Page 85 of The Paris Trip

‘Plus, you must remain loyal to your idiom,’ he murmured, unable to resist.

She wrinkled her brow at him. ‘My idiom?’

‘Being sensible,’ he reminded her. ‘I take it you’re not quite ready to ditch the old Maeve in favour of a carefree existence as an artist’s model?’

‘An artist’s wife,’ she corrected him briskly.

‘Of course. I apologise.’ His lips quirked with humour. ‘Yes, you are still…’ He looked at her mouth, tempted to kiss her again. ‘Deliciously sensible.’

She said nothing but arched her brows at him with wonderful hauteur.

Leo would have grabbed her, unable to resist, but Liselle had finished her conversation with Maeve’s grandmother and was looking sternly at him. He also spotted a few photographers snapping candid shots of him and Maeve…

No, this was definitely not the time or place.

Not until the big announcement, anyway.

‘Liselle wants to know what you think of my paintings,’ he murmured, reluctantly taking a step back.

Maeve turned on her heel, taking in the whole exhibition. Her smile was tremulous as she looked back at him. There were tears in her eyes too, but they were tears of joy, or so he hoped.

‘They’re amazing,’ she said in French, turning to Liselle. ‘Quite incredible. I can’t believe I’m the woman in these paintings. I mean, I can see myself… But it still doesn’t seem real. I’m just a schoolteacher from England.’ She threw up her hands. ‘How did I manage to become anyone’s Muse?’

‘Now, Maeve,’ her grandmother said, tutting her disapproval, ‘we’ve talked about this before. Don’t do yourself down. I can perfectly understand why Leo wanted to paint you. And look at this marvellous exhibition. With every painting you’ve shown me, I’ve heard other people exclaiming at his talent and how beautiful these portraits are.’ Her smile was proud. ‘And that’s because of you.’

‘Your grandmother is right,’ he said, perhaps not very modestly, but then modesty was underrated in his opinion. It stopped people from realizing their true potential. And he had no intention of allowing that to happen. Not now that he’d found his mojo again. ‘I couldn’t have produced these paintings and put on this exhibition if you haven’t sat for me and been such an inspiration. I was lost and confused when we met… Now I know exactly who I am and where I want to be.’ He wanted to kiss her again, but everyone was looking their way now. It was nearly time for him to give his speech.

‘Is your father not here?’ Maeve asked.

He thrust his hands into his pockets, suppressing a laugh. ‘I asked Papa to be here but he couldn’t make it, apparently. He sent me a text just as the doors opened. Chanelle has a sudden hankering for Nice, he says. So they’ve brought forward their plan to move there. They went off on the train about an hour ago, on a house hunting mission. I don’t think they’ll be back anytime soon.’

‘Not even for the wedding?’

He sensed relief in her voice and grinned. ‘Yes, I texted him that question too. My father suggested he might be a little busy that weekend.’

‘Oh dear, how very sad,’ Maeve said without emphasis, but her eyes were dancing.

Bernadette came up behind them, with his grandmother and Nonna in tow. The two older women stopped to speak politely to Maeve’s grandmother, who had come round to Château Rémy for coffee the previous day.

Bernadette turned to Leo and Maeve, and rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh because they were still gazing at each other, smiling secretly as they communicated without words.

‘Erm, sorry to break up the lovefest, big bro,’ Bernadette said pointedly, ‘but it’s time for your speech. Everyone’s glasses have been charged with champagne, as ordered, and the podium is right over there. You don’t want to keep your fans waiting.’

‘I certainly don’t,’ he agreed, only belatedly noticing Maeve’s tension. ‘What is it, cherie? What’s the matter?’

‘Oh, Leo… ’ Maeve gripped his arm, her smile vanishing. ‘Do you really think it’s wise to announce our engagement tonight?’ she whispered furiously in English. ‘It’s bad enough having everyone staring at me in these paintings, but the media will go wild once they hear that. You told me I would be anonymous, remember? Instead, my name seems to be on every single one of these paintings!’

‘I told you, being upfront about our relationship is the best way to deal with the press attention,’ he assured her. ‘There’s already been so much speculation since that photo of us at Jean’s place. Besides, if we’d tried to keep things quiet, not saying anything, one of them would have been bound to find out another way and make everything a thousand times worse. This way, we control the narrative.’

Liselle was nodding. ‘Yes, let me handle all the publicity for you, Maeve,’ she said calmly. He was glad that she’d come to terms with the news that they were going to be married. Although now Liselle was trying to turn it to their advantage, he sensed they might need to take their honeymoon somewhere far away, to avoid it turning into a media circus. Like the Arctic Circle, perhaps.

‘Ah, you see,’ Nonna said in French, jabbing a bony finger in Maeve’s direction, though her smile seemed friendly enough, ‘I told you, didn’t I? You are perfect. The perfect Muse for our Leo.’ She pointed significantly at one of the smaller canvases where he had painted Maeve almost – but not quite – nude, seated with a modesty-preserving lapful of flowers, a position which she had complained about constantly at the time, claiming the flowers were cold and prickly and probably had insects crawling all over them… ‘I told you this would happen. Now you give Leo good babies, hein?’

Liselle inhaled sharply at this, pursing her lips.

Bernadette snorted.

Maeve muttered something in return that he didn’t catch, not looking particularly gratified by this suggestion.

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