Page 63 of Pretender

“Let’s go to Italy.”

She shakes her head. “But, what, I mean, I’ve got work?”

“It’s noon on a Sunday, I’m your client, and I decide we need to go to Italy for inspiration for my new project. How’s that? You can charge me for your time.”

“No.”

Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “Okay.”

She closes her eyes for a second and breathes in. Then her eyes blink open. “I meant, no, let’s go as friends. Not work. I don’t want to charge you for my time.”

“You really want to go?”

“Sure, why not? I mean, I can think of about a hundred reasons not to go, but…” She does a one-sided shrug. “Let’s live a little.”

A huge smile breaks free across my face, and I’d love to say her eyes widening is because she likes it. Or it’s too much? I try to make it stop, tucking my lips in, but her eyes grow even wider. Okay, I’m losing it, she’s probably just realising what she’s agreed to. I better get on it before she changes her mind.

“Alright, I’ll make some calls.”

Three hours later, we’re on a jet I’ve chartered to take us to Florence. Champagne in hand, Linnea has a baffled expression on her face. Her eyebrows have been raised since I asked her to simply send a scan of her passport to my staff and it’ll all be taken care of.

Too easy.

“This makes me feel guilty. Just flying for the heck of it. What about the environment?”

“Don’t worry, it’s electric.”

“Seriously?”

“No, I wish. But if it helps, this isn’t something I do regularly, and how about we promise to take the train for our next three holidays?”

“Next three holidays?” She smirks, quirking an eyebrow. That playful expression suits her better than her stoic work face. I’m making it my mission to get to know all the expressions she makes. Every little quirk, twitch, and smirk.

As a good friend, of course. Just learning how to read her. Banking it for a potential future. Being hopeful. Thinking of what she told me her grandfather said: if you can do something, just go and do it.

So, what can I do? I can be her friend, trust Mark’s words, and keep an eye out for an opening.

Isn’t that what hope is all about?

I shrug. “Mum’s wedding is in Devon. We can drive down in my EV.”

Linnea relaxes back in her beige leather seat across from me, looking out the window. The glow from the sunny afternoon lights up her face.

She’s angelic.

It feels wrong, but so right, taking her in like this. Allowing myself to appreciate every detail of her.

The tiny hairs on her skin shine like a bright aura outlining her perfect profile. I mentally trace a line down her forehead, over the little scar on the bridge of her nose, following the curve of her cupid’s bow and along the fullness of her bottom lip.

If I didn’t have to look at anyone else ever again, I’d be content. Mmm, she’s stunning.

She turns back to me abruptly and catches me staring.

“What’s that?” she asks.

“What?”

“You made a sound.”