“About four hours out of Sydney,” she agreed. “I liked to help my dad. He got up at dawn, so I got up at dawn.”
“And school?”
“Didn’t start ‘til nine,” she shrugged. “There was plenty of time to do the farm work before changing into my uniform.”
“Weren’t you tired?”
“No. I loved it.” She looked up at the stars overhead. “Don’t you think there’s something magical about mornings?”
He was quiet. “I suppose I never thought about it.”
“That’s a shame.”
They were quiet as they sipped their coffee. She finished the small portion of the croissant then wiped her fingers on the hip of her shorts. Flaky pastry fell to the ground. “Anyway,” she said, with true reluctance. “I should keep going.”
“Why?”
Skye frowned. “Because there are rows and rows to check and I—,”
“Have all day,” he interrupted. “Whereas I am leaving this morning. If we are to finish our conversation, it should be now.”
She turned to face him, a drum beating in the region of her heart. “We weren’t…what conversation?”
“Did you think we were done, yesterday?”
She eyed him warily. “I’m—,”
Her heart notched up a gear.
“I enjoyed talking to you.”
“I—me too,” she admitted after a beat, not able to look at him. She was sure he’d read too much into her expression.
“Then sit. Talk some more.” A rustle sounded and when she dared look at him again, it was to see a picnic rug spread between the vines.
“Mr de Garmeaux,” she sighed.
“Matthieu,” he corrected.
She hesitated. “Fine. Matthieu.”
His smile was completely disarming.
“I’m not—I can’t see what a man like you could possibly want with someone like me.”
He frowned. “What exactly does that mean?”
“Come on,” she shook her head. “You’re—one of the richest men in the world, not to mention drop dead gorgeous. I find it hard to believe you have any interest in sitting here drinking coffee and talking with me. So what’s going on?”
“Then why else am I here?”
“That’s what I’m saying. What do you want from me?”
The question was unintentionally defensive. Skye couldn’t help it. She didn’t have any reason to think someone like Matthieu de Garmeaux would be interested in her. She wasn’t under any illusions about her appeal for the opposite sex. Her sisters were beautiful. All through high school, they’d been feted, their social media followers in the tens of thousands. They wore bikinis to Bondi beach and sipped their green juices with celebrities, long blonde hair sexily tousled. They were glamorous and stunning and lovely to boot. Whereas Skye was short and curvy with mousey brown hair. The best thing that could be said about her face was that it was forgettable.
So why had Matthieu come to see her? Why had he brought coffee and croissants?
“I want to share coffee with you,” he said. Then, slowly. “And I want to apologise. I should have explained yesterday. I knew you didn’t recognize me, and I was enjoying the novelty of that. But it wasn’t fair on you.”