19. Luc
19
LUC
I slipped my shoes back onto my feet, gathering my sketchbook from the grass. I’d been down here, at the water’s edge for hours, attempting to draw away my feelings. If it worked for Van Gogh and his tragic love life, it could work for me. My life wasn’t exactly full of love, but the efforts I’d made to find it were definitely tragic.
Apollo’s wet nose nudged my ear, and he snuffled against my shoulder. I hugged his thick neck, pressing my face into his soft fur. It was funny. I’d never been close to Apollo before this last visit to Marsan. Maybe Iris was right. Perhaps I’d got him in rebellion against my father, but now I treasured his company every day.
Just like I did Iris’.
I shook my head, trying to shake off the thought. Pining over Iris was getting me nowhere. I needed to clear my mind, so I pocketed my pencils and whistled for Apollo. As we strolled through the woods to the winery, I longed for Thierry's wisdom and one of his bear hugs.
But what could I possibly say to him? How could I admit that thoughts of the woman I'd hired to pretend to love me consumed nearly every waking moment?
Stepping over the same log Iris had crossed the other day, a smile tugged at my lips. I could still picture her wiggling her shoe and defending her love for pink. Back then, her energy had been infectious. Yesterday, at the dressmaker’s, she looked terrified.
When I’d barged in on her, she flushed, and her eyes almost doubled in size. I stood there, shocked, staring at her like an idiot. Surely she couldn't mistake the heat that surged through my body at the sight of her. The fire that engulfed my face.
I’d made a clumsy attempt at an apology back at Marsan. She’d been understanding, but I hoped to the heavens she didn’t think I’d barged in on purpose.
Then this morning, we had breakfast together. After a stilted beginning, we fell into easy conversation,like old friends. With renewed optimism, I’d slipped the painting I'd made of her under her door when I left for the river, almost like a peace offering.I should have knocked, but my brain was too muddled to form coherent sentences.
I stopped short in front of the winery door. How the hell did I even get here? I reached out to steer Apollo into the building, but he had other ideas, spotting a rabbit on the path. He lolloped after it, in hot pursuit.
Grateful to escape the sun, I pushed open the thick door of the stone building, looking for Thierry. As my eyes adjusted to the shadowy interior, a calm settled over me.
“Thierry?” I called out. Only the doves from the roof cooed in reply. I moved to the side of the building, my feet dragging on the dusty flagstones. When I arrived at his office, I ran my eyes over the usual clutter on his desk before I landed my gaze on something that didn’t belong there.
I put down my sketchbook and tightened my eyes. Stepping forward, I reached out to touch a pink cardigan that hung on the back of Thierry’s chair. The skin of my fingertips prickled as I got closer. I’d know that garment anywhere. It belonged to Iris. She’d worn it up at the house one chilly morning.
I passed my fingertips over its sleeve, bringing the fabric to my nose, breathing in the smell of her perfume.
“Are you looking for Iris, boy?”
Thierry’s voice rang out behind me, and I swung round. He had a cheeky smirk on his face, just like when he’d caught me stealing cakes from Agnes when I was a child.
I dropped the sleeve of Iris’ cardigan as if it were alive, searching for words.
“No, I just… I wanted to… is she here?”
Thierry raked his eyes over me and shook his head. “I haven’t seen her. It’s a shame. I miss her when she’s not at the winery. She brightens my day.”
My gut twisted. I felt the same way.
“I thought you might know where she is,” he said, stepping into the room. “According to the pickers, she’s been spending a lot of time at the house. I couldn’t imagine why that would be.”
A bitter taste crept into my mouth. I couldn’t tell him she’d moved in, that she was pretending to be engaged to me to stall my grandmother’s overzealous matchmaking attempts. If he knew that, he’d ask questions, which would open a codicil-shaped can of worms. I didn’t want to peel back that layer until after the gala.
Iris mustn’t have told him either.
“She’s been working on something for me, and Agnes, of course.”
Thierry tipped his head to one side, his rheumy eyes locking onto mine. “She’s a woman of many talents, non? What is she helping you with?”
Despite how easily I’d lied to my grandmother, I couldn’t do the same to Thierry. I’d have to stretch the truth instead. I shrugged, pulling out the stool from under the table, taking a seat. “She’s helping Agnes research cheese suppliers.”
He pulled his grizzly brows tight together.
It was a pitiful answer, but it would have to do. “What do you know about Iris, Thierry? About her background? I’m trying to work her out.”
Or did I really just want an excuse to talk about her?
His brow furrowed more before he sat down in his old, rickety chair. “Iris is a good and kind person. A loyal friend. Somebody who just wants to be loved for who she is.”
I blinked. He said it with such ease and confidence, like he knew all her secrets. My stomach pitched. Was I envious?
Yes.
“How do you know all that?” I asked, rolling a pencil along his desk.
He chuckled. “It’s amazing what you learn about people if you just talk to them. You should try it sometime instead of shutting everyone out. You never know, you might enjoy making friends.”
I liked Iris being my friend. She made me laugh, and as Thierry said, she brightened my days. The warmth of her soul had wrapped its fingers around my heart, and once she was gone, I had no idea how I’d undo it.
An odd look crossed Thierry’s face. “Somebody like Iris deserves to feel safe and loved. I only hope she finds what she needs.”
I did too. Even if I wasn’t the one who could give it to her.
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I have to go,” I said, getting to my feet. As I stood, my arm brushed my sketchbook, sending it tumbling off the desk. As if the fates were against me, it fell open at the drawing I’d made of Iris in the kitchen.
With a creak of his chair, Thierry picked it up, glancing over the open page. He raised his eyes to meet mine, searching my face. I gently drew a breath and fisted my hands .
After the longest beat, he spoke. “Don’t hurt her, boy. I know you wouldn’t do it intentionally, but she’s been through enough with that boyfriend of hers.”
Every inch of my skin prickled under his stare. “Thierry, you know me. I’d never hurt her.”
“Then what do you want with her?”
I took the sketchbook from his fingers, folding the page back over. “I’m not sure yet.”
I gave Thierry a tight smile before leaving the winery. I needed to be outside in the fresh air where I could think and breathe.
It was true. I wasn’t sure what I wanted from Iris, and I had no idea what she was willing to give me. I had to talk to her, though. I needed to tell her how incredible she was and how much I cared.
As perspiration pebbled my top lip, every fibre of my body screamed out against the idea. I’d spent years hiding any feelings, playing the role of “Luc Du Comtois, apathetic playboy.” The thought of opening up to someone, no matter how sweet they were, made my stomach churn.
Even if I made a complete fool of myself, even if she wanted nothing more than friendship once our agreement ended, I had to let her know how I felt.