He brings his eyes up to meet mine. ‘I’m not sure I did.’
As I blush furiously, he offers me the plate of pastries and I select a croissant.
‘If I’m on a team for Argentina, I’ll be happy,’ he adds.
‘Is Argentina the big one?’
He nods slowly. ‘It’s the big one. It’s nerve-racking. Very fast, very aggressive – the best players in the world. There’s a lot of pressure.’
‘Uh-huh, I know how that feels,’ I say, liberally buttering my croissant with a solid silver knife. ‘I mean, the grooms’ match is on the horizon. Talk about high stakes.’
My sarcasm makes him chuckle. Satisfied, I bite into the pastry. It’s so delicious and warm and buttery, I suddenly feel more devoted to this croissant than anything else.
‘Oh. My.God,’ I cry as I chew, holding the rest of the pastry in my hand aloft.
He quirks a brow. ‘Good croissant?’
I swallow the mouthful in disbelief. ‘Are you fuckingkiddingme? What kind of bullshit croissants have they been feeding us back home?’
He bursts out laughing.
‘I’m serious!’ I insist, my lips curving into a smug smile at his reaction. He’s so calm and serious a lot of the time that I love making him laugh. It’s like a shell exterior cracking and revealing the gooey centre beneath. ‘This is the most incredible thing I’ve ever tasted. It’s so warm and soft and buttery. Mateo, we’re going to need to snaffle a bunch of these. How many do you reckon you can fit in your bag? I don’t even have a jacket, so you’re going to have to shoulder a lot of the work.’
‘You want us to steal pastries from the Ritz Paris?’
‘Yes. Have youtriedone of these? I can’t casually eat this croissant now and be expected to simply walk away knowing that they exist in this magical hotel while I’m going about my life across the sea. I’m not asking much. Just sweep that platter into one of your bags and we’re golden.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ he begins, his eyes twinkling at me, ‘how about we come back here to Paris together whenever you want and we can stay here and you can eat all the croissants you like? I think that’s a better plan than stuffing pastries in my bag.’
I swallow my mouthful. ‘We can come back to Paris whenever I want, huh?’
‘Whenever you want,’ he repeats, gazing at me. ‘Although I’d rather avoid the weekends of the big tournaments. Otherwise, you say the word and we’re right back here.’
‘That’s quite the offer. One craving for croissants and you’d whisk me away to Paris.’
‘Ash,’ he says, inhaling deeply, ‘I’d whisk you away anywhere you want to go.’
Wiping my hands with a cloth napkin, I smile bashfully at the sentiment, but the memory of Chris flashes across my brain, and apparently, I don’t do a very good job at hiding the stab of worry that accompanies it. Mateo’s expression falls and he frowns in concern.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’
He wiggles a finger at my face. ‘The line in between your eyebrows. There it is. If something has upset you, I’d like to know if you’d like to tell me.’
‘This conversation reminded me of a similar one I had a while ago, that’s all.’
His frown deepens. ‘Chris Courtney?’
‘Sorry. I don’t want to ruin this amazing moment talking about him.’
‘You wouldn’t ruin anything by telling me what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling,’ Mateo urges, reaching over to take my hand in his and bring it to his mouth, his lips grazing across my knuckles, warm flutters erupting in my stomach as I watch him. ‘I want to know if you want to talk about it.’
‘Not really,’ I say with a nervous laugh. ‘He promised to take me to Paris, but it was only meaningless words. It was hard to tell.’
Mateo listens and then sighs as I finish. ‘If I ever see that boy…’
I snort. ‘What? You’ll beat him up?’
