Page 92 of After Indigo Irish Nights
“You didn’t let me be alone enough, Mother,” Sophie shot back. “My house. My rules. You can always fly back to Malaga.”
Brigitte touched the tiny curls by her ears like she was in some English melodrama. “I bet your Ellie doesn’t talk to you like that, Linc.”
“She surely does, Brigitte, and most times, I deserve it. Right, Bets?”
She sputtered, “Yeah, usually.”
He sent her another wink. Was he trying to assure her he wasn’t falling for Brigitte’s nonsense?
He clapped his hands. “How about you show us where we’re all bedding down and then tell me where I can pour myself a drink?”
“Come with me,” Sandrine said, gesturing to the stairs. “Each of you have a bottle of rosé chilling in your room.”
She had to be kidding. Only Bets knew she wasn’t. Holy hell. She was in a French version ofDownton Abbey.
“You got someone to grab the luggage?” Linc asked.
“Of course.” Sophie laughed. “Would I ask Sandrine to haul up the bags? Please make yourselves at home. We’ll be having dinner early since I thought you might be tired. Feel free to use the pool or the hot tub. We also have a sauna, but I find it too hot right now with the weather warming up.”
God, what a problem to have! Bets wished she had known to bring a swimsuit.
“I didn’t know you’d have a pool,” Eoghan said. “I’m afraid I didn’t pack for it.”
Sophie leaned in conspiratorially. “You’re in France, Eoghan. We have nude beaches everywhere. You don’t need to worry about wearing a swimsuit.”
He gave another squeak and blushed again. Bets imagined she was red too. No swimsuit…
Sandrine was fighting a smile. Brigitte had resting bitch face.
“Buck naked, eh?” Linc drawled. “What about Greta?”
“She won’t come out when others are in the pool,” Sophie said. “And her bedroom faces front. You’re in the clear.”
“Good to know. Been a while since I went skinny-dipping. What about you, Bets?”
She gave him the fisheye, her cheeks growing warmer. Last thing she needed was to think about going skinny-dipping, especially with Linc. Her body didn’t look the way it had at twenty, when she’d snuck into the bay without any clothes on.
“I might find some inspiration again, seeing you nude, Linc,” Brigitte said, looking him over. “It’s been a while, and while I can paint from memory, a live model is always best.”
“I’d be happy to pose for you, Brigitte. When they serve ice cream cones in hell,” he added with a chuckle. “You know how I feel about nudes. I like looking at them, not being in them.”
So theyhadbeen lovers. She banished the frown starting on her face. Well, who could blame him? Brigitte was a gorgeous world-renowned artist, and she lived the high life, if Malaga was any indication. She was a far cry from anyone he was likely to meet in Ireland. Herself included. Hmm… Maybe she didn’t like France so much. Not when women walked around looking like this.
She suddenly felt drab in her simple black pants and pink top. Linc had told her to dress casual. Sophie was casual, he’d said. He wasn’t wrong about that, but Brigitte was something else, and she found herself wishing she’d worn a dress. Oh, don’t be ridiculous, she thought. She could never compete with a woman like Brigitte.
Then she caught herself. What in the hell was wrong with her, thinking likethat?
As they followed Sandrine up the stairs, she couldn’t help but poke at Linc. “Your thing with your old flame isn’t going to be a problem, is it?”
He held her back as Sandrine and Eoghan walked down the wide hall, chatting pleasantly, and entered the first doorway. “That was ages ago, and Sophie knows her mother. Brigitte is used to being admired. All her life, she’s been wanted as a woman or an artist. When the cards don’t fall that way, she’s like a porcupine in a bouncy house.”
“A porcupine— Linc Buchanan, your brain… Oh, never mind. Forget I said anything.”
“You sure? You seem flustered.”
“That woman would drive a saint to distraction.”Good save, O’Hanlon.“Are we really going to wait until dinnertime to talk about the arts center?”
He stared at her for one more beat before glancing at his watch. “It’s about five now. You that restless? Bets, you really should talk to Donal.”
