Page 37 of Rosé with My Fake Fiancé
He tells me the name, and I look it up. It’s a fine-dining restaurant in my neighborhood. The walk to my apartment is brief, and I’m pleased that the area is looking familiar. Luc leaves me with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to pick me up at seven.
When he does, I get another kiss on the cheek and an appreciative scan of my body. I’m wearing a lavender dress with sheer capped sleeves and my favorite diamond earrings. Luc is in slim-fit pants—charcoal this time—and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. Anouk is at his side in a retro Chanel dress and an accenting pair of flats, and she kisses me, too.
“You look great,” I say, stepping back to look at his pants again. They fit him so well they must have been tailored.
“Thank you,” he says. “Mémé helped me pick it out.”
“Good job,” I tell her. “You look lovely, too.”
She smooths her hands down her dress and then takes one of Luc’s arms. “My friend Bernice is a tailor and owns a consignment shop in our neighborhood. Very convenient when you want to be fashionable on a dime.”
Dinner is lovely and friendly. Anouk asks me about my life back in the States, and when I hear a familiar southern twang from a nearby table, Luc strikes up a conversation, and we meet a young couple from Dallas. I drink too much wine, a terras de cister that’s been perfectly chilled, and the bubbles go right to my head.
At the end of the evening, Luc puts his grandmother in a car and walks me back to my apartment. I lean on him, liking the way he smells and the heat of his body, even in the summer air.
“Tessa,” he murmurs into my hair, and I hum. “We’re here.”
I raise my head and see that we are, in fact, in front of my building.
“Boo,” I say, and my body bounces when Luc laughs. I pivot, resting my chin on his chest and looking up at him. “I have to work tomorrow.” I told him I have a meeting every Monday with my staff.
“I know,” he kisses my forehead. “I’m going to take Mémé to see the Benagil Caves down the coast. Can I see you for dinner? Do you have time for that?”
“You could come up now,” I say, clutching at the side of his shirt.
Luc just smiles at me and kisses my hair again, gently pulling back. He puts a finger under my chin and tilts my head up. I’m expecting a kiss, but instead, I can barely feel his breath against my lips. “I’m not a fling, Tessa.” His tone is light and teasing, and he kisses the corner of my mouth. “Ask me a different question.”
The words get stuck in my throat, and after a few moments, Luc laughs and eases away from me.
“You’ve been drinking, too. Sleep it off, and I’ll see you tomorrow, ma chouchoute.”
I laugh at the term of endearment in French that literally translates tomy little cabbage, but I don’t move. He tilts his chin up. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With one last glance, I turn and enter the building. By the time I get up to my balcony and look down on the street, Luc is gone.
18
Tessa
My callwith one of my writers is running long, and while her article about her trip to South Africa is interesting, it’s not enough to keep my attention from wandering to Luc, who’s been messaging me all day while he and Anouk explore the coast. I’m getting pictures of beaches and beautiful cliffs and then Anouk on the bow of a small boat, a life jacket on, and a marina behind her.
“Okay, just two more things, Nikki, and then we’re good. Could you explain more about the borders of Kruger Park? Maybe on the second page in the paragraph that starts with ‘Unhindered by coastline or the invisible boundaries of country lines...’.”
“Yup, I can do that,” she responds in her posh English accent. She lives in London, and we’ve already talked about the possibility of getting together when I get the chance to get across the channel.
Whenever that might be. Because if I’m ever going to see Luc again and I have weekend getaways once a month with the ladies, my schedule will be packed.
My phone buzzes with another incoming call, an unknown number, and I click the screen off, sending it to voicemail.
“Good. Our art director asked if you have a photo of the lilac-breasted roller. He thinks that features more prominently than the secretary bird. No big deal if you don’t.”
She tells me she’ll see what she has, and we talk a bit more about her upcoming trips, and then we hang up.
I’ve got a voicemail, so I click over to listen.
“Tessa, this is Yumi. Can you call me when you get a chance? We need to talk.”
My stomach drops. What could my ex’s new fiancé possibly want to talk to me about? I had hoped that this would be the end. If I’m lucky, I’ll never see James or anyone from that party ever again.
