12. Iris
12
IRIS
T hunderclouds gathered on the horizon, dark and looming, a bit like my mood. It had officially been two days since I hung up my fake fiancée boots and I’d survived yet another day of punishing heat. At least Thierry had been kind and kept me down in the winery instead of sending me out with the others to pick grapes. I’d completed his “administrational” jobs now, but I think he’d invented a few new ones just to keep me there. We had fun together and I enjoyed learning about wine. I could transfer my new skill to any waitressing job in London. Maybe even find a night course on wine appreciation.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I stopped on the path, digging my hand through the fabric of my dress. When the first two ominous notes of the Jaws theme tune rang out, my heart lurched. Nathan. Chloe and I had assigned him that ringtone one night after a bottle of wine. He’d been particularly mean that day, so it was a toss-up between Jaws and Darth Vader’s “Imperial March” tune. Either worked.
I stared at his name on the screen, and my skin prickled. Why was he calling? He usually texted, preferring to send his veiled threats via words like a coward. My stomach churned a little. What if something had happened to Stuart? What if he’d gone missing or someone had kidnapped him for real? I’m not sure who would do that, or why, but I had serious doubts that Nathan would pay a ransom to get him back.
I picked up the call with trembling fingers. “Is Stuart okay?”
Silence greeted me before the sound of a long sigh rushed into my ear. “And hello to you, too. It’s nice to know you haven’t lost your manners while gallivanting around the world.”
My blood simmered in my veins at his sneering tone. I’d hardly call carrying a ten-tonne bag on my back gallivanting, and had he ever wrestled with ticket touts and over-eager souvenir sellers? Mine and Chloe’s trip was a Nathan detox, not a stint at Club Med.
“Is Stuart okay?” I repeated, not taking his bait.
“If by okay you mean costing me an arm and a leg, then yes, he’s doing just fine.”
I rolled my eyes, turning a circle on the gravel. “Nath, why are you calling? What do you want?”
He snickered. “Can’t I call my missing-in-action ex just to say hello? Catch up?”
“No, you can’t. What’s up?”
“I had to take Stuart to the vet.”
My breath hovered somewhere near my tonsils. “What? Why?”
“Don’t worry. He had his annual check and jabs, but they said he had plaque build-up on his teeth. They offered to clean them, and after one anaesthetic and the most expensive flossing I’ve ever heard of, he’s now the proud owner of a sparkling set of molars.”
“And…?” I asked. Call me paranoid, but I knew Nathan very well. No matter how shiny Stuart’s teeth were, he’d never call just to give me an update.
“And you’re the owner of a hefty dental bill. Honestly, Ris. It makes me wonder why you’d even be a dental nurse. You should do a little extra study and become an actual dentist. You could afford a million holidays collecting those types of fees.”
I tightened my eyes. “I’m not on a holiday,” I ground out. Well, technically I was, but I’d looked at my trip as more like therapy. I wasn’t grape picking for free. “Being a dentist isn’t ‘just a little extra study.’ It takes years to qualify.” I threw an arm in the air, almost taking down a passing butterfly. “And what does my career path have to do with Stuart?”
“Nothing, really. I just wanted to let you know you owe me more money. I had to take out a small mortgage to pay for his grills.”
I bunched my butterfly-swatting fingers into a fist. “Do you think I don’t know I owe you money? You’re constantly reminding me.” My mind fluttered to the three thousand pounds Luc was paying me to be his pretend lover. “Look, I’ll be back soon. I can pay you then.”
There was a pause. “And the money for his teeth? It wasn’t cheap.”
My gut churned anew. “How much was it?” I hated the quietness of my words, my unsure tone.
“Just over six hundred pounds.”
I widened my eyes. Six hundred pounds? That was almost what Chloe and I paid for our European rail tickets. Perhaps Nathan’s suggestion had been right. Maybe I should become a dentist. At least then, if worst came to the worst, I could do Stuart’s teeth myself.
I swallowed down the ball lodged in my throat. “And the money for his teeth. I’ll be able to cover it all.” I’d have to put the flat with Chloe on hold, but at least Luc’s payment would cover everything else I owed. “Is he okay, though?”
My ex huffed out a breath. “Oh, he’s fine. He’s currently out in the garden, licking his balls.”
I chuckled. Sometimes I got flashes of the Nathan I’d loved. The Nathan who could make me sob with laughter, who could make me feel special. Sadly, those days were a distant memory.
“I’ll be back soon, Nath. Please keep him safe.”
“I’m not a monster, Ris.”
After some of his texts, I wasn’t so sure. Not that I thought he’d ever hurt Stuart, but I knew he could easily crush me. “I have to go,” I said, casting my eyes around the gardens. Somehow, I’d made it to the pool. How time flew when I was being gaslighted. “Bye, Nath.”
“Bye, Iris,” he said. “Have fun!”
Dammit. I clamped my jaw at the hard edge laced in his last words. I ran my hand along the pool hedge. Its stiff bristles grazed my fingertips, and a faint lapping sound reached my ears. A gurgling. As if the water had magically guided me here.
I glanced around the garden, my gut rolling gently. I knew I shouldn’t be by the pool. But just like the other day, the lure of cool water overwhelmed me. The promise of blissful relief. A way to wash the stain of Nathan from my brain and my body.
I hadn’t seen another soul on my walk. I mean, I hadn’t been near the house since I’d waved Luc and his grandmother off to go riding the other morning. It had only been bad luck that he caught me swimming last time. I could be much stealthier today.
Sure I was alone, I skirted the perimeter like a ninja, before ducking inside the gap in the hedge, already tugging my sundress over my head, phone in hand.
“We must stop meeting like this,” a low voice growled out from somewhere behind me. I froze, holding my breath. I couldn’t see much through the floral print of my dress, but I didn’t need many clues to recognise who’d spoken. I’d never forget my boss’s gravelly voice and his silky French accent.
“I know it’s you, Iris. You can’t hide.”
I held my breath. Dammit. Was it that obvious?
Of course, it was. Who else had a habit of hanging around his pool uninvited and semi-clothed? With a sigh, I let go of my hem and dropped my dress, feeling it settle around my thighs.
“Oh, hello,” I said, channelling my inner Anne of Green Gables innocence. “I was just, err…”
“Monitoring for moths?”
I shrugged my shoulders as if his suggestion was entirely plausible. Luc laid on one of the pristine sun loungers. Apollo snoozed at his feet, and he held a hefty glass of dark red liquid in one hand. Damp board shorts clung to his thighs, and the bronzed skin of his chest glowed in the afternoon sun. I swear I felt my pupils dilate at the sight.
He pushed his dark glasses to the top of his head, and his topaz eyes met mine. “Aren’t you forbidden from using my pool?”
There was a little drawl in his words, and a slow, lazy smile on his lips. A half-empty bottle of brandy lay next to him on the table. How many drinks had he had?
“I thought, considering I’m marrying into the family, I deserved pool rights.”
He huffed, and his pecs tensed solid as a rock with the effort. “It’s a fair point. Please, swim, then come help me drown my sorrows.”
His brow furrowed, and I stepped closer. I sat, sinking into the cushions of the sun lounger next to him. At the intrusion, Apollo lifted his head, placing his muzzle on top of my foot. I guess we were friends, then. No pool shenanigans today.
“I thought you’d left.” Also, a white lie. Chloe had spotted his sports car still parked out on the forecourt yesterday. “And what sorrows could you have to drown? In fact, I hear congratulations are in order. You’re marrying an alpaca heiress. Just think. You’ll never have to buy winter clothes again.”
He didn’t laugh at my joke. I mean, he rarely laughed, but I expected at least a smile .
“Has your grandmother decided I’m not good enough for you? Did she forbid you to marry me?”
A shadow crossed his face, and he gave me a wan smile. “Quite the opposite.”
My gut tugged, and I played with the hem of my dress. “What do you mean?”
“She liked you.”
I shook my head. “Even after the alpacas? The yodelling?”
Luc shrugged and took a large sip of his drink. “She said you were delightful. You reminded her of herself at a young age. She wants a chance to get to know you better. Introduce you to my sister and her friends.”
“Your sister’s friends?” Again, my joke fell a little flat. Luc scowled at me, and I realized I didn’t mind it so much these days. I’d kind of missed it. “Well, I’m sure you can come up with a good excuse. Tell her I had to go home because of the shearing season. Explain that alpacas can be grumpy when they’re being clipped by a stranger.”
“Iris.”
“Or you could tell her I had to go and…”
Luc put down his drink and leaned forward to touch my arm. “I need you to help me again.”
I closed my eyes, allowing the words to sink in. “With?” Did I really need to ask? I knew full well what he’d say.
“Please, will you help me again?” His tone was gentler this time, and in the afternoon light, he looked so beautiful with his magical eyes drilling into me, bending me to his will. I knew I should be stronger. Take a chapter out of Fraulein Maria’s book. Enter a nunnery and hang out on mountaintops instead of agreeing to any more deception alongside Luc Du Comtois. But if I was honest, it wasn’t just his scowl I’d missed. I’d missed him. Just a little. There were worse men to be fake engaged to, right?
I looked at his hand on my arm and the slightest stain of pink on his knuckles. I tightened my eyes. It wasn’t just one knuckle, though. He had pink stains on all four.
“What’s that?” I asked, reaching out to trace the largest smudge on the back of his hand. As I touched his skin, his eyes flipped to mine, as if I’d taken him by surprise. Luc pulled his hand away, rubbing his neck.
“It’s paint,” he mumbled.
“What from? Don’t tell me you’ve done some interior decorating up there in your tower?”
“No. I paint.” Luc leaned against the lounger and stared blankly ahead, a muscle pulsing in his cheek.
“Seriously? That’s amazing. I didn’t know.”
“Nobody does. Except for my family, and Thierry, and Esmé, of course.”
“What do you paint?”
“Anything that inspires me—nature, the beach, people.”
Apollo snorted in his sleep, and I leaned down to stroke his silken ears. “Do you sell your paintings?”
“I do, but not under my name.”
“Why not? I would think that your name would help.”
Luc ran his eyes over his stained knuckles. “I think people would have an expectation. They wouldn’t be buying something they fell in love with. They’d be buying something that came from ‘Luc Du Comtois.’” He made quotation marks in the air. “It may sound a little conceited, but does that make sense?”
I nodded. I hadn’t considered it, but just like when the child of a famous person follows in their parent’s footsteps, people question whether they got work because of their talent, or because of their family name. Maybe this was why Luc offered to show me the river the other day. Perhaps he thought we may have a shared love of drawing or painting.
“I’d love to see some of your pictures.”
Luc stared at me, that muscle still pulsing in his cheek. After the longest beat, he gave me a half smile. “I can show you my studio if you like. But please, I’d rather you kept this to yourself. I don’t want people to judge me.”
I swallowed. It was an odd response. I wasn’t here to judge him. But my dad always warned me to watch out for men with artistic temperaments. “I promise.”
Luc eased himself off the sun-lounger and stood. The movement woke Apollo. He got to his feet and shook himself out, his cheeks flapping loudly with the movement.
Luc held out his hand to pull me up, and I took it, thankful for at least the chance of a graceful exit from the cushions. He moved away, heading towards the house. I cleared my throat. “Um, what about these?” I waved my hand over his abandoned bottle and glass.
He paused and looked over his shoulder. “Someone will deal with it.”
I attempted a stern grimace, like the one my mum used to give me when I’d left my bedroom in a mess. “Why should someone else have to clear up after you? I assume you can pick up a glass and take it to the house?”
He looked at me as if I’d recited a Shakespearian monologue in Vietnamese. “I’m capable, yes, but it’s what we pay people to do.”
I stood my ground, placing my hands on my hips. “I think that’s just rude. Your staff has enough to do without having to wipe your bottom.”
His brow furrowed for a moment, but he shrugged and returned to pick up the bottle and glass before heading into the house.