I studied my reflection in the mirror again, trying to decide if I should leave my wavy, long brown hair down or if I should pull it out of my face. Jake had given me thirty minutes to get dressed and ready for the meal from when we got home and I was scrambling around trying to look at five-star as possible. Too bad this sort of look was the exact opposite of everything I wanted in life. I’d just run across an ocean from it, and here I was right back at it!
“Lauren!!!”
“Coming,” I shouted, wincing as I realized I was out of time to make a decision. Grabbing my handbag (which definitely did not match my dress) I skipped down the stairs with my silver sandals in my hand.
“What are those?” Jake asked, eyeing up the shoes.
“We kind of overlooked the whole shoes and bag thing,” I shrugged, slipping the sandals on, “They’re the best I can do.”
“Jesus Lauren.”
“Look, I didn’t come to Eze to dress up and go to fancy meals. In fact, I came here to get out of a lot of that.”
“Still…” Jake sighed.
“Take it or leave it.”
He let out a loud huff but nodded his head in agreement, stuck in this predicament. Victorious I shot him a sarcastic grin, watching him turn and stalk out of the house.
We walked side by side down the hill the villa was perched on, heading for the Old Town. I was always so enamored by the narrow, cobbled streets and beautiful views the Old Town had on offer, and I couldn’t help but peek down alleys and into windows as we walked.
“Lauren one thing,” Jake said, stopping some hundred meters from the hotel, “Just stay out of the resort stuff yeah?”
“Of course,” I said, “I don’t even know what’s going on anyway.”
“Exactly. We’re in enough of a tangled mess as it is, no need to make it worse.” I nodded my head in agreement, ready to head up to the hotel. “Oh, and also,” Jake added, stopping me in my tracks by grabbing my hand, “We’re married.”
“Right.”
“So act like it,” he said, “Well at least enough to pull this off.”
“Sure,” I told him, twisting his hand so I could link my fingers in his, “Just, don’t get too touchy. I am engaged.”
Jake didn’t respond to my last statement, instead dragging me up to the hotel. We were greeted at the door of the restaurant by a maître d in a crisp black suit and tie, a stereotypically thin mustache adorning his face.
“Bienvenue,” he greeted, escorting us to our table.
Dominique Gerard was already sitting at the table with her husband, sipping glasses of white wine. “Ahhh hello!” she gushed in English, standing up and seizing Jake by the shoulders, wrenching him away from me. I watched her give an airy kiss to each of his cheeks, turning to me after. “Madame Swift,” she said politely, kissing each of my cheeks as well.
“Hi, how are you?” I asked politely, plastering on my best fake smile.
“Meet my husband,” she said, just the hint of a French accent in her tone, “This is Arnaud.”
I watched as Jake greeted him, leaning forward and shaking his hand. When he was done I was left to give the man a kiss on each cheek, nerves starting to build in my stomach. The thing was, this guy was old. Like, really old. Like, he could be my grandfather. Trying not to stare I sat down next to Jake at the table, my fingers shaking a bit in my lap.
