Chapter Eight

MATTHEW'S POV

The rest of the day was a whirlwind. After our lunch, we headed across the city to a small office in a converted Georgian building. It was beautiful and glamorous and exactly as I'd expected Remi's office to look. I met a lady called Simone, who was his PA, and as soon as Remi entered the room, she was listing off flight dates and times as well as asking for signatures on dockets and shoving a mountain of invites into his hands. After spending an hour there, we'd sped off to the auction house, and it had been more fun than I'd ever imagined.

Before it started, Remi led me to the items he was hoping to get. He was buying five items for three different clients, none of them based in Ireland. And there was one other item he was bidding on for himself.

I had stared at the large writing desk and grinned. "I like it. It’s amazing."

"It's a Victorian writing table, and my grandfather used to have one just like it. He kept his old watch in the drawer, and I used to play with it as a child. It would look great in the hall of my cottage. Let's hope our bid wins."

When the auction had started, the fervour and competitiveness had been unexpected. It was like a civilised battle; numbered paddles being thrust into the air like swords. My head spun at the speed and the rising numbers, the sort of money that would keep me in food and rent for a year. It seemed crazy, but I was addicted. The excitement when Remi won the first lot we'd bid on was incredible.

"You bid on the next one, Matthew. Lot twenty-two. You can go to a maximum of four thousand euros, no more."

I’d nodded, and my stomach flipped with nerves and adrenaline. Once I lifted that paddle, there was no stopping me, and before I knew it, I'd secured the large painting of cows grazing in a field.

"Oh my god, I loved that so much! I want to do it again!"

Remi had leaned over, his face close to mine, and whispered, "Good. You have another three items to go."

It was six p.m. by the time we left, and I was tired but happy.

"You did really great. You’re a natural. If painting doesn’t work out, you have a future in this.” Remi winked at me and then looked a little nervous as he continued. “I think I'll grab dinner before heading home. Care to join me?"

Before I could answer, I felt his hand land gently on my back, and he steered me along the path. Maybe I was delusional, but I could have sworn he looked at me with heat in his eyes. God, I wanted it to be true. I wanted him to want me.

We walked through the evening throng, as the city came alive with a different energy. Remi led me to a restaurant called Chez Maximus. I'd heard of it but had never been inside. To be honest, I couldn't afford a glass of tap water there, let alone a meal. A moment of panic flashed through me as I realized I didn't have any money to pay for this. Shit.

"This is my treat, to say thank you for your help this afternoon."

I was about to argue when I noticed the glint in his eye, and I understood. He knew I couldn't afford it. Who was I kidding? Remi was an intelligent, experienced man. And I was a penniless, homeless artist. I’d never fool him. He knew I had nothing, and he was probably just taking pity on me. A man like that would never want someone like me.

Chez Maximus was the embodiment of old school glamour and Remi looked so at home there. Red suede booths in crescent shapes bordered the dark walls, and small lamps glowed between them. Heavy brocade curtains covered the windows, and the waiters were dressed better than I was. I looked down at my plain denim shirt and wondered if I was going to be let in.

"Mr. Remington! How wonderful. Give me a few seconds, and I'll have your usual table ready." A short man with crazy curls appeared before us and beamed at Remi.

"There's no rush, Clifford, thank you. We'll grab a drink."

I followed Remi to the small bar as the maître d’ raced off. The bar was all brass and dark wood and low lighting -- it would make a great moody painting if I could capture the light.

"So, I take it you've never been here before then?" I said, teasing.

"No, never." Remi winked at me and sat on one of the bar stools, opening the button on his dark blue jacket. He had a pink shirt underneath, and he looked quirky and handsome.

"They should really start advertising their psychic services, because I was sure that maître d’ knew you by name."

"Hmm, strange." He smirked and then pointed to a bottle behind the bar. The barman poured two aperitifs and placed them in front of us. "Thanks, Roy."

"My pleasure, Mr. Clarke."

I grinned and sipped the pink-coloured liquid. "Wow, it's like you're a celebrity. You must be rich or famous or something. I mean, I assumed you were. But all day you've been treated like royalty. I wonder what that must be like. I'm like the chewed up gum stuck to the sole of your shoe."

"Are you always so brutally honest?" Remi turned to me, his dark eyes focused on mine.

"Yes. I like to be honest. I always speak my mind."

He leaned back on the bar stool and smiled at me with a rather bemused expression. "I bet you do. It's rather refreshing."

"Trust me. I'm like popping candy rolled in sherbet and dipped in fizzy pop. I'm beyond refreshing."

Remi laughed and my insides melted again at the sound. I was in serious trouble. I was falling for a man I barely knew. One that lived in a world I'd never know and had a life I could only dream of. But my heart refused to pay attention to those facts. I was falling hard and fast.

* * *

The food was excellent, and we chatted effortlessly, finding out more and more about each other. I was beginning to forget we'd only met two days earlier. Remi was so easy to like, so caring and warm. It felt so comfortable being in his presence.

"So, do you stay in Dublin during the week or do you travel back to your place in Cloch Ban?” I dug into my warm praline torte and felt my eyes roll back in my head at the bitter indulgence.

"No, I travel back home as it’s less than an hour from the city and I'm usually travelling anyway, so I like to be at my own home when I'm back in Ireland."

"That makes sense. Home is..." I trailed off as my voice caught a little. Fuck. Oh shit. Don't cry. Maybe it was the wine or maybe Remi just reminded me that I didn't have a home. Either way, crying was not something I could cope with right now.

Remi sat forward, clearly sensing my discomfort and saving me from the emotions I was drowning in. "I'm spending this weekend at home, but I'll be visiting my brother and his wife. They live about ten minutes from my house, so I try to visit each time I'm back in Cloch Ban."

I cleared my throat and forced a smile on my face. "That sounds nice. It's great to have family close by. My parents live far away. Though if I lived close to them, I'd probably try to avoid them. They can be a bit much, you know?"

Remi smiled and sipped his wine. "There's a summer festival in Cloch Ban this weekend, so we'll probably go to that. I've got two nieces and they love it. My brother is big into sailing and he competes regularly. It's a nice break from all the hotels and airplanes."

"That all sounds amazing."

I watched as he looked at me with kind eyes. He was wonderful and charming and totally out of my league. After tonight, I knew I'd never see him again.

“I'll be back next week. Maybe we can meet up for a coffee, if you’d like?"

"Yeah, maybe. You don't need to commit to anything. I know you're busy, Remi." This was it. I needed to let go of this ridiculous dream. We'd say goodbye, and then we'd go back to our respective lives.

"Or you could join me? It's only for the weekend. And I've got a spare room. It’s... uh... I mean, if you want to. I'm not suggesting you -- I shouldn't just ask you that. God, I'm sorry, Matthew. That was way too forward."

I stared at him, mouth gaping open, drunk on wine and what he'd just suggested. Excitement and disbelief flooded my senses. Remi was nervous, stammering, stuttering, and asking me to spend the weekend with him. This weekend. With him. At his home. Was this really happening?

"Oh my god," I mumbled.

"Just forget I said it. I'm so sorry. That was very inappropriate. I don't know what I was thinking." He cleared his throat and fidgeted with his cufflinks, the shiny gold glinting when it caught the light.

We both sat in silence, staring across the table at each other. My mind raced to make a decision. Maybe he was looking for a dirty weekend. Was I interested? Yes. Definitely. He was handsome and sexy and...

Yeah, I totally would.

But what if he wanted more? What if he liked me?

"I'd love to spend the weekend with you. It would be great to be away from my friend’s place for a couple of days. Are you sure it's okay if I tag along?"

I swallowed hard and waited. Please let him say yes. Please.

"Yes. Of course. I was afraid you, uh... that I insulted you or something."

I laughed and tried to hide the excitement in my voice. "God, no. Thanks so much for inviting me. I hope it's not weird."

Remi's fingertips traced a circle on the tablecloth. "Not at all. I know we barely know each other, but we're friends."

"Friends. I like that."

He smiled at me and a shiver ran down my spine. He looked so gorgeous in the warm light, and I wanted to know how smooth his skin was, what every inch of him felt like, and what he tasted like. Fuck, it was too late for me now. I couldn't stop these feelings. It didn't matter whether he was too old for me or whether nothing permanent could come from this. I hadn't wanted a man like this in forever.

If this weekend was all I got, then I was going to take it.

***

Praline torte - a cream layered cake that usually contains almonds or hazelnuts