Everythingabout the party was decadence itself, and yet it didn’t feel fake nor forced. As they sipped champagne, Fleur made conversation—a lot of conversation, as though her nerves were all over the place. “It’s all professionally done, of course. The decorators arrive two days before Christmas, every year, and deck out the house from top to toe. Professional shoppers source gifts for the family—though grand-mere is very good about furnishing them with a list of items she knows we’d like. And naturally, there are caterers to create all the tastes of a homespun Christmas,” she added with a laugh. “Olivier used to—,” Her voice broke and she looked away. Beside her, Matthieu stiffened, drawing Skye imperceptibly closer.
When she looked to him, her gaze was caught by the sight of Anais cutting through the crowd, a tall, handsome man at her side. It didn’t take much to work out it was Olivier.
“Don’t leave me,” Fleur begged under her breath, shaking at his approach.
Skye’s heart trembled with sympathy, but she couldn’t respond, because Anais and Olivier were there in an instant.
Matthieu studied his cousin then his cousin’s ex-husband, a frown on his face before he extended a confident hand. “Olivier,” he nodded, not exactly with warmth, but with familiarity, certainly.
“Matt,” Olivier returned the nod, wariness obvious on his handsome face. His eyes dropped to Skye, and his smile was polite, but dismissive, before his attention flew to Fleur, as though magnetically pulled. “Tournesol,” he said so softly Skye almost didn’t catch the word. She had to wrack her brain to decipher it. Sunflower.
A term of endearment? Her eyes skidded to Fleur’s face, to see the other woman had lost any colour from her cheeks.
“Skye, Matthieu. Come with me, please.”
“Grand-mere, no,” Fleur’s voice held both a warning and a plea.
“You have to speak with him, my little love.”
Fleur said nothing and Skye spontaneously reached down and squeezed her hand.
“He deserves to know,” she added quietly, earning a look of inquiry from both Anais and Matthieu.
Fleur’s eyes met Skye’s and there was resignation in them, as well as fear.
Skye leaned closer, so she could whisper in Fleur’s ear, “Think of what you would want him to say, if the situation was reversed.”
Fleur’s eyes fluttered shut but she nodded, her delicate throat shifting with her acceptance of their stance. “I know,” she whispered.
And as they walked away, leaving the two of them on the edges of the party, Skye felt like a bit of a hypocrite. After all, Skye had her own secret that she was keeping from Matthieu, because she feared what revealing the truth would mean for their relationship.
Didn’t he also deserve to know though? If she told him she loved him, would it ruin everything?