She grinned, then glanced over her shoulder. “Esmé’s here,” she said, stepping aside just in time for me to see our friend weaving around the table, arms already open.
I melted into her hug before a throat cleared behind me.
Sophie.
I widened my eyes. Of course! I hadn’t properly introduced her to anyone.
After a quick round of introductions and a lot of fussing over Bean, we moved to take our seats. Matteo, being his usualaffable self, offered to sit at the end of the table with Sophie. According to Iris, he was already missing their gallery cat, Claudette, so after Sophie proudly introduced Bean, he was more than happy to host our fluffy dinner guest.
“Why don’t we have ladies at this end?” I suggested, desperate to have some private gossip time with my friends.
We found our places at the table. Sophie and Matteo sat at one end, with Esmé tucked in between Matteo and me. Iris had claimed the opposite end to Sophie, and Luc sat to her right, next to Maxime.
After Fifi materialised out of nowhere with wine, we all settled back into an edgy silence. I had a perfect view of Maxime. He sat pulling at the cuff of his shirt, jaw pulsing, probably wishing he was anywhere else. He and Luc were talking, but I’d never seen him look so scared.
Iris leaned down the table, calling out to Sophie. “I love your dress. You look beautiful.”
When Sophie grinned, Maxime’s tense face cracked, and he smiled, his eyes soft and glowing. I took a breath. The result was like taking a flashlight to the face—dazzling.
Apparently, Iris agreed with my assessment. She leaned in, stage-whispering behind her hand like we were sharing state secrets
“Hello,Maxime! Where have you been hiding him, Chlo?” Her voice was just loud enough for Esmé and me to hear. “I’d have come down much sooner had I known the view was so good.”
I elbowed her gently. “Shhh! He’ll hear you.”
She patted the back of my hand. “I’m only kidding. But he is impressive.”
I nibbled on the inside of my cheek, sneaking a peek at my boss. I couldn’t disagree. Under the colours cast by the sea glass, he glowed like a mythical sea god. As if the water had sent him to dry land just to tempt me. With the curve on hislips, who cared about the club going under financially? We could live on his boat and eat cuttlefish till the end of our days.
After more polite conversation about hotels and the nightlife in Nice, Luc glanced around the club. “It’s quiet for a Friday evening.”
Maxime straightened in my peripheral vision.
I took in the scattering of guests. Itwasa little quiet, but it was early, yet. It warmed my heart to see some regulars here for dinner. I smiled at Luc. “Oh, you know France. Things don’t get going at night until at least ten.”
Maxime, sitting at his side, had pulled his brows tight in a heavy frown. My skin prickled, anticipating what he might say in response.
I headed him off at the pass, topping up Luc’s wine. “I like to think of the club as more exclusive. Intimate. A little indulgent. Our mornings more than make up for the occasional quieter evening. Méduse has quite the coffee following online.”
The words were barely out before I wanted to swallow them back down. I could only pray Iris didn’t pull out her phone to fact-check. If she did, the first thing she’d see would be me in a bikini and chef’s hat. Not exactly the brand image Luc was going for.
As if sensing my desperation to impress Luc, Iris nodded. “Absolutely.” She rubbed the back of his hand. “I can’t imagine you’d want to be connected with a beachside bar hosting a bunch of rowdy tourists.” She looked around, her blue eyes passing over the lights strung above us. “Méduse feels special. Select.”
As if sensing her Power Puff Girls cue, Esmé nodded, dark hair fringing her face. “Iris is right. Look at my galleries. Yes, I could sell cheaper paintings, but people who expect the best will always pay more for the privilege.”
Luc glanced around, his expression softening.
Lord, I loved these women.
He turned to Maxime. “It’s certainly an improvement from when we first saw the place.”
I bit back a smile. Maxime had described the old club as being stuck somewhere in the seventies, with sticky floors and plastic sun chairs.
“It’s beautiful,” Esmé murmured.
“Right?” I asked, taking a sip of wine. “And you know, Maxime catches most of the seafood himself.”
Matteo looked up from where he and Sophie were playing with Bean. “He does?”
