Page 75 of Catching Trouble

Fifi gazed up at the sunshade hanging above us like she was pondering the problems of the world. Finally, she looked at me—her eyes bright. “I think it’s a great idea.”

Warmth fizzled in my chest. So did I. Maybe I’d found my new calling after all.

Chloe Au Lait—saving the world one foam doodle at a time.

Before we could discuss the coffee club any further, my phone buzzed. I dug around in my pocket, pulse increasing. What if it was Mum calling to tell me she’d betrothed me to some double-chinned lawyer? When I saw “Iris,” my heartbeat settled.

“Sorry, I’ve got to take this,” I said, waving my phone at Fifi. She nodded and returned to cursing Maxime.

I picked my way through the restaurant to the sun loungers. They lay in their usual regimental order on the pebbles.

The second I picked up the call, Iris’s sing-song voice filled my ear. “We made it!”

Knowing she and Esmé were only half an hour away in Nice filled my heart. Sophie and I checked out their hotel yesterday. It was on a par with Luc’s chateau in Provence, complete with towers, white shutters and enough glitz to blind a cavefish.

“How was the flight?”

“I mean, I could whine about the turbulence, but I won’t. I have to say, if you ever get the chance to marry someone who owns a jet, don’t hesitate.”

I chuckled. The only way I’d get to experience any kind of speed was with Maxime on his vintage bike.

Iris groaned down the phone. “It’s so hot down here—I washoping for at least a faint sea breeze, but the air’s so thick I could slice it with a butter knife. Which is exactly why Esmé and I are hitting the shops this afternoon. We’re thinking of something floaty and Hermès—because if we’re going to melt, we might as well look fabulous doing it.”

I smiled at how easily Iris had settled into her privileged life. The castle, the jet, the wardrobe I didn’t doubt she owned. But the icing on the cake was the absolute devotion of her husband. She deserved it all.

And if she got too hot, she could always borrow my Chloe Au Lait uniform.

“What areyouwearing?” she asked.

I kicked off my flip-flops, running my toes over the warm pebbles at my feet. Oh, the first world problems of the very rich.

“I can’t compete with Hermès, but I got something new. You’ll find I’ve become terribly sensible in my old age. I even read the washing instructions before I bought it.”

Iris giggled. She’d know how unlikely that was. “Well, I look forward to meeting this new version of you later but promise me the old one is still inside somewhere. I miss your crazy.”

I bit at my bottom lip, fighting the tears threatening at the corners of my eyes. Only a few more hours and I could squeeze the absolute life out of her.

“And,” she whispered, “Esmé and I can’t wait to meet Maxime.”

At the way she said his name—all husky and sexy. My belly flipped. “Really? Why? I wouldn’t be that excited if I were you.”

“Au contraire. After your descriptions, I’m expecting a beautiful, shirtless sea-grump. MaybeHermèssundresses aren’t the right choice. Maybe we should wear suits of armour to fend off his crabbiness.”

I swallowed. Had I really made him out to be that bad? I sent her some voice messages last week, viewing it as “talktherapy”. Imayhave described him as silent, peevish and unapproachable, but I’d still been untangling my feelings, right?

My heart sank, cheeks burning. I’d probably painted him to be an absolute tyrant.

“He’s not that bad,” I murmured. “He just drives me mad sometimes.”

She chuckled. “In a good way, I hope?”

I thought of Maxime’s hands on my skin while on his boat and the way he’d tied the knot around my wrist all those nights ago. “In the best way,”I wanted to say, but I resorted to a neutral, “You’ll see for yourself.”

“Okay, well, I may just go for some chain mail instead of the full-metal bodysuit. But regardless, we’ll be with you around eight tonight.”

“Looking forward to it,” I said, my voice deceptively breezy.

I hung up the call, toed my feet into my flip-flops, and made my way back into the club. My legs felt like lead. I’d painted Maxime as a villain—an unreasonable, silent tormentor—but in truth? I hoped Iris and Esmé would like him. No, Ineededthem to like him.

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