10. Luc
10
LUC
I crossed the terrace, pulling my hands through my hair, my mind on only one thing. Iris.
I’d woken at dawn wrapped in my sheets, running through the debacle of dinner. The unusual dress she’d worn, and the ridiculous stories she told my grandmother. She’d only made things harder for me. When Estelle realised our engagement was a sham, there’d be so many questions.
I shook my head, chasing the image of Iris’ soft lips out of my mind. The curve of her hips. Her taste. With all her ridiculous assertions, she presented a liability. So why couldn’t I stop thinking about her?
I stepped down onto the grass, heading through the gardens to the winery, the dew coating my runners. I couldn't put off my visit to Thierry any longer. For our regular man-to-man talk, as he called it. My gut churned. I’d provided him with plenty of ammunition lately–a non-stop round of parties and headlines. His inevitable disappointment always crushed me.
I walked past the pool, and once again, my mind flipped to Iris. I’d first seen her there, just floating around in her underwear! If she hadn’t taken that forbidden swim, we’d never have spoken. And she’d been so unapologetic–shown no deference. She was a world away from the people who usually surrounded me.
But then I’d dragged her into my business. From the minute I’d asked her to lie–to pretend to love me–I’d had a gnawing ache in my gut. In real life, our paths would never cross, and I wouldn’t be the kind of man she’d want to be with. Iris fizzed with life and laughter. I barely managed to raise a smile some days. But as hard as I’d tried, I couldn’t forget last night’s kiss.
My trainers crunched on the gravel as I kicked little stones into the flowerbeds. She’d kissed me–properly. Opened her mouth to me, and I kissed her back.And with the feel of her lips, her warmth, and her soft skin, I’d relaxed a little too much. Opened my mouth to her. The second I had, something lit in my belly. A feeling I hadn’t had in so long.
And then she wound her arms around me, and my body took over. My cheeks heated at the memory of how hard she made me, at my absolute lack of control. Had she felt it? She must have. But she hadn’t said a word, and I’d spent the night tossing and turning, fighting the urge to go knock on her door. To apologise. I wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to me again.
I turned the corner at the end of the path. Bees gathered in the flowers winding around the door of the winery, dancing in the early morning sun. Their buzzing rivalled the ringing of my hangover. I nudged open the door and pushed into the shadowy interior, the cool, dry air hitting my skin.
“Thierry?” I called out. It was early, but he’d be here already, checking on the barrels, writing his notes. You could set your watch by the old man.
Navigating around towering pillars of barrels, I ventured to his small office at the side of the building and found him, just as I expected, sitting at his old wooden table, pen in hand. He scribbled away on a piece of paper. As I approached, he looked up, one grizzled eyebrow lifted to the rafters.
He stood. “So, you finally came to see me then?”
At the look on his face, my heart dropped to the floor. “I’m sorry. It’s been a busy time.” It was a pitiful excuse. I’d avoided this conversation, plain and simple.
“Really?” he asked, a scowl on his face. “Too busy to see the man who taught you to tie your shoelaces? To wipe your nose?”
I stepped forward, a sheepish smile on my face. He stretched out his arms, his face dissolving into a grin.
I returned his hug. “Old friend,” I said. “I’ve missed you.”
He grunted in reply, pulling away from my arms. “I’m surprised you were able to drag yourself home. Who have you got in your bed this weekend?”
I huffed a wry laugh. “Nobody.”
His brows raised. “Good. Your usual women are too showy. Their teeth are too straight, too white.”
I sighed, digging my hands into my pockets. Despite the news stories about me, I hadn’t been with a woman for a while, white teeth or not.
Thierry sat on his chair with a groan. My brow furrowed, and I stepped forward. “Are you okay?”
He rubbed his gnarled hands together. “It’s nothing. I’m too old for all this getting up and down. When are you going to take over from me? You’re the only one who knows my secrets.”
He swept an arm to the notes pinned to an old corkboard that hung on the crumbling stone wall. Faded words filled each sheet, a cipher of winemaking ideas, formulas. I didn’t plan on taking over the winery, but I did remember everything he’d ever told me. Everything he showed me about making beautiful wine.
Thierry ran his narrowed eyes over my face. “Esmé tells me you’ve been busy partying with your friends again.”
I shook my head. “That’s an exaggeration. But even if I have, what does it matter?” My words sounded harsher than I intended.
He looked at me from under his thick, overgrown eyebrows. “It matters. You’re not a boy anymore. You’re a man, with responsibilities.” If only he knew how big those responsibilities were, how much they could affect him.
“I know how hard you've been pushing yourself. The parties, the constant travelling, never staying in one place for long. It's like you're running from something. You live from moment to moment–from headline to headline. I daren’t pick up a newspaper these days.” He stopped, only to look me in the eye. “Luc, I know what your father did to you. How he made you feel. But he's gone now. You don't have to keep pretending to be someone you're not.”
My chest burned. We’d had this conversation a hundred times. Thierry knew me too well. He’d been there for the aftermath of every fight. The childhood I’d lost. His concern came from a place of love, but still, I found it hard to swallow the bitter taste his words left me with.
I forced a smile. “I’m not pretending. I’m fine, really.” The lie sat like a weight on my ribs.
My old friend threaded his fingers together and brought them to his chest. “Luc. Be honest, if not to me, at least to yourself. You're putting on a front, and it's wearing you out. Slow down. Grow up a bit. You don't have to keep up the act.”
I swallowed. What if I didn’t know how to be any other way?
Thierry pushed out a breath through pursed lips. “I’ll say one more thing. Deep down, you know who you are. And that person is worth more than any good time. People love you for you, not for this image you've created. It's time to let them in.”
My skin tingled and I blinked into the dust that hung in the shards of light from the tiny window above. I met Thierry’s eyes. Deep lines etched his face, and I smiled, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I promise, I'll slow down. ”
The old man huffed and sank back into his creaky wooden chair. “Why don’t you stop now? Find yourself a smart woman who’ll stand up to you. Challenge you.”
My gut plunged. If only he knew how much I wanted that, too. My head thumped and my chest ached. I needed to lighten the mood and escape his scrutiny.
“What’s the point?” I chuckled. “Esmé is happy in Paris. Nobody else can live up to her.”
His eyes darted to meet mine and narrowed, despite his smile. Ithink I loved his daughter almost as much as he did, but he knew I didn’t mean it.
“Esmé was never for you, boy.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust me?”
“Not with her. Not until you grow up.”
I chuckled, leaning against the door frame of the little room, my arms folded. “Don’t worry. Esmé is safe. She knows me too well to put up with me.”
Thierry grinned. “She does. But promise me you’ll think about what I’ve said. Slow down. Stop chasing. You could meet the love of your life anywhere, anytime. And when you see them, you’ll know.”
Meeting someone I could love was all I thought about these days. But still, his words sent a shiver over me. “Okay,” I said. “But enough chat about me. We’ve got work to do. Is anything ready to taste?”
His eyes lit up, and he nodded eagerly, shooing me out with a wave of his hand. “You’ll find some bottles right at the back on the left. Two blends. They have different labels. Bring both.”
Thierry and I had been working on producing a wine together for the last couple of years–just the two of us. Our little experiment was one of the only reasons I came to Marsan these days. With a grin, I headed to the back of the old stone barn, finding a selection of bottles neatly lined up in a dark corner, just as Thierry described. I wiped the dust from a couple and gripped their necks, one in each hand.
I weaved back through the warren of barrels, picking up cobwebs on my T-shirt as I went. But as I rounded the last corner, eager to get back and try the rosé, I slammed into another body coming in the other direction. The impact drove the air out of my lungs, and two hands held my shoulders. It took all my strength to stay upright and keep my grip on the bottles.
“Shit, are you okay?”
I lifted my gaze to see two, wide, blue eyes. Iris. Makeup free, her fair lashes formed a halo of gold around cornflower blue. I breathed in hard. She hadn’t loosened her grip on me yet, and with her nails digging gently into my skin, we stood frozen in time, just staring at each other.
“Luc?” shouted Thierry, pulling me out of my daze.
I gave a tiny shake of my head, focusing on Iris. “I’m sorry, I was in a hurry, not looking where I was going.”
She raked her eyes over my face as if not quite recognising me. I lifted a hand to smooth down my sleep-ruffled hair, but I still held a bottle. A bottle that immediately hit my cheekbone with a dull clunk. I winced. “Merde!”
Her lips trembled as if she’d laugh. “No, I’m sorry,” she mumbled, stepping back. “I just didn’t recognise you. I wouldn’t normally swear in front of my boss.”
I looked down at my white T-shirt, now decorated with dust and cobwebs. No wonder she hadn’t recognised me. Sleep-deprived, puffy eyes stared back at me in the mirror this morning, and a shadow of stubble clung to my face.
Technically the woman standing in front of me trying not to laugh at my clumsiness, was still my future bride. I only hope she preferred her fiancés looking like stable boys instead of billionaires.