“I shouldn’t have said that,” Fleur murmured, fluttering her eyes closed. “I haven’t been thinking straight lately. Please don’t take it to heart. Oh, God, should I not have got involved?”
Skye frowned. “No, I’m glad you did, truly.”
“I wanted to help,” Fleur said with an uneven smile. “And to be completely honest, not just because of the media.” She bit down on her lip. “Christmas is only two days away, and our family…”
“Your mother,” Skye interjected with a raised brow.
Fleur nodded. “Somewhere deep inside, she has a good heart, but she rarely manages to use it.”
“I don’t care about what your mother says to me,” Skye assured her honestly. “But I care about Matthieu. I love him.” Her voice broke and her heart rejoiced, because finally, finally she’d said aloud what she’d known, secretly, for weeks. “I don’t want to be the cause of any pain to him.”
“It’s not you,” she said quickly. “You’re wonderful. It’s his mother. It’s—,”
“History repeating,” Skye said with a frown, because although she didn’t know anything about his mother or the circumstances of her life and death, she remembered what she’d overheard between Fleur and Margot, and the phrase that had been applied.
“In some ways,” Skye said. “Only very superficial ones.” Fleur’s throat shifted as she swallowed, turning her attention back to the clothes, and pulling out a hanger. “There are many items in the season that are not flashy. Look—simple tailored pants and a soft cotton shirt.”
Skye’s brows lifted. “I have to admit, that’s more my style.”
“Excellent.” Fleur’s smile was a little wobbly. “I hope I haven’t messed up, in bringing you here. I thought it would be fun, and that we could bond, and now I realise I’ve probably been incredibly rude and insensitive.”
Skye was eager to appease the other woman. “Not at all. I’m truly pleased we’re spending time together.”
Fleur pushed a more genuine smile to her face. “Good. Then let me get rid of all the frou frou things and find a more suitable selection. You go and try these on.”
For the next hour,Skye did exactly that, settling on a small wardrobe of basics – the most amazing jeans she’d ever worn, a soft wool jacket that fell to the knees, as well as a faux fur for special evenings out, a selection of soft shirts, with both long and short sleeves, tailored pants, linen skirts—the kind of clothes that Skye would feel comfortable in, yet were unmistakably chic and expensive. At the last minute, buoyed by how much fun she’d ended up having, Skye tried on a couple of evening gowns and selected two—one a stunning silk that draped across her body like a second skin, with a low scooped back, making it impossible to wear a bra. It was so beautiful and so sensual, she knew she’d only ever wear it for Matthieu in privacy. The next was a full skirted gown, with a v neck bodice, in a deep shade of black. Both made her want to squeal with how lovely they were. It occurred to Skye that perhaps her inner farm girl had found a new passion for fashion, after all. Maybe it had just taken confidence—and a never-ending wallet, she thought with a shake of her head, when she tried to tote up what the wardrobe would cost.
At the last moment, Fleur added in four handbags and six pairs of shoes, mostly flats but also a killer pair of heels, For the evening gowns, she added with an impish grin.
“You’ll box it up and have it sent to Matthieu’s?”
“Yes, ma’am,” one of the more senior retailers nodded.
“Thank you, Sebastien. And don’t forget to let me know the moment the swimsuits arrive,” Fleur pleaded.
“Of course, but there is still Christmas to get through.”
Fleur pulled a face. “So much snow and ice, I know.”
They walked from the store, arm in arm, Skye dressed now in one of the new outfits, feeling a million bucks. “You don’t like winter?”
“I have never liked it. This year, I hate it.”
It was the second oblique reference Fleur had made to something upsetting in her life, and Skye found it impossible to ignore. “I don’t mean to be nosy,” she said gently. “But is this because of your divorce?”
Fleur’s eyes became instantly moist. “In part, yes.” She flicked a glance to Skye. “Winter is a terrible time to be alone. The coldness is all the worse.”
“I’m so sorry,” Skye murmured. “Matthieu mentioned you’d recently separated.”
“Very recently.” Her voice cracked, as she looked around them. “Come, there is a nice restaurant in this hotel—too French for tourists.”
Skye followed, not pushing her further on the subject of her divorce. After all, it was up to Fleur to decide if she wanted to confide more. But once they were seated in a sumptuous velvet banquette towards the edge of the elegant restaurant, and had ordered a light lunch, Fleur spoke quietly. “I never expected to get divorced, Skye. It’s hard for me to make my peace with it.”
“Did you want to stay married?”
“Oh, very much.”
“But your husband didn’t want to?”