25. Iris
25
IRIS
I wasn’t sure what I expected our dinner venue to look like, but nothing prepared me for the grandeur of the room. I knew we wouldn’t eat sausage rolls and popcorn, or sit on benches, but the circular salon was opulence on steroids.
An enormous chandelier hung over an ovular table covered by a blanket of fresh, white flowers and bowls of succulent-looking fruit. Ornate white sofas hugged the edges of the room, along with flower arrangements taller than the average basketball player. The fondant-masonry pipers had been busy again, this time adding lashings of gold leaf to their artwork.
We stopped inside the doorway, my newly dyed heels sinking into the deep red carpet. Luc gave my hand a squeeze. “Are you ready?”
I nodded, wondering what the hell I was doing here. Iris Hawthorne had no right attending parties in places like this, and definitely not in expensive dresses that didn’t belong to her.
“Remember. I’m with you,” he said, leading me into the room, towards a group of people.
As we approached, the entire group turned to us, and I felt the scrutiny of every guest. As their eyes ran over me, I could almost imagine little thought bubbles hovering over their heads, passing judgments. “She’s too short.” “Her teeth aren’t straight.” “She’s too ordinary.”
I swallowed the bile pooling at the back of my throat before a smiling face emerged from the group, bearing alcohol. Thank the lord. Esmé. I couldn’t be more grateful to see her.
I took the offered champagne, and Luc introduced me to his grandmother’s friends. None of them were below seventy and most, after an initial smile and a few polite words in stilted English, continued their conversations, oblivious to the hammering in my chest.
My breath settled, and my spirits lifted. Perhaps Luc and I could get through this. Deflect questions and talk about the weather and whatever rich, elderly French folk talked about. A movement behind us in the doorway deflated my optimism, though.
A sleek, dark-haired woman entered the room, followed by Luc’s grandmother and a fair-haired man with a round chest and bristly sideburns. When she saw us, the woman stopped, sweeping her eyes from my head to my toes and back again. I let out a breath, ignoring the uptick in my heart rate. She had the same high cheekbones as Luc and the same small cleft in her chin.
“Brother,” she said. “I thought you were avoiding us.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, but Luc stepped forward, giving her the usual double kiss of the French. He reached back to take my glass of champagne. “Delphine, may I introduce Iris. My fiancée.”
At the word “fiancée,” her lip curled just a touch on one side. She stepped forward, taking my now free hands, giving me an air kiss on either side of my face. “So I hear. Iris, may I introduce my husband Philippe and, of course, you know our grandmother? ”
The fair-haired man gave a tiny bow before heading to the drinks table, and Luc’s grandmother stepped forward in a flurry of orange organza. She wore a mixture of silk flowers and feathers in her silvery curls and had gloves to her elbows. The corners of my mouth ticked up. She was just as I remembered. Vibrant, vivid, and based on her unsteady gait, already three sheets to the wind.
“Ah, Iris! How delightful to see you again.” She swept her eyes over Luc. “I see you are keeping my grandson happy.” She leaned in to give me a hug, pulling me to her crepey chest. “I know French men may be harder to manage than your English men, but you must be doing something right. I’ve seen him smile more in the last two minutes than I have in months.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me suggestively. If only she knew.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Estelle,” I said, escaping her arms. “Thank you for hosting this lovely dinner.”
“My pleasure,” she boomed. “And call me Grand-Mère. We'll be family soon.”
I gulped.
“I assume you’ve met everyone?” she asked.
Regardless of my affirmative response, Luc’s grandmother swept around the room with me in tow, re-introducing me to each guest. Luc hovered on the edge of the proceedings, alongside Esmé, who, as far as I could tell, was acting as a human shield, fending off any approach by Delphine to get her brother alone.
Delphine looked increasingly cross, rolling her eyes repeatedly at her husband. He seemed more interested in the champagne than her. Luc had told me, down by the river, about her marrying for status instead of love. No wonder he detested the idea for himself.
After a few more minutes of conversation, waiters looking like penguins showed us to our seats. They sat Luc just away from me, on the other side of the table. An ancient-looking admiral with a glass eye sat to my left and Esmé settled to my right. I was so grateful she was there. I’d find it hard not to cling to her like a limpet all night. The chair directly opposite me remained empty, and I prayed to St. Martha, patron saint of waiters, that Luc’s grandmother would sit there. Unfortunately, St. Martha must have been on holiday. Delphine took the seat.
As the staff busied themselves with drinks and laying napkins in laps, I stared at the array of silverware in front of me. As part of our original deal, Luc had jokingly given me what he called “instruction in cutlery,” but only a few of the utensils we’d covered looked familiar. I mean, who needed so many forks?
I glanced up at him, trying to send a telepathic SOS. A silent plea to send me a mental diagram of what the extra implements were, but he was deep in conversation with his sister, a look of utter defeat on his face. The old seaman next to me didn’t look like much help either. He was already halfway through his second glass of wine and Esmé was stealthily checking her phone under cover of the tablecloth.
The door between the room and what must be the corridor to the kitchen swung open momentarily and the most delicious smell of garlic and herbs wafted over me. My stomach rumbled, and I shifted in my seat, hoping nobody had heard.
I cast my eyes over the table. Maybe there was a breadstick or a roll I could chew on, but there was nothing. I thought we were in France, for goodness’ sake. It was hard not to encounter wheat products. But the only thing looking remotely edible was a selection of fruit arranged inside a large vase. Bunches of grapes spilled from its top, along with cherries and apricots. There were two more identical vases positioned further down the table. My stomach rumbled again.
In pure desperation, I leaned over the table and plucked a grape from the nearest vase. One grape wouldn’t sustain me, but it might stave off my sugar slump. As Mum always said, “a hungry Iris is never a good thing.”
Trying to appear casual, I popped it into my mouth and bit down. My teeth scraped across its surface. Was it encased in sugar? I tried again, applying more pressure this time. The grape squeaked between my teeth, and there was no juice. It tasted like lipstick.
I squinted at the fruit. Was it my imagination, or did the whole arrangement look too shiny? Too perfect? I stopped mid-chew. I was eating wax! Who puts wax fruit near hungry people?
Tiny globs of definitely-not-grape coated my tongue. Fighting my gag reflex, I picked up my napkin and spat out as much as I could, still trying to look delicate and sophisticated. But I couldn’t clear my mouth.
Specks of wax crept closer to my tonsils, and my eyes watered as I doubled over, trying not to choke.
“Are you alright?” asked the Admiral, raising a spyglass to his working eye.
I couldn’t respond, but Esmé rescued me. With a raised eyebrow, she pushed a water glass in my direction and patted my back.
The Admiral looked at me as if I’d grown another head, but Esmé leaned forward. “I imagine the gravity of the situation and the splendour of the company has Iris quite overwhelmed.”
Having cleared all the wax, I composed myself and Esmé handed me my champagne. I closed up my napkin and tipped back the entire thing.
“And could you get us a new napkin, please?” she asked a waiter. He looked bemused but took the bunched-up fabric away. I stared at Esmé, hoping she’d read my mixture of fear and gratitude. She sent me a tiny smile and leaned around me, striking up a conversation with the Admiral about the workings of modern telescopes.
He grinned at Esmé, and my heart almost burst with gratitude. She’d well and truly taken the heat off me. But that same heart bobbed into my mouth when I thought of Luc. Had he seen me almost choke on a wax grape in front of his family? I. peeped over the fruit arrangement. And there he was, looking handsome and unflappable—almost.
The muscle in his jaw that I loved to watch pulse, pulsed. It pulsed like there was no tomorrow. But it didn’t pulse because of me. An elderly lady with lilac hair talked to him, waving her arms in circles like she was conducting an orchestra. He looked as if he wanted to plunge a soup spoon into his jugular. With a sigh, I slowly retreated into my seat.
As I did, a delicious smell enveloped my nostrils, followed by a small plate of little balls topped with a green sauce. I tightened my eyes, trying to decipher what the waiter had placed in front of me. The smell of fresh herbs and garlic was incredible, but it took me about three seconds to spot shells. Just like the ones we had in the garden growing up.
I gripped my lip with my teeth, checking both Esmé and the Admiral’s plates. Yep, there were definitely shells. As I stared, a waiter placed what looked like an eyelash curler and a hunk of freshly baked bread on my side plate.
Snails. I’d been in France for some weeks now, but I hadn’t dared try them. My stomach growled again, louder this time, and I knew I’d have to bite the bullet if I didn’t want to faint from hunger. The problem was, I didn’t know how to eat them. I mean, I wasn’t stupid. I’d seen Pretty Woman , but all I could remember from the snail eating scene was one of the slippery shells shooting across the restaurant, nearly taking out someone’s eye.
I turned to Esmé. She was already watching me, a playful smile on her lips. She picked up her eyelash curlers and nodded towards mine. I followed suit, flexing the handles with my fingers.
With a surge of confidence, I opened the jaws and navigated the tongs around a medium-sized shell. So far, so good. I lifted the snail off the plate and… and what? I raked my eyes over the cutlery in front of me. Nothing on the table screamed “snail-eating spoon.”
Esmé cleared her throat next to me, and she picked up the tiny two-pronged fork. She took it, gently stabbing the snail and drawing it out of the shell with a twist of her wrist. Finally, she popped the meat into her mouth, winking at me.
That all looked easy enough, so why wouldn’t my hands stop trembling? I did exactly as Esmé showed me. I pushed my mini-fork into the shell. Spilling green sauce over its sides, I searched for the snail’s body. Not that I liked to make judgements about size, but my snail was far smaller than Esmé’s. I could feel it sliding around in the shell, but I was chasing it around the edges in the velvety sauce.
The whole time I could feel Delphine’s eyes on me, burning into my skin. But I didn’t look up. I could do this. I could spear and eat a snail without looking like a complete amateur. Sucking in a breath, I extracted my fork before pushing it back in again, this time with far more vigour. Go hard or go home. But as I pushed, a large splash of bright green butter sauce sailed through the air and landed on the Admiral.
“Holy crap,” I squealed, dropping my snail, the tongs, and my fork onto my plate with a clatter. In my peripheral vision, I saw heads turn in my direction, but all I could focus on was the massive green spray across the Admiral’s white shirt and the huge glob of sauce that landed in his crotch.
We both pushed our chairs back in unison. He stared down at his shirt in disgust, and I fisted my napkin in my lap, before dipping it in my champagne glass and patting down his chest.
He didn’t fight me. Instead, he flapped his arms like he was trying to take flight. I pressed my napkin into the front of his shirt, over and over, scrubbing away, but no matter how hard I worked, the champagne only made the splodge of green spread.
“I’m so sorry,” I breathed, my voice far louder and higher than I expected. And I don’t know what came over me, but the old man looked so shocked, so cross. If I couldn’t fix his shirt, maybe I could save his trousers.
With a grimace, I slid to my knees in front of him, hovering my damp napkin just centimetres from his thighs, trying to work out a plan of attack. I was vaguely aware of Esmé behind me, her fingers at my elbow, but when the words “Please, unhand my husband,” rang out, my gut and my heart plummeted.
I leaned around the Admiral’s body to see his bird-like wife glaring at me. Fiery lava filled my cheeks, spread down my chest and throughout my whole body. I dragged my eyes around the table. Everyone stared at me, open-mouthed, and I prayed for the earth to swallow me whole. Instead, Esmé stood and helped me back to my feet.
Luc was on his feet too, but I couldn’t meet his eyes. I’d promised not to do anything silly tonight. Not to add to the ridiculous figure I’d already made myself in front of his grandmother.
“Aren’t you kind to help,” Esmé said, guiding me back to sitting. A trio of waiters hovered around the Admiral, making sure he was comfortable. One of them refilled my glass, and I tipped the whole thing back in one.
“I got myself in the eye once.”
I searched the faces around the table, trying to locate the owner of the voice. Finally, my eyes settled on Luc’s grandmother. She chewed on a crust of bread, holding it like a cigar. “It caused quite a stir at the party, but thankfully, I was wearing a forest green gown, so no harm done. ”
I swallowed hard, and something like mischief flashed in her eyes. “It could happen to anyone,” she said, biting into her bread.
Everyone settled back into their seats, like a sergeant major had dismissed them, and the thudding in my chest settled. I dared to look up at Luc. His eyes were on me already, and when I gave a tiny shake of my head and shrugged, the corners of his lips trembled. Of course he wasn’t mad. He’d probably expected me to do something ridiculous or make a blunder. Coating a pensioner in green goop was probably low down on his risk-assessment.
The waiter cleared the snails away, meaning I still hadn’t eaten, but right now, I’d sacrifice my hunger for my dignity. He cleared away my champagne glass, too, and replaced it with an intricately carved glass of white wine.
Within seconds, a plate of steaming hot food followed, and I ran my eyes over the meal. Chicken, mushrooms, onion and some finely pared steamed vegetables. Nothing too controversial that required fancy cutlery or full body protection.
I breathed in the aroma. This was Coq au Vin! I’d cooked this for my food tech exam back in high school. It probably wasn’t as fancy as this version, but my teacher had given me a solid B+.
I smiled, settling into my chair, savouring the thought of food in my stomach, but the clearing of a throat opposite made me raise my eyes. Delphine.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, Iris.” My name curled off her tongue like a snake, cutting the chatter at the table. “That dress. That shade of green is a little too bright for your colouring. Other than that, it’s beautiful.”
I opened my mouth to thank her, but Delphine carried on talking.
“The style reminds me of a designer I visit when I’m at Marsan. ”
My cheeks heated. She knew I’d visited her favourite designer. Her very exclusive designer.
“I didn’t know she was taking on new clients,” Delphine continued. “Perhaps this is one dress that didn’t make it into her Paris boutique. It is a bit… provincial.”
A glimmer flared in her eyes, and Delphine’s verbal barb hit my chest like an arrow. Nobody in earshot moved or said a word, until finally, Esmé shifted beside me. “I think it’s stunning. And I disagree, Delphine. The green brings out the blue in Iris’ eyes.”
I could have hugged her.
My waiter whisked my plate away, replacing it with another—this time fish. I ate in silence, just trying to boost my blood sugar, but within seconds, Delphine turned her attention back to me. “It seems you’ve made quite an impression on my brother, Miss…”
I drew my brows together. Luc said that his Grandmother hadn’t remembered my surname and that he’d say it was Smith, but honestly, it was all a bit late now. Unless Delphine had a hotline to Interpol, she wouldn’t be able to background check me before the end of the night. “Hawthorne. Iris Hawthorne.” I was tempted to add “the third” or something equally grand, but I’d promised Luc I’d behave.
“She has.” Luc’s voice carried across the table, and I peeped around the wax fruit. He held a glass in his hand and wore a slight sneer on his lips. He looked incredible, as usual. “So much so that I want to marry her.”
I widened my eyes and leaned back into my seat. Damn, he was a talented actor.
“So I hear,” said Delphine. “Tell me again how the two of you met.”
“We met at a polo match,” he said.
I let go of a breath. Thank goodness he’d remembered what I’d told his grandmother and hadn’t used the gondola story by accident.
Delphine smirked. “And I thought you hated polo. I remember one time you described the sport as an excuse for double-chinned men to trot around on ponies, waving big sticks at each other. I’m surprised you were even there.”
“It was my fault,” said Esmé, pushing her plate away. “Technically, I introduced the two of them. Iris got hopelessly lost one afternoon and wandered into the gallery to ask for directions. Luc was visiting, and their eyes met over a stunning set of watercolours. Iris bought the paintings, and we chatted. She mentioned she’d attend the polo match.” She took a sip of her wine. “Anyway, Luc turned up at the gallery the following day, hanging around like a lovesick puppy. I told him she’d be at the polo match to put him out of his misery.” The Admiral, his wife and at least three other guests were hanging on her every word. “It was so romantic. Like a movie or a book.”
“Fiction?” Delphine’s word cut the air like a knife. She tightened her eyes and leaned forward, studying my hands. “And where’s your ring?”
“Pardon?”
“Last time I checked, it was still standard practice to give your fiancée a ring—a token of your love.” Her husband scoffed next to her, and she gave him a withering stare.
My cheeks heated. Damn. Why hadn’t Chloe and I thought of that? Why hadn’t Luc and I thought of that?
He leaned forward in his chair, staring down at his sister. “I haven’t been able to find anything to do Iris justice yet. We’re off to see some diamonds tomorrow.”
My heart leapt in delight before I remembered that none of this was real. Nobody was going diamond shopping tomorrow, least of all Luc and I.
“Tell me, Iris. How are your parents?” All heads swung to Luc’s grandmother. “And how are your father’s alpacas? ”
“Sorry?” asked Delphine, a cavernous crease between her brows.
“Iris’ family has an alpaca ranch. They bring in quite an income, I believe.”
Delphine chuckled, her tone icy enough to cut the glass in her hand. “How exactly? Gloves?”
“They’re rare breed alpacas,” I muttered, sending Luc a look that either screamed, “please forgive me” or “please muzzle me.”
“They can be gold-encrusted unicorns for all I care,” she countered. “You’d have to own a ranch the size of Argentina to make any decent money from farming them.”
My blood ran colder through my body. I suspected she was right. I probably should have picked a better animal for my imaginary family farmstead. Maybe something a little more exotic, like white tigers. “Well, it is a big farm.” My words sounded distant, and I swallowed hard, trying to calm my thumping heart.
“This is ridiculous,” Delphine said, before tutting to her husband.
Luc stood, his brows firmly drawn together, glaring at his sister. The air between them almost hissed.
Esmé shifted beside me. “Isn’t it time for a toast?” she picked up her glass, waving it around in the air. “A toast for the happy couple.”
Her words seemed to wake Luc up from their sibling stare-off. He unbunched his fists and straightened his tie. “Yes. I’d like to say a few words.”
My breath thinned, and I ran my hand across the starched tablecloth as he strode around to my side of the table. As he moved, the entire serving team sprung into action, providing everyone with a fresh glass of champagne.
Luc reached my chair and laid a hand on my shoulder. As his warm palm closed over my skin, I leaned into him. I didn’t know how many more opportunities I’d get to touch him.
He cleared his throat, the light from the chandelier bouncing off his cheekbones. “Thank you, Grand-Mère, for hosting this party tonight and giving Iris and I the chance to share our happiness with everyone.”
His grandmother gazed up at him like a chocoholic who just got a job with Willie Wonka. My heart lurched. His words brought our underhanded behaviour into sharp focus. Estelle would be so disappointed, feel so betrayed, when she found out we’d lied to her.
Luc continued, his fingers rubbing faint patterns across my skin. “Not a day goes by that I don’t thank my lucky stars that we found each other. And Iris,” he turned to me, his sparkling blue eyes burning into mine, “my beautiful bride-to-be, thank you for agreeing to take the plunge with me.”
One corner of his mouth trembled, and I thought back to the afternoon when the two of us and Apollo had ended up in the pool. Despite the dull ache in my chest, I smiled and reached up, curling my fingers around his.
“To Luc and Iris,” Esmé said, holding up her glass.
Everyone raised their drinks, all except Delphine. She didn’t even touch her glass. Instead, she glared at me with thinly veiled suspicion.
After the toast was over, I stood up and smoothed down my dress. Walking over to the white couches, I picked up the pretty bag that came with my dress. Luc followed me, his eyes wider than before. “Where are you going? Are you okay?”
I nodded, giving him a smile, but when we reached the door at the end of the salon, I turned to face him. “Damn it, Luc. What are we doing?” He looked unsure and my chest ached a little. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t think the evening is going well. Your sister is like a dog with a bone. I know you said she could be tricky, but I wasn’t prepared for Torquemada in lip gloss. I don’t know what her problem is. Doesn’t she want you to be happy?” I sighed and squeezed his hand. “Look, maybe I should just leave quietly. At least if I wasn’t here, there’d be fewer questions. You could have me run off with the chauffeur a little earlier than planned.”
Luc’s jaw pulsed, and he took my hand, threading his other around my back, pulling me closer. He brought his lips to my ear, his warm breath sending a tingle down my neck. “I told you, Iris, I’m not sure I’m ready to say goodbye.”
And I wasn’t sure either, but that didn’t change the fact that we were knee deep in this deception, and right now, I was regretting all of my choices.
Giving him a tight smile, I stepped out of his arms. “I need to freshen up. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Luc’s brow creased, but he stepped aside. I moved to the door, my head spinning and my heart pounding. As I walked out of the room, the last thing I heard was Luc’s grandmother telling the entire table that I knew how to yodel.