In the intervening three weeks, she’d stopped thinking of this as a fiction. It wasn’t like she’d begun to believe they had a future, but she’d enjoyed their time, and she’d felt it was genuine and…real. This was a stark reminder that everything she shared with Matthieu was a ruse, designed to fool his family.
“If you don’t want to…”
“No, it’s fine.” Her eyes dropped to the engagement ring, a reminder of exactly how much he was paying her to pull this off. “You’re right. People are probably speculating about our breakup.”
“I haven’t been online in weeks,” he said with a soft laugh.
“Nor have I.” But Skye was distracted now, trying to gear herself up for the night ahead. She shoved back the quilt cover and stood, padding away from the bed that had become a fantasy oasis.
“Where are you going?”
“To shower. If we’re going out, I need to get ready.”
She missed the lightning-fast frown that briefly marred his handsome features. “You have time.”
“Good,” she forced a laugh. “I’ll need it.”
When she joinedhim in the lounge area sometime later, she felt as though she’d donned at least the semblance of armour, ready for their night out. She’d chosen a simple black skirt and an oyster coloured sweater, with black ballet slippers. Her hair she’d dried and tried to curl like her stepsisters had shown her, time and time again, but the result was more a very loose wave rather than a proper curl, and yet Skye was still pleased with the result. It gave her hair volume, and the brown ends shimmered in the light. She rarely wore makeup and wasn’t particularly adept at putting it on, so she’d simply darkened her lips with a little gloss and pinched her cheeks.
Matthieu stood as she entered, his eyes conducting a slow appraisal, the admiration obvious in his features. “Whose stupid idea was it to go out?” He grumbled, moving towards her and latching his hands behind her back.
“Having second thoughts?”
“We’ll just order one course,” he said with a slow nod, his grin the last word in sensual invitation. His hands curved lower, wrapping around her buttocks, drawing her closer to him. “Or share an entrée.”
“I hate to break it to you, but I’m not one of those women who survives on lettuce leaves.”
He grinned. “And I love that about you.”
Her heart stammered. “We’re not going anywhere too posh are we?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m just not really dressed for it.”
“You look perfect.”
She rolled her eyes. “You look at me and picture me naked.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Well, no, but other people will see the clothes and they leave a lot to be desired.”
“Then perhaps you can distract them with this.” He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a black velvet box, rectangular in shape, and holding it between them.
She glanced down at it. Clearly, it was jewelry, and yet she asked, “What is it?”
“A fountain pen.”
“Seriously?”
He laughed huskily. “No. Open it.”
She lifted hands that were a little unsteady to the box and cracked it open. Her eyes flung from the necklace inside to Matthieu’s face, then back to the gift again. “You can’t seriously be giving this to me?”
“I am very seriously giving it to you.”
She gaped. The necklace was a fine chain, not overly long, but towards the bottom, it formed a cluster of diamonds, three large diamonds on either side of an enormous solitaire in the centre.