Page 11 of The Wedding Pact

But to be honest, despite the flirty vibe we’ve had going, it’ll be better all round if there’s no real sexual chemistry between us. It’ll keep things simple and clean when we say goodbye at the end of this.

Pacing over to the huge wall of glass that affords me an uninterrupted view of the runway, I stare out at the row of private planes that are waiting to take passengers to destinations all over the world.

I have a moment of wonder as it hits me, for the first time in a while, just how much my life has changed since the sale of HelSkel. Before that, there was no way I could ever have considered hiring a private plane to go anywhere.

Yet here I am, about to take one to the other side of the world with a virtual stranger.

How in the hell has this become my life?

I’m aware that my pulse has picked up and I feel it throbbing in my throat. Not surprisingly, I’m nervous about whether this crazy idea is going to work out.

I should have just toughed it out and gone on my own, but I know if I had I’d not be left alone for one bloody second by my family and the opportunity for having some peace and getting some work done while I’m there would have gone right out of the window. I can’t afford to take my eye off the ball with this new company deal I have going on. Not when I’ve worked so hard to get it to where it is now. At least if Ida’s there as my partner-shield we’ll be given some privacy. They’ll assume we’re holing up together and fucking if we don’t make much of an appearance outside of the enforced social gatherings.

I’ve made sure the villa we’re staying in has two bedrooms so we’ll each have our own space and she won’t feel uncomfortable. The last thing I want is for her to think I have an ulterior motive for asking her to come along to this bloody wedding with me.

I hate the idea of giving her the wrong impression. I’ve got a lot out of our late-night chatroom chats recently and I’d be gutted to lose the easy friendship we’ve built.

Not that that should be my main concern.

I mean, this is wild, right? Flying halfway across the world to pretend – in front of my entire extended family – that we’re a real couple? I guess that’s what happens when you spend the majority of your waking hours concentrating on your business and not allowing any time for dealing with anything else until you’re forced to.

Usually, I’d rely on my executive assistant to make sure everything external is in place and working as it should, but personal arrangements for this wedding is the one thing I really couldn’t ask her to organise. I’d feel pretty fucking weird asking her to magic me up a date for it, anyway.

She’s already been making noises about me carving out some time for a proper break and to see friends, which I’ve so far batted away, but dragging her into the middle of this kind of a hare-brained scheme is a whole other level of what-the-fuck.

I turn to scan the lounge.

Hmm. Where is Ida?

I’d actually joked with my friend Kit that I wanted to bring someone ‘unsuitable’ with me as my date to this wedding, but I couldn’t honestly do that to my stepbrother’s wife-to-be. I really like Margot and I’d hate to upset her. So, someone who can fly under the radar with me is my best bet right now.

Hopefully the other guests will leave the two of us well alone when they realise there’s nothing of particular interest about our ‘relationship’.

I really need this to be low-key and straightforward. I have no time whatsoever in my life for romance, as I think I made clear when Ida and I were messaging.

I’m way too busy for that. My lifestyle wouldn’t be fair on any partner I had.

She seemed cool with the idea of it just being a chance for a free holiday to the Maldives though, even after I revealed who I am. And I’ll deal with her request for an interview for her HelSkel channel when I’ve got the headspace for it.

If she turns up, that is.

I can’t tell you how hard my fingers are crossed right now as I continue to stare at the door to the lounge, trying to manifest her appearance.

To my surprise, this appears to work as a moment later a woman strides into the lounge, gazing around her.

I know immediately that it’s her.

She’s wearing a baseball cap over her raven-black hair, which is once again pulled into a ponytail and threaded through the hole above the adjustable snapback strap, and she’s dressed in joggers and a loose T-shirt.

I recognise the same laid-back confidence in her that she displayed on the video call, which convinced me at the time that this fake relationship could actually work.

As if sensing I’m staring at her, she looks over to where I’m standing a few feet away and my stomach does a strange kind of flip.

Her dark brown eyes, behind her large-framed glasses, flare with warm recognition as our gazes meet and she flashes me a half amused, half shrewd smile.

There’s a weird prickling sensation rushing over my skin now, like some part of me knows something my consciousness hasn’t caught up with.

Swallowing past my dry throat, I raise my hand in a wave of acknowledgement, tell myself to pull it the fuck together, and wait for her to walk over to where I’m standing.