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Then, there was the underlying class issue. Money was an issue for her. She knew that people who had money acted differently from the rest of the population. She’d seen it. She’d witnessed it. She didn’t need or want to be around anyone that might make her feel ‘not good enough’ even if it was only in her head.
She sighed and looked up at the dark night sky above, fumbling in her pocket for her key. Every bone in her body ached. Her eyelids were heavy.
She couldn’t wait to get to bed.
Tomorrow was another day. She would wake with the intention of making sure Philippe knew she was grateful for his assistance.
It was time to start with a clean slate.
CHAPTER FIVE
PHILIPPE WOKE UP with a growing headache. He wandered over to the glass doors and pulled back the curtains. The turquoise sea was rippling next to the white sand beach decorated by luxury parasols and sunloungers.
He could spend the day there. He could find a book, some sunscreen and lie down for the day, sipping whatever beverage he decided would suit.
It made him want to laugh out loud, because, even with the headache, he knew he would never do it. He rifled through his luggage to find some paracetamol, swallowing them with some water as his concierge showed up with breakfast.
Toast and English breakfast tea. He had decidedly simple tastes.
He glanced at his watch and sat down. It was just past six a.m. His internal body clock just wouldn’t let him sleep any longer.
He glanced at his emails, dealing with a few from his father, brother, sister and his personal palace secretary, but, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept drifting back to Arissa and last night.
He’d known that she was overtired. He could tell when she was on edge.
But last night’s conversation had gone in a direction he hadn’t intended or expected. There had been a real spark of conviction. Determination from Arissa. A real don’t-mess-with-me moment.
It set so many alarms pulsing through him.
He was a doctor. He had difficult conversations on a daily basis. He’d always thought he was good at reading signs from his patients. When they were stressed. When they were hiding something. When they were lying.
He’d thought his instincts were normally good. He knew when to push, and when to let something go.
But last night with Arissa it seemed all his usual instincts had flown up into the glittering night sky.
He’d pressed and pressed her when he knew he shouldn’t. He just couldn’t understand how someone would be part of such an important research project and not want to take any credit for it.
Publishing research was huge in the medical world. Some of his colleagues desperately fought to be involved in studies that they thought could lead to publication and prestige. He’d met people before who genuinely weren’t interested in clinical research and just wanted to focus on the job, but he’d never met someone who’d taken part and didn’t want to be included in the final result.
It was odd. It was beyond odd. Particularly when, once she had a national platform, she could also use it to talk about the thing that really was true to her heart—the safe haven project. She could find a way to tie the things together. He knew he would.
Her half-hearted explanation of it not being her field hadn’t washed with him. Plenty of people changed their speciality or kept an open plan, allowing them to be involved in several projects. It had to be something else—but right now, particularly when he wasn’t being entirely honest himself, he didn’t feel in a position to push any further.
Arissa appeared to be entirely unique.
But then he’d already thought that when he’d met her.
Philippe had dated plenty of women. You only had to pick up the gossip magazines of Corinez to see the playboy prince tag that wasn’t entirely unjustified. He might have gone on a bit of a dating frenzy after the actress fiasco. Whether that was to try and get over his hurt, or just to try and get back out there, he wasn’t quite sure. Somehow he had a feeling that if Arissa learned of the playboy prince tag she wouldn’t be entirely impressed.
It didn’t help that his brother, Anthony, had been dating his wife-to-be for practically his entire life. There was no gossip there—no story. So the press had to concentrate on someone.
