“I am just interested.”
“You don’t think I’m right for him?”
“Frankly? No.”
“Because I have crumbs on my shirt?” Skye responded with what she hoped would pass for a slightly mocking smile.
“For many reasons, and I think it’s important that you face up to that now, before it’s too late.”
Skye frowned. “You’re very sure of yourself, given you’ve known me for less than a day.”
“I’m sure of him,” she corrected. “You are aware his last engagement ended because he cheated on his fiancé?”
Skye hadn’t expected this level of attack. “I’m not Clare.”
“That’s precisely my point. Clare was his best friend. Beautiful—stunning, in fact—and wealthy, from a family like his. They had much in common. Anyone who saw them together could see how much they adored one another. And yet he cheated on her. Do you really think you can keep his interest?”
Anger fired inside Skye. “Whether I think that or not, it’s not any of your business.”
The door pushed open and a maid appeared with a bottle of champagne and two flutes. She went to pop the bottle but Skye couldn’t bear the silence that crackled angrily through the room.
“I’ll take care of that, thank you.” She stood, striding towards the bottle. When the door shut, and they were alone again, she began to unfurl the foil top.
“Let me tell you something else then,” Margot said with quiet intensity. “Clare is still in love with him. She wants him back. And if she clicks her fingers, I believe Matthieu will jump, to hell with whatever promises he has made you.”
Despite the fact their engagement was pretend, Skye’s heart squeezed painfully at that cold, brutal statement.
“We shall have to see,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders.
Margot’s brows drew together. “You seem very calm, given what I’ve just told you.”
Damn it. She’d forgotten the act.
“Because I’m not worried,” she covered, quickly. “You might think Matthieu would leave me in the blink of an eye, but I don’t. We’re engaged.” She waved the ring in Margot’s face, then poured two glasses of champagne. She couldn’t bring herself to carry one glass to the other woman so simply left it on the table. For her own, she drunk it all, very quickly, needing the hit of alcohol to calm her raging nerves.
“Even without Clare, this would never work,” she muttered. “Matthieu is determined to correct an ancient wrong, and he’s using you to do that.”
Skye’s pulse thundered. She didn’t know if that was right or wrong, but she felt that she should know. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she said with a lift of her shoulders, wishing she understood more about what the other woman was alluding to. “But what I really want to know is why you care so much?”
“He’s my nephew.”
“No,” Skye shook her head. “There’s more going on here.”
Margot compressed her lips, so Skye was absolutely sure she’d hit the nail on the head.
“I did not come in here to be interrogated.”
“No, you wanted to insult me,” Skye said flatly. “Without any idea that I might snap back. Did you think I’d sit here and take your unkind comments without any right of reply?”
The older woman moved towards the champagne, lifted her glass and took a sip, then replaced it. “I think you have no idea what you’re dealing with. I feel sorry for you.”
Skye flinched. She’d had enough of that for a lifetime. But those were her issues to deal with, and she’d process them later, when she was off the clock, so to speak.
“You shouldn’t. I can handle myself.”
“Ah, the bravado of youth,” Margot intoned sarcastically. “Let me give you a word to the wise, if I may?”
“I think we’re past the point of you worrying about hurting my feelings, don’t you?”