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Charlotte gave her best friend the cliff’s notes version, making sure to underscore how casual their arrangement was, and how committed they both were to keeping things secret.
“So, it’s casual, but this billionaire CEO wants to take youcasuallyto Italy for the night tocasuallyshow you his chocolate factory?”
“It is casual,” Charlotte insisted.
“Oh, sure, totally sounds it.”
“I’m serious,” Charlotte said quietly. “He’s one hundred per cent not into relationships. He was honest about that from the start. And you know I could never get seriously involved with him, or anyone. Not until Dash is eighteen, anyway.”
“How long are you going to let them keep you over a barrel?”
“They’re just looking out for Dash’s best interests.”
“No, they’re trying to bully you into giving him up.”
“Never going to happen.”
“I know that, but do they?”
“I think they’re probably getting a good idea by now.”
“Where in Italy are you going?”
“Milan, I think he said.”
“Pack something warm…”
Charlotte didn’t say what she was thinking: that with Alessio by her side, she’d be plenty warm enough.
She hadn’t giventheir mode of transportation a minute’s thought because to Charlotte, there was only one way to get from the Cotswolds to Italy—a drive to London, a flight in a commercial jet and then probably a second flight after hours of kicking around in a brightly lit airport.
But when Alessio came to pick her up, he drove her not to London, but to a private airstrip nearby, where a jet was waiting, with the familiar logo of his company emblazoned on the tail. Inside the jet was the last word in luxury, from the uniformed staff who greeted them at the top of the plane to the interior, which was more like a decadent lounge room than recognisably a plane. With wide, beige leather seats and sofas in the front, and behind them, seats that ran along the wall of the plane, with low coffee tables made of what looked to be marble. The ceilings were high—easily eight feet—and Alessio gave Charlotte a quick tour that included the master bedroom, a space bigger than her apartment, with a walk-in wardrobe filled with Alessio’s suits.
The bathroom he casually indicated had a shower and a marble bath and looked as though it would belong perfectly in a six-star hotel.
“This is how you travel?”
His expression gave nothing away.
“It’s…beautiful. It’s just…so much.”
“When I fly, I need to arrive fresh. Oftentimes, I’m only in town for a day or two.”
“And first class wouldn’t cut it?”
“I need to move on my own schedule.”
She nodded, but it was still impossible to get her head around this kind of wealth. In the pub, despite knowing what he did for a living, he’d still felt like a normal person to her. Now, she couldn’t help but be cognisant of their differences. It was an awareness that only increased as they prepared for takeoff, settling into a bank of two chairs, facing each other over a small coffee table, and a flight attendant appeared who had all the organisational skills of an executive assistant, taking notes on what they’d like to eat, drink and confirming dinner reservations and itinerary details with Alessio. They slipped in and out of Italian and English, so Charlotte caught only half the conversation.
When they were alone again, Alessio turned to her. “We’ll be taking off any minute.”
Right on cue, the engines began to whirr, and the plane pushed back.
Charlotte could think of nothing to say. The sense that they were totally different species was taking hold of her, so she gripped the armrest tightly and stared out of the window. The hostess reappeared with two glasses of champagne and a little tray of chocolates, placing them in the centre of the table then leaving the main cabin.
“You’re nervous.”
It was the same thing he’d said on the first night, and she thought perhaps the second too.
