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‘I feel a little guilty accepting such a generous gift. I mean, you hardly know me.’
‘Yes, but I do know Zander. And I know he hasn’t had a holiday in five years.’ The implication hovered in the air. Since Claudia. ‘All he has done is work. So I would love for him to have some downtime, and now seems like the perfect opportunity.’ Laura glanced from one face to the other. ‘I’m counting on you, Gabby, to convince Zander that all work and no play is not a good thing!’
‘I’ll try,’ Gabby said and wondered if her nose was having a Pinocchio moment. ‘But if I can’t, then you must promise me that you will accept the holiday back for you and your husband.’
‘We came back from a cruise just recently.’
‘And we don’t want it.’ Gemma and Julia had materialised.
Gemma continued, ‘I’ve got a wedding to plan and my honeymoon is already booked.’
‘I have work commitments, no one to go with and the kids to think of,’ Julia pointed out. ‘So it’s all yours.’
Any more protest would only fuel the suspicion that was already on the verge of sparking, so Gabby tucked her hand into Zander’s arm. ‘Then all I can do is thank you.’
‘You’re very welcome.’
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Zander’s proximity as they sat through dinner was both a solace and a menace. Not even the food—marinated salmon, truffle potatoes, a fillet of beef so rare and tender it made sense of the melt-in-the-mouth cliché—could completely distract from her body’s reaction to his proximity or the sense of impending doom that the idea of Portugal had brought on.
But Gabby did her best to focus on the job at hand, striving to consolidate the illusion of a relationship and to make the event a success. She told herself that, between them, she and Zander would work out a way to mitigate or better yet wipe out the Portugal disaster.
Finally the last guest departed, the last goodbye was said and only the family were left.
Julia stepped forward and gave Zander a hug. ‘Well done, little bro. This was a fabulous event and thank you for doing it. I’ll show Freddy the pictures.’
‘You do that—and tell him I’ll be round soon.’
Turning to Gabby with a smile that made her seem way less scary, Julia added, ‘Gabby, it was great to meet you—and if I don’t see you before, I’ll see you at the wedding. Have a fabulous time in Portugal.’
Gabby smiled, watching the remaining farewells and witnessing the sheer warmth and affection that existed in the Grosvenor family. A part of her felt a yearning for that sort of family closeness. Lord knew she loved her grandmother, but Lucille was all she had. And that meant one day, in the scheme of things, she would be alone. The thought cloaked her in sadness.
Goodbyes finally finished, they made their way to the car. Gabby waited until they were inside, seat belts secured, before she spoke. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Drive back to my apartment?’
‘I meant about Portugal.’
‘I know. I suggest we both try to figure out a strategy and we can talk about it when we get back. But first—thank you for everything you did tonight. You played your part to perfection, but you also did a fantastic job of talking to people about dyslexia. That wasn’t part of the deal and I appreciate it.’
‘I wanted to help. It’s not a topic I’ve really thought about very much until recently, but the research I did showed me how important a topic it is. And you did, too.’
‘I really do believe the more people discuss it and raise awareness the better. So thank you.’
He turned to flash her a quick smile and her tummy flip-flopped, tiredness suddenly forgotten as awareness simmered. And this was in a car—what would happen on a romantic beach getaway?
Determinedly closing her eyes, she leant her head back and tried to think of a strategy, a way out. But her brain refused to cooperate; instead, images drifted through her mind of herself and Zander on a beach, sitting on the sand, his fingers massaging sun cream into her back...
‘Gabby? We’re here.’
Sitting upright, she opened her eyes, blinked fiercely to dispel the lingering stupid fantasy and opened the car door.
They walked through the lobby, into the lift and out again, then into the apartment, and this time she followed him into an enormous living area.
More neutrality here, mixed with a minimalist feel that didn’t look like a design choice. It looked like the result of utter disinterest. Two large leather sofas, two chairs, a flat-screen television. A coffee table. More empty walls. No pictures, no photographs, no clutter, no cushions. Bland mixed with impersonal.
It was enough to temporarily distract her from the urgency of the Portugal fiasco and prompt a question. ‘Did you only move in recently?’
He looked puzzled as he glanced around the room, as if seeing it through her eyes. ‘A couple of years ago. Once I was sure that the business was secure, I figured it made more sense to own than to rent. Alessio persuaded me that a penthouse apartment was what I needed, and it seemed like a good enough investment.’
