Page 53 of The Lies We Tell

“Ready.” Her hand went to her bare throat. “Normally I’d wear a simple necklace with something like this. But I didn’t see anything in my bag that would go.”

“I have just the thing,” he said, snapping his fingers and disappearing from the room.

Digging around in the side pocket of his suitcase, he produced a velvet box he’d pulled from the safe in his study after buying the dress for her. Lifting the necklace out, he carried it back into the bathroom and laid it over her neck, smiling when she gasped.

“Matteo. I can’t wear this,” she breathed, running her fingers over the pear-shaped ruby pendant hanging from the diamond-studded chain.

“Of course you can. This necklace is why I wanted the dress to be red. Besides, Laurent appreciates a nice display of wealth.”

He slipped it under her hair and fastened it, watching as she adjusted it to lie flat. The large ruby did exactly what he wanted it to, sitting just above the cleft of her cleavage.

Tonight’s casual dinner was as much a part of the dance as the actual negotiations would be once they left the women to their coffee and retired to discuss business. Matteo wanted Tessa on full display and for everyone to know exactly who she was going home with.

The restaurant wasn’t far from the hotel. Laurent was a creature of habit and usually chose only one of two places. Tonight he’d chosen Paris’s most exclusive and expensive restaurant. This place had a ten-month waiting list. A subtle reminder of who had the power.

The driver pulled up in front of the valet stand, and the uniformed valet opened their door, giving them both a quick bow of the head when Matteo slid from his seat and reached in to help Tessa out.

Tucking her hand into his elbow, he led them up a wide burgundy carpet and through a set of ornate gold doors. The maître d’ smiled indulgently when Matteo gave him the name for the reservation and motioned them to follow.

“I can’t eat here,” Tessa whispered as they snaked through the tables toward the rear of the restaurant. “I have no idea what fork I’m supposed to use.”

Matteo chuckled. “They’ll bring you a new fork with each course.”

“I have a very serious confession, then.”

He wrapped his arm around her waist, squeezing her hip as they turned down a short hallway toward private dining rooms. “What confession is that?”

“I hate French wine.”

Laughing, he pressed a kiss to her temple. “That’s because it’s disgusting. A few sips with each course and you’ll be fine. Just do what I do and wash it down with water.”

They finally turned into a room beautifully decorated in gold and teal with a table set for four in the center. A couple was seated in front of an unlit fireplace, heads bent together, backs to the door. The maître d’ took both their coats and cleared his throat to announce their presence before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Laurent stood from his chair and turned, a dashing smile spread across his face. He reached a hand down to help the woman up, pulling her close and kissing her cheek.

“Matteo, it’s so good to see you again,” Laurent said in French, sweeping an appraising gaze over Tessa and nodding politely. “I’m glad you could join us for dinner. I hope you don’t mind, I’ve ordered the chef’s menu for the table.”

“He’ll switch to Italian eventually,” Matteo whispered in her ear as they followed Laurent to the table and took their seats.

She raised a brow before turning to Laurent with a soft smile. “Le menu du chef a l’air délicieux. Merci.”

Laurent laughed, clapping his hands. “Très bien! Vous avez trouvé un trésor, Matteo.”

“Bien sûr,” Matteo agreed, reaching for Tessa’s hand and bringing her knuckles to his lips. “I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice.”

“Margot and I love a reason to socialize,” Laurent said. “And you and I have worked well together in the past. But we’ll save that for later,” he said, leaning back in his chair as the first course arrived.

“Margot is Laurent’s favorite mistress,” Matteo explained to Tessa under his breath. “Don’t confuse her for Mrs. Theroux. Laurent hates that, despite almost never being seen in public with his actual wife.”

Tessa glanced across the table. “She looks so familiar.”

“She’s a film actress.”

Her eyes widened slightly in recognition. “American.”

“French American,” Matteo amended. “Don’t mention that either.”

The waiter set a small plate down in front of her, and she looked at it and then back up at him. “How many courses did you say this was again?”

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