Anais closed her eyes, drawing in a slow, trembling breath. “And look how that ended.”
Matthieu’s nostrils flared as he felt the statement right in his core.
Anais took a breath, to calm down. “If you are stringing her along to please me, then break it off immediately. She deserves better, and I do not want her heartbreak on my conscience.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Then you do not need to worry. I have no intention of breaking her heart, I promise you. Good night.”
* * *
He was too ampedto go to bed, and too full of emotions, to see Skye. It had been a day of highs and lows. Starting with the way he and Skye had almost made love in his kitchen to the phone call from Anais that had left him convinced for the entire ninety minute flight to the estate in Bordeaux that his grandfather was going to die, to the way he’d rallied in the afternoon, to the way Margot had looked at Skye, reminding him so much of the treatment his mother had endured, treatment that had ultimately led to the lifestyle habits that had gotten her killed, to the unpleasant conversation with his grandmother and now the doubts over the decision he’d made.
He’d been asked to produce a fiancé—or rather, he’d been told he must—and so he’d done it. Against his better judgement and against his own will, he’d arrived here with Skye, and an enormous diamond ring proclaiming her to be the woman he intended to spend the rest of his life with. But it wasn’t enough for Anais. Damn it, he should have known there’d be no pleasing his grandmother once she got a bee in her bonnet, as she evidently did about the succession of the de Garmeaux holdings.
But he wasn’t putting Skye through this for nothing. The witch hunt was already in flight. Her photograph had run, then there’d been speculation about who she was, and shortly after, she’d been named, a short history produced, hastily pulled together by so-called friends only too willing to share their stories of Skye for a quick payday. The unfortunate side effect of celebrity was the clarification it gave to your life. It was easy to weed out the true friends from the false, as Skye was about to learn.
Anais was right; Skye deserved better than to be put through this for nothing. She’d insisted the amount he was paying was sufficient, but he already knew he’d give her more at the end of it. Her life was going to be turned on its head and there was no undoing that.
She deserved to be properly compensated.
And Mattheiu? What would he do once their engagement was called off? How would he break that news to his grandmother and, God willing, grandfather?
He frowned, staring at the view without seeing it, his mind ticking over that question until the early hours of the morning, when finally he sought out the room he always used here at the chateau. There was no answer, but he’d made his bed: now he had to lie in it.
* * *
Skye wasn’tsure what time he’d come to bed, but she knew it was very late, because she’d woken around two o’clock to a text message from Sal and he’d been nowhere to be seen. Now, as the sun lifted over the vines and gardens surrounding the property, Skye stirred, as she always did, in the early hours of the morning, and pushed back the sheet. She tiptoed across the room, wanting to let him sleep, only a rustling sound followed her and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw Matthieu was awake, his chest naked, his eyes following her progress.
Heat flushed her body, an immediate and unwelcome physical response to this man she’d slept beside all night without touching.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sorry.”
“Where are you going?” His morning voice was thick and husky, and it sent her nerves into overdrive.
“To explore the garden,” she reached for a pair of jeans and long-sleeved t-shirt from her bag, clutching them to her chest. “You stay here. You must be exhausted.”
“Oh?”
“You were up late.”
“Yes.” He ran his gaze from her face to her shoulders, then lower to her breasts, lingering there like he had some kind of x-ray vision, studying her beneath the baggie nightie she wore. “Are you running away from me?”
Her eyes flared wide. “No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”
“Because you know what would happen if you stayed in bed with me.”
Heat suffused her cheeks. “I—no. That’s not why I’m leaving.”
“Then come back to bed.”
Her jaw dropped. The very idea was heart-meltingly tempting. He was right; she did know what would happen if she climbed back into his bed. They’d have sex, and that would be that. Another facet of their relationship. Yesterday, she’d wanted that. She’d been totally okay with it, in fact, but coming here and meeting his family had complicated everything.
Or was it the conversation she’d heard the night before that had reinforced every doubt and self-esteem issue she’d ever felt? An unfavourable comparison to his ex-fiancé was fine when she was the one making it, but hearing it from the mouths of his family somehow made it so much more real—and problematic.
Did she really just want to be someone he slept with because she happened to be here and begging for him? Didn’t she have more pride than that? Chemistry was one thing, but what if Matthieu had chemistry with every woman he met? Somehow, that seemed like the most plausible explanation for what was going on between them.
“I really want to see the dawn light in the garden,” she said lamely, not meeting his eyes.
But the longer she stayed awake, the more Margot’s comments swirled through her mind, leaving her breathless and hurt. All her adult life she’d dealt with a sense of not being good enough, and though she’d half-expected to feel it here, she was surprised by the sting. As a woman in her early twenties, Skye had believed herself beyond the point of caring what other people thought of her.
He sighed. “Then wait and I’ll come with you.”
“No.” The rebuff was too swift. She softened it with an approximation of a smile. “I insist you stay and sleep. Let me go for a walk and get my game face on so I’m prepared to meet your grandfather later. We’ll—have breakfast in a couple of hours. Okay?”
His eyes bore into hers. He wasn’t fooled. It was apparent that something was bothering her and of course, Matthieu knew that. But to his credit, he didn’t push now. He shrugged his broad, muscled shoulders. “If that’s what you want.”
She expelled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “It is,” she lied. “Thank you.”