16. Iris
16
IRIS
I kicked off the silky bed sheets, my feet getting caught up by the effort. For the second night in a row, I couldn’t sleep. Although the stuffy air in my room didn’t help, my insomnia made no sense. This bed could qualify as one of the most comfortable known to man. But every time I rolled over, intent on nodding off, my mind whirred. It would somersault around with thoughts of Luc, the King of Smoulder, and the desolate look on his face when he told me about his father and his childhood. Something gnawed at my gut every time I thought about it.
I’d received another message from Nathan. This time he sent a picture showing Stuart sitting in a suitcase with a handwritten note saying he’d run away and join the circus because his mum didn’t love him anymore. I sent a reply straight back letting Nathan know that he’d have his money soon. I hated myself for giving in to his cruel fear tactics. For not standing up to him. Unfortunately, that was the story of our entire relationship.
My stomach rumbled and after trying to ignore it for a few minutes, I rolled out of bed. I’d only had some bread and jam by the fire pit. Now I took my meals up at the chateau, I’d got used to a little more variety and volume. I pulled my hair into a bun on the top of my head, tethering it with my faithful white scrunchie. After checking any leftover mascara hadn’t slid down onto my cheeks, I padded out of the door in search of food.
As soon as I stepped into the hallway, I glanced at the door to Luc’s tower. Was he up there now? Pacing around, being all artistic and tortured like one of the old masters? Well, if he was, he must be wearing slippers. All I could hear was the infernal ticking of the clock in the salon.
I crept through opulent rooms, avoiding the suits of armour that still creeped me out. Once I’d made it to the grand hall, I followed the stone steps down to the rabbit warren of corridors underneath the house.
I considered this Agnes’ domain and any trip down here gave me the jitters. The housekeeper had been cold to me since I’d officially “moved in.” She’d asked me to do my own laundry and kept her office door locked. She probably thought I was some temptress hell bent on corrupting her precious boss or taking off with the family silver. No doubt she now viewed my squeaky Crocs as the least of her grievances.
I tiptoed down the narrow corridor, passing Agnes’ office before descending a shallow set of steps to the ancient kitchen. Old copper pots lined the walls. I placed my palm on the smooth plaster, following the curve of the corner into the room. The moment I rounded the bend, my heart leapt into my throat.
Luc stood with his back to me at one of the old kitchen counters. He wore a pair of grey tracksuit bottoms and held a large knife in one hand. His smooth back glowed in the overhead light and I sucked in a breath. Far too loudly, apparently, because he turned around, meeting me with wide eyes.
“Iris. You frightened me. ”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t expect anyone to be awake.”
As I stepped forward, his eyes swept over me, lingering on the picture of Snoopy currently plastered across my boobs on my oversized T-shirt. My skin prickled under his gaze. Damn, damn, damn, why hadn’t I thought to put on something less trashy or at the very least added some shorts or pyjama bottoms? The only thing I wore underneath Snoopy was a tiny pair of knickers I’d purchased around the same time Columbus discovered America.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, trying hard to ignore his solid chest and the single gold chain that rested on the slight covering of dark hair across his pecs. “I came down to get a snack and a cup of tea. Are you getting something to eat, or are you disposing of a body?”
His brow furrowed, but he followed my gaze to the knife in his hand. “I didn’t eat dinner.”
I craned my neck around his body, spotting a huge triangle of pale cheese on an old wooden cutting board. “Gruyere?”
The corner of his lips lifted a touch. “Very good.”
I stepped further into the room. “Oh, I’m a total cheese addict. Believe me, there’s not a variety I can’t identify at twenty paces. Some people, like Thierry, know their grapes. My talents lay entirely with dairy products.”
He chuckled, and a beautiful smile crept onto his lips. My heart sang at the sight.
“Would you like to join me? I wanted to look over some of my old work.” He poked his knife towards the heavily scored kitchen table. A sketchbook rested on its top, surrounded by an assortment of pencils. “I know it’s not a cup of tea, but I was going to make some hot chocolate.”
The thought of sipping on a mug of silky French chocolate sounded all kinds of lovely. I’d developed quite an addiction to it since I’d been in the country.
“Thank you.” I sat down at the table, running my fingertips over the grooves in its wood. The thick slab bore the scars and cuts of a thousand paring knives. As I sat on the old wooden chair, my T-shirt rode up a little, and Luc’s eyes darted to my thighs. A tingle hit low down in my belly at the hint of heat in his gaze.
Faster than a figure skater, he turned around again and resumed cutting the cheese. “Did you have a good evening with your friends?”
I shrugged. “They’re not really my friends. Well, only Chloe. I work with them. Or, I used to. Since Thierry rescued me from the picking and processing, they don’t talk to me as much. I suppose it’s a little like what you talked about.”
“Hmm?”
“People treat you differently when you aren’t on the same level as them.”
Luc turned around, depositing a plate of thick cheese slices onto the table. I smiled. Unless hunger dictated, I preferred not to dilute cheese with bread, either. He turned to the stove and poured some milk into a pan. His silence tugged at my brain, and I felt the need to fill the void.
“I heard from my ex, Nathan, earlier.” I wasn’t sure why I wanted to tell him but having someone other than Chloe in the world to share my frustration with felt good.
Luc’s shoulders stiffened for the shortest beat before he reached over to run a solid chunk of chocolate against an old grater. “What did he say this time?”
I’d be lying if I didn’t say the irritation in his voice about my dickhead of an ex didn’t delight me. I watched Luc at work as he went back and forth, grinding the chocolate against the metal. His triceps fired with the effort and his buttocks moved gently backwards and forwards with every stroke. The result was hypnotising. He looked like one of those cooking thirst-trap guys I may have stumbled across online.
“Iris? ”
“What?” The high pitch of my voice resembled the yodelling I’d apparently studied in Switzerland.
“Your ex. What did he want?”
“Oh, yes. Sorry. Just the usual. He sent me another picture. Of Stuart.”
Luc put down the chocolate, gave the milk he’d popped on the stove a quick stir, and turned around to face me. I waved my phone at him like that would prove anything, but he stepped forward and rested a hand on the table next to me. “May I see?”
I opened my phone and found the text, handing it to Luc. His brow furrowed as he read the message, but I found it impossible to focus on his reaction. His toned and extremely chiselled torso hovered around six inches from my lips. Heat pulsed from his skin to mine. I’d never considered myself a “hugger,” but it took every ounce of strength I possessed not to lean over and touch him. Run my fingers along the indentations of his muscles and follow them down to the taper of dark hair at his waistband. Instead, I sat on my hands. Honestly, it was the safest place for them.
“Is this his idea of a joke?” Luc asked.
I shook my head a little, dislodging the sinful thoughts that had taken up residence in my brain. “Apparently. Only, I know Nathan. He’s trying to get under my skin. I can’t believe I wasted so many years on him.”
Luc made a deep sound in the back of his throat, kind of like a bear, and he put my phone down on the table. He made to sit, but a gentle fizzing grew louder behind him, and I pointed to the stove. “Milk!”
He moved quickly, leaving a wave of his spicy cologne to settle over me as he took the pan off the heat before it boiled over. “Thank you,” he said.
I chuckled to myself. He wasn’t a man of many words, but who needed syllables when you looked like he did. Now that he’d shown me a little of the real Luc, I’d changed my mind about his “strong and silent” persona. I’d found his lack of smiles abrasive when we first met, but I could happily tolerate his scowls, knowing that deep down he had feelings. Perhaps the low-slung tracksuit bottoms helped too.
Luc added the grated chocolate to the milk, stirring it in and letting it melt before pouring the thick chocolate into two handleless cups on the countertop. He placed them on the table next to the cheese before bringing down a pot of brown sugar. “I didn’t know how sweet you liked your chocolate,” he said, settling into the chair opposite.
I grinned. “Very sweet. ‘Make my teeth ache’ kinda sweet. My sugar addiction is second only to my cheese obsession.”
He grinned, too, spooning two heaped mounds of brown crystals into my cup. When he’d finished, I clasped my hand around it, savouring the intense smell of the chocolate before taking a sip.
I closed my eyes and let the velvet liquid settle over my tongue, like a cocoa-flavoured orgasm had gone off in my mouth. “Damn, that’s good,” I whispered. “I’ll happily visit this cafe again.”
“Good. I always stay open for my favourite customers.” The low, gravelly tone of Luc’s voice made me open my eyes to meet his. They glittered in the light above, and I swear the room shrunk around us, throbbing with something primal. My heart pulsed. I should be pleased that I’d always have access to his hot chocolate skills, but with the look of fire in his eyes, I wasn’t entirely sure that’s what he meant.
“Any news from your grandmother?” I asked, trying to break the tension in the air. If I hadn’t said something, I may have melted as easily as the chocolate.
Just as I’d hoped, my words broke any spell his smouldering had weaved, and he sat in his chair, picking up a slice of cheese. “She’s hosting a private dinner before the gala. She says the dinner will just be friends and family, but I imagine we’ll end up feeling like exhibits in a zoo.”
A light pressure filled my chest. “Where exactly is the gala? Somewhere on the quieter side, I hope?”
He sighed, a wry smile on his mouth. “The Palais Garnier.”
I shrugged. For all I knew, he could be talking about the local McDonalds.
“The Paris Opera,” he clarified, stirring his very much unsweetened hot chocolate.
My gut plummeted. Hardly a low-key introduction to polite society! The closest I’d ever been to an opera was the carol concert Upminster Council held outside the tube station every year. “But not everyone enjoys singing, right? There’s every chance the gala will be thin on numbers.”
Luc’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he studied my face. Suddenly, his expression changed, and he leaned forward.
“Iris, would you let me draw you?”
I almost choked on the wedge of cheese I’d just bitten into. “Sorry?”
Luc ran his eyes over my face again, this time stopping at the bun on the top of my head. “You have the most elegant neck, and when this light hits your cheekbones, it casts a beautiful shadow. Please, may I?”
I swallowed down the colony of butterflies that’d just taken flight in my chest. Was he serious? Did he really want to draw me? Immortalise me like all the other women stacked up against the wall in his tower? An offer of being drawn appealed to most people’s basic vanity, but I’d hardly dressed for the occasion. Maybe that wouldn’t matter, though.
I shifted in my chair. “Nobody’s drawn me before. Would I need to take my clothes off? I mean, anyone could come in.”
The growl of a chuckle emanated somewhere from Luc’s chest, filling the room and he smiled, running both hands through his hair. “Iris. In another place, another time, maybe. But tonight, your face is all I’m interested in.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Luc! I didn’t mean… I mean, I wasn’t assuming…” I buried my face in my hands, my skin aflame. “Oh crap, how embarrassing.”
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’ve been propositioned a few times in my life, but never in my kitchen and never in such a wholesome way.”
I giggled, the burn leaving my skin. “Then you haven’t lived.”
“So, may I? Draw you, I mean.” His fingers hovered over his pencils, and at the glow on his face, I didn’t have the heart to refuse.
I nodded, and Luc came to stand behind me. He took my head in his hands, gently tipping it forward a fraction, and turning it towards his chair. His touch on the back of my neck was featherlight, and I hoped he didn’t notice the rush of goosebumps or the pebbling of my nipples.
“There. Stay still,” he whispered, taking his seat. As my heart pounded in my ribs, Luc flipped through his sketchpad until he found an empty page. He smiled and picked up a pencil before setting to work.
After the world’s longest pause, he spoke. “Tell me about your family, Iris. I assume there are no alpacas or Scottish Islands. Or poetry.”
I smiled, trying hard not to move my lips more than absolutely necessary. “No, I’m sorry. I’m sure the reality isn’t what your grandmother would want to hear. I’m an only child, and not from good breeding stock, I’m afraid. My dad’s a bricklayer and Mum works in a shoe shop. She does write poems. Well, kind of. She writes greeting card rhymes as a side hustle. She’s no JK Rowling, though.”
Luc smiled but was completely absorbed in his task. His eyes bounced between my face and his sketchbook. In the still of the kitchen, the sound of his scratching pencil fought for supremacy with the thud of my heart.
I cast my eyes down at the plate of cheese. Hunger chewed at my insides, but I didn’t dare move. “Where did you say you got the cheese?”
“I didn’t, but I believe Agnes gets it from the town—at the dairy. Perhaps you could ask your friend Henri. Do you remember him?”
I let a small laugh escape my lips. “How could I forget? It’s a shame he didn’t stay long at the fire pit. He could have held my toasting fork. My marshmallow stacks are legendary. Maybe I’ll pay him a visit tomorrow. I’m heading into town to get a couple of things. I thought perhaps I should get something to wear at the party.”
The scrape of Luc’s pencil on his paper stopped immediately, and he looked up, his face looking decidedly less tan than it did a second ago. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think.”
I resisted the urge to wave his apology away with my hand. Instead, I obediently stayed in position. “It’s okay. I’m sure I’ll be able to scrape something together.” My mind flew up his tower’s conical staircase and straight to the curtains at his studio window. I didn’t like my chances of persuading him to let Chloe loose on them.
Luc put his pencil down on the table. “No. I’m sorry to say it like this, but the dinner, the gala—it’s important that we look right. I don’t want to attract any unwanted attention. My sister uses a dressmaker in town. I’ll ask Agnes for her details. We’ll visit her tomorrow. She’ll have something for you to wear.”
Invisible fingers crept up my spine, and a shiver ran over my skin. We’ll visit her? The last time I’d been clothes shopping with a man was with Nathan, before our third anniversary. He’d waxed lyrical about wanting to get me something slinky and sexy. Instead, he’d spent the entire time hovering outside the changing room, telling me I looked trampy in whatever he picked out.
“It feels wrong,” I said. “I shouldn’t rely on you for clothes.”
“You’re not. You agreed to help me, and I don’t mean to be rude, but you probably don’t carry a ball gown in your backpack.”
“A ball gown? I thought you meant a cocktail dress. I don’t look good in layers.”
The corners of his mouth trembled. “I doubt that. Perhaps something in between, then.”
“I don’t know. You giving me clothes just doesn’t feel right. It’s like with one wave of your magic wand, I have a dress, and then you whisk me off to the ball. It’s all a little… well… beyond reality. All I need is a pumpkin carriage and a troop of mice to complete the picture.”
Luc raised his brows, closing his sketchpad. “If I can’t buy my future wife something beautiful to wear, think of it as a gift from a friend. From Henri.”
I pushed out a little sigh. “Well, I suppose Henri has unlimited access to cheese, being around all those cows.”
Luc’s cheeks lifted.
“Thank you,” I said, genuinely meaning it. Because of his generosity, I wouldn’t be subject to Chloe’s DIY fashion ideas or my pitiful budget.
He nodded, as wordlessly as ever, and picked up his pencils, slipping them into the pocket of his tracksuit bottoms.
“Are you finished? Can I move now?”
He picked up his sketch pad, holding it to his chest with one large hand. “You can move anytime you like. I have everything I need.” Luc stood wearing an enigmatic smile even the Mona Lisa would be proud of. He walked around to my side of the table and covered my hand with his. “Goodnight, Iris,” he murmured. And then, without warning, he leaned and placed a kiss on my forehead .
I widened my eyes, my heart hovering at the back of my throat.
Luc raked his eyes over my face, the tiniest smile on his lips. “By the way,” he murmured. “You have chocolate on your top lip.”
I tugged in a quick breath, but before I knew it, he was halfway out of the door. I turned to the table, my chest banging like timpani, as I brought the back of my hand to my mouth. The resulting brown stain on my knuckles confirmed Luc’s words.
Awesome. Just my luck. The one time a talented artist—correction—a talented artist that owned a killer bod and potentially half the country, had offered to draw my picture I resembled Groucho Marx.