by Nina Milne
He told himself that now he could focus on work—take his company to even greater heights without any distraction for the next seven months. And after that he would work out a balance between the baby and work without having to factor Gabby in at all. It was all for the best.
So why did his very soul feel so heavy as they trudged towards the steps he’d climbed in such anticipation?
A month later
Bath, Lucille’s house
Gabby smoothed her hand over her growing bump and smiled at her grandmother. The baby seemed to have rejuvenated Lucille.
‘I’ll be here on this green earth for as long as I can be. Here for the baby and for you, Gabrielle,’ she said.
‘I hope you’re here for years and years, Gran.’
Thank heaven for Lucille—her family, her rock. And a welcome distraction from thoughts of Zander.
Gabby had hoped that a month without seeing him would at least have started a cure for love, would have stunted its growth, made it less intense. But with each passing day the sheer ache of missing him intensified until all she wanted to do was call him, just to hear his voice.
But she didn’t. Her plan, such as it was, was to starve this love until eventually it would have to perish. She tried to ration even her thoughts of him—so far without noticeable success.
‘Gabby?’
‘Sorry, Gran. I was thinking.’
‘So have I been.’
‘About what?’ Idly, Gabby reached out for one of the small square marzipan-topped cakes which were her current craving.
‘Do you love Zander?’
The sheer unexpectedness of the question caught Gabby off guard and the cake dropped from her suddenly nerveless fingers, crashed on to her plate in a scatter of iced crumbs. ‘Of course not.’
‘Gabrielle. I’m an old lady, but I’ve known you all your life. Tell me the truth—I want to help and I know you aren’t happy.’
‘I am happy. I’m happy about the baby. A bit terrified, but mostly happy.’
‘And what about Zander?’ Lucille persisted. ‘Gabby, you can tell me. That’s what family is for.’
Gabby hesitated, and then the need to confide, to share the secret that burned within her with her gran, overcame her doubts. ‘I do love him. But he doesn’t know and he mustn’t ever know.’
‘Why not?’
‘He doesn’t want my love, Gran, and I can’t face the humiliation of inciting his pity or compassion.’ She couldn’t take the rejection. ‘Plus, it would make things complicated, and that’s not fair on the baby. We’ve agreed to explain that we’re friends, that we don’t love each other but we both love him or her.’
Her gran frowned, her delicate skin creasing. ‘But that’s not true. You said you wanted to tell your child the truth, that you didn’t want to live a lie by getting married. This will be living a lie, too.’
‘For my child.’
‘No, Gabby. It will be years before he or she is worried about the intricacies of the relationship between his parents. I don’t think this is about the baby. I think it’s about you. And, darling, I understand how scared you must be of having your love rejected again. Like your mother did. But I know that I would have told your grandfather I loved him no matter what. Because love should always be given a chance. And if Zander does reject that love I know you’re strong enough to face it and move forward.’
The last words were slurred slightly and Gabby could see the forcefulness of her speech had tired her grandmother.
Quickly she poured another cup of tea, and then she covered her gran’s veined hand with her own. ‘Thank you. I’ll think about it. I promise.’
And later, when she had gone back home, she did. She would never break a promise to her gran, so she thought about it long and hard. Replayed every word Lucille had uttered.
She closed her eyes and cringed at the idea of the pity, the compassion, the sheer awkwardness such a confession would generate. Yet Gran was right—love deserved a chance.
Gabby stared at the ceiling and made her decision, then snuggled down under her duvet and told herself it was the right thing to do.
Zander drummed his fingers on the desk and stared at his phone, willing it to ring and for it to be Gabby. Saying what? He closed his eyes. They had said everything they needed to say. Antenatal classes didn’t start for weeks, and until then the baby quite simply did not need him. Neither did Gabby—and he certainly didn’t need her. Though it was galling to realise how much he missed her. Somehow during the charade Gabby had got under his skin, permeated his life in ways he hadn’t foreseen and didn’t know how to combat.
His intercom buzzed and his PA’s voice rang out. ‘Your sisters are here.’
‘Both of them?’
For heaven’s sake. Zander sighed. The Grosvenors were gathering for lunch at their usual venue of a London Italian restaurant to celebrate his mother’s birthday. But the plan had been to meet at said restaurant, not at his office.
‘Tell them I’ll be right down.’
Zander rose and hitched his jacket off the back of his chair, made his way to the marble-floored lobby where his sisters waited. ‘Why the escort?’
‘To make sure that you actually come.’
‘I wouldn’t bail on Mum’s birthday.’
‘Well...just in case. We haven’t seen you since you emailed us that you and Gabby aren’t getting married after all.’
‘Work has been busy...’ It was true enough. He’d thrown himself into work with a ferocious energy, even though he knew he could have delegated many of the tasks he had undertaken himself.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘I’m fine. It’s all worked out for the best.’ The words sounded so hollow they echoed.
His sisters exchanged glances.
‘Are you sure?’ Gemma asked gently.
‘Of course I am.’
And if he wasn’t fine now he soon would be. Of course he would. At some point surely the palliative effect of work would kick in, relieve these ridiculous symptoms.
The ache he felt in the morning when he woke up, the horrible emptiness of his apartment, the sudden sterility of the furniture he’d once barely noticed. The echoing absence of Gabby, the solitary meals. The obsessive checking of his phone and email in case he’d missed a message. The dreams, and the way his head would turn every time he saw someone who looked even remotely like Gabby.
What was the matter with him?
They approached the restaurant and he halted as he saw Alessio look up towards Gemma, saw the way his best friend’s face softened, the sheer love in his eyes.
Suddenly—just like that—he knew exactly what was wrong with him, and came to a sudden halt.
The realisation transfixed him to the spot as knowledge flooded him with its truth. Dear Lord. He was an idiot, a fool...denser than platinum. He loved Gabby—he loved her. And he had to tell her right now. The urgency was illogical, but absolute. Even if she didn’t love him back—and why should she?—he wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know.
Zander turned to his family. ‘Sorry, guys. I need to make a call.’
Phone in hand, he raced out. Relief flooded him when she answered the phone.
‘Zander?’
‘Gabby—where are you?’
‘Actually, I’m at Bath Station, about to get on a train to come and see you.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s brilliant. I’ll come and meet you when you get in to London.’
‘But—’
‘I’ll see you in an hour and a half.’
Which didn’t give him long.
He raced back inside the restaurant. ‘Mum, I love you. Happy birthday! Got to dash. It’s an emergency. Not a work one.’
* * *
Gabby looked out of
the window as the train pulled into the station, wondering anew why Zander had said he’d meet her. Presumably to save her trekking across London to his office? Well, she’d deliver her carefully rehearsed speech and then she could turn around and get on the next train back.
As she alighted from the carriage and headed to the barriers she frowned. That couldn’t be Zander, could it? Every iota of her body identified him as the man she loved, but why would he be carrying an enormous bunch of heart-shaped helium balloons?
For a moment hope peeked up over the parapet of pessimism—until suddenly she remembered that it was Laura Grosvenor’s birthday. They must be for his mum. Maybe Frank had asked Zander to pick them up for him, or...
Now she was through the barrier and there was Zander, looking dishevelled, as though he’d raced across London, his face flushed and his hair rumpled.
And so utterly gorgeous.
Her heart ached with love and she yearned to throw her arms around his broad chest. Bad idea. She needed to give her rehearsed speech and then leave. At speed. Preferably before he even had a chance to respond.
‘Hey,’ she said, keeping her eyes away from the balloons, deciding it would be best to ignore them. ‘Thank you for coming to meet me. Especially on your mum’s birthday. I am so sorry. I hope I haven’t spoilt the plans?’
‘Nope. You haven’t. Not at all.’ He ran his free hand through his hair. ‘Gabby...?’
It was now or never, and she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tried to recall her carefully prepared speech. But her brain had become scrambled, messed up by his sheer proximity which seemed to have dispersed every rehearsed word.
The careful explanation, the caveats, the build-up. All gone. Instead, she said, ‘I’m here because I love you.’
The words fell from her lips and she closed her eyes, unable to watch his reaction, braced for rejection.
‘It’s not a big deal. I’m not expecting anything back, and it won’t affect how we bring up the baby. I totally get that you don’t do love after Claudia.’
She sensed him right in front of her—so close she could inhale his oh-so-familiar citrus smell, so close it took all her willpower not to touch him.
‘Open your eyes, Gabby.’
His voice was gentle.
‘Look at me. Please?’
The last word disarmed her and she obeyed, looking directly into blue-grey eyes that held a depth of seriousness, warmth and joy.
‘I love you, too.’ He gave an almost strangled laugh. ‘Why do you think I’m standing here with a bunch of balloons?’
Disbelief warred with hope. ‘But you can’t... I don’t understand...’
‘I’ll try to explain about Claudia. I told you that we had different dreams and ambitions. But it went deeper than that... Very soon into our marriage I realised that I’d made a mistake.’
His breathing was shallow and Gabby stepped closer to him, to offer what comfort she could, sensing he’d never admitted that before.
‘We were too different... Perhaps we’d never really known each other. Then she fell ill, and in that awful time the only thing I am glad of is that she never knew. That she believed in our love to the end. And so did everyone else. Because I didn’t want to betray her memory, because I felt such guilt.’
‘Oh, Zander. I am so sorry.’ She could see how the guilt, the secrecy, the living a lie would have eaten away at him. Topped up by the guilt at all his success after her death.
‘It’s OK. I’m telling you because I want you to understand why I believed that love wasn’t possible for me. I believed it was my fault—that my ambition killed my love and that that would always happen, that it was a given. I’d always put my wishes, my work first. You’ve made me see that it isn’t true. You’ve made me look back on my marriage differently. Perhaps Claudia and I simply weren’t suited and our love simply couldn’t have survived our differences because we couldn’t ever have worked out a compromise. You’ve shown me I can do that—that we can do that. You’ve shown me that work isn’t the be-all and end-all of life, that I can achieve a balance.’
Joy lightened her whole body and she felt as if she must be radiating happiness.
‘And you’ve changed me. Brought me out of my comfort zone, encouraged me to try new things and overcome my fears and anxiety.’ Gabby grinned. ‘You’ve shown me how to have fun, take some risks, to sing and be heard and seen. Before I set out today I even sent my book off to some agents. I spent so much of my childhood, my life, feeling afraid, thinking I had to be invisible or quiet or perfect. You’ve helped me figure out who I am. The real me. Made me see I am good enough, and that some things are worth risking rejection for.’
‘I’m thrilled about your book. And this is what I hope we’ll do for the rest of our lives. Grow together, learn together, discover new things. Together. I want to make a home with you. Ever since you entered my house I’ve realised how bland it is, how dull... I want a real home, full of love and clutter and...you.’
Gabby grinned at him. It seemed impossible to smile as widely as her happiness dictated. ‘I’d love to take you shopping, to all the markets and places I love. We can choose colours together, paint walls, make the happiest home in the world.’
‘I love you, Gabby. I love everything you’ve achieved. I love your courage, your loyalty and your love for your grandparents. I love the way you overcame your fears. I admire your resilience. I love the way you tuck your hair behind your ears. I love you.’
‘I love you, too—your strength, the way you’ve coped with dyslexia, your drive and ambition, your love for your family, the amount you care... I just love you, Zander. This baby is the luckiest baby in the world to have a dad like you.’
‘And a mum like you. So...now seems the right moment for this.’
Turning, he made a slight movement with his hands and suddenly from the crowds emerged a group of people holding instruments. Before Gabby even knew what was happening a jazz melody broke out, the strains upbeat and beautiful, and a woman began to sing, her voice rich and melodious.
And then Zander released the balloons and went down on one knee, pulling a box from his pocket.
‘Gabby. Will you marry me and make me the happiest man in the stratosphere?’
‘Yes, I will!’
And this time he slid the ring on to her finger and looked up with a smile. ‘Diamonds, lapis lazuli and sapphires. Love and friendship for a lifetime. We are going to be the happiest family in the whole entire universe.’
And as he picked her up, twirled her around and then pulled her into a deep, soul-satisfying, toe-curling kiss, Gabby knew that they would be.
* * *
If you enjoyed this story, check out these other great reads from Nina Milne
Conveniently Wed to the Prince
Marooned with the Millionaire
Claiming His Secret Royal Heir
Claimed by the Wealthy Magnate
All available now!
Keep reading for an excerpt from The Billionaire’s Convenient Bride from Liz Fielding.
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The Billionaire’s Convenient Bride
by Liz Fielding
CHAPTER ONE
Two cancellations for weekend craft class. Main boiler playing up. Rained all night. Need more buckets.
Agnès Prideaux’s Journal
KAM FAULKNER LEANED FORWARD against the steering wheel, peering through the rain blanketing the creek to catch his first glimpse of Priddy Castle.
Just over a decade ago, he’d been an angry teenager looking back out of the window of the van containing all their possessions. Angry, afraid and desperately hoping for some signal, a last-minute reprieve, until the very last moment when the island had cut off the view of the only home he’d ever known.
Cutting off the last view of the girl who had caused all the trouble.
He’d sworn then, as the ferry had docked on the far bank and his mother had forced a reassuring smile, a brave Don’t worry, we’ll manage, that he’d be back and he’d make her pay. He’d make them all pay.
It had been raining then. Not this soft stuff, little more than mist that clung to the windscreen, blurring the view. It had been drenching rain that had soaked their clothes as they’d stowed their home into a rented van.
It had run off Agnès Prideaux’s long dark hair, down her face, her soaked T-shirt clinging to her as she stood on the quayside, watching the ferry leave. Saying nothing, not even a shouted sorry even though the loss of his mother’s job, the loss of his home was all her fault.
