‘And?’ I prod.
‘And, when I think about it, I feel like I wasn’t young for long enough. Sometimes I feel life’s passed me by a little. I…’ A frown cuts a small line between his brows and he looks unsure, before confessing, ‘I suppose I’d like to be out in the world doing something different; experiencing new things and meeting new people. Do you know what I mean?’
‘I do know.’ I run a finger over the back of his hand, feeling the connection between us. ‘Moving to London was absolutely what I wanted, but doing it at eighteen forced me to grow up fast, because Jess and I had to take care of each other. In a way, we became adults too quickly.’
‘Would you change it if you could do it again?’ Alex asks, turning his hand over to capture mine, toying with my fingers.
My skin sparkles, body tingling. Like magic, if I thought such things existed.
I mull over his question, biting my lip. ‘No,’ I shake my head at last, ‘because, well … I still have time to change things.’ Saying it helps me realise it’s true. ‘I have plenty of time left, and apart from a joint mortgage, very little responsibility. How about you?’
‘Unfortunately I have lots of responsibilities,’ he evades and pulls his hand away, looking grim, as an elderly couple walk into the café. ‘Charley, I don’t know how to say this…’
‘Say what?’ Is he telling me it’s over now? That’s it?
‘I can’t – that is – we have to be discreet.’
‘No PDAs you mean?’
‘Pardon?’
‘Public displays of affection. And I wasn’t asking you to hold my hand, Alex,’ I say, stung and irritated. ‘Or kiss me in the middle of the street.’
‘I know you’re not expecting anything from me, which is good.’ That stings too. ‘But I mean what I said on Saturday night. I want my private life kept private, so when we’re out in public—’
‘Okay, I get it. We have to be careful. Noted.’ I force myself to smile. He may have annoyed the heck out of me but I don’t want our last few hours together ruined. I can also see proper anxiety in his expression. ‘Come on,’ I lick flakes of pastry off my fingers before gulping the aromatic sweet coffee down. Pushing the other pastry towards him: ‘We went to so much trouble sneaking out of the hotel, you’ve got to soak up some of the local culture. Eat and we’ll go for a wander, do a bit of window shopping, see if any of the street entertainers are out now they have to pay for licenses.’
‘How do you know that? Have you been here before?’
‘No. I watch a lot of travel programmes.’
‘That’s right. You said at dinner on Friday you want to travel.’
‘At some point, yes.’ It’s a dream that seems a long way off at the moment, but I’ll make it happen somehow, someday. Everyone needs goals. I raise an eyebrow as he starts devouring his croissant. ‘Hungry are we?’
Cocking his head, he runs smouldering eyes over my body. ‘I burnt off a lot of energy last night.’
I blush and joke. ‘Well, whoever she was, she’s a lucky girl.’
‘Very lucky,’ he says, staring at my mouth.
Shifting in my seat, I cast around for a way to change the subject so I don’t launch myself across the table and break his no PDA rule. ‘We should do something about your wardrobe.’
He pauses, mouth full of food, then swallows. ‘What’s wrong with it? These are expensive clothes, you know.’
‘I know,’ I nod solemnly, ‘they’re stylish,’ I placate. ‘But they’re so … bleurgh, formal. You haven’t worn one casual thing, even yesterday.’
He looks blank.
‘Sunday?’ I prompt. ‘The seventh day of the week, that people usually have a rest on.’
‘Oh, yes. I knew that.’ Taking another bite of croissant with white, even teeth, chewing and swallowing: ‘I’ve got casual stuff at home.’
‘Which consists of what?’
‘Chinos, white shirts.’
‘Whilst the suave Jude Law look is pretty sexy, a pair of jeans might be nice, especially if they show off your lovely rear end.’
‘Thanks,’ he smiles, looking ridiculously pleased at my comment, ‘but I don’t do that casual.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s an image thing. I have to think about the family reputation.’
‘What, are you royalty or something?’ I tease. Despite him being CEO, and his social status, it’s surprisingly easy to feel comfortable with him.
‘No. I told you, we have old-fashioned values.’
‘Come on, even princes go casual on occasion. Look at Harry and Wills. Is the world going to explode if you do? Will either of your parents keel over from a heart attack?’
He holds his hand out in a see-sawing motion. ‘Fifty-fifty,’ he jokes. ‘The last time my brother Kristian turned up in jeans, Mum asked him to change and Dad locked himself in his study.’ He stares into space before shaking his head. ‘Fine, I’ll take the chance, but if it all goes wrong I’m blaming you.’
‘Not a problem, I’ve got lots of places to hide.’
‘I wish I did.’
His candid comment makes me stop and think. It must be awful to feel like you have nowhere to run to if necessary. Still, if there’s one thing I’ve learnt this weekend, he doesn’t appreciate being pitied. ‘You’ll find somewhere,’ I wave a hand, ‘and if you don’t, you’re rich enough to buy your own private island, Richard Branson-style.’
He throws a napkin at me and I duck out of the way. ‘Don’t be cheeky,’ he says and I open my mouth to apologise but he dead-pans, ‘I can afford far more than one.’
‘Good for you. That’d be nice.’ I sigh dreamily, chin on my fist. ‘White sands, vast azure skies, swaying palm trees.’
He flicks the tip of my nose to bring me back. ‘Are we going shopping or not?’ He leaps from his chair and pops the rest of the second pastry into his mouth.
‘Yeah. Come on then.’
He throws a pile of money on the table without checking the bill. Although he doesn’t hold my hand as we leave, a warm hand trails a fiery path down my back, making me shiver in response. Though no one can see it, I know it’s there.
Talking about our favourite places in London, comparing notes, we mooch along Las Ramblas. There are a few street artists around to take advantage of the tourists, and I jump and let out an embarrassing girlie scream as a lifelike statue moves – a vampire spinning me into his arms and pretending to bite my neck with red-tipped fangs. I pull away muttering as Alex tries not to laugh, and fails, hugging me to his side when I stick my lower lip out in a mock sulk. As he lowers his head towards me, I push against his chest. ‘Hey, no PDAs,’ I say in a light tone, ‘remember?’
‘Yes,’ an expression I can’t read crosses his face, ‘you’re right.’
We stop in one of the shops at the northern end of the long, wide, paved street, tucked behind a discreet black door. Sitting in a plush, green-velvet chair filled with silk cushions, I soak up the atmosphere as I wait for Alex, trendy music pulsing from invisible speakers in the burgundy walls, a horde of young, cool staff floating around making drinks and tending to the exclusive clientele.
Alex comes out of the changing room wearing a pair of black jeans and a pale-blue open-necked top. Oh my. My knickers go into meltdown at the sight of his muscular thighs in the tight denim, the cotton of the top clinging to his wide shoulders and chest, the light shade managing to highlight how big and manly he is.
‘What do you think?’ he demands.
‘Uh-huh,’ I wheeze, nodding. I shoot a look at the nearest female assistant. She’s stopped what she’s doing to stand and gape at him.
‘Do you like it?’
I suck my cheeks in, and gulp with great difficulty. ‘Do you?’
‘It’s comfortable,’ he shrugs. ‘Think I’ll go and try something else on.’
As he goes into the changing room it gives me a view of his delectable bum. I may just slide down into a puddle on the floor right now.
The assistant and I look at each other. She recovers first, probably because she has no idea the contents live up to the packaging. I squirm on the chair, thinking about the things we did to each other, how warm and confident his hands are. Would it be very naughty to sidle into the cubicle and help him out of his clothes?
‘You have a very handsome boyfriend, si?’ The young assistant saunters over, tucking a few dark curls behind her ear.
It’s too complicated to explain. My chest puffs up. ‘Si,’ I reply, wishing he did belong to me. Silly girl. Just imagine that on tap twenty-four seven, though. Wow.
Alex materialises again in dark-blue jeans and a black top, open at the collar. Take me now.
The shop assistant looks at him and turns to me with a raised eyebrow. Why are you here shopping her expression seems to say, when you could be alone with him? I completely agree, wanting to go back to the hotel room and push him up against the wall and do wicked things to him.
‘Charley?’ Alex crouches down in front of me, tanned skin and black hair looking sinfully gorgeous against the dark top.
‘What? Yes. Fine,’ I croak.
‘I didn’t ask you anything.’ He chuckles, ‘I was just trying to get your attention.’
‘Oh.’ Leaning forward I tuck my hands into his collar, feel the smooth skin of his shoulders, run my fingers into the hair at his nape. Our eyes connect and something around the area of my heart lurches. ‘You know I like you, right?’
He smiles and the corners of his blue eyes crinkle. ‘Yes. I like you too.’
I want to rest my forehead against his, close my eyes and make the world go away, but it’s not an option.
‘Good.’ I sit back and clear my throat. ‘Now go get changed and then buy some of that stuff. You look great in it.’
‘Yes, madam,’ he salutes, pretending to click his heels.
I sit back in the chair, head falling onto the headrest as he strolls into the changing room.
I’m going to hell.
Chapter Twenty Two
But I’m in heaven a few minutes later when we’ve exited the boutique carrying several posh bags and I spy a shoe shop. I drag Alex over to the large window, my eyes racing over the display. I’m a girl who loves her chocolate but shoes … they’re on another level. The ones that make me go still are open-toed and neck-breakingly high, covered with blue and purple swirls against a white background, reminiscent of renaissance artwork. Better still, one of them is lying on its side and I can see that the soles are red.
‘Wow,’ my breath fogs the glass.
‘Nice?’ Alex presses a hand into the small of my back and, after peering down into my face, grins.
‘Magical.’
‘So buy them.’
I check out the price tag. If I had a steady job and three months of clothing budget set aside I’d consider it. ‘Can’t.’ It’s a humiliating confession.
‘I guess it is a lot to spend. Let me.’ He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.
‘That’s sweet, Alex, but I wasn’t hinting. I don’t want you to pay because you’re the man, or the boss, or rich.’
‘I appreciate that, but you love them.’ One corner of his mouth curls up, ‘In fact, from the light shining in your eyes I’m not sure which you’re most excited by; me or the shoes.’
I chew my lower lip like I’m putting serious thought into it. ‘It’s a close contest, but they just have the edge.’
He smirks. ‘Very funny. I’m not sure if they’d be very good company, but if that’s how you feel, you should definitely buy them.’
I stiffen my shoulders. ‘I told you, I can’t.’
‘Why?’
I may as well tell him. ‘Because I’m broke.’
‘Broke?’
‘Yes.’ This is so cringeworthy, especially with him being so rich. Super-yacht, luxury mansion, sports-car rich.
‘Completely broke, as in you can’t afford to eat?’
If only a crevice would open up in the chewing-gum-laden pavement and swallow me whole. ‘Yes,’ I reply tightly, ‘pretty much.’ I fight the urge to lay my head against his broad shoulder and cry.
‘Ah,’ he says, nodding.
‘What?’
‘The comments you made about money in the car on Friday make sense now. So, how have you managed this weekend?’
‘Everything’s paid for.’ I shove my hands in my jeans pockets. ‘Room, food and drinks.’
‘What happened?’
I trail my eyes across the other shoes in the window, not really seeing them. ‘I don’t feel comfortable talking about it.’ Now, out in public, is not the time to tell him about my chequered employment history.
‘You can tell me.’ He squeezes my waist and looks into my eyes. ‘What is it?’ he asks, trying to make light of it. ‘Online bingo? An addiction to male dancers?’
‘Close, but not quite.’
He sighs. ‘You don’t want to discuss it, I can live with that, but why are you struggling so much? Wouldn’t your parents help if you asked them?’
‘Yes.’ I want so badly to lean on him, let him carry some of the weight.
‘But you don’t want to ask,’ he guesses, ‘because then they might think they were right, you shouldn’t have moved to the city.’
I’ve never met a guy who understands me so well. ‘Yes.’
He tugs on a piece of my wavy hair. ‘And will they be right?’
‘No,’ I say fiercely, instinctively, ‘they won’t.’
‘Because?’
‘Because I was happy until recently, and the experience of pursuing my dreams has made me who I am. No one can take that away from me.’ It spills out of my mouth and I stop. Regret and relief rise in my throat.
‘So does it matter if they think they’re right, as long as you know they aren’t?’
I let out a shaky laugh. ‘I guess not.’
‘Everyone goes through setbacks, you shouldn’t be ashamed. It doesn’t matter to me whether you’ve got money or not and it won’t to anyone who matters.’
‘Easy for you to say,’ I sniff, ‘you’re loaded!’ Immediately backtracking, ‘Sorry, that was rude.’
‘Don’t worry.’ He pauses. ‘My family has pots of money, the company does. Between you and me, though, I don’t draw as big a salary as I could.’
‘You mentioned that on the way to the hotel on Friday. So how come? And what about the designer suits, the Maserati? You’re not going to tell me you live in a box under a bridge are you?’ I look at him suspiciously, ‘Because that I would not believe.’
‘No.’ His eyes gleam with mirth, ‘I don’t. I have a flat in London, one in Paris, and my own wing of the family home in Corfu. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy having money, but the rest of the stuff is part of the image. There are far more important things in my life.’
‘Like?’ I’m confused. I thought all he did was work.
‘Right at this moment, bedding a lovely redhead.’
I roll my eyes, grateful to him for trying to cheer me up. He makes life seem right. Or at least like it’s okay, or might be.
No. I can’t think that way. Stepping back from him deliberately to put some distance between us, I stare at the display again. It’s not real, whatever’s happening between us today. He’s nothing to do with real life. The inflexible, solid glass of the window separating me from the gorgeous shoes is like the barrier separating Alex and me. We can see each other but we can’t occupy the same space.
‘Come on.’ Spinning away from him, I wander down the street, looking up at the graceful Gothic architecture of the buildings surrounding us. ‘What do you think is in there?’ I point at nondescript double doors tucked under an archway in the side of a building, a flow of people entering and exiting.
‘I don’t know. Do you want to check it out?’ Alex asks.
‘Have we got time?’
He frowns down at his watch. ‘Let’s make time.’
I smile over my shoulder at him
as he follows me, and watch as the smile dies from his eyes, face becoming sombre. What’s he thinking? I wonder, but forget about it in the awe of the room I step into. It’s like arriving in Narnia. Completely unexpected. An indoor food market is arranged in lines of stalls, the vibrant colours almost too bright for my eyes. I spin around. Red, orange, yellow, green, purple. Smoothies, fruit, cakes. Like a light glass-topped warehouse, the space is warm and filled with people. I can smell something deliciously spicy cooking and hear shoppers chattering as they buy stuff or meander down the aisles. ‘Woah. Where do we start?’ I ask, mouth slightly open in wonder.
Alex turns away from a stall owner with a blue bandana in her dark hair, handing me a clear plastic cup with a domed lid and a neon-pink straw sticking out the top of it. ‘Strawberry and Kiwi smoothie,’ he answers, gesturing down the alley of stalls I’m standing next to. ‘Shall we go down there?’
‘Thanks. Sounds good.’ Taking a sip of smoothie, I make an mmming sound at the back of my throat. ‘That’s gorgeous. You have to try it,’ holding out my straw to him.
Ignoring it, he hauls me in close and plants a kiss on me, tongue slipping between my lips. ‘Tasty,’ he whispers, stepping away.
‘What happened to no PDAs?’ I breathe.
Taking in the crowd of people sweeping past us: ‘There’s no one I know here. To everyone else we’re just a couple enjoying a lazy day together.’
‘Uh-huh,’ I agree, fiddling with my hair, arranging it over one shoulder. We’re not a couple, and when he finds out what I came on the assignment for we’re not likely to be.
‘Let’s get cracking,’ he says, tugging me forward.
An hour later we’ve walked up and down every aisle and have tried more samples than I thought possible. Tender meats and fresh seafood and sweet bread and dark fruity wine. ‘Well, I’m not going to need any lunch that’s for sure,’ I tell Alex. ‘Talking of which, shouldn’t we be getting back to the hotel?’ I’m surprised I’m the one to mention it.
The Little Shop of Afternoon Delights Page 44
