13. Iris
13
IRIS
A fter dropping off his glassware on the empty terrace table, Luc led me to the same hallway we’d stood in the other night—the scene of our kiss. The skin of my arms needled as he pulled open the door opposite the room where I’d slept. I looked around at the empty house. The only sound was a ticking clock somewhere in the salon.
“This place is always so empty. It’s strange.”
He gave me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You should try growing up here.”
I followed Luc through the doorway, to the base of a spiral staircase. A real spiral staircase, like from a fairy tale. I craned my neck to where the stone steps curved and disappeared around the corner. He really slept in a tower. With a bated breath I followed him up the steps. The old stone treads were shallow and wide. They were lit beautifully, and a pristine white rope was attached at intervals around the spiral. I smiled. They were the ultimate in “castle chic.”
On the way up, we passed two open doors. One led to a tiny kitchen somehow built into the wall, and a small roll-top bath peeped from the second. At the top of the tower, where the old stone ceiling formed a conical point above, we came to a last door. Luc turned the large key in the lock and beckoned me in.
I stepped inside, and a wave of cool air hit me. I could make out the gardens through the small windows. They were wide open with white muslin curtains billowing in the breeze. I had flashbacks to Chloe’s homemade dress. If I ever needed to make another, I knew where to find my fabric.
His studio took up the entire footprint of the tower. I ran my eyes over the beams above as Luc grabbed a discarded T-shirt from the side and shrugged into it. He stored all his materials on one side of the room, haphazardly stacking shelves and tables against the thick stone walls. Amidst the chaos was a simple unmade bed with crisp white sheets. The rest of the floor space was taken up by a large, gilded mirror and various sketches and paintings. They hung on the walls or laid out in rows against the edges. There were a couple of easels holding unfinished projects, and I picked my way through to a large leather sofa in the middle of the room. I turned circles, taking it all in.
“You’re so talented,” I whispered, my eyes running over his work. His use of colour was stunning, and the fine detail of each piece was exquisite. I looked over at Luc, mouth hanging open. “Holy hell.” If I’d known how good his paintings were, I’d never have been so flippant about art and my pottery aspirations the other day.
The pulsing muscle in his cheek made a return, and his head dipped slightly at my words.
“No, really.” He watched me as I walked towards a set of pictures placed in a row along the base of the wall. They were a study of delicate purple flowers. I crouched down to get a better look. “These are beautiful.”
Luc joined me and held one picture up in the light.
“I painted these in memory of my mother. These were her favourite flowers. They’re Irises. ”
As soon as the word left his lips, my breath caught somewhere in my mouth and a heat crept up my chest. “Irises?”
Luc nodded, a tiny smile on his lips. “She planted them in the garden, and they grew wild down by the river. My mother died when I was young, but I remember the care she took with her flowers.”
I stood, joining him to look at the picture. This close, the pulsing heat from his body made it through my thin cotton dress and the scent of his cologne lingered in my nose. Not knowing what to say about his mum, I put a hand on his arm and gave it a small squeeze. Luc turned to me, his eyes searching mine. The fizzing in my chest I’d had at the bottom of the staircase started again, and I quickly moved to a series of landscapes that hung on the wall near a tiny window.
Some were of the countryside, others of the ocean. They, too, were amazing. Like I could just walk through the canvas into the pictures.
Luc leaned against a pillar, and I moved over to the largest collection of canvases. Each one bore the picture of a woman. They were all beautiful, some dressed, some not. I narrowed my eyes, staring at one in particular. The subject lay naked on a bed. Her heavy-lidded eyes were half closed, watching the painter with complete self-assuredness. It was stunning and incredibly sexy.
I gave a throaty laugh. “I think you must enjoy your subjects. They’re all so beautiful.”
He tipped his head to one side, watching me. “I think women are beautiful, so I like to paint them.”
I lifted my brows. “You’re doing pretty well.”
Next, I picked up a charcoal sketch of a young girl holding a small dog in her arms. “Who’s this?”
“Ah, that’s Esmé, Thierry’s daughter. We grew up together here until… until I left for school. She was my first love, as you wo uld say. My best friend. We were very young. She lives in Paris now, but we talk often.”
My brain whirred. Maybe that was why he and Thierry seemed so close. “Has she ever seen this picture?”
“No.”
“That’s a shame. I bet she’d love it.” I put the picture of Esmé down and turned to Luc.
“You’re so talented. I think it’s a shame to hide it.”
“We all hide something, Iris. I am sure you have secrets.”
I did. How about a cat-napping ex who passed his time polishing the kitchen counter in all the wrong ways?
I moved back to the door, and Luc followed me. “No, I’m pretty simple. But you know what? I’ll help you, Luc.”
He pulled up, eyes boring into mine.
My heartbeat stuttered in my chest. “I’ll meet your sister and your grandmother’s friends, but we’ll have to do it properly this time. If we want to convince them we’re truly in love, we’ll need to get to know each other.”
Luc chewed at his bottom lip, a small line marring his smooth forehead. “No more stories about alpacas? Gondola rides?”
I chuckled, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “No. Oh, except for the gondola story. I quite liked that one.”
An easy smile spread over Luc’s lips. “Then move in, again. That way, we can learn more about each other, and I can teach you how to use cutlery.”
He’d noticed my utensil-based shortcomings, then. “What about Agnes?”
Luc leaned against the solid oak door frame, his biceps firing under the effort. “Leave Agnes to me.”
With a grin, I set off down the stairs. “Okay then, I’ll take up residence tomorrow afternoon, after work. You can send a carriage down to the winery to fetch me if you like. I’ll need to get used to the perks of being your wife. ”
Luc’s face didn’t change. He just watched me disappear down to the hallway. I felt his eyes on my back at every step.
By the time I reached the bottom, my head reeled. What had I been thinking? Had I agreed to help him out of the goodness of my heart? Because of his superior art skills? Maybe the lure of the giant bathtub and the cloud-like bed had swung it? Whatever my reasoning, moving into the chateau was such a crazy idea.
But I needed to earn the money for Stuart’s teeth. And if my fake fiancé could make my heart race with just one glance, so be it.
I lifted my eyes towards the damn chandelier that had been my undoing and took a breath. Deep down, I knew none of those reasons lay behind my choice. Even without Stuart’s teeth, I would have offered to help. Something about Luc Du Comtois was getting under my skin, and if I was completely honest, I kind of liked the itch.