It seemed where Luc was concerned she had sod-all willpower.
He pulled back. ‘Forgive me.’
‘I’ll think about it. Although you haven’t mentioned Yvette’s wedding.’ She gave him a snarky smile.
‘You know about Yvette’s wedding.’ Luc screwed up his face, a touch of disgust and shame marring his features. It surprised and pleased her.
‘I know.’ Her voice held a crisp bite. She wasn’t about to forgive him immediately despite his obvious embarrassment, although he had pleaded her case with Juliet Garnier.
‘Thank goodness. I’ve been trying to get her to talk to you. She’s so pig-headed. Alphonse and she have been fighting constantly about it. I need Gabby’s wedding to happen as much as you do. I need the money for new equipment. It was me that persuaded Solange’s cleaning team to come back. Have you spoken to Yvette?’
‘Not yet.’ Hattie considered him for a few minutes and then sighed. It wasn’t his fault. What was the point of holding a grudge? She needed to move forward and make this wedding happen and she needed everyone onside.
‘I presume she was the one that destroyed the helipad, put the caterer off and –’ Hattie began to smirk ‘– doesn’t know the difference between mouse and rabbit droppings.’
‘What’s so funny?’
‘I-imagining Yvette c-collecting rabbit…’ It was no good, she couldn’t stop the gale of giggles. ‘R-rabbit p-poo. I would like to have seen that.’
Luc smiled.
‘I really am sorry, Hattie.’
‘Hmm. Now how many hectares is the vineyard?’
‘Forty,’ said Luc, clearly taken aback by her sudden change of gear.
‘Within that, there must be a way of managing two weddings.’ Hattie narrowed her eyes at him, not quite growling but close. ‘It just takes planning and organisation. And if people trusted the wedding planner to do just that … perhaps playing to her strengths, it might not have become such a big issue.’
‘Point taken,’ said Luc, before adding with a flirty grin, ‘I like it when you’re fierce.’
‘Don’t try and flatter me, Luc Brémont. I haven’t decided if I’ve completely forgiven you or not yet.’
‘Okay.’ Then he flashed an unrepentant smile, his voice lowering ‘Can I take you out to dinner this evening to help you decide?’
ChapterTwenty-One
As soon as they were seated in the restaurant, they were served a glass of Kir Royale and Luc toasted her. ‘Santé.’
‘Santé,’ responded Hattie taking a tentative sip of the elegant-looking drink. ‘I assume that means “cheers”.’
‘Originally it wasà ta santé, to your health. To your good health.’
‘It’s very nice. I could get used to this,’ she said, taking a second sip as she perused the menu, trying not to be intimidated by the limited selection. Once again there were words that she had absolutely no clue about. A bit like this situation. It was well-nigh impossible to stop sneaking looks at Luc’s mouth. Every time he caught her eye, her heart rate rocketed and she kept taking steadying sips of wine, which probably wasn’t helping at all. Her thoughts had meandered off-piste and were now on the edge of a precipice thinking about the possibility of sex.
God, she was so out of practice, and she’d only ever slept with one man, who hadn’t exactly been demanding or adventurous. What if Luc knew tricks and things? Weren’t French men supposed to be great lovers?
‘You look worried,’ said Luc, taking her hand across the table, which didn’t exactly help. At his touch, her pulse did an excited little hiccup.
God, did it show that much? She was so out of her depth, maybe she should just come clean and admit that she had no idea what the rules forthiswere. What even wasthis? A fling? An affair? A holiday romance? And would it be gauche and show her inexperience to ask?
‘It’s just food,’ said Luc with an encouraging smile.
Food. Think of the food. She could do that instead of worrying about sex and fidgeting in her seat.
‘What’s French for Brussel sprouts?’ she asked suddenly, realising that Luc was watching her and waiting for a response. She almost giggled, wondering what he’d say if she asked him if it were true that French men were better lovers.
‘Les choux de Bruxelles. Pourquoi?’ He raised an eyebrow almost as if he knew that her thoughts were a million miles away from Brussels sprouts. God, she needed to get her mind back in the game. ‘Not a fan?’
