Page 86 of All the Gossip from Paris
“What do you want?” she bit out.
Patrice put a hand to his heart in mock distress. “Why so harsh? You wound me. I only came to talk. I was worried about you.”
The laugh which escaped Sophie’s lips was a bitter one. “You don’t give a damn about me. You only care about yourself.”
She gritted her teeth, doing her best to resist the gentle sigh that he let out. He was using all his wiles against her. Anything to weaken her resolve. To make her cave.
“I know things have been difficult between us for a little time. And you have been punishing me with the American. Throwing him in my face.” He moved closer, his hand outstretched. “But I hear he is leaving soon; and I want you to know that I am prepared to forgive you. You come back to me, and we forget all about the past unpleasantness.”
He can’t be serious.
The expression on her ex’s face told her he was.
Patrice moved closer, coming to stand so that mere inches separated them. He bent to place a kiss on her lips. It was an old familiar tune. One which they’d danced to many times before. Too many times.
But as he moved, so did she, tugging hard on Rollo’s leash. The dog yelped and resisted her command. He bared his teeth and growled at Patrice in warning.
“I’ve done nothing which requires forgiveness from anyone,” said Sophie.
“I think you might find that your father has a different point of view. Especially after you pulled that ridiculous stunt of including your own gown in his collection. I have to ask Sophie, what were you thinking?”
Sophie couldn’t recall her exact thoughts of last night. Right now she was thinking of bludgeoning Patrice with a tree branch. Then tossing his body into the river.
“I will go and talk to my father later today. I have other things to deal with before then.” She stepped past Patrice. His sheer audacity left her breathless.
What did I ever see in him?
“Sophie please. Let’s not fight. We have to find a way to work together. Your father wants the three of us to sit down and discuss things.”
“Does he? Funny he hasn’t mentioned that to me. But then again, I never get told anything.”
“Well he did talk to me. So let’s head back to the house. Your mother has invited me to lunch. You know how Marina gets if people are late to her table.”
Why did Mama invite him to lunch? Liam is going to be there.
There was nothing she could do about the lunch arrangements. She would have to suck it up and do her best to get through the next two hours.
Resigned to her fate, Sophie fell into step beside Patrice as they started back up the rise toward the chateau. The sooner this lunch was over the better.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Liam was able to find an English translation of the interview which François had given to French Vogue. Most of the article covered the challenges the Royal atelier team had faced in dealing with their head designer’s recent accident. But it was a small paragraph toward the bottom of the interview which caught his attention.
François’ daughter Sophie who also works in the family business has long been linked with Parisian man-about-town Patrice Simon. “My wife and I are expecting them to make an announcement this summer,” said the proud father.
Memories of another time when he’d been blindsided by betrayal had Liam’s breath catching in his throat.
Her parents are expecting Sophie to marry Patrice.
Had she known about this interview? Known that it was being published today? Was that why she didn’t want to talk to him last night? She couldn’t find it in herself to lie directly to his face?
Nausea churned in his gut. He’d been a fool once before. Brooke had blindsided him with her cheating. Had fate decided he needed to be handed another bitter lesson? And maybe this time he might actually learn something from it.
He scrambled for his cell, and rushed to dial Ryan’s number. His brother answered after a couple of rings. “Hey Liam. You wouldn’t believe how much baby clothes cost. Ninety euros for a jumper suit.”
It took all his strength not to howl down the phone that he didn’t give a damn about the price of designer baby wear. “Did either of you happen to read François’ interview in French Vogue?” he asked as calmly as he could.
“No. No. I just mentioned it to you because I thought you might find it interesting. Why?”
