Anna’s smile was strained, her words clipped. “Best wishes on the wedding, Reagan.”
Reagan tilted her head, her mock sympathy practically dripping. “Thank you, Anna. You, of all people, would know how challenging it is to get Beau to commit.”
The air between them felt like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point.
“Bonjour, mesdames,” I said, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around Anna’s waist. “I am Jacques. Jacques Laurent de Valois.” My thick French accent turned the women’s curious expressions into raised eyebrows.
Anna gestured toward them with a tight smile. “This is Chatterly, and this is Reagan. We went to high school together.”
They looked at me skeptically, their gazes flicking between the wig, the oversized sunglasses, and Anna. They weren’t buying it—yet.
“I’m visiting from my grand château nestled in the Loire Valley,” I said, dialing up the accent and enthusiasm. “At Château de Valois, we’ve been perfecting the art of winemaking for generations. Our signature cuvée won the Crystal Cuvée Cup at the International Champagne Awards just last year. You must have heard the news here.”
I turned to Anna as I brushed a damp strand of hair from her cheek. “My darling and I have spent many a starlit evening sipping the champagne on the terrace, overlooking the vineyards.”
Her eyes widened in panic, her lips pressing into a tight line that clearly saidtone it down.But her hesitation must have appeared to be bashful agreement because it worked in our favor, and the women’s suspicion started to falter.
Reagan’s voice was tinged with awe. “The Loire Valley? And the Crystal Cuvée? That’s insanely prestigious.”
“It must be a truly exquisite château, Monsieur de Valois,” Chatterly added, blinking slowly. “How fascinating.”
Their shift was almost comical. I leaned into the moment, turning back to Anna, my fingers brushing her cheek again, this time more deliberately. Her breath hitched, just enough to make my pulse skip.
“Darling,” I murmured, low enough for only her to hear, “shall we show them how the French do romance?”
Her lips parted—maybe to protest, maybe not. I didn’t give her time to make a decision. Tilting my head, I slid my hand to her jaw and closed the distance between us.
At first, it was all about the show: a performance, a carefully choreographed display of passion to silence our audience. I knew exactly how to draw her in, how to brush my lips over hers just enough to ignite curiosity, to tempt her into responding. I pressed closer, teasing her lower lip with the faintest bite, coaxing a gasp from her.
But as the seconds ticked by, the world outside began to blur. The watchful eyes of the two women, the rhythm of New Orleans jazz drifting from Bourbon Street, the distant chatter of the crowd, and the sweet scent of magnolia mixed with alcohol all faded to insignificance. The kiss deepened, becoming more intimate, more personal. The taste of her lips, the warmth of her breath, and the subtle traces of rain between us were all that mattered.
When we finally broke apart, I rested my forehead against hers, trying to catch my breath. Then I lifted my head to the two wide-eyed watchers. “Ladies, it’s been enlightening.”
I took Anna’s hand, leading her away from the courtyard. Once we were out of sight, the tension broke, replaced by a shared, breathless exhilaration. Anna pulled away slightly, her cheeks still flushed. “That was… unexpected.”
I grinned, leaning casually against a lamppost. “Well, it worked. You saw their faces.”
She cleared her throat. “That was quite the story about your château in France.”
“The château is real. And my champagne did win an award—though I couldn’t tell you the name of the award.”
She blinked in surprise. “Wait. You do own a château? And you make champagne?” Just then, her phone alarm beeped, and her face fell. “Oh, snickerdoodle. I’ve got to get to work.”
“Let’s go. Tom’ll drive you,” I said quickly, just as the black SUV pulled up to the curb.
Tom and Hal had been watching the entire performance from a distance, probably with matching expressions of long-suffering amusement. Tom gave me a look as he stepped out. Somewhere betweenwas that in the script?andyou better be sure about this.
We paused at the car door, her hand lingering on the handle, mine resting on the roof. Her eyes searched mine.
“I know that kiss was just for their benefit.” Her voice was steady, but there was something she wasn’t saying.
I nodded, though the words caught in my throat. “Right. Just part of the performance.”
Her lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, you sold it.”
Neither of us moved, and for a heartbeat, the world held its breath. Then she slipped into the car, and I stood still for a moment before I stepped inside, wondering how something fake could feel so real.
19
