served a tiny portion of food, Estelle continued her light-hearted questions. “How did Luc propose? He’s never struck me as the romantic type.”
Again, the corners of Luc’s mouth dipped, his plump, kissable lips bowed slightly. Call me a contrarian, but I could imagine those lips being all kinds of romantic.
Once more, I reached over to touch his hand, this time threading my fingers through his. Luc’s eyes snapped to meet mine, a shadow of uncertainty lying deep within them. I squeezed his hand, giving what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “You’d be surprised how romantic your grandson can be. He’s thoughtful and kind. He sends little notes and leaves gifts outside my door. I know Luc comes across as gruff on the outside, but underneath, he’s a marshmallow.”
My fake billionaire fiancé blinked, his dark lashes perfectly framing his bright blue eyes. I wish I’d perfected mind-reading or telepathy. I’d love to hear what was going through his head right now. Likely, he wanted to throttle me.
“But the proposal was an adventure all on its own. We were on a gondola in Venice.”
Luc’s grandmother puffed her cheeks. “Venice? Not very original.”
I ran my thumb over the back of Luc’s fingers. “Oh, Luc made it original, alright. He took on the role of the gondolier. He was surprisingly good at handling his pole.” One of the English-speaking staff scoffed quietly in the corner, and I fought a smile too.
“Not only did he drive, but he serenaded me. He must have taken lessons. He has an impeccable falsetto. Luc had arranged for a violinist to play from the bank of the canal. Unfortunately, when he went down on one knee, he hit a high note. A tourist on the bridge must’ve been awestruck by its clarity and tossed a coin at him. It hit Luc right in the eye. You should’ve seen the bruise.”
I dared a glance at my dour husband-to-be. Instead of the seething annoyance I expected, I swore the corner of his lip trembled, and a tiny glimmer of warmth lit his eyes. A burgeoning pressure filled my chest, and I gave him the subtlest of winks. “Of course, he had to spend the next few days hiding from the press. You know how our darling Luc hates not looking his best.”
Emboldened, I ran a hand over his cheek. At the shock of my touch, presumably, he turned his head into my palm. The lightest brush of his lips met my skin, and a shiver passed through me. His eyes widened, and I pulled my hand away fast, my heart pounding.
I ate the rest of our savoury course in silence, acutely aware of the man sitting next to me. It felt like every inch between us pulsed with energy–breathed, even. Luc and his grandmother spoke in English, but they could’ve been speaking in any language. My attention was so diverted. The memory of his soft lips on my skin drove away any ability to concentrate.
When dessert arrived, Estelle recommenced her questions. After some vague enquiries about my taste in art and wine, she turned toward me, resting her chin on her hand. “What about your family? Where do they live? What do they do?”
I cringed inside. My dad was a bricklayer and my mum worked in a shoe shop. Neither sounded very spectacular. Time to get creative again. “I’m one of five children.”
“Ah, good breeding stock,” Luc’s grandmother whispered, barely masking the words. Luc rolled his eyes and looked out over the lanterns that lit the garden.
In truth, I was an only child. But I’d always dreamed of being surrounded by siblings, so surely making them up counted for something. “My older brother is a botanist and a wildlife photographer, hence my interest in the moths. He’s currently somewhere in the Amazon making a documentary on salamanders. I’m the next eldest, and then my three younger sisters are travelling. They were last heard of on Easter Island, sketching the statues.” Luc’s grandmother’s brows rocketed up, and I cringed a little inside. Too far-fetched?
“And what does your father do?” she asked.
My gut fizzed at her narrowed eyes. I remembered Luc said that his bride had to be rich to impress his grandmother. “Daddy made his fortune on the stock market.”
The old lady’s mouth bowed. She leaned in closer, licking her lips.
I continued, “But he became tired of the wanton excess. He grew bored with sitting on meaningless piles of money, so now he’s taken up alpaca farming.”
“Al... pac... a?” Luc’s grandmother shook her head quickly, looking to her grandson.
“Oui, alpaga,” repeated Luc in what I assumed was the French word for the animal. It was almost the same, so why did it sound so exotic, and a little sexy, coming out of his mouth?
I threw him a side glance. His face showed no emotion, no terror. In fact, he looked entirely resigned to his fate. There wasn’t a hint of dread at what would come out of my mouth next.
“Yes. Daddy has the biggest alpaca farm in the northern hemisphere. He’s found an inner peace in the paddocks. They’re surprisingly shy animals, but he farms a rare breed and their fleeces are valuable. Sometimes it’s an effort to tug him away from his spinning wheel.”
Estelle almost spat out the sip of wine she’d taken. “He spins their wool?”
I grinned and nodded. “He made Luc a sweater recently, with yarn from his favourite alpaca, Nigel.” I turned to Luc. “Do you still have it, darling?”
His face had the look of a condemned man. “It made me itch,” he ground out, taking a large mouthful of wine.
“And your mother?” the old lady continued, apparently accepting my ridiculous story.
“Mama flits between our many houses. She prefers a quiet life. She owns an island off the coast of Scotland and keeps a small herd of the more valuable alpacas. She lives there in an old shepherd’s cottage, writing poetry.”
Luc brought his hand to his forehead, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. Was I taking my fun too far? In a few weeks, I’d be gone, but he’d have to justify his unusual choice of women to his grandmother. Until he actually found someone real to marry, he’d have to defend his questionable taste.
“I love animals, too,” Luc’s grandmother declared, her pink tulle gown shifting in the warm breeze. “Horses. We have racehorses. Do you ride?”
I shook my head. “I used to be a keen rider, but we only have one horse at home these days. They make great companion animals for alpacas. Duchess is a miniature pony who thinks she’s a lapdog. Her hooves have caused havoc with the soft furnishings, though. Daddy had to ban her from the great hall because she kept interrupting his drinks parties.”
Luc glared hard at me. My stories were definitely getting a little silly. I couldn’t help it though. I was having too much fun.
“And education. Where did you go to school? ”
I waved my hands around in circles, hoping to buy some thinking time. Upminster High School didn’t sound like the sort of place a potential society bride would attend. I could mention one of England’s top boarding schools, but my story would be very specific, and the old lady could know families who’d actually attended.
“My mother homeschooled all of her children. After that, I attended a boarding school in Switzerland.”
Her eyes lit up. “Ah! Where? I attended school in Switzerland as a young girl.”
Dammit. Of course she had. She was rich. She probably knew every single Swiss finishing school ever opened.
“You wouldn’t have heard of it. It’s in a tiny village in the mountains. Very exclusive. We had lessons in six non-European languages, learnt to ski, and carried books on our heads. The fees were worth the yodelling lessons alone.” Apparently, I was still channelling Maria Von Trap.
Luc coughed and motioned to the staff to top up his glass.
“And is your family involved in any charitable pursuits? If you marry Luc, there will be commitments.”
“Of course. We dedicated our family’s foundation to preserving endangered alpaca species. We have several ongoing projects in South America. Last year, I oversaw the construction of a new sanctuary in Peru. It’s surprising how many alpacas needed saving from the petting zoos of Lima.”
Estelle sent her eyebrows heavenward. “I’m surprised you have time for romance.”
I shrugged. “How could anyone not have time for Luc? He’s adorable.”
“But why haven’t I seen you before?”
“I imagine we move in different circles. Besides, we’re a very private family.”
“I approve of that.” She looked at Luc and tightened her eyes. “There’s far too much attention paid to my family in the media. Particularly my grandson. It undermines our social position.”
Luc tightened his jaw and, as if noticing a change in atmosphere, Estelle shifted out of her chair and excused herself to freshen up.
I sucked in a breath. Five… four… three… two…