“Almost.”
“The Orient Express to Venice,” Anna sighs. “I do so love Venice. It’s my favourite European city, outside of the Aqua Alta times, of course. Not a big fan of plodding around in wellie boots. But the architecture, the food, the sheer beauty. Your mother has style. So what happened next? Did you challenge the dastardly gent to a duel?”
He raises his brows at her gently mocking tone and Anna can barely keep a straight face.
“We had a very civilised dinner together where I learned that her new husband is a semi-retired civil engineer and train enthusiast.”
“Can’t trainspotters be gold-diggers? Or potential murderers? But that explains the Orient Express.”
“Exactly. Although they had kept their affair quiet, they had done everything legally and by the board, including a prenup. Essentially, my mother reminded me she was an intelligent and capable person who was well able to manage her own affairs.”
“Ah. Schooled by Mum.” Anna wrinkles her nose in sympathy. “Amazing that no matter how big you get, they can always make you feel small.”
“It didn’t matter. What is important is that they both seemed to be very much in love.”
Anna notes the wistful look in his eye. “Ah,” she breathes. “You’re a Romantic!”
“Is that meant to be an insult?” His eyebrows raise in query. “Because, yes, I am. I believe in love. Don’t you?” His tone suggests she is the weird one.
“Of course I do. You can’t work in a hospital and not believe in love. You see it all the time. I watch loved ones saying goodbye before their partners are wheeled off to surgery, not knowing if they will come back and the love is there. Mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, wives, husbands, girlfriends, boyfriends, or just plain friends. There is somuchlove in the world. And size and shape don’t matter at all. Big, fat Fred or ugly, old Mum. Ordinary average people have someone loving them, praying for them. Partners who have been together for decades, those who have just met. Siblings donate body parts. And friends help each other through chemo or childbirth or any of the horrors in life. It’s all love. But I’m not a Romantic.” Anna bats her eyelashes and makes a heart shape with her hands, holding them up and pulsing like a cartoon character.
“Are you mocking me?” His tone is faintly incredulous, but his smile is good-natured. “What’s wrong with a little romance?”
“Oh, so much. Romance is gifts and gestures and showy proposals. Romance equates attentive behaviour with love. But that can be easily faked. It’s why romance scams are so successful. I’ve seen women ignore all sorts of red-flag behaviour because of some romantic alpha hero fantasy. And I’ve seen men marry the sketchiest of women simply because she tells him how wonderful he is. Romantics sacrifice everything for love.”
“And you wouldn’t?” He looks sceptical.
“No,” Anna scoffs. “How many people find their One True Love is the One for a Couple of Years, or the One Who Screws You Over, or the One Who Never Really Wanted You At All?”
He’s quiet, and Anna thinks she might have gone too far. After all, she knows little of his life apart from the headlines. And the fact he once dated her sister. He is older than her – maybe he has had prior experience with bad Ones.
She tries to row back. “But what do I know? I’m pretty sure I’m immune to love.”
Anna says it lightly, but it is not quite the truth. She has never met a man who might set her heart alight, but for the past few years, she has actively been avoiding any likely candidates. The pandemic had taught her how dangerous love was for doctors.
His silence is uncomfortable, and Anna is regretting ever starting down this track. Finally, he speaks. “That’s sad. Don’t you want a life partner?”
“Not particularly.” Anna shrugs, trying to shake off the effect of his obvious pity. “I work long hours surrounded by people. When I get home, I like the silence. I like the emptiness. Being able to spend my money without someone else moaning. Getting to eat the treats I’ve bought myself. Not having to take into account anyone else’s allergies or dietary vagaries.” Anna’s mind flits to dinners with her middle sister, Jasmine, a rabid vegan, as she says this. But Jasmine is family, a duty imposed, not chosen. “As far as I can tell, the only downside to living alone is that I have to take out my own bins. And I can live with that.”
“There we differ. I don’t care about trivial stuff like food and bins.”
“That’s probably because you have staff. Believe me, normal folk do care. If you ask people why their relationships fail, it’s usually stupid stuff like he would always re-arrange the dishwasher, or he never did the vacuuming. Even when it’s sex,it’s because one partner is too tired from doing the ‘trivial stuff’ like work or housework or childcare, and resentment builds on both sides.”
“As you pointed out, I have staff who do all that. I’m single but even though none of my relationships to date have lasted, I still believe there is someone for me.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Anna says it gently, the pity this time on her side. She is no longer trying to tease him. “You’re a special case.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re the Sexiest Man Alive. You’re the image of Mr Darcy. You are exactly why romance is dangerous. Because when women look at you, they don’t see a man who picks his nose; they see a fantasy.” For one fleeting moment, as she says the words, Anna is filled with an overwhelming empathy for him. He is probably doomed to love affair after love affair, divorce after divorce.
“I don’t pick my nose!” he objects.
“Everyone does,” she says. “How else do you get rid of crusty snot? But we’re digressing again. Let’s get back to the story of your mother’s elopement.” She is feeling far more concern for his happiness than is safe. She needs to guide the conversation back to more superficial ground.
“There’s not much more to tell. They retired back to their suite and I went to my cabin – which was all my assistant had been able to book at short notice.” Anna bites her tongue. She’s teased him enough for the moment; she doesn’t need to point out the ridiculousness of bemoaning a five-thousand-dollar-a-night cabin on a luxury train. “The following morning, I got off at the first station and began my journey back,” he continues. “I stopped in London to talk to my sister and caught the last flight today to LA. I have a meeting tomorrow that I can’t miss.”
“Gotta say I love your mother and I’ve never even met her. Do you think you maybe overreacted in the first place?”
