by Nina Milne
But Gabby did her best to focus on the job at hand, striving to consolidate the illusion of a relationship and to make the event a success. She told herself that, between them, she and Zander would work out a way to mitigate or better yet wipe out the Portugal disaster.
Finally the last guest departed, the last goodbye was said and only the family were left.
Julia stepped forward and gave Zander a hug. ‘Well done, little bro. This was a fabulous event and thank you for doing it. I’ll show Freddy the pictures.’
‘You do that—and tell him I’ll be round soon.’
Turning to Gabby with a smile that made her seem way less scary, Julia added, ‘Gabby, it was great to meet you—and if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you at the wedding. Have a fabulous time in Portugal.’
Gabby smiled, watching the remaining farewells and witnessing the sheer warmth and affection that existed in the Grosvenor family. A part of her felt a yearning for that sort of family closeness. Lord knew she loved her grandmother, but Lucille was all she had. And that meant one day, in the scheme of things, she would be alone. The thought cloaked her in sadness.
Goodbyes finally finished, they made their way to the car. Gabby waited until they were inside, seat belts secured, before she spoke. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Drive back to my apartment?’
‘I meant about Portugal.’
‘I know. I suggest we both try to figure out a strategy and we can talk about it when we get back. But first—thank you for everything you did tonight. You played your part to perfection, but you also did a fantastic job of talking to people about dyslexia. That wasn’t part of the deal and I appreciate it.’
‘I wanted to help. It’s not a topic I’ve really thought about very much until recently, but the research I did showed me how important a topic it is. And you did, too.’
‘I really do believe the more people discuss it and raise awareness the better. So thank you.’
He turned to flash her a quick smile and her tummy flip-flopped, tiredness suddenly forgotten as awareness simmered. And this was in a car—what would happen on a romantic beach getaway?
Determinedly closing her eyes, she leant her head back and tried to think of a strategy, a way out. But her brain refused to cooperate; instead, images drifted through her mind of herself and Zander on a beach, sitting on the sand, his fingers massaging sun cream into her back...
‘Gabby? We’re here.’
Sitting upright, she opened her eyes, blinked fiercely to dispel the lingering stupid fantasy and opened the car door.
They walked through the lobby, into the lift and out again, then into the apartment, and this time she followed him into an enormous living area.
More neutrality here, mixed with a minimalist feel that didn’t look like a design choice. It looked like the result of utter disinterest. Two large leather sofas, two chairs, a flat-screen television. A coffee table. More empty walls. No pictures, no photographs, no clutter, no cushions. Bland mixed with impersonal.
It was enough to temporarily distract her from the urgency of the Portugal fiasco and prompt a question. ‘Did you only move in recently?’
He looked puzzled as he glanced around the room, as if seeing it through her eyes. ‘A couple of years ago. Once I was sure that the business was secure, I figured it made more sense to own than to rent. Alessio persuaded me that a penthouse apartment was what I needed, and it seemed like a good enough investment.’
As he spoke, he tugged off his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt with an exhalation of relief. Gabby’s gaze fell on the small triangle of exposed skin and her breath caught in her throat. Her fingers itched with an insane desire to step forward and unbutton the next button, and the next. A reaction presumably brought on by panic and tiredness and his sheer proximity.
‘Did you choose the furniture?’ It was the best small talk she could conjure up as her gaze focused on his hands, studied the strength of his fingers, the broad wrists, the way he pushed his shirtsleeves up to reveal his muscled forearms.
‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘I just ordered online. I seem to spend more time in the office or travelling on business anyway, so this is more than enough for my needs. It’s just a place to eat and sleep, really.’ As if sensing her bemusement, he folded his arms in an almost defensive position. ‘I take it you disagree?’
‘It’s not that I disagree—it’s more that I don’t get it. My flat is where I eat and sleep, but I think of it as more than that. It’s my home.’ Her sanctuary. She utterly loved the security, the familiarity, the fact that it existed, was there every day. ‘I have a lovely landlord who has let me decorate and paint how I want to. I scoured the markets and charity shops in Bath and I’ve picked up and restored some gorgeous furniture.’
‘So you rent?’
‘Yes.’
If she wanted, she could buy rather than rent, but the deposit needed would take all her savings—which were earmarked for care for Lucille. Plus a certain amount of her salary went each month on providing a home help for her gran. But that wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with Zander.
She sat down on the armchair, which despite its meh-ness was at least comfortable. ‘Anyway, we have more important things to discuss. What are we going to do? About Portugal?’
He walked over to a drinks cabinet in the corner of the room. ‘Drink?’ The suggestion was accompanied by a rueful smile that, despite the situation, made her tummy dip.
‘Ha ha!’
‘Obviously I am not suggesting drink as an answer to the problem, but I think it may help deaden the pain of my answer. I can offer you whisky or wine.’
‘Red wine would be lovely.’
Minutes later he handed her a glass and then sat opposite her. ‘We’ll have to go.’
‘Go?’ Her voice reached an octave she’d hitherto thought impossible, and she sipped the rich ruby wine as a palliative.
‘Yes.’
To her irrational chagrin, his voice held no enthusiasm. But it did hold conviction.
‘Unless you have an idea that would get us out of it without hurting my mother’s feelings and unmasking us as impostors.’
‘Can’t you have a work emergency?’
‘Not on a permanent basis.’
‘But if we do go...’
Her voice trailed off. If they did go, what? They’d end up in bed together? That was ridiculous—she was a grown woman, not an adolescent. Yes, she was attracted to Zander, but surely she could get through three days without actually jumping him?
‘Won’t it be awkward?’
‘It doesn’t have to be awkward. Yes, it is meant to be a romantic break, but there won’t be anyone watching us. We can spend our time however we like. I was planning on a working weekend, but I can work from anywhere.’
Hurt pinged, along with a sudden sense of outrage that he could be so unaffected, could imagine sitting there and working rather than spending time with her.
But you know he’s right.
After all, every time they spent any amount of time in close proximity they ended up in a clinch. Plus, this was a fake romance—so why would he want to spend time with her?
Another sip of wine and she studied his expression, wondering if there was just a hint of a clench to his jawline as she told herself that his solution was the correct one. Go to Portugal and spend their time separately. And yet...
‘I don’t think a working weekend will work. Your family will ask questions when we get back...expect some photographs of us together. Julia strikes me as a woman who likes evidence. More to the point, your mum gave you this holiday in good faith. She wants you to have a break. Surely you owe her at least a credible pretence that you’ve done that?’
Colour touched his cheekbones and then he nodded. ‘You’re right. I should have thought of that.’ Now his exp
ression was rueful. ‘I guess I’m so used to working weekends I’ve forgotten how to even fake a break.’ He reached forward and picked up the brochure and the details about the trip. ‘I guess we will have to spend some time together after all.’
Well done, Gabby. She’d now persuaded him to spend time with her. A little voice questioned her motives—maybe that was what she actually wanted?
Holding out her hand, she forced her expression to remain cool. ‘If you like, I’ll do a bit of research...figure out the best things to do.’ That way at least she could retain some semblance of control.
‘Sure. That would be good.’
Taking care not to so much as brush against his fingers, she took the folder and rose to her feet. ‘Now that’s settled, if it’s OK with you, I’ll hit your spare room. I’ll be out of your hair first thing tomorrow morning.’
Literally—her plan was to sneak out at daybreak.
‘Then, next stop—Portugal.’
* * *
A week later, Zander glanced across at Gabby as she clicked her seat belt on and settled back in the luxurious first-class seat. Simply dressed in cropped linen trousers and a blue-and-cream-striped T-shirt, she looked utterly gorgeous.
Over the past days he’d immersed himself in work, taken some time out to spend with his niece and nephew, caught a beer with Alessio—but Gabby had popped into his head with a persistent, disconcerting frequency.
Logic told him that it was all to do with physical attraction, and further informed him that, however mutual the attraction, it would be a bad idea to succumb.
Instinct warned that it would bring complications of the type he didn’t want. Gabby had made it more than clear that a short-term relationship was not what she wanted. She wanted a relationship like her grandparents had had. He respected that, but he knew he couldn’t offer it. So the best way forward was to keep a lid on the attraction.
He opened his netbook and settled down to work—yet he couldn’t resist the occasional glimpse out of the corner of his eye. The gloss of her chestnut hair, the length of her long slim legs, the small frown of concentration that creased her forehead as she read her book...
The two-hour flight was achieved in near silence, broken only by polite banalities over the quality of the food. Gabby had clearly decided the best way to get through their ‘romantic break’ was the use of platitudes to combat the danger of proximity. It seemed as good a strategy as any.
‘Nice airport,’ he said as they alighted from the aircraft.
‘I don’t have a lot of airport experience, but I’m sure you know what you’re talking about.’
Their discussion on airports and Tarmac was sustained through customs and baggage control and then segued seamlessly into comments on the hire car.
Once they were en route to Sintra, he sensed Gabby relax, as if now his focus was on driving and navigation she could afford to drop her guard and enjoy the scenery and the heat of the Portuguese sunshine as they made their way to their destination.
And what a destination it was.
Gabby gave a small gasp as they arrived. ‘This is...amazing. I knew Sintra was in a natural park, with beautiful scenery, but I didn’t realise it would be like this.’
Neither had he. Hills covered in lush forest contrasted with a rugged coastline. Verdant greens, azure blues, rich browns all combined in a kaleidoscopic panorama of vibrant colour.
‘The villa is on the outskirts of Sintra, so thankfully we don’t have to drive through town. The owner recommended walking and using public transport.’
But despite the factual nature of his words, Zander could feel himself relax, too, almost against his will. The scent of eucalyptus and the inexplicable sense of time slowed down pervaded the very air in the car, and for a moment he almost wished this was a real break, a real holiday. That he and Gabby were a real...
He wrenched his thoughts from the impossible and focused on navigating the narrow winding country road that led to the villa.
‘Holy moly...’ Gabby whispered as they climbed out of the car. Her hazel eyes were wide with wonder, her lips slightly parted. ‘It’s...fantastical, phantasmal—I mean, I can’t believe it’s real.’
It truly was idyllic. Whitewashed stone walls, a low roof, a doorway trailing with plants, wooden framed windows that gleamed pristinely, a mosaic patio garden. The scent of pine, the drone of bees, sun-dappled greenery. The villa could have been lifted from a book of fairy tales.
‘And look!’
Her hand landed on Zander’s bare forearm and the touch sent an instant ripple of sensation over his skin, a tantalising hint of a promise that he knew couldn’t be kept.
The expression on her face was so alight with enthusiasm and awe that he found it hard to take his eyes from her and follow the direction of her gaze. But he did, taking in the magnificence of the view, the steep descent of the valley, the shine of the sea in the late-morning sunshine, the medieval walls of the Moorish castle that overlooked the town.
‘Breathtaking.’
Yet even now he wasn’t sure if it was Gabby or the scene before him that had caused his lungs to constrict, and he turned back to the villa.
‘Shall we make sure it’s solid and look inside?’
Gabby nodded and together they approached the aquamarine front door, where he halted, leant down and retrieved a key from under a flowerpot.
‘The owner should have left full instructions and some provisions inside.’ Turning the key, he pushed the door open and they stepped inside.
The stone walls were unpainted, a higgledy-piggledy pattern of shades of cream and brown and grey. The living area was small but comfortably furnished, with a white love seat scattered with scarlet cushions and two plump armchairs in cool cream. There was a small kitchen area in the background, with a display cabinet holding an array of brightly patterned plates, cheerful curtains at the window. Tucked away was the bathroom—a small room cleverly designed to include a marble sink and a state-of-the-art shower. A winding staircase led the way up to a mezzanine level under the gables where a double bed sat.
‘You can have the bed,’ he said. ‘I can easily manage down here.’
‘How?’ They both scanned the size of the sofa. ‘There is no way you’ll fit on that.’
‘Yes, but neither will you.’
‘Then we’ll take turns,’ she said firmly.
‘Well, you have upstairs tonight and then we’ll see.’
He followed her up the winding wooden stairs, lined with bright red iron banisters wrought in thin wavy lines. Once on the mezzanine, they stood in silence. The entire area was dominated by the double bed, which had an ornate curved headboard and was tucked snugly under eaves and gables.
Turning away from it, she said, ‘What a beautiful bed.’ Instantly heat touched her face. ‘That is not what I meant. I meant to say view. What a beautiful view.’
‘It is.’ He couldn’t help it. He kept his gaze focused on her face and her blush deepened.
‘Out there,’ she said, and he followed the pointing of her finger.
Gabby was right. The window framed a burst of flowers, a kaleidoscope of colours and scents that wafted inside. Yet right now he’d prefer to look at Gabby. Not good.
He headed for the stairs.
Once downstairs, Gabby sat on one of the armchairs. ‘Right. As discussed, I did some research and...’ She paused. ‘What?’
He realised that without meaning to he had started grinning. ‘“I’ll do a bit of research.” It’s the Gabby Johnson catchphrase.’
‘Go figure.’ But she was smiling, too. ‘I like research. I like to have a plan. And, honestly, I enjoyed it. Sintra is an incredible place—there’s so much to do. A palace, a medieval castle, and it all looks so very magical. I wish—’ She broke off and regrouped. ‘I’ve basically come up with a few things we can do, take some
photos and garner enough information so that we can make sure your family believe we had a proper romantic break. And you will still have time to work.’
‘Perfect. I’ll make coffee, then we can figure out what to do next.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
AS HE SCOOPED coffee into the cafetière, Zander pushed down a sudden, inexplicable, ridiculous sense of regret. There was nothing to regret—this was an enforced break and he needed to work. Yet Gabby’s enthusiasm, her sense of the magical, had infused him with an unmistakable tint of dissatisfaction at the prospect of work, and with an urge to explore Sintra and see it through Gabby’s eyes. Daft. He’d never been one for beach holidays or romantic breaks and now was definitively not the time to start.
With a shake of his head he poured the coffee and returned to the lounge area, where Gabby sat on the sofa, laptop resting on her knees.
‘OK. So what’s the plan?’ Handing her a mug, he sat down in the other armchair.
‘Well, there is so much that we can do it’s been quite hard to narrow it down. This place is like a tourist treasure trove—fairy-tale castles, beaches, fishing villages...’
As he watched her, something tugged in his chest. Her enthusiasm, the way she described the places, was still doing something strange to him.
‘You choose—I’m good with any of them.’
‘Nope. It’s important you choose.’ Her face was serious now. ‘The whole point of this charade is to make your family happy, so we need to do this properly. What would you like to do? Apart from work.’
It occurred to him that he had no idea. ‘I really don’t mind.’
She frowned, hesitated. ‘What sort of holidays did you and Claudia go on?’
‘We mostly holidayed with her parents. They’d bought an old chateau out in France and we spent the holidays helping them renovate it.’ He hadn’t enjoyed those holidays—he’d known Claudia’s parents didn’t really approve of him, though he’d never been sure as to why. Perhaps they had seen something he hadn’t been able to—had known that in reality he and Claudia weren’t suited.
