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She met his gaze directly, wanting to test him.
‘Tess, I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. This is very simple. I like you, I hope you like me. And if that’s the case, then I think this is a very good idea.’
‘Okay,’ she nodded. ‘Go back to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.’
Tess stared at the screen, not knowing what to do, not knowing what to think. Had Sean deliberately misled her? Or did Meredith suspect something – perhaps she was trying to throw a spanner in the works? No, that was just wishful thinking, wasn’t it? She crept back into bed, hoping Sean was already asleep. He wasn’t.
‘Are you sure you’re that tired?’ he smiled playfully, nuzzling his lips into her neck.
‘Let’s pick this up again tomorrow morning, huh?’
Sean seemed content at that response and rolled away. Lying back into the soft mountain of pillows, Tess waited, watching the dark ceiling until Sean’s breathing became a soft snore and she was certain that he was fast asleep. Carefully, she removed his arm from around her and slid off the mattress, creeping into the dressing room. Sean’s bag was unzipped but still packed. She stuck her hand in and rifled through, pulling out shorts and sweaters and shoes, silently praying that she would not find what she was looking for. Finally, her searching fingers felt a zip compartment at the bottom of the case. Opening it, her heart sinking, she pulled out a navy velvet box. Holding her breath, she opened it to see an enormous sapphire ringed by twinkling diamonds. It was a little old–fashioned, yes, but it was a big, bold expression of something. Love? Devotion? Commitment? she thought with a sickening feeling. Angrily, she snapped the box shut, then froze, the sound cold and hard in the still air. There was no sign of movement from the bedroom, so she sank back to the floor, holding her head in her hands. She had been so stupid. What made her think for a second that she could turn Sean Asgill’s head, let alone tame him? She made a quick decision.
Creeping through the bedroom, checking Sean was still asleep, she padded to the other side of the house and picked up the phone. By the time her taxi arrived, she was already packed and dressed. She returned to the bedroom and, for a moment, watched Sean sleeping, the white sheet rising lightly with each breath. He looked so peaceful. Dammit! What am I doing? she scolded herself angrily. That man betrayed you, cheated you! What she really should do was slap him awake, throw the ring in his face, and tell him exactly what she thought of him. But then, what would that achieve? She could picture his apologetic yet slightly smug face as he explained that his relationship with Annabel wasn’t exactly over.
Well, she had no intention of letting him have that little satisfaction. She was going to keep her dignity. She tore a page out of a notebook by the phone and scribbled a message.
Sorry. This is a bad idea. See you at the wedding.
Leaving it on the bedside table, she tiptoed out into the waiting taxi, closed the door quietly, and turned to the driver.
‘Airport,’ she said. ‘And step on it.’
CHAPTER FORTY–SIX
Brooke jumped into David’s car and kissed him wildly on the lips.
‘Hey, hey!’ he laughed, gently pushing her back. ‘What’s all this about?’
‘Portico is number seven, David!’ she said breathlessly. ‘It’s number seven on the New York Times’ best–seller list!’
‘Honey, that’s amazing. Does Eileen know?’ he said with genuine delight, giving her another kiss before gunning the engine and setting off along Lexington.
‘Yes, of course. She screamed down the phone for about three minutes and then begged me to come shopping with her for a Chanel handbag.’
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sp; David chuckled. ‘What is it with women and handbags?’
Brooke reached over and squeezed his knee. ‘Please, you’ll have to understand that before you even think about marrying me,’ she teased him.
While David called his assistant on his hands–free phone to make a reservation for dinner at Raoul’s that evening, Brooke gazed out of the window, thinking about the excitement of the last hour. Yellow Door’s managing director Edward had come into her office to tell her the news privately, and had to quickly shush her when Brooke had squealed. That had been swiftly followed by an impromptu champagne toast in the boardroom when everyone had told her what a visionary she had been to rescue Portico from the slush pile. For once, Brooke hadn’t contradicted them; everyone needed a few moments of glory, didn’t they? In truth, Brooke hadn’t exactly been surprised about Portico’s high chart position – not after Eileen’s brilliant, modest, and funny appearance on Ellen the previous week. The next day Brooke had spent her lunchtime loitering in her local Barnes and Noble, just watching as the books disappeared before her eyes.
And now, as a perfect end to a perfect day, she and David were off to see an apartment that Brooke had been dreaming about all week. She had been aware of the building on Riverside Drive long before the realtor had called her to say ‘a very special apartment’ was coming on the market. She had once been to a party in the building many years ago and had always fantasized about one day being able to live there.
‘Hang a left and go across the park,’ said Brooke excitedly.
‘West side?’ said her fiancé, raising a brow.
‘Just trust me okay?’ she smiled.
The car traversed Manhattan and wound up Riverside Drive, the most westerly point of the island.
‘Pull up just over there,’ she pointed. David looked increasingly uncertain as they walked towards a grey stone Beaux Arts apartment block, but she linked her arm through his and pulled him in tight. She had anticipated that he’d be surprised about where she’d brought him, especially as so far they’d been looking in the ‘best buildings’ on Fifth Avenue and Sutton Place South and at houses around West Tenth and Eleventh streets. The west side of the island was a part of town that they rarely came to, but something about it had become more appealing of late. Perhaps it was the disconnection from where they worked and where their friends and family lived. Perhaps it was the views over the river, a reminder that they were on an island, and the fact that there was a whole wide world beyond it. Perhaps because fewer celebrities lived here than in the smart streets of the West Village – not to mention fewer paparazzi. Or maybe it was because the air smelled slightly less of overt social snobbery. Whatever it was, Brooke felt more at home here than any of the areas they’d looked at so far, and she was hoping David would feel the same.
The agent was waiting for them at the elevator and they rode up to the triplex on the top floor in silence. The apartment’s front door opened into a hallway, then a sunken living room surrounded by a wraparound balcony, the lights of New Jersey twinkling beyond the dark river ahead.
‘I think this place speaks for itself,’ smiled the realtor, clearly giddy with anticipation of a fat commission cheque. ‘I’ll leave you two alone to explore.’
