Love In London: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  I can’t help but look at him and know, just know, that it will be. That it would have been if we’d done it in that closet, or in the waiting room before the tour guide burst in. Oz doesn’t need to do anything else to make it special. He just has to be Oz, the man of my dreams and fantasies. The one I’ve been crushing on ever since I knew what a man was. And he does that just fine.

  “Alright,” I concede at last, with a sigh. “But I’ll miss you tonight.” I almost hold my breath after the words leave my mouth, wondering if I’ve gone too far. Am I coming on too strong? Am I going to end up putting him off after all? I sound like a lovesick teenager, not a sexy femme fatale.

  “Me, too,” he says, putting my fears at rest. “But I have to do it this way. If I don’t – if we stay together somewhere tonight, even if we’re in different rooms – I won’t be able to hold myself back. I’ll have to find you and have my way with you, and that would ruin all my plans.”

  I think about it for a second, and then open my mouth to reply.

  “No,” he says, holding up a hand and shaking his head. “You’re incorrigible. Stop trying to tempt me, woman. I’m making it special for you, and that’s that.”

  I can’t help but smile as I return my attention to my food.

  When we finish our meal, it’s a bittersweet kind of feeling. On the one hand, I know that he’s determined, and the only way to make this all happen is for him to leave me for the night. He’s too stubborn to let me have my way tonight. He has to be. There’s no way he would have got to where he is today, and be so well-respected in business if he was a pushover who could be tempted into breaking his promises.

  On the other hand, though, I really wish we could stay together a little longer. Every moment with him feels amazing, and I don’t ever want them to stop.

  Which, inevitably, just brings me back to the realization that this all has an expiration date, just one week. And we’ve already used up two of those days. We only have five left.

  So when he kisses me sweetly at my door and then walks away as fast as he can, like he can’t trust himself if he doesn’t, it’s bittersweet again. Because watching him walk away and knowing how much he wants me is pretty amazing.

  But on the other hand, I don’t want to waste a single second – and I can feel them slipping through my fingers like gold dust already.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Oz

  “So?” I ask, as we walk away from the campus – this time, without any embarrassing near-misses or encounters in cupboards. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a disappointment. “What did you think of that one?”

  “I don’t know,” Gabby sighs. “I mean, it seems nice there. The only thing is, I don’t know what to compare it to?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Well, I hardly paid any attention at all to the tour yesterday,” she says, laughing, her face lighting a temporary, attractive pink. “And we missed the end. So, I don’t even know.”

  I chuckle. “Sorry, that’s my fault,” I say. “I should have let you enjoy the tour and kept my hands to myself.”

  “No,” she says, coloring a little more – probably at the fact that her own response was so immediate. “You shouldn’t have done that. You should never do that.”

  I laugh out loud, slipping my arm around her waist and pulling her close to kiss her forehead. “Noted.”

  “What did you think of it?” she asks.

  “The college?” I ask, a little surprised that she would want my opinion.

  “Yeah,” she says. “You’ve already been through this whole process. You know more about it than I would.”

  “Well, I’m obviously biased, but I think yesterday’s facilities were better,” I say. “And the teaching staff are still second to none.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “That’s what I’ve seen in all the league tables.”

  I pause to hail a cab, sticking my arm out as the iconic black vehicle cruises to a stop beside us. “Anyway, get in,” I say. “We’ve got something else to enjoy today.”

  “As if I’d forget,” she replies, giving me a cheeky grin before sliding into the back seat. I follow her and give the driver the name of a small side street I want him to take us to, then sit back.

  “Where are we going, anyway?” Gabby asks.

  “It’s a surprise,” I say, taking her hand in mine and kissing it. I let them fall back onto the seat between us, still entwined.

  “What kind of surprise?” she asks, tilting her head like she’s not going to give up until I tell her. “We’re on the way now, right? So, it’s still a surprise if you tell me now.”

  I can’t help but laugh and shake my head at her tenacity. “We’re going shopping. That’s all I’m saying.”

  She cranes her head forward, staring at the live map on the dashboard that shows us where we are. “Hmm, but where? Oxford Street isn’t nearby to where we’re going.”

  “There are more places in London to go shopping than Oxford Street,” I laugh.

  And then I watch her. I watch how she looks out of the window, craning her head for any hint of where we’re headed. She’s like an excited child, but not in a bad way – in the most adorable, cute way. And I see how her gaze changes, how her jaw drops as we start to move closer to our destination.

  We drive past huge outlet stores and flagships for some of the biggest brands in the world. Huge designer names with big price tags attached. I know she must recognize them from the way her expression shifts, into awe and wonder. I can see, also, a little bit of nervousness. She still worries that I’m spending too much money on her, doesn’t she?

  It’s amazing, really. For me to find someone like this. When everyone else is concerned about making me spend as much on them as possible, she wants me to spend as little as possible. And that just makes me want to spoil her even more.

  The cab turns down a side street and stops, pulling up against the curb. I lean over to pay him, tapping my card against a reader in the central console, and then rush around to open Gabby’s door for her. Typically, she’s already opened it and is getting out, but I can at least offer my hand in steadying her while she stands.

  “This is where we’re going?” she asks, raising her eyes to take in the small building in front of us. It doesn’t look like much, especially after the big, flashy stores we’ve just driven past. Some of them are so popular, they had lines out the doors of people waiting for their turn to get in. But this place is quiet and understated. It doesn’t even have a doorman.

  It doesn’t need one – because the only people who know it exists are the people who can afford to come here. It’s one of the best kept secrets in London, and I can’t wait to share it with her.

  “Follow me,” I say, holding out my hand. She takes it, and we walk in through the doors together, into a white space characterized by a few plush chairs, a couple of racks of clothing, and a door that I know from experience leads into a very nice changing room.

  “Hello, Mr. Patterson.” The stylist emerges as if from nowhere, materializing with a professional smile and a nod in Gabby’s direction. “And this must be your guest. Gabby, is it?”

  “Yes,” Gabby says, sounding astounded. “Hi.”

  I chuckle, stepping forward and letting go of Gabby’s hand so I can sit down in one of the chairs. “She’s all yours, Millie,” I say. “Work your magic.”

  “What?” Gabby says, looking from me to Millie and back again with a little shell-shocked confusion.

  “Allow me to explain,” Millie says smoothly, giving me a knowing look. “I’m sure Mr. Patterson wanted to keep the surprise for the last minute, am I right? Well, I’m a personal stylist. And I’ve been hired to provide you with the finest capsule wardrobe that money can buy.”

  “Wh… how?” Gabby says, looking at me again. “This…”

  “We’ve been working from photographs of you, taken from your social media profiles,” Millie says, with a confident air. “Even so, I’m pr
oud to say we’re very good at getting the sizing right. We’ve put together a selection of things we think you’ll love, from items that already match your personal style through to a few wildcards which we think will turn you to new possibilities.”

  Gabby blinks at the two racks of clothes and accessories in front of us. “You mean – all of those are for me?”

  “Yes,” Millie says, smiling as she recognizes Gabby catching on. “You can take home as many or as few of them as you like, though I’d like to think you’ll fall in love with almost all of them. Are you in need of refreshments, by the way? We have a selection of complimentary drinks for you to choose from, and we work with a local bakery to offer some delicacies while you try everything on.”

  I pick up the menu resting on the side table next to the chair, but everything is just as I remember it. “I’ll take a couple of those pistachio macarons, to start with,” I say. “And do you have anything for me to read?”

  “Of course,” Millie says, inclining her head. “We have today’s Financial Times for you as always.”

  “Excellent,” I say, settling in more comfortably. “Well, Gabby. I can’t wait to see you try on the first look.”

  We spend the rest of the afternoon in a hazy kind of way, enjoying the drinks and high-quality little bonbons and pastries while Gabby works her way through the whole rack. Every time she steps out of the dressing room my heart races at how stunning she looks, dressed up in the kind of clothing she deserves. Not that there was anything wrong with that white tennis dress – but when clothes are as expensive and well-made as this, it shows.

  And I see the smile it puts on her face, too. Even though the doubt is still there – and I’m already anticipating the argument we need to have before I can get her to accept these things as gifts – I see how her face lights up when she sees herself. When she recognizes what I’ve always seen, that she’s the most beautiful woman that has ever existed.

  I would pay any amount of money, up to and including the value of every single thing I own and more, just to see that smile on her face more often.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Gabby

  “Seriously, Oz,” I complain, squeezing his hand tighter where it’s entangled with mine on the backseat of the cab. “You shouldn’t have bought all of them.”

  “Why not?” Oz asks. He looks at me seriously, his eyes piercing into mine. “I have the money. You look good in all of them. Why shouldn’t I be selfish and want to see you wear them?”

  “But you won’t,” I say softly, even though I kind of hate myself for bringing it up. “I can’t possibly wear all of these clothes before I have to go home at the end of the week. You won’t see all of them.”

  Oz shrugs, lightheartedly. It makes my hand jump as he shifts. “Then you’ll have to take pictures when you get back home and send them to me.”

  My heart drops, just a little bit. When I get back home. No, invite to stay longer, then. Not that I was expecting it or even hoping for it. It’s just – that was the perfect opportunity for him to say it, and he didn’t. Which means it’s not going to happen. In just a few days, I leave here, and I might not come back at all – or if I do, it will be months from now, and he’ll probably have moved on by then.

  “You’re going to ship all of this back with me?” I ask, pretending not to notice what he said or that it hasn’t affected me. “I don’t know if it will fit in my suitcase.”

  “Of course, I’ll arrange for it to join you,” he says with a smile. “Wouldn’t be much of a gift if you had to pay excess luggage fees to enjoy it.”

  I glance out of the window and realize we’re pulling up in front of a huge glass and stone building, an impressive modern construction right by the river. The driver is stopping, so I guess this is where we’re headed. “Is this where you live?” I ask.

  “Yep,” Oz replies, leaning over quickly to pay the fare, giving me a grin. “Ready to come up and see it?”

  I remember why we’re here, and the excitement rushes back through my body again. “I’m ready,” I say, even though the trembling nerves inside me aren’t quite sure.

  Even if they aren’t, something else is. The heat pooling in the bottom of my stomach in anticipation of what's to come.

  Oz takes my hand again as the taxi pulls away, and keys in a code at the door to let us in. Then we’re moving to an elevator and up – and up – and up…

  I start to think about what I actually just saw. The lobby. It was… plush, fancy. And there was a doorman, even though he wasn’t at the door itself, but just inside. Oz put all of our bags down beside him without even mentioning it, so I guess he must be bringing them up for us. And then there was the uniform he was wearing – a kind of red suit with a plain white shirt and a red tie. Very nice. Even for a doorman.

  And the elevator is marked with a lot of floors, but we seem to be going past all of them, and…

  The penthouse. We stop at the penthouse.

  Because, of course, we do.

  Oz lives in the penthouse suite of the fanciest apartment building I’ve ever been in. That figures.

  The doors slide open and Oz walks me to a door which he unlocks, letting me inside. Behind it is something that almost defies words.

  Safe to say, it makes the lobby look like it was outfitted at a bargain bin.

  Oz’s home is decked out in mostly dark or neutral shades, dark wood furniture with black velvet fabric, walls in a shade of paint that isn’t quite white but isn’t so far as to be called grey – a soothing kind of tone that makes all the black seem less severe. There are black framed works of art on the walls, sculptures made of hard and masculine materials in dark colors, and even the extremely plush carpet is a soft grey.

  All of it leads to one thing, and one thing that can’t be ignored. The wall at the other side of the room is all glass, a view right out over the Thames and beyond. From here, it looks like you can see the whole of London.

  It’s amazing.

  And I can’t even think about how much it must have cost.

  “I can’t believe you live here,” I say out loud, turning in a circle of wonder.

  Oz laughs. “It took me a long time to get here,” he says. “Fifteen years. If you’d met me when I graduated, you wouldn’t have been so impressed.”

  “But I’m meeting you now,” I say, turning to look at him. Behind us at the door, there’s a flurry of activity, the doorman, and someone else I haven’t seen yet in the same red uniform, bringing up all the bags of clothes we bought.

  “You are,” Oz says, bending softly to kiss me on the lips.

  Once everything is inside and the others are gone, it’s just the two of us alone in his penthouse apartment. I’ve been wandering around the living room, mostly because I feel a little awkward about people doing manual labor on my behalf, but now there’s no excuse for hiding anymore. Oz joins me looking out of the windows across the city, his hands resting lightly on my shoulders.

  “I never get tired of it,” he says.

  I love to hear his voice, how easy it is to see that he really loves this place. It makes me happy to know that he is. It really does.

  But…

  At the same time, a traitorous part of me listens to what he says and hears something else. Hears, he would never leave this place. He would never want to be anywhere else, and this place is… well, it’s a penthouse. The kind of place a bachelor lives alone. Not somewhere suitable for a family. And I do want a family, more than anything. I’ve always been sure of that.

  Which means, when you put it all together, there’s just one more barrier between us. One more reason why this weekend is the end of our relationship, full stop. If you can even call it a relationship. Isn’t it just sex? We haven’t even spoken about it being anything more. And it’s not like I have a great deal of experience in this area.

  Oz’s hands work gently across my shoulders, smoothing out some of the tension which has rapidly gathered there, and I let out a loud groan.
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  “Good?” he asks. In the pane of glass, I can make out his reflection over my shoulder, his teasing smile.

  “Really good,” I say. “I hadn’t realized how much those muscles were aching until you started to rub them. I guess it’s been a busy week.”

  “You had that long flight, too,” Oz murmurs, starting to knead my muscles more purposefully. It’s like heaven, a short burst of pain when he touches the muscles, but then utter relief as he rolls his thumbs over them, making them finally loosen up. “That’s never good for your body.”

  “You would know, I guess,” I say, half-joking but half-digging for information. “You must be on international flights a lot.”

  “Not as much these days,” Oz says quietly, which almost makes me want to cry in frustration. Why do there have to be so many reasons for us not to see each other? Why can’t there be just one coincidence, one excuse, that means we can?

  The only way I might see him again, ever, at this rate is if I do decide to stay here in London and study. And I shouldn’t make that decision based only on him. I know I shouldn’t. This is about my life, my future career.

  But…

  “Come over and lay down,” Oz says, gently nudging me towards his couch. “You need some proper work here. You’re so full of tension.”

  He doesn’t know the half of it.

  “Okay,” I murmur weakly, allowing him to guide me over. I lay down on my front, pillowing my head on my arms in front of me, trying to forget about all the negativity. We’re here together, right now. That’s all that should matter. I need to live in this moment, to enjoy it to the fullest.

  I close my eyes as his hands land on my back again and try to shut out everything else until it’s just the two of us floating above the city high up and far away from all of my worries.

  Chapter Eighteen