Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
The first thing to come into my consciousness is the sound of birds singing.
The next thing I realize is that I’m lying in a bed far too comfortable to be mine.
Obviously, someone else’s. I squeeze my eyes tight and slowly open them.
Light spills into the room from one set of open shutters and a window.
Florian’s room. Florian’s bed.
Except Florian isn’t in the bed, and I blink, and then I realize Florian’s just stepped back into the room. And now into the sunlight. He glows. Also, unfortunately, he’s entirely dressed, ready for the day in a suit.
He’s holding a steaming mug and gives me an entreating look. “I brought you tea.”
I sit up and rub my eyes. The sheet falls to my waist. “I slept hard, I think.”
“You did,” Florian confirms with a grin. “And you looked so peaceful. I didn’t want to wake you. But I have to leave soon. I thought to lure you out of bed and up for some breakfast if you would like?”
Blinking at Florian, I look at him in amazement. “You brought me tea? Nobody’s done that for me before.”
He tsks and laughs and hands over the tea carefully. It’s warm and delicious, everything tea should be. The caffeine will help me leave this comfortable bed and also provide a great distraction from last night.
“There’s a spare dressing gown at the foot of the bed, extra toothbrush and towels in the en suite. When you’re ready, please come up, and I’ll fix you something to eat.”
After he retreats, I sit with my tea for a couple of minutes, enjoying the view of the trees outside the window.
Then, I go about the business of getting ready for the day and finding my clothes, which have also been placed neatly at the foot of the bed.
A glance at the bedside table tells me it’s 7:30 a.m. I usually sleep ’til 10:00 a.m. after Ivan’s, but at least we went to bed before my shift usually ends.
Which makes it a little less painful getting out of bed and ready for the day.
When I’m showered and dressed, after enjoying some of Florian’s toiletries he has left out, I feel more awake. I retrieve my tea mug and head out of the room. The next room has the door wide open, and I peek in.
There’s a wide desk that has two big monitors on it, which are plugged into a laptop on some kind of stand, and a keyboard and mouse in front of the setup.
Everything’s very orderly. The computer is on, and the screens show something.
Curious, I step closer to glimpse Florian’s work world, so different from mine.
One screen is on some kind of property listing page with the title Development Opportunities.
The next is some kind of meeting agenda, but it doesn’t make much sense to me. I peer at the first screen again.
I gasp.
Then my stomach drops to my knees and quite possibly the level of the Underground.
Because there on the screen, the main listing shown is the Rose & Crown back in Brighton, and under it in red: future redevelopment and the price for the freehold and property dimensions and even a floor plan.
He can’t actually be thinking of going through with buying the Rose.
Can he? I can see Raheem’s sculpture from the exhibition in the main photo, so it’s got to be recent.
I squint at the fine print underneath the photos of the Rose.
There are approved plans for flats and mixed-use, whatever that is.
I feel sick to my stomach.
Forcing myself to move before Florian finds me snooping in his office, I make myself stand in the hallway and attempt to compose myself.
Calm down. Breathe. I take in a couple of deep breaths, but I don’t feel any calmer.
I don’t actually know for sure he’s buying it.
He could just be interested, like he said at Paul and Caden’s wedding.
There has to be a perfectly reasonable explanation why the listing’s up on his computer right now.
How could my fake boyfriend want to redevelop the gallery, which has supported me and my friends so much through the collective? That’s a fake-boyfriend-ending sort of situation.
Except I don’t want to admit to snooping either. Stupid curiosity ruins everything. No wonder there were warnings about opening Pandora’s box. It’s impossible to put the lid back on once things spill out.
Shit.
Act cool. Like everything’s fine. Because it is fine. I don’t know anything to make things not fine, I tell the growing knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. I finish off my tea and head upstairs at last.
Florian’s at the table, eating toast and drinking tea. Crumbs wouldn’t dare fall on his suit. He’s perfectly poised and alert, and he looks honestly like something out of one of those high-end men’s bespoke suit ads from Savile Row. He’s gorgeous, sitting in the morning sun, his hair shining.
“There’s more tea, if you like. And toast. And I can make an omelette or oatmeal if you prefer.
” Florian nods at the teapot on the table.
He looks perfectly relaxed. Happy, even.
He’s a far cry from the raging tyrant on the night we met in Ivan’s, which feels like an eternity ago.
Even though it wasn’t, not really. “Please, sit.”
I sit on the edge of a wooden chair, probably looking more stressed than I would like, and I help myself to more tea because more tea never hurt. I add more sugar than necessary because I’m preoccupied. “Toast’s great. Sorry, I’ll be quick. I don’t want to keep you.”
“I should apologize to you.” Florian shakes his head, looking wistful. “I should have mentioned last night I have an appointment this morning I need to get to.”