Chapter 9
“TELL US ABOUT YOUR family, Skye?”
The sun was low, and the temperature had dropped low enough for Skye to lament not having packed her trusty parka. But Matthieu, of course, was prepared, and had a soft jumper on hand for Skye to borrow. Wearing it enveloped her in his fragrance. She breathed in deeply, reaching for her glass of red wine and taking a deep sip.
“What would you like to know?” She responded with a soft smile. The question wasn’t intended to come out as caustic, but family was hard for Skye to speak about.
“Where do they live? What do they do? Do you have any siblings or are you an only child like our pair here?” Margot responded, her elegant fingers reaching for a cigarette and lighting it.
“Maman,” Fleur said with disapproval. “I thought you’d given up.”
“I have, for the most part.”
Fleur rolled her eyes. “And today of all days, when you should be focused on living with good health…”
“Today, of all days, is why I need this,” Margot responded archly, turning her attention back to Skye. Her gaze narrowed, her appraisal sending little warning bumps over Skye’s skin. “You were saying?”
No, she hadn’t been. Skye replaced her wine glass on the tabletop. “My family is in Sydney,” she said with a practiced smile. “My stepfather is a surgeon, my mother an academic. I have two stepsisters, Mia and Sal. They’re beautiful and kind, and very, very into fashion. They’d fit right in here.”
She was aware of the way Matthieu was looking at her, but she didn’t dare look at him. Despite the answer being true, she felt as thought she’d revealed too much.
“And your father?” Margot prompted, tapping her cigarette against the edge of a coffee saucer, her elegant fingers moving as if by rote.
“He passed away some time ago.”
Beneath the table, Matthieu’s hand curved over her thigh, squeezing it gently, offering comfort and reassurance.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Margot’s eyes travelled to Matthieu, and Skye knew the aunt was thinking of his mother and father. “Losing a parent is very hard.”
“Yes.” Skye turned to Matthieu now, but instead of grief in his features, she saw something totally unexpected. Anger. Hard-edged rage. It was only for an instant, yet it was unmistakable. She lifted a hand and touched his cheek, drawing his face to hers. Something sparked between them, fierce and undeniable, and then the anger was gone, replaced by something just as strong and perhaps just as dangerous.
Desire threatened to swallow them both.
She reached for his hand and squeezed it, as if to tether them both back to reality.
“Why don’t you invite them for Christmas?” Anais de Garmeaux’s voice, thinned by age, easily cut across the dining table, in the middle of the glass-framed room that showed stunning views of the gardens beyond the house.
“Oh,” Skye’s faltered. “It’s a long way to come.”
“It’s a day’s flight,” Anais waved her hand through the air. “It would be nice to meet them.”
“Grand-mère is big on the idea of family,” Fleur intoned in a soft whisper.
“I love the idea,” Skye said with a gentle smile, encompassing the group. “But they already have plans. My stepfather has six brothers and sisters and they always go home for Christmas. It’s big and loud and stinking hot, with seafood and sunscreen and lots of laughs and—I’m sorry to say it to you—cheap wine, because my Uncle Roger is usually in charge of drinks and he’s not exactly generous,” she laughed a little, before hearing the ramble she was indulging and sobering, heat flushing her cheeks at her lack of sophistication. “They couldn’t miss it.”
Grand-mère offered a nod and smile, but when Skye looked at Matthieu’s aunt Margot, she felt something like ice in her veins. The other woman’s expression was unmistakably appraising, if not downright disapproving. The ground shifted beneath Skye’s feet.
Conversation moved on and Skye was glad for the reprieve. She sunk back in her chair, listening and nodding when appropriate, but not venturing any more. They spoke mostly in English, for her sake, but every now and again, conversation would move too fast and they’d dissolve into rapid fire French, of which Skye was only able to catch every second or third word. During these conversations, Matthieu would lean closer and translate, but he was no longer touching her, and there was a cold distance in his manner that made her chest hurt.
It was a strange night. It felt as though it should have been beautiful, given the relief of Lucien’s recovery, and the stunning backdrop of the ancient home with its breathtaking vistas from every window, but there was an undercurrent that made her skin prickle. She couldn’t put her finger on it. On the surface, everyone was lovely and convivial, but there was a static energy that had Skye taking care before she spoke, and she suspected it revolved around Margot and Richard.
Fleur, though, was all that was good and kind, and Skye warmed to her immediately. So much so she knew she’d have to be extra cautious around the woman—how easy it would be to accidentally reveal too much about her reasons for being here! No, she had to be on guard with everyone, the entire time.
Fortunately, this was just an overnight visit. But they’d be back soon enough, for Christmas, and then, they’d stay several nights in a row. She would need to keep her wits about her.
“Thank you for coming, Matthieu.” In the corridor outside the dining room, Anais put her hands on Matthieu’s, her dark, almond-shaped eyes holding his. “And of course, for bringing your fiancé.”
Skye knew the reason for the comment. She knew the subtext of the conversation. Matthieu had been threatened: turn up with a fiancé or else. It was hard to imagine this woman ever making such a statement, particularly when she felt the love between the two of them, and yet why else would he have gone to such extreme measures?