24. Iris
24
IRIS
A man in a black suit opened the door, and Luc stepped out before me. A clamour of voices reached my ears, and flashes lit up the inside of the car. He glanced back, extending his hand, and a flicker of emotion ran over his face. Apology? Camaraderie? After the conversation we’d just had, it could be either. But with my eyes tightened against the dazzle, I stepped out behind him.
The black-suited man guided us towards some shallow steps, and a wave of bodies advanced on us. Voices rang out in the air. Cries of “Luc,” and hurried words I had no chance of understanding. As we reached the top of the steps, Luc stopped and threaded his hand around my waist, turning me around. “We have to smile,” he said. “The sharks want their dinner.”
Visions of Mum and Dad reading the paper at the breakfast table whizzed through my mind. If any picture made it to the UK press, would they even recognise me? The last place they’d expect to see me would be standing next to a billionaire at the Paris opera.
As a line of security guards fended off the photographers, I snuck a side glance at Luc and, despite the trembling in my knees, the corners of my mouth tipped up. If he called the look on his face a smile, then the Mona Lisa must be grinning.
His lips met in a pout, and the tiniest line snaked between his brows, but man, with the burn in his eyes, he’d well and truly turned up the heat to one hundred and ten percent. Maybe he didn’t know he was doing it. Maybe “resting smoulder face” was his factory setting.
We stood for what felt like forever, lit up by camera flashes—as if someone had bottled up an entire summer’s worth of storms and uncorked the stopper. I’d expected a few photographers, maybe some die-hard Luc Du Comtois super-fans, but the surrounding crush was insane.
I tried to keep an even smile. Tried to look demure, rich, even, but I wasn’t sure I was doing the best job. Mum always told me, if in doubt, to look enigmatic and mysterious. Right now, my frozen face probably looked like I’d had too much Botox.
Another car pulled up, and the photographers scattered, looking for fresh meat. I let out an unsteady breath. “Do you have to smile every time you go somewhere? I’ll be honest; my face aches.”
Luc gave a mirthless chuckle, running his eyes over me. “Iris. How often do you see me smile?”
Good point.
“Remember. I control what I can. What people see. If we give them what they want, they’ll leave us alone.”
Looking at the lingering photographers nudging each other, glancing in my direction, I hoped he was right.
A woman in a gold floor-length dress muttered into a little microphone that sat on her cheekbone. She had a clipboard under her arm and spoke a few words to Luc. He nodded, turning back to whisper in my ear. “We’ll head inside now.”
His hand caressed the small of my back, and I sucked in a breath before letting it go in one long whoosh. Luc’s words in the car stayed with me. That he even considered changing our relationship to something more “real” made my tummy roll. He did take up an alarming amount of my thoughts, but his arguments didn’t stack up. No matter how much I wanted him, I could never be more than his stand-in spouse-to-be.
I cast my eyes over the crowd, picking out glamorous women, dripping in diamonds and wearing mile-high shoes. I shifted on my own heels. What I wouldn’t give for my Crocs right now.
Climbing more steps, I looked up at the building's facade. It was like a fancy wedding cake, complete with piped balcony layers and golden statues. The Palais Garnier made Chateau Marsan look like a garden shed.
Luc guided me inside the foyer, his hand still on my back. Men in tuxedos and women in gowns came to greet Luc. They clapped his back and bobbed their heads at me, introducing their partners in words I didn’t understand.
I smiled and nodded back, but my heart thumped like a bass drum. What if these people weren’t “dazzled?” Were unimpressed by what they saw? Would they believe Luc and I were engaged? A fancy dress and a nice pair of shoes didn’t magically turn anyone into a princess.
The hum of conversation swelled, and a group of women standing next to us dragged their eyes over me, talking quietly with smirks on their stained lips. Their side-eyed glances made my skin sting, and the tinkle of their barely hidden laughter echoed in my head.
My pulse raced and my breath thinned as I scanned the area, searching for an escape route, a place to hide. I picked up the side of my dress, about to run, but a warm hand closed around mine.
Luc leaned in, and his breath rushed to my ear. “I’m right here with you. You’re safe.” I turned to face his clear, blue eyes, falling into their warmth. Luc would keep me safe. We had this. I had this. I just had to channel my inner “international alpaca heiress,” avoid new stories, and minimise smiling. Easy.
“Do you know all these people?” I asked, savouring the warmth of his palm.
Luc shook his head. “Only a few, but my grandmother will have been busy. No doubt spreading the word of our impending nuptials.”
I froze. Nobody told me I’d signed up for a meet and greet. “I thought we were having dinner?”
“We are, but again, Grand-Mère does nothing by halves.”
His words did nothing to quell the bubbles jostling in my tummy, but as he led me into a vast golden foyer, my mouth gaped wide open.
It was exquisite, like pictures I’d seen of Versailles, only taller and grander. Curves and tiny cherubs adorned every available inch of the stonework as if someone had carefully piped them with a fondant bag. Tens of ornate, gold-tipped lamps stood at every level, casting a gentle glow, and intricate paintings decorated the vaulted ceiling above. An immense marble staircase split the room in two. It was exactly as I imagined the entrance to heaven. All it needed was St. Peter, a set of pearly gates, and a few angels floating around on clouds.
“Crap,” I breathed. “I feel a little under-accessorised. I should have worn more gold.”
Luc chuckled, looking up at the ceiling. Before he could respond, a woman with dark curls came up behind him. She gripped his arm, and her eyes flashed to me as she held a single finger to her lips.
“Found you.”
Luc turned towards her, and his face split into a grin. He gave her a hug and a double kiss. Was this his sister? They both had dark hair, and there was something familiar about her. This woman’s eyes were deep brown, though, and from what Luc had told me, Delphine wasn’t the hugging type .
After leaving his arms, the woman stepped forward. I swallowed. She looked like she’d stepped out of a fashion magazine. French women always managed to look so effortlessly sophisticated, but this gorgeous creature could have written the instruction manual.
“And this must be Iris,” she said, reaching out her arms and kissing me, too.
“Iris, this is Esmé, Thierry’s daughter.”
Damn, that was it! Her eyes. They seemed familiar because they were the exact shape and chestnut brown of Thierry’s. They had the same smile too.
“You look divine,” Esmé said, running her eyes up and down my dress. “I’m assuming you didn’t let Luc choose something for you. I’m all for equality amongst the sexes, but as a man, who knows what he’d have picked?”
I swallowed down a giggle. It couldn’t be any worse than a pair of curtains.
Luc’s phone pinged in his pocket, and he looked at the screen, a scowl etching his brow. “I’m sorry. It’s my sister’s lawyer. He needs me to sign something in the foyer. I won’t be long.” Luc leaned in and kissed me behind the ear. At the touch of his breath, a tiny shiver passed over me. Esmé saw it, too, and one of her perfectly shaped brows peaked.
A waiter passed by with a tray of drinks and Esmé took two champagne flutes, handing one to me. “I hope you’ll join me. I think we may need some help to get through the evening.”
The smile on her face didn’t fill me with much confidence, but I took the offered glass and tipped it to my lips.
“You’re very brave, you know,” she said, running her eyes over my face. “Luc’s family are... how do you say it? Interesting? Forthright? His sister likes to make everybody’s business her business. And she always has plenty to say about it.”
I blinked. She made Delphine sound terrifying. Sinister even. Like she’d sacrifice me live on stage during intermission .
“Luc told me everything about the two of you,” she said, feeding her arm through my elbow and leading me slowly up the grand staircase.
My voice faltered. “Everything?” God, I hope he hadn’t talked about my love of statues, gardens and the tall, dark men who visited them from time to time.
Esmé turned her high-octane smile on me with a chuckle. “Not everything. You know our friend can be private, but he has told me how grateful he is for your help. How thankful he is to rely on you.”
A nasty taste pooled in the back of my mouth. Friend? Grateful? Reliable? After our car conversation, I had no right to think this way, but why were those three words so unsatisfying?
“How often do you visit Marsan?” I asked, steering the conversation away from her underwhelming adjectives.
“Not often enough, but Papa has talked about you a lot. He thinks you’re wonderful. Calls you his protégé. It wouldn’t surprise me if he shackled you to the old well pump outside the winery and refused to let you leave.”
I mean, if Luc was the one suggesting the shackling, I might be open to the suggestion, but so far, all I’d really done for Thierry was organise his shelves and help him drink a fair few bottles of wine. He had given me some notes, told me a lot about the winemaking process, but calling me a “protégé” stretched the truth.
“Your dad’s lovely. You’re very lucky. And Luc is fortunate to have him, too.”
Esmé’s attention drifted over my shoulder, and I followed her stare to see Luc. He’d returned and stood on the other side of the room, chatting with an older man. I knew my fake fiancée by now. He was trying his best to look interested, but when his gaze darted to mine and his eyes flared, my heart skipped.
I turned to Esmé. “I know you two have been friends forever, but is this the sort of thing he’d normally do? Our engagement, I mean.” The skin at the back of my neck needled as I waited for her answer. Was I fishing for information? Seeing if Luc was in the habit of taking crazy risks on strange women he met in his swimming pool? Damn right I was, but why did part of me dread Esmé’s answer?
Her eyes wandered over my face, and she took a breath. “Luc is, well, singular. Unique. He’s reluctant to give much of himself. Let people see who he really is. I assume he trusts you. He’s been hurt in the past.”
My heart gave a tiny pulse. “By women?”
Esmé scoffed, but not unkindly. “No. He’s never let a woman get close enough to hurt him.”
A chill washed over me. “His father?”
Esmé nodded. “And now he’s gone, Luc will never heal the wound. He’ll live with the memory of his father’s disapproval for the rest of his life. I hope he finds something or someone to lessen the sting.”
“Fall in love.” My words were barely more than a murmur.
We both turned to Luc. The silver-haired man still had him locked in conversation on the other side of the room, and Luc’s jaw pulsed.
Esmé’s voice quietened. “My friend deserves love. I hope one day he finds it.”
As if feeling my stare, Luc looked up again, and the intensity in his eyes sent my heart skittering. God, I hoped he found love, too, but damn, why did I wish it could be with me?
My chest tightened, and a heavy knot formed in my stomach. What the hell had I done earlier in the car? I’d turned down what he’d offered. An opportunity to explore our potential together. Watching him now, I fought the impulse to sprint over to his side and throw my arms around him. Tell him I’d been wrong, and that I didn’t want to pretend. That we could be anything he wanted .
Luc gave a last nod to the man at his side before returning to join Esmé and I. “We should go to dinner,” he said.
Esmé took my now empty glass and placed it with hers on a side table. “Then let’s do this,” she said, giving me an encouraging smile. She turned and headed up the stairs, towards a set of ornate doors.
Luc stepped aside and, with an outstretched arm, gestured for me to follow her. Instead, I waited. I took his hand, linking my fingers through his. “We probably won’t get to talk much at dinner, but I want you to know I’ll try my hardest tonight. I’ll be on my best behaviour. Try to be what your family expects. Try to be perfect.”
Luc’s eyes swept over my face, boring into what felt like my soul, and he lifted the back of my hand to his lips, kissing it gently. “You couldn’t be anything else.”