11. Iris
11
IRIS
I n the winery’s still, Luc and I locked eyes without a word. The smell of fermentation filled the air, thick and cloying, mingling with the spice of his cologne.
I hardly recognised him when he crashed into me. He looked so different. His dishevelled hair curled slightly over his forehead, and he had a soft hint of shadow on his jaw. His cheeks had flushed the second he saw me.
But then he smacked himself in the face with a wine bottle, and I could barely contain my giggles. He looked so shocked, so flustered. And now we just stood here, watching each other in silence, my heart beating out of my chest.
“So,” I breathed, ready to apologise—not for colliding but for kissing him last night. I’d rehearsed the words in my head a hundred times.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” he rushed, his eyes searching the room behind me.
“Oh! No, I didn’t expect to be here either. I think I left my phone yesterday afternoon.”
His brow furrowed, and an icy dread rolled over me. Did he believe me? Or did he think I’d spotted him in the garden and followed him? That I wanted a rerun of last night? A second chance to lock lips with him?
That was ridiculous. I looked as seduction-ready as he did right now. Cut-off shorts and a messy ponytail hardly screamed: “ravage me.” He couldn’t think I’d attempted to impress him.
“Why did you leave your phone here?” he asked.
At his question, my shoulders relaxed, and my heartbeat settled. Of course. He wouldn’t know Thierry had enlisted my help in the winery. He’d have no clue I had a perfectly reasonable explanation to be in the old stone barn. “I’ve been helping Thierry organise his stocks. Is he here?”
Luc blinked his beautiful eyes twice and lowered his head. “Oui. Thierry’s here.”
He turned, and I trailed behind him, trying very hard not to stare at the curve of his high buttocks in his tracksuit pants. His broad back moved under his white T-shirt, and I smiled. If I was honest, I much preferred the look of him today. Would rather see him wearing dusty cotton than his tailored suit from last night. Dressed like this, I could almost imagine him as a human. A very buff human, but mortal, nonetheless.
Luc led me to Thierry’s little office. When the old man saw me, his face lit up, and my heart warmed.
“Ah! Mademoiselle Iris,” he said, a toothy grin on his face. “Boy, have you met Iris?”
I glanced at Luc. Boy?
“I have,” he said, one eyebrow lifted.
Thierry almost clucked, like a mother hen herding her brood. “She’s my newest student. I’m teaching her all my tricks.” He stared hard at Luc. “Iris is a smart woman. Challenging.”
Luc shook his head slowly, the tiniest smirk on his lips. His eyes shone like Thierry’s words amused him. “I’m sure she is.” Luc put the two bottles he carried on the table. “Are these the ones? ”
Thierry nodded and motioned me over, pulling out an old stool. As I sat, the rickety seat creaked and wobbled, and I prayed I wouldn’t end up flat on my butt on the stone floor.
Luc leaned against a barrel nearby, one foot propped on an old box. I chewed my lip, trying hard to ignore him, but his track pants were no help. They clung to his thighs like ivy on a tree, leaving very little to the imagination.
Thierry brought three glasses up from somewhere under the table and poured us all a small amount of pale pink liquid. “Tell me what you think of this,” he said.
I lifted the glass to my mouth, hesitating. Should I drink so early in the morning? I was technically still under a short-term contract with Luc–twice over–here in a dubious but mostly professional capacity. I swallowed. Nothing I’d done in the last ten hours had been remotely professional.
Thierry met my eyes and nodded, his head moving fast. I shrugged and took a small sip. The dryness of the wine didn’t match its pretty colour. Not that pink drinks should be sweet, but I’d expected more of a liquid cotton candy. I licked the moisture from my lips, and both men stared at me. Thierry with avid fascination, and Luc with cool interest.
“It’s delicious,” I said. “The colour is so delicate.”
Thierry bobbed his head with a grin on his face. He pointed at the second bottle. “This wine’s colour is deeper, more intense. The difference is how long the red grape skins have been in contact with the juice.”
I tipped my head to the side, creasing my brow. “So, it’s the skins that make the colour?” It made sense, but I’d never really considered it.
“Oui,” said Luc at my side. The smoky lilt of his voice sent a shiver across my shoulders. “The contact time dictates the colour and changes the taste. Makes it fuller.”
Thierry’s face glowed at Luc’s remark, and something like pride filled his eyes. “That’s correct,” he said .
Luc remained silent as Thierry explained the rosé making process to me from start to finish. If Luc had heard it all before, I’d never have known. Thierry’s words were so full of feeling and passion that he listened with the same rapt attention as me.
After tasting the second wine, Thierry and Luc continued to talk, breaking into French. As their words sped up, the old man’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and his hands moved in fast circles, like he was pulling dough. The warmth between them was obvious, and if Luc’s grandmother already adored him, Thierry was another fully paid-up member of the Luc Du Comtois fan club.
I smiled, wrinkling my nose. Maybe he was human after all. In fact, this morning’s Luc differed greatly from the one I’d met yesterday. Today, he smiled, seemed relaxed, and was perfectly at home in this dusty old barn. He had no pretensions, no broody pouting or posturing, and, thank the lord, no smouldering. I wasn’t sure my heart rate could cope with another dose so early in the day.
After we sampled more wine, I found my phone, and Thierry dismissed us like we were annoying children. As we left, Luc hugged Thierry. They exchanged a few quiet words in French, and whatever the old man said spread a smile across Luc’s face. He nodded, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Had Thierry said something about me? Mentioned how hopeless I was at bottle stacking? The pile of broken glass under the mat in the corner stood as evidence. My face heated, and I looked down at my feet, the bright pink of my Crocs standing out against the dusty floor.
Luc gave Thierry a double kiss on the cheeks, then turned to me with that strange look still in his eyes. He ushered me out through the barrels, holding the door as we stepped into the bright sunshine .
The two of us ambled towards the house, falling into silence. The crunch of our feet on the gravel mingled with the cooing of doves in the trees, and in the stillness, all the molecules in my body jumbled together, twisting my gut into a knot.
Was he really not going to say anything about the kiss? I mean, the blame lay mostly with me. He’d only been guilty of being all sparkly and irresistible in the light, but he hadn’t stopped me. Quite the opposite. And I’d thought of little else all night.
I pulled in a tight breath and bunched my hands. “Luc, I’m so sorry for last night. The kiss. I should never have…”
“Please,” he ground out. “There’s no need to apologise. We’d both drunk a lot of champagne, and my grandmother didn’t help the situation. I should be the one apologising. I kissed you first, after all.”
My gut loosened, but only a little. Technically, he was right. His grandmother’s presence had strong-armed him into that first, chaste peck on the lips. But the kiss I’d given him had been anything but chaste.
“If you agree,” he continued, “I’d prefer we didn’t mention it again.”
I uncurled my fists. I wasn’t about to argue with his suggestion, but did I detect a blush? His cheeks wore a touch of pink that hadn’t been there a second ago.
“Thierry likes you, I think,” he said, kicking at the pebbles on the path. “He doesn’t spend time with just anybody. He’s an excellent judge of character.”
I looked up. Luc’s bright blue eyes locked onto mine. I was flooded with that same odd intensity, filling my body with jittery energy.
“Well, it’s clear he likes you, too. You seem close.”
Luc shrugged. “I’ve known him for as long as I can remember. For me, Thierry is Marsan.”
My brow furrowed. His words were odd. When I thought about my childhood home, I associated all my memories with my family. Summer afternoons in the garden with Mum, cleaning leaves in the autumn with Dad, building snowmen in the winter together. Family time. Not staff time.
As we walked along the path towards the house, a shadow crossed the gravel. I looked up at the cypress trees towering over us on either side. Luc looked up, too, shielding his eyes from the sun.
“You know, there is a secret language to the cypress trees in France,” he said.
“There is?”
“Sure. The cypress tree can signify eternal life. In the past, mourning families planted a single tree in a cemetery for a dead child, and two trees for a couple.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” he said, pulling a small branch off one tree and running its fronds through his fingers. “A farmer would plant three trees at the farmhouse entrance to show travellers they were welcome to spend the night. Two trees said they were welcome to eat, but one tree was a warning to stay away.”
The corners of my mouth lifted. “I had no idea. But why are there so many trees planted at the chateau? You’d think two or three would have been enough?”
Luc gave a throaty chuckle, and one of his brows lifted. “The cypress is also one of the most phallic trees in the world and French men are notoriously bold. You could say the men of Marsan were keen to advertise their talents.”
My mouth fell open. I stared, taking in the heat currently pulsing from every cell in his body. In a heartbeat, he’d become another person. He flipped a switch and turned dark and melty in an instant. Did he even have a clue? His words were a little flirty, and there was no mistaking the glint in his eye, but I had to wonder how many women had succumbed to his brand of slow burn .
Well, I wouldn’t be one of them. He could sizzle as much as he liked and say risqué things. Our arrangement was purely business and would end sometime later today when his grandmother left. Besides, he wasn’t the flirty type. He was far too serious. But if he wanted to spar, I’d play him at his own game. And I’d win.
“So many trees, though,” I said from under my lashes. “It seems to me like the men of Marsan may have been overcompensating for something.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly, but then the grin I’d seen last night returned, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. The sight had my breath running shallow. Who needed to smoulder when you could look so breathtakingly gorgeous with just a flash of teeth?
“I’m joking, of course,” he laughed. “I read somewhere in the library that the women of Marsan planted the trees, in tribute to their very satisfactory sex lives.”
I let out a snort of delight, sounding more like a delirious donkey than a flirty sparring partner.
He smiled, but all too swiftly his features returned to their usual resting-brood-face. “What will you do today?” he asked, casting me a sideways glance. “More moth hunting?”
Oh, fuck. I’d hoped he wouldn’t mention some of my more dubious behaviour from last night. I really should get some new material. All jokes aside, though, it was a valid question. He was paying for my time, but “I need to unpick my curtain dress and return it to the window” didn’t seem like an appropriate response.
“No. No moth hunting today,” I said. “But I have the day off from the winery, so I’ll probably find a pleasant spot in the village. Get out my sketchbook and pop in my air pods.”
He turned his head to me. “You draw?”
I winced. “I try. My sketches are more like doodles, but I find it relaxing. I’m no Picasso, though. ”
Luc bowed his head, giving me a glimpse of that tanned, kissable neck. “And you studied art?”
I snickered. “Never tell my high school art teacher, but he kind of put me off. He politely suggested I should stick to pottery.”
Luc stopped on the path again, his bottom lip gripped between his teeth.
“Have you seen the river? If you like, I can show it to you. It’s beautiful. A beautiful place, I mean.” He stumbled over his words. “You might like to draw it?”
I stared into his face, captivated by its symmetry, but suspicion licked at me like a cat’s tongue. What was he up to? Last night, he outright accused me of ruining his fake engagement, then he let me kiss him, and now he was acting reasonable and friendly.
I mean, an afternoon by the river did sound tempting, but good sense knocked on the door of my brain. Luc Du Comtois was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen, but he had a reputation as a playboy. An aloof heartbreaker. According to the online articles I’d read, he enjoyed toying with women. Beautiful women, who were putty in his hands.
He wouldn’t be remotely interested in breaking my heart. And did I want him to think I was the same as them? As easily impressed as the average actress or fortune hunter? Besides, I didn’t need any more trouble in my life, particularly from a man. I was already in hostage negotiations with the ex from hell, and my time with Nathan had left me with more than a few scars.
I met Luc’s eyes and shook my head. “I’m sorry. I need to do some laundry, too. Maybe another time?”
As the words died on my lips, Luc’s smile faded and his eyes dimmed, darting away from mine. He drew his brows together and clenched his jaw .
“Laundry?” He said the word as if the idea of me washing my clothes from time to time was offensive.
“Yes, laundry. It’s what us normal folk do.”
Was my comment a little snarky? Perhaps, but from the pout on his lips, you’d think nobody had ever turned him down before or said no to him. He probably thought he’d lost his touch.
With a tight-lipped smile, he nodded curtly. “As you wish.”
With those words, Luc turned to head back to the house. I trailed behind him, almost tripping over my Crocs on the path. We didn’t speak the entire way to the chateau, but when we’d crossed through the formal garden and passed the Garden of Girth, we reached the building’s shadow.
Luc’s grandmother stood on the terrace, sipping from a tiny porcelain cup. She looked like a sparrow hawk, surveying the garden for prey. Apollo sat stoically at her side, watching every movement of her coffee cup.
In an instant, Luc stopped, grabbed my hand, and sucked in a breath. His wide-eyes and tight jaw from last night had well and truly returned.
Estelle waved. “Good morning, Luc. Good morning, Iris. Where have you been?”
Her eyes travelled over both of us, taking in Luc’s dusty T-shirt, my cut-off shorts, and finally, my Crocs. A furrow appeared between her brows.
“We’ve been down with Thierry,” said Luc.
Estelle’s lips erupted with an enormous smile. “What is that wily man up to these days? Is he still making magic? Perhaps he can work on a special wine to celebrate your engagement?”
I swallowed. The only drink I’d take to celebrate my fake engagement would be strong and numbing. Possibly absinthe.
Luc squeezed my hand and guided me up the steps behind him. At the top, he stopped to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. “ Will you head off today?” He glanced up into the clear blue sky. “It looks like a lovely day for travelling.”
I scoffed under my breath. Could he be any more obvious?
“Yes, I have treatments lined up for tomorrow morning. You should come with me to the clinic one time, Iris. Though I hardly think your face needs any improvement.” Estelle reached up with a crepey hand and ran it over my cheek. “Ah, to be young again. So beautiful.”
Luc flashed a look at me, but just as quickly, he looked away. “What time will you leave?” he asked.
Estelle chuckled and placed her coffee cup on the table. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“No.”
“But of course you are. You need time to be together. To plan your future. I wondered if you would join me for a ride before I leave, Luc. It’s been too long since I’ve ridden over the estate.”
“Certainly. I’ll ask Agnes to arrange for the horses to be saddled.”
She waved a hand in his direction. “Already done. Iris, will you join us? You could probably show us a thing or two.”
Crap! Had I talked about horses last night? I could only remember saying something about a miniature pony and cushions. I grimaced. The first rule of lying—never get carried away. Second rule—remember what you said. And the third rule—never drink.
I hadn’t sat on a horse since I was seven, and that event ended in disaster. I’d forgotten to tighten the girth strap on the saddle. As a result, it had slipped to the side mid-canter, and the very cross horse had carted me around the field for at least thirty seconds. Eventually, I’d fallen off into a bank of stinging nettles.
“I have a little headache,” I said. “I think I had too much champagne last night. Thank you for the invitation, though.” I turned to Luc. “I think I’ll sleep for a while.”
He nodded, letting go of my hand. “Then say goodbye to Iris, Grand-Mère.”
Estelle stepped forward, taking me into her arms. She kissed me on both cheeks, her lavender scent threatening to suffocate me. She leaned in and whispered in my ear, “Hold on to him, please.”
I blinked in quick succession as she turned away to leave. Luc followed her, but after a long beat, he turned back over his shoulder. I don’t know what I expected to see in his eyes, but he had a look of pure resignation. Defeat. At the downturn of his lips, my chest tugged. Before I could offer him an encouraging smile, they were gone.
I slumped into a chair, taking a sip of Estelle’s abandoned coffee. What the hell did she mean by “hold on to him?” I wasn’t about to hold onto anything belonging to her grandson.
Luc made my head pound, not my heart. I didn’t subscribe to his kind of charm. But, I’d be lying if I denied the prickle of the tiniest sting in my chest as he’d walked away.