Page 96 of Wreck Me

I suppose I can put up with him for a night, given what I’m getting at the end of it.

The grounds are far more impressive than the chateau. The lawn is beautifully manicured. There’s a modest swimming pool surrounded by several sun loungers to the rear of the property, and wrought-iron table and chairs in the middle of a terracotta patio. There’s even a hidden gazebo among the trees.

As we walk, Lucien tells us about the different varieties of grapes and sustainable farming practices in passionate detail as we walk through the vineyards. His knowledge is incredible, surpassed only by his exuberance.

The winery itself is state of the art. By the time we’ve sampled several of the grape varieties, I no longer care how long Lucien’s eyes linger on Scarlett, because my hand never leaves her arm, or her ass, or her hip. If he wants to watch, I’ve already demonstrated to half of Paris that I’m okay with that.

An unfamiliar feeling fills my chest. It’s so rare, it takes a few moments for me to identify it. Contentment? I haven't taken a proper break from the office in years. Even in Dubai,at New Year, I was a slave to the never-ending emails and phone calls.

The stillness of the vineyard, the scenery, and the wine, all has a part to play. As does the time we spent in Paris. And the fact I diverted all my emails and calls to Chantel and warned her not to bother me unless someone was dying.

But the truth is, the warm, peaceful feeling filling my chest is predominantly because of Scarlett.

My father will accept her for who she is. Former pole dancer or not. He’ll have to. Because I wasn’t joking about getting down on one knee. Sooner rather than later.

Her eyes shift to mine as we stroll back towards the chateau.

‘Please, join me on the terrace for another glass of wine,’ Lucien insists. ‘It’s rare the weather is so warm this early in the year. It would be a shame not to make the most of it.’

As much as I’d like to decline, Scarlett’s face lights up. Something twists in my chest. This is a novelty for her, soaking up the Provencal countryside. The sensation of the sun beating down on her shoulders.

It’s easy to forget that she’s struggled for years. That she’s not accustomed to this type of lifestyle. But I’m going to make sure she becomes accustomed to it– and quickly.

Lucien is persistent. ‘Indulge me. Make an old man happy, have another drink,’ he winks at Scarlett.

She glances at me with those huge doe-like eyes and my heart inflates like a helium balloon.

‘Of course, if you wish, Scarlett.’

A black BMW is parked to the left of the chateau. It wasn’t there before. Lucien’s wife? Or the chef perhaps?

Lucien chatters incessantly as we round the side of the building towards the glistening pool and padded sun loungers. ‘Perhaps you could get married here, oui?’

Scarlett’s eyes flash, as a flush of colour splashes hercheeks. I’ll marry her wherever the hell she wants, once she agrees to spend her life with me. I squeeze her hand and she squeezes mine back in an unspoken exchange.

The soft tinkling of female laughter floats through the air. It’s coming from beside the pool.

‘Ah, my amour is home,’ Lucien grins and beckons us around the back of the building.

A woman in her fifties sits on one of the wrought-iron chairs tucked beneath a matching table. Her short, blonde hair is spiked up into a stylish fashion, while oversized sunglasses hide the top half of her face. Her lips are painted a bright shade of pink that matches the floral pattern on her floaty summer dress.

There’s no denying Madame Moreau is an attractive woman for her age.

The guy sitting opposite her certainly seems to think so, given the way his hand lingers on her knee. He has his back to us, but I can see he’s wearing a sharp black suit that cuts across his shoulders like it was made for them. His thick dark hair gleams in the sun.

An uneasy sensation snakes into my gut.

I appreciate that the French are more liberal, but if I caught some man with his hand on my wife’s knee, he’d lose it. Painfully.

Madame Moreau rises as we come into view. ‘Lucien, darling.’ She opens her arms to him like they’ve been apart for weeks not hours. So dramatic. I fight my threatening eye roll .

‘Our new owner is here.’ She gestures to the man in the suit and my head snaps up so fast I risk whiplash.

Frown lines crease Lucien’s forehead as his eyes narrow, darting between the stranger in the suit and me.

Ever so slowly, and with a confidence that borders on arrogance, the dark-haired man stands and turns around. Acoldness glints in his blue, piercing eyes. The smile lifting his lips isn't fooling any of us.

Declan O’Connor. In the flesh.

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